At some point in deep autumn, it finally happened.

My CEO, Zsuzsanna Lippai, who keeps an eye on these things, posted a message in our work Signal group, confirming that the small nonprofit newsroom she and I lead, The Fuller Project, was moving up in the world…the world of right-wing media monitors that is.

Fuller had been listed on InfluenceWatch.

The post is short and, as an editor, I take issue only with its grammatical errors. But its central purpose is not to troll me with typos but rather to make its audience aware of our “claims [emphasis my own] to report on gender equality-related issues for women.”

Influence Watch isn’t wrong. In the 10 years The Fuller Project has existed, every editor-in-chief before me has signed up to use investigative, explanatory, and enterprise journalism to “catalyze positive change for women.” In my 11 months at the helm, I’ve doubled down on that mission, only deviating to explicitly name “gender minorities” alongside “women” and to add new tools and narrative techniques to our impact journalism toolbox.

I had come to Fuller planning a gentle transformation: add social-first video, work with more local reporters and content creators around the world, reintroduce a conflict beat. But the unprecedented speed at which all manner of work on gender inequality, women and gender minority rights — even those words themselves — have become anathema, has necessitated something altogether more radical, and at times, uncomfortable: a commitment to loudly, ambitiously exist.

The attacks on the media, on diversity, on facts, and on women and other minoritised groups will be news to no one. Nor will the challenges of funding public-service journalism or predicting what Google or Meta might do next. But, to my mind, as we seek to weather the myriad storms, too much attention is paid to legacy newsrooms.

Perhaps it’s simply assumed that the smaller organizations will just not survive. It is certainly true that many have already closed up shop. Still, in this new gilded age where the tech barons are consolidating their power by gobbling up broadcast and print media, I can’t help but feel that the future is being written by smaller organisations who, in the face of incredible challenges, are choosing to innovate, take calculated risk, and continue to invest in figuring out how we bring value to our underserved audiences.

A few other newsrooms have been a beacon to me in this regard. I’ll name just three: Refusing to play the “How will journalism work with AI?” game, Coda Story has expanded into live events. With Zeg, Coda Story serves up conversation, connection, and copious amounts of chacha; all of which affirm the role of the journalist as the bridge builder, a guide to meaningmaking.

Second is The Continent, a weekly pan-African newspaper distributed by WhatsApp, whose leaders, in the year of our lord 2025, despite brutal funding cuts, decided to launch a second publication, The Friday Paper.

And then there’s the OG, Maria Ressa. When I first heard her speak to a room full of adoring journalists on Google’s campus in 2019, I was struck both by her courage in the face of direct, personal attacks by the Duterte government and by her determination to keep Rappler, the newspaper she co-founded, accessible to poorer Filipinos. It seemed to me that a few of our peers that day were as taken with the latter point as I was. Journalists, after all, are trained to fixate on the exception. We don’t often look to see what principles or values might become the norm until they are undeniable and in everybody’s face.

For me, in all three examples, I see a clear-eyed and steadfast commitment to journalism as service.

None of the old(er) existential threats to journalism — and the new ones in the shape of hostility from increasingly mainstream far-right politicians — are going anywhere in 2026. Yet journalism is nothing if it doesn’t meet people where they are; providing context and community, including new perspectives, pursuing accountability, and allowing room for emotion, imagination, and even challenging conversation.

In times of abundance and relative safety, it’s hard to know what motivates you to do the work.

Crisis is clarifying. So, in 2026, use it to prepare your newsroom to withstand plausible legal and financial threats. But let this moment also lead you back to your audiences and how your organisation can better serve them.

There are no guarantees of success. But, as we enter into the new year, I can’t but ask: If not now, when? If not us, who?