• The accelerating loss of forests, reefs, and rivers is also a failure of information: those closest to the crises often lack the training, mentorship, or editorial support to tell their stories effectively. Structured programs like fellowships bridge that gap, turning local knowledge into credible reporting, argues Mongabay Founder and CEO Rhett Ayers Butler in this commentary.
• Targeted investment in emerging journalists builds both professional capacity and public accountability. Fellows have exposed corruption, documented ecological recovery, and influenced policy, showing how informed reporting can strengthen environmental governance and democratic institutions.
• Empowering local reporters shifts the narrative from victimhood to agency and from crisis to possibility. When journalists are equipped to investigate, explain, and inspire, they help societies make informed choices about the planet’s future—and ensure that stories of loss can also become stories of renewal.
• This article is a commentary. The views expressed are those of the author, not necessarily of Mongabay.

The global environmental crisis is also a crisis of information. The destruction of forests, reefs, and rivers proceeds faster than our ability to explain it. Yet in many countries, the people best placed to tell these stories lack the means, mentorship, or editorial backing to do so. For emerging journalists—and for those shifting from other beats into environmental reporting—the gap between curiosity and capability can be decisive. Bridging it is not charity; it is strategy.

When newsrooms shrink, environmental coverage is often the first to go. Science desks are absorbed, travel budgets vanish, and reporters who once covered courts or crime are suddenly asked to decipher climate policy. Many bring deep investigative instincts, but not the technical literacy to interpret satellite data, read environmental and social impact assessments, or distinguish credible science from spin. Without support, their reporting risks being shallow or silenced. With it, they can become powerful chroniclers of how environmental change reshapes lives and economies.

This is where structured opportunities—paid fellowships, editorial mentorship, and global professional networks—matter. Programs such as Mongabay’s Y. Eva Tan Conservation Reporting Fellowship, which has supported about 40 early-career journalists since 2022, show how targeted investment can transform both journalism and environmental governance. The idea is simple: pair local knowledge and experience with professional guidance, and the result is sharper, more trusted storytelling.

Mongabay Latam’s program for Indigenous communicators in the Ecuadorian Amazon. The first cohort included two Shuar reporters and one Kichwa reporter.

Fellows from Indonesia to Nigeria have uncovered illegal mining, exposed fraudulent carbon-credit schemes, and documented the recovery of threatened species. Their stories have appeared in multiple languages and been cited by policymakers, prosecutors, and conservation groups. These are not isolated triumphs. They illustrate how opportunity converts potential into public value. A single well-trained reporter can help shift the narrative of an entire region by showing how abstract global forces—climate finance, commodity markets, biodiversity treaties—play out in a village, a mangrove, or a courtroom.

Crucially, programs like these do not impose a single worldview. They equip journalists to pursue truth wherever it leads. Participants learn to interrogate data, verify community testimony, and maintain editorial independence even when covering powerful interests. The emphasis on ethical rigor and factual precision is deliberate: in an era of misinformation, credibility is a reporter’s most renewable resource.

For journalists transitioning from non-environmental beats, the benefits are two-fold. First, they bring fresh lenses. A business reporter following corporate supply chains may reveal environmental impacts hidden in spreadsheets, while a political correspondent may track how campaign donations shape conservation policy. Second, these newcomers broaden the constituency for environmental news. When mainstream editors see that a story about mangrove loss can be framed through economics or public health, the environment ceases to be a niche subject and becomes part of the daily news diet.

The ripple effects are measurable. Many alumni of Mongabay’s fellowship programs now freelance for national and international outlets or lead environment desks that did not exist before. Some have launched local investigative units. Others have trained peers, multiplying the original investment. A few have inspired direct policy responses—government audits, canceled land deals, protected forests. Their collective output forms an invisible infrastructure of accountability.

Sandhya Sekar in Kerala, India in 2025. Sekar was a Mongabay intern in 2013. In 2017 she became the founding director of Mongabay India. Photo by Rhett Ayers Butler.

Why does this matter now? Because environmental journalism faces a paradox. Public interest in climate change has never been higher, yet business models sustaining independent reporting remain precarious. Social media platforms that once amplified news now throttle it. Disinformation floods timelines faster than evidence can refute it. Under these conditions, nurturing the next generation of reporters is not optional; it is the only way to keep credible information flowing.

It also addresses a deeper imbalance. Much of what the world reads about the climate and biodiversity crises still originates from the Global North, even though the steepest consequences of them are typically borne in the Global South. Empowering local journalists corrects this distortion. They understand context, language, and power dynamics that foreign correspondents often miss. They can enter communities with more trust where outsiders are viewed with suspicion, and they remain to track what happens after headlines fade.

The environmental beat is technically demanding. It requires fluency in economics, politics, ecology, and law—plus the ability to translate complexity into human narrative. A fellowship cannot teach passion, but it can teach methods: how to cross-check satellite imagery, interpret contracts, or trace corporate ownership across jurisdictions. It can also provide safety nets—legal guidance, digital security training, and editorial backing—for reporters confronting intimidation or censorship. And by guiding fellows through the full arc of publication, such programs turn learning into practical and lived experience.

The impact of such investment extends beyond journalism itself. In countries where independent media are fragile, well-sourced environmental stories can reinforce the scaffolding of democracy. They expose corruption, reveal misuse of natural resources, and give voice to communities excluded from decision-making. A credible report on illegal logging can trigger an investigation, halt a concession, or amplify local leaders’ defense of their rights. Information, when accurate and accessible, becomes a form of environmental governance.

Equally important is the moral dimension. For many young journalists, witnessing ecological loss up close is emotionally taxing. They document fires, floods, and extinctions with little institutional support. Fellowship programs that pair training with peer networks provide more than professional growth; they offer mutual support, solidarity, and resilience. Sharing experiences with colleagues from other countries reminds participants that they are part of a global effort, not isolated witnesses to decline.

Such initiatives also recalibrate the narrative of conservation itself. Too often, stories from regions like Africa or South Asia are filtered through outsiders. When local reporters lead, coverage shifts from victimhood to agency: from what is lost to what can be done. Their reporting captures not only crises but also solutions: Indigenous stewardship, community-led restoration, renewable energy innovation. This balance matters. As cognitive research shows, audiences are more likely to act when they see possibility alongside peril.

Abhishyant Kidangoor, who participated in the Sue Palminteri Fellowship in 2022, is now a Mongabay staff writer. Images courtesy of Abhishyant Kidangoor.

None of this happens automatically. Fellowships require funding, editorial mentors, and long-term commitment. But compared with the cost of misinformation or environmental collapse, the investment is modest. The return is cumulative: each journalist trained today becomes tomorrow’s mentor, building a self-sustaining ecosystem of expertise.

The world’s environmental challenges are vast, but their coverage still depends on individual curiosity and courage. Giving that curiosity a platform and resources to bear fruit is among the most effective ways to strengthen both journalism and conservation. Emerging and transitioning reporters are not merely storytellers; they connect the lessons of the past to the realities of the present and the choices that will shape our future. When they are equipped to investigate, explain, and inspire, societies are better positioned to make informed choices about the planet we inhabit.

In the end, opportunity is the catalyst that turns observation into impact. By investing in the people who tell nature’s stories, we invest in the possibility that those stories will end not in loss, but in renewal.

Header image: Child holding an oak seedling in California. Image by Rhett Ayers Butler