‘Keep going, Ale'

The Star

5 days ago

IN 2018, British journalist Dom Phillips embarked on a 17-day journey into the Javari Valley – a remote and barely-accessible expanse of indigenous land in the western Brazilian Amazon.
He was tracking signs of an uncontacted group increasingly threatened by illegal activity. It was a gruelling 1,050km expe­dition by boat and foot – across slick log bridges, through snake-infested jungle and suffocating heat.
Yet the river, when it reappeared, brought moments Phillips would later describe as 'exquisite loveliness'.
More than the forest's raw beauty, he was captivated by the indigenous guides' deep knowledge of its rhythms – and by the quiet resolve of Bruno Pereira, the expedition leader and a respected official with Brazil's indigenous protection agency, Funai.
Phillips saw in him a rare public ser­vant: not indigenous himself, but fiercely committed to defending indigenous rights and lands.
Pereira navigated the Javari's maze of waterways and tribal tensions with ins­tinctive ease.
When Phillips returned to the region in 2022 to research a book, it was to document how an indigenous patrol, led by Pereira, was defending this lawless terri­tory. But their work – and their lives – came under direct threat.
In June 2022, the two men were murdered by an illegal fishing gang. Yet, the story they were trying to tell did not die with them.
A huge moment in Dom's life
Friends, fellow journalists and family members have since completed Phillips' unfinished manuscript.
The result is How to Save the Amazon: A Journalist's Deadly Quest for Answers, stit­ched together over three years through crowdfunding, grants and determination.
The Javari expedition first featured in a 2018 piece Phillips wrote for The Guar­dian and it opens the book as a pivotal moment in his reporting life.
'It was a huge moment in Dom's life,' said Guardian correspondent Jonathan Watts, who co-authored the book's foreword and contributed a chapter.
'It was a natural starting point – and also maybe fate.'
In June 2022, when news broke that two men had vanished in the Amazon, Watts was among the first to hear – but mista­kenly thought the missing reporter was Tom Phillips, another Guardian journalist.
Tom quickly published the first in a long series of reports on the case – but not before phoning his family to reassure them.
He later joined the frantic search, ­tracing remote rivers in the desperate days before hope ran out.
Where is my friend?
Joining him was photographer Joao Laet, a longtime collaborator and close friend of Dom.
His striking images of the missing journalist would be shared worldwide – but behind the lens, Laet was falling apart.
'It felt like a trance,' he recalled.
Amid weak Internet, constant deadlines and colleagues falling sick with Covid-19, he pushed through on autopilot, haunted by one thought: 'Where is my friend?'
Tears came only after work ended, when exhaustion and grief collapsed into restless sleep.
On June 15, 10 days after the pair disappeared, authorities recovered their bodies.
A suspect confessed to ambushing them during a boat journey, then led police to the burial site.
Phillips was 57. Pereira was 41. Their murders drew rare international attention to the violence roiling the Amazon.
According to investigators, they were killed in retaliation for Pereira's work protecting indigenous land from illegal fishing and mining.
In November 2024, Brazilian prosecutors formally charged the alleged mastermind – a man accused of arming and financing the killers.
It could have been any of us
For Tom, discovering Dom's press card and notebooks deep in the jungle brought the horror home.
'It could have been any of us,' he said.
But with the grief came purpose.
'In some ways, it's therapeutic – to keep doing the work, to have a clear mission. To finish this book. And to keep reporting the hell out of the Amazon.'
Copies of the book 'How to Save the Amazon' by Dom Phillips & contributors for sale inside a bookshop in central London on June 6, following its launch. — AFP
The book team quickly secured Dom's files – digital drafts, audio recordings and his meticulously-kept notebooks.
Contributors began dividing up the material, digging through scribbled shorthand and interviewing those Dom had spoken to in the field.
For his chapter, Tom retraced one of Dom's 2022 trips to Yanomami territory – another vast, remote region as fraught as the Javari.
Decoding his colleague's notes felt like 'breaking a code', he said, but the narrative slowly emerged.
Dom and Tom now share a chapter credit, exploring both the destructive push for Amazonian riches and hopeful efforts, such as a cacao-growing project helping locals earn a sustainable income. Most of the book follows that dual thread – expo­sing conflict while searching for solutions.
Through Dom's eyes
By the time Dom returned to the Javari in 2022, the region had become a hotspot for criminal syndicates – drug traffickers, land grabbers, poachers, illegal ranchers and loggers all jostling for control.
His widow, Alessandra Sampaio, said he often described the book not just as a journalistic investigation, but as a way to forge an emotional bond between readers and the rainforest – a place he felt intensely connected to.
'I knew the Amazon through Dom's eyes,' she said.
For every reporting trip, he sent her detailed itineraries, voice notes, photos and forest reflections.
'Ale, one day you'll come with me,' he would often tell her.
In 2023, Sampaio finally did – joining a government mission to the Javari Valley, symbolic of President Lula da Silva's pledge to restore state presence in the lawless region. Indigenous leaders there continue to demand deeper structural reform.
One moment stayed with her. An indi­genous man embraced her and called her 'family' – reminding her that in their world, family means mutual care and commitment.
That, Sampaio said, sealed her decision.
A legacy in ink
Like so many families left behind after violence, Sampaio has been pulled into the cause through grief.
She now heads the Dom Phillips Insti­tute, supporting young indigenous storytellers and conservation efforts.
Her only request to the book's contri­butors was simple: keep Dom's original, hopeful title. Only the subtitle was chan­ged – as he had inevitably become a central character in the very story he set out to write.
'One thing Dom always told me was, 'Keep going, Ale',' she said.
'Every time I wonder if I can go on, I hear his voice: 'Keep going, Ale'. And I do.' — ©2025 The New York Times Company
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.