The struggle to protect nature is also a struggle to explain it. Forests, reefs, and rivers are disappearing faster than our ability to explain why. In many places, those best positioned to tell these stories lack mentorship, funding, or editorial backing. For emerging journalists—or those pivoting from other beats—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. Reporters with sharp instincts but little technical grounding are suddenly tasked with decoding climate policy or satellite data. Without support, their stories risk being shallow or silenced; with it, they can illuminate how environmental change reshapes lives and economies.
Programs like Mongabay…
The struggle to protect nature is also a struggle to explain it. Forests, reefs, and rivers are disappearing faster than our ability to explain why. In many places, those best positioned to tell these stories lack mentorship, funding, or editorial backing. For emerging journalists—or those pivoting from other beats—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. Reporters with sharp instincts but little technical grounding are suddenly tasked with decoding climate policy or satellite data. Without support, their stories risk being shallow or silenced; with it, they can illuminate how environmental change reshapes lives and economies.
Programs like Mongabay’s Y. Eva Tan Fellowship demonstrate what targeted investment can achieve. Since 2022, it has trained roughly 40 early-career journalists across Asia, Africa, and Latin America. The idea is simple: pair local knowledge with professional guidance, and the result is sharper, more trusted reporting.
The benefits ripple outward. Alumni now freelance for national and international outlets, lead new environment desks, or train peers. Their collective work forms an invisible infrastructure of accountability—evidence that information itself can serve as environmental governance. A credible report on deforestation or fisheries abuse can shift public debate, lead to cancellation of a concession, or protect a community’s rights.
Empowering journalists from the Global South also works toward correcting a deeper imbalance. Much of what the world reads about climate and biodiversity still originates in the North, though the steepest consequences fall elsewhere. Local reporters understand language, politics, and power dynamics that outsiders often miss. When they lead coverage, the narrative moves from victimhood to agency—from what is lost to what can be done.
The environmental beat is demanding: it requires fluency in science, economics, and law, and the skill to translate complexity into human stories. Structured fellowships provide not only training but safety nets—legal advice, digital-security guidance, editorial mentorship—that turn learning into lived experience.
Investing in such opportunities is among the most effective ways to strengthen both journalism and conservation. Each fellow trained today becomes tomorrow’s mentor, helping societies make informed choices about the planet they share. In that sense, opportunity is the seed from which renewal grows.
I’m therefore pleased to share that we will be expanding our paid fellowships in 2026: Adding Indonesian and Portuguese, as well as doubling the number of slots in our English program. We’re also hoping to increase Spanish opportunities and continue the Amazon Indigenous communicators initiative. More details to come.
Investing in the next generation of environmental journalists (commentary)