An Ode to Story-telling: My Mission to Protect Ocean Life Through Journalism
By Hannah Coogans
I grew up around storytelling. It was the main event at every family dinner and the ritual that lulled me to a dream-filled sleep every night. As a kid, I watched my parents weave stories that had us in stitches and saw how retellings of family folk-tales grew and earned their legendary status with each iteration. With every story I listened to wide-eyed and captivated, I was learning the magical pull of storytelling.
As I got older, stories became a form of social currency – a way of drawing people in and connecting. Stories were traded between friends to see them to the end of another round of drinks, to make a listener erupt in laughter, or to captivate audiences and make them lean in with intrigue. I saw stories turn strangers into friends. Most incredibly, I saw people’s worldview change and grow as they learned about other people’s experiences. Storytelling wasn’t just magic anymore; it was a superpower.
In light of this, my path to becoming an investigative journalist was of no surprise to anyone who knew me. My love of storytelling, complimented by my innate curiosity and need to know the truth, made my career choice feel predestined.
The only thing that ever rivalled my love of stories, was my passion - wildlife, the ocean, and the natural world. Some of the earliest stories I remember devouring were those told by Sir David Attenborough on Blue Planet or in the carefully crafted words of primatologist Jane Goodall. These stories transported me to places and wildlife that were otherwise out of reach. I have since been lucky enough to travel and experience numerous natural wonders myself, arming me with my own stories to inspire the same love and awe in those around me.
But with age, came the devastating realisation that the things that I loved most were in danger of disappearing forever. In many cases, the subjects of my favourite stories ceased to exist or faced insurmountable pressure as the natural world sunk deeper into crisis.
Nowhere has this been more evident than in the ocean. It is where I have uncovered the brutal truths behind depleted shark populations, exposed destructive industrial fishing practices, and followed the threads of global wildlife trafficking that trace back to once-pristine coastlines. While the ocean is where I feel most alive and curious, it has become more than a place of inspiration, it is the frontline of the fight that now defines my work.
I wanted answers - and I wanted accountability. Fuelled by this fire, I spent every university summer holiday working on researching wildlife crime. During that time, I began to understand the complex networks behind wildlife exploitation, and just how detrimental the crimes against our oceans are. After graduating from my bachelors, I turned research into investigation and earned my masters in Investigative Journalism.
In my career so far, I’ve told stories about the devastation caused by industrial fisheries in east Africa, shark fin traded in Hong Kong’s street markets, whales being harpooned in Norway and about the underground lion bone trade from South Africa. I have also been lucky enough to hear stories from the people and communities impacted by the devastation that follows wildlife crime, the ones on the frontlines of these crises.
I have seen my own perspective change in the course of storytelling. Conservation is never black and white, and while theories are widely agreed on in many cases, it is the nuance of conserving each species or environment that can cause conflict. I have been humbled hearing how livelihoods and cultural traditions have been attacked under the guise of protecting land or biodiversity, or how exclusive archaic conservation ideals have been wielded against peoples who have had connections with wildlife for millennia. Despite being an animal lover, some of the most impactful stories for me have been ones where people and wildlife converge. I believe that stories have changed my mind more often than intellectual arguments.
The biggest lesson I have learned is that you do not need to be an investigative journalist, scientist, or politician for your stories to have weight. On a personal level, I have actively engaged my friends and family by sharing my experiences and the things I have been lucky enough to learn about from the source. Whether it be swimming with charismatic sharks, or interviewing industrial fishing crew whose livelihood depended on fishing them, every experience provides me with a story and lesson to share.
To this day, I believe that this has the power to fundamentally change the way people see and interact with the natural world.
Ultimately, people love stories because they make them feel something, they give them an insight into a world they may not be able to access, and they tie them to these things emotionally. Stories make people connect to each other, and to people, places, and things that they may never know about otherwise. When people care, things change.
Although we have a long way to go in the fight to protect the natural world, there are countless more stories to tell, voices to amplify and undiscovered wonders of nature to share. As long as people are sharing stories, there is hope.
