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In a post-literate age, written journalism matters more than ever 📖 This month James Marriott warned (https://mongabay.cc/benXyr) that we are entering a “post-literate society.” He traced how the eighteenth-century “reading revolution” seeded democracy, science, and civil society, and argued that smartphones and short-form video are eroding the habits of deep reading that underpinned those gains. The Enlightenment required readers, not scrollers. For journalists, this is a sobering thesis. The written word is still uniquely suited to what Neil Postman called “following a line of thought”—classifying, reasoning, and interrogating ideas. Sentences weigh evidence, expose contradictions, and test logic. That scaffolding enables accountability and deliberation. Without it, decision-making tilts toward the emotive, the fragmentary, the theatrical. At Mongabay we see this distinction daily. When we investigate deforestation in Indonesia or expose fraudulent carbon schemes in Peru, it is the written investigation that informs policy, spurs enforcement, and empowers communities. Lawmakers, prosecutors, and Indigenous leaders cite the article itself—the words, the data, the documentation. Rarely is it the video alone that prompts action. Yet video is not irrelevant. It can capture attention, spark emotion, and reach audiences who may never read a long feature. Our short documentaries and explainers on Indigenous forest defenders or destructive fishing practices have extended reach and drawn new audiences into conversation with our reporting. But video and print are not equivalents. A video may persuade through images and sound; a written story persuades through evidence and reasoning. Text creates the record that can be cited in a lawsuit; video provides the imagery that lingers in memory. Each has a place in the information ecosystem, but they are not interchangeable. Written reporting remains indispensable for accountability because it creates the durable record policymakers, courts, and communities can cite. Video can at times act as a force multiplier, broadening reach and helping keep stories alive in the public imagination. Words build the case; images carry it farther. At Mongabay we measure success not by clicks but by what our stories enable: better governance, empowered communities, the spread of innovations, and more resilient ecosystems. In a world of proliferating screens, the discipline of the written word is more important than ever—paired with the creativity to bring those words into the feeds where people now spend their time. The full piece: https://mongabay.cc/n6GCMU

Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler named to Forbes Sustainability Leaders List “Mongabay has tended to fly under the radar. We’ve focused on the journalism rather than promoting ourselves, so this recognition is especially meaningful — and it reflects the contributions of everyone involved,” Butler said. The recognition is a milestone in a journey that goes back some 25 years to when Butler was a teenager visiting a rainforest in Borneo. “I vividly remember cooling my feet beside a jungle creek when a wild orangutan emerged in the canopy overhead. We made eye contact — just for a few seconds — but the moment stayed with me,” he told Forbes. He later learned that the forest where he had that profound experience was to be destroyed for pulp and paper. That devastating news sparked in him a lifelong commitment to conservation; he eventually quit his tech job in Silicon Valley and started Mongabay out of his California apartment. “My parents weren’t thrilled about the idea,” he recalled. “I was often asked when I’d get a ‘real job.’ It took several years — and external recognition — for them to see that Mongabay could be a ‘real job.’” Today, Mongabay is a global newsroom with roughly 1,000 contributors across more than 80 countries, producing podcasts, videos and articles in seven languages from bureaus in Latin America, India, Africa and Brazil. Hundreds of local media outlets republish Mongabay content, worldwide. All that work, expansion and outreach are in service of the same goal: “to ensure that credible environmental information is available to everyone — especially those with the power to act,” Butler told Forbes. Unlike many media outlets, Mongabay doesn’t measure success in clicks or pageviews. Instead, it focuses on “meaningful, real-world outcomes,” Butler added. “These aren’t abstract wins — they’re forests still standing, communities empowered and ecosystems given a second chance. Bearing witness to both the threats and the possibilities reminds me daily that telling these stories matters,” Butler said. Reporting by Bobby Bascomb Forbes list compiled and edited by Elisabeth Brier, Marlowe Starling, Eduardo Garcia, Alex Knapp and Alan Ohnsman Forbes list: https://lnkd.in/ggps7J_m

How reporting gets results The forest in northern Gabon didn’t look like a battleground. It held trails, fruit trees, and ancestral graves. When a logging concession encroached and the community of Massaha protested, little happened. Then the story was reported, documented, and read by people in a position to act. The environment minister revoked the permit and the government moved to protect the forest. The win wasn’t journalism’s alone; it moved faster because facts were public. This is how journalism drives impact: It supplies the oxygen action needs—credible information, in time, in public. Impact starts with agenda setting. In Sabah, Malaysia, coverage of a secret 100-year carbon-credit deal exposed terms, intermediaries, and missing consent. Once on the record, scrutiny stalled and then unraveled the plan. Incentives shift too. Markets and ministries respond when reputations are at risk and subsidies grow costly. Reporting on wood-pellet climate claims gave lawmakers specifics; hearings tightened and a firm lost access to public money. Protection matters. In Peru, stories about Indigenous communities facing land grabs and narcotrafficking assembled evidence that prosecutors could use. Supply chains show the pattern. Years of reporting on deforestation tied to cattle and leather in Paraguay helped put leather into the EU’s anti-deforestation rule. Journalists didn’t write the law; they made its absence impossible to defend. Solutions reporting helps by pairing problems with credible responses and testing whether they work. Coverage of agroforestry’s economics put numbers to yields, risk, and carbon; a major technology firm added it to its climate portfolio. Distribution matters. The audiences who turn information into action—policymakers, funders, prosecutors, compliance teams, local leaders—come through quieter channels. Searchable databases & publishing in Indonesian, Spanish or Hindi reach where decisions are made. Guardrails matter. Journalism can become extractive. The antidote is collaboration with local reporters, sharing data with communities, and protecting sources. Measure outcomes too: Beyond clicks, track when a tender is canceled, a supplier is changed, or a land title is won. Humility is essential. Journalism is a catalyst, not a cure. Return to Massaha: the protected forest is neither pristine nor permanent. But a path opened because a community insisted on being heard and a newsroom insisted on being precise. Multiply that dynamic and you get a more subtle kind of impact: Course corrections that add up to a change in direction. In an era awash in synthetic content, that older craft — finding out what’s true & telling people in time for it to matter — remains civic infrastructure. Journalism at its best doesn’t demand credit. It demands results. And it earns them by doing the mundane things that make democracies and markets less blind: Showing up, listening, checking, publishing, and then following up.

From sports desk to nature’s frontlines: David Akana’s unlikely path to lead Mongabay Africa In an era when biodiversity, climate, and development challenges are mounting across Africa, Akana is helping shape a model of journalism rooted in rigor, inclusion, and long-term impact. As the head of Mongabay Africa, he oversees editorial strategy, partnerships, fundraising, and newsroom operations. But his role is also deeply personal, informed by a career spanning sports reporting, international development communications, and frontline environmental journalism. Akana’s path into the field began over two decades ago in Cameroon. A former sports journalist with a deep love of football, he changed course in 2002, joining IUCN in Central Africa. At the time, the decision was pragmatic—financial stability & editorial opportunity—but it marked a turning point. “Once I was out in the field,” he says, “I realized how high the stakes truly were.” For Akana, journalism isn’t just about facts—it’s about helping people make sense of the systems shaping their lives, particularly where power is concentrated & rights are tenuous. In such contexts, he argues, journalism can still amplify marginalized voices, expose wrongdoing, and inform communities. At Mongabay Africa, Akana brings a deep understanding of the continent’s diversity & its overlooked environmental narratives. Since taking the helm, he’s built a 17-person team, launched multilingual editorial programs, and expanded reporting from the Congo Basin to coastal West Africa & the Horn. He’s especially focused on the future: launching a Swahili-language edition & laying groundwork for coverage in other languages. “Reporting in local languages,” he says, “is how Mongabay can succeed in Africa over the long term.” He’s also realistic about the challenges. In today’s fragmented information landscape, where greenwashing and disinformation thrive, environmental journalism doesn’t create instant impact. But Akana believes credibility & consistency still matter. “Impact and influence take time,” he says. “But when done well, journalism can shape policies, empower communities, and change narratives.” That belief is evident in Mongabay’s recent work—from investigating extractive industries in the Democratic Republic of Congo to reporting on REDD+ schemes & land-use conflicts. In some cases, this coverage has led to corporate accountability, influenced investment decisions, and brought community voices to global forums. What distinguishes Akana’s leadership is his focus on mentorship & team-building grounded in Africa’s diversity. He doesn’t see himself as exceptional—just someone who stayed curious, kept learning, and was willing to make mistakes. “Any journalist,” he says, “can become an environmental journalist if they have the commitment.” With biodiversity & climate defining Africa’s future, Akana sees Mongabay as playing a vital, steady role in equipping citizens to navigate and shape these changes.

Half a million hectares of rainforest were saved—in part because of journalism. In a packed event held in Palo Alto at the end of SF Climate Week, Willie Shubert shared a compelling example of how Mongabay’s journalism is making a real-world impact. He described how Mongabay’s consistent, beat-focused coverage helped prevent the deforestation of 535,000 hectares of Amazon rainforest in Suriname—an area equivalent to more than 15% of global annual primary tropical forest loss. For years, Mongabay reporters had tracked the expansion of Mennonite agricultural communities across Latin America, using satellite imagery, field research, and on-the-ground verification. By treating incremental developments—such as new bridges into areas adjacent to protected areas zones (https://lnkd.in/guSEFknH newsworthy early warning signs, our journalists built a network of trusted sources and strong relationships with local communities. This trust paid off when a confidential source leaked a secret agreement to convert vast areas of rainforest for new agricultural settlements for Mennonite colonists. Mongabay broke the story in December 2023 (https://lnkd.in/g3NjpvhD) with satellite analysis from Amazon Conservation . By January, lawmakers, civil society groups, and Indigenous communities mounted an outcry (https://lnkd.in/gfqx9Vk4). The pilot project was canceled soon after (https://lnkd.in/gKzwx2jn), and the larger initiative was halted by court injunction (https://lnkd.in/gkupkC3V). Willie emphasized that this result wasn’t the product of a single investigation, but of daily, consistent journalism—showing how long-term commitment to covering environmental beats can shape real outcomes for forests, communities, and the planet. It’s a powerful reminder: timely, accurate  journalism doesn’t just inform—it inspires people to action.

While news and media landscapes shift daily, Mongabay (founded by #HeinzAward winner Rhett Ayers Butler) takes an unusual approach to its work. Check out their podcast episode that explains "Why the nonprofit newsroom model is vital to Mongabay’s impact": https://lnkd.in/eVdMnHzB

Ochieng’ Ogodo, science journalist, mentor, and editor, died on April 17th, aged 64 For Ochieng' Ogodo’, science was never a subject to be sequestered in ivory towers. It belonged in the hands of the people—decoded, demystified, and, above all, delivered with clarity & conviction. Across nearly 3 decades, he did just that: in newspapers & journals, in classrooms & workshops, in newsrooms stretching from Nairobi to London. He was a bridge between knowledge & the public, & he crossed it with rare humility. Born & raised in Kenya, Ogodo began his journalistic career at The East African Standard. He cut his teeth covering crime & corruption but soon turned his pen to the underreported—and at the time, unfashionable—realm of science journalism. It was not a glamorous beat, nor a lucrative one. But Ogodo had a gift: he could see stories & meaning where others saw only data. He would go on to report for National Geographic, Nature Medicine, & The Guardian, among others. His writing made the complex comprehensible, never talking down to his readers. In 2008, he was awarded the Reuters-IUCN Media Award for Excellence in Environmental Reporting, a nod to the depth of his work on environmental issues in Africa. But perhaps his most enduring contribution came not from bylines, but from building institutions. He founded the Kenya Environment and Science Journalists Association (KENSJA), providing a home for colleagues who often worked in isolation & without support. As editor of SciDev.Net’s Sub-Saharan Africa desk, he developed talent across the continent, diligently commissioning, coaching, and championing dozens of young journalists. Later, as Mongabay's East Africa editor, he continued this vocation—often late into the night, poring over drafts, nudging stories toward excellence. Despite his accomplishments, Ogodo was never one to seek the spotlight. He was happiest in conversation—debating policy over tea, or exchanging WhatsApp messages with mentees across borders. He was frequently invited to speak at global forums, but remained grounded in the practical concerns of journalism in the Global South: poor internet, shrinking newsroom budgets, & the subtle prejudice faced by African writers pitching to Western editors. When he wasn’t working, he was reading, traveling or watching his beloved Arsenal soccer team. On the night before his death, he was doing just that—relishing a Champions League win with friends. A few hours later, he suffered a sudden & fatal cardiac episode. He leaves behind children, extended family, & a grief-stricken community of journalists who knew him not just as a mentor, but as a friend. Many of them owe their careers to his guidance, encouragement, & belief in their potential. They now carry forward what he built—not as a burden, but as a calling. In a world in desperate need of clarity & compassion, Ogodo offered both. His work continues—not in the stories he wrote, but in those he helped others find the courage to tell.

How a high school project shaped my life’s work For my eighth-grade graduation, my parents gave me a basic 10-gallon aquarium. I quickly became obsessed with freshwater fish—not just the common pet store varieties like neon tetras and angelfish, but also more unusual species like elephant-nose fish and upside-down catfish. My fascination led me to devour books and academic papers, work in a fish store, visit wholesalers, meet fishermen, and observe fish in the wild under the guidance of local experts during my travels (including the pictured Indigenous Dayak guide in Borneo). I kept over a dozen tanks, experimenting with recreating natural aquatic habitats in the form of biotope aquaria. As I learned more, I began questioning the sustainability of the aquarium trade. What role did fish-keepers play in conservation? What was happening to the wild habitats of these species? Armed with a throw net, I caught and identified fish in rivers, oxbow lakes, and estuaries wherever I could. The fish often seemed healthy, but their habitats were in decline. I saw rivers polluted with chemicals and mining waste, clouded by soil erosion from deforestation and poor agricultural practices, choked with logs from tree-cutting, and overfished to depletion. Some waterways were lifeless. When I finished my book, I sold it to a specialty publisher for a pittance, eager just to see it in print. I was too naive to realize they didn’t actually intend to publish the book. Fortunately, I had included a clause ensuring that if the book wasn’t published, the rights would revert to me. When that happened, I turned the text into a website, which rapidly grew in popularity. It turned out other people were also interested in biotope aquariums and the ecology of tropical freshwater fish. That experience laid the foundation for my research skills, writing discipline, and ultimately, my entrepreneurial spirit. It taught me valuable lessons: 🐟 Curiosity is a powerful driver of knowledge. 📚 Deep research and firsthand experience build credibility. 🩷 Passion can evolve into purpose. 😵 Failure often provides unexpected opportunities. 🚀 Leaving yourself an exit route can help ensure your work gets seen. Looking back, I see how that early project shaped my approach to building Mongabay. It started with an obsession, a question, and a willingness to dive in.

Not all opportunities are worth taking. In 2010, a high profile literary agent approached me with an enticing offer: Write a book about my journey and the environmental trends shaping the world. It was the kind of opportunity many dream of—a chance to share my perspective, to build my profile, to hold a finished work in my hands. But as I dove into the project, a simple calculation emerged. Writing the book would take time, but marketing it would take even more—perhaps 80% of the effort, I learned, would go into book tours, interviews, and promotion. And for what? If everything went exceptionally well, maybe it would sell 50,000 copies. Meanwhile, Mongabay was already being read by well over 100,000 people every day. The choice was clear: if I wanted to maximize the impact of my time, writing a book probably wasn’t the way to do it. Raising my personal profile wasn’t a priority for me—I was more interested in effecting meaningful change where it mattered than in gaining visibility. A book could wait. At the time, I had been reporting extensively in Indonesia, where I saw how opacity, corruption, and mismanagement contributed to environmental damage like deforestation, overfishing, and pollution. But I also recognized journalism’s power as an intervention—by increasing transparency, it could increase accountability. And yet, no single Indonesian-language environmental news service connected the country’s vast archipelago. There were important local and regional efforts, but nothing that spanned from Aceh to Papua. So instead of writing a book, I took a different risk. I started a nonprofit. It wasn’t an easy decision. I knew that stepping into this role meant stepping away from what I loved—journalism itself. Running a nonprofit meant fundraising, managing operations, and building an organization from the ground up. I had no experience in any of it. No connections to wealth. No background in philanthropy. No sales skills. Just a belief that it was worth trying. So I applied for grants and I got one. And then, piece by piece, Mongabay evolved into something bigger than I had imagined. Impact, I’ve learned, isn’t about personal recognition. It’s about making choices that prioritize what matters most. Sometimes, that means walking away from the obvious path and building something new instead. 📷 Me on Barro Colorado Island in Panama in 2011. This giant tree no longer stands. It was felled by a windstorm. ℹ️ This post is part of a series about my Mongabay journey.

I don’t get excited about independent evaluations. That’s what I used to think—until one conducted last year on our tropical forests reporting yielded some eye-opening findings. An independent evaluation recently reviewed our work on tropical forest reporting, interviewing 38 stakeholders and analyzing data from over 850 survey respondents. The results were compelling and reinforced the impact of our efforts. Some key takeaways: 👉 74% of respondents use our insights to guide their personal and professional choices. 👉 Among our contributors, 43% have a very favorable opinion of our organization, and 49% hold an extremely favorable view. 👉 73% of the articles funded by us would “probably” or “certainly” not have been written otherwise. The evaluation highlighted our niche in environmental journalism—consistent, in-depth reporting on issues that mainstream media often overlook. Our work has become indispensable to policymakers, scientists, and advocates who rely on credible information to make informed decisions. One respondent summed it up well: “If I’m honest, I wouldn’t be able to find a replacement.” Beyond informing decisions, our work has tangible outcomes: informing policy, amplifying Indigenous voices, and holding powerful entities accountable. Whether it’s exposing illegal deforestation or informing legislative action, our commitment to high-quality journalism continues to make an impact where it matters most. It’s encouraging to see this level of validation, and we remain committed to delivering reporting that drives meaningful change. For those who have followed our work—thank you. Your engagement–and the decisions you make after consuming our stories–fuels our mission.