For weeks after Dom and Bruno’s deaths, the nearest town of Atalaia do Norte was flooded with reporters. Residents wryly noted that the intense coverage of the death of a white foreign journalist was in striking contrast with the murder three years earlier of FUNAI officer Maxciel Pereira dos Santos, who had worked closely with Bruno in tracing illegal fishing and hunting operations. Maxciel’s family believes the assassination was carried out by the same people who killed Bruno and Dom. But nobody was ever charged, and the case barely made a ripple outside the region.

As well as the double standards, Higson said the treatment of the two crimes showed the power of stories that can attract a global audience. “When they killed Maxciel, nothing happened. But with Dom and Bruno, there was an enormous interest.” He saw this as a positive: “The media was the focal point for the world to learn about the defenders of the forest.”

Dom was an unusual Amazon martyr in being white and from a rich nation. Most of the others were Indigenous, quilombolas, ribeirinhos—victims of murders that were never investigated or covered by the media, people whose names and faces were largely unknown outside their hometowns. It is a similar story across the world, where more than 1,900 people have been murdered since 2012 trying to protect their land and resources. That’s an average of one killing every two days.

I wonder how Dom would have written about the post-Bolsonaro years. Since he and Bruno died, there have been a few positive signs of change. In 2023, the Workers’ Party president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva promised zero deforestation by the end of the decade, appointed Brazil’s first Indigenous minister, Sonia Guajajara, recognized more than half a dozen new Indigenous territories, initiated moves toward a bioeconomy, and saw his environment minister, the Amazonian Marina Silva, delay approval for oil exploration near the mouth of the Amazon river and a new license for the Belo Monte hydroelectric dam.

This was progress, though it was uneven and not nearly enough. Indigenous groups in the Javari Valley said they saw no improvement on the ground. Elsewhere, some problems became worse. The agribusiness-dominated Congress moved to limit future land demarcations and tried to push forward new megaprojects, including a major upgrade of the BR-319 highway through one of the last pristine areas of rainforest.

It is a reminder, if one were needed, that government-led command-and-control politics are important but limited. Deforestation has been cut by an impressive 50 percent, but this merely slowed the destruction. The Amazon is still moving ever closer to a tipping point.

If the forest and its people are to resist this and maintain their diversity, independence, and traditional culture, a more profound transformation is needed. The core Amazon battle is for hearts and minds. Sure, defending territory on the ground was a crucial first step. Securing government support could then slow destruction. Bringing transparency to beef and soy supply chains would help too. As would a rethink about destructive infrastructure projects. Valuing forests more alive than dead would be a game changer. Securing international finance should accelerate the transition to a sustainable future. Ecotourism and carbon taxes might have a role to play. Compelling global pharmaceutical companies to share the benefits of biodiversity would incentivize conservation and support livelihoods.

But for all of these ideas to work, what matters most is a healthier way of thinking about the forest. It is about listening, about building a new relationship with nature. Or, better still, rediscovering the virtues of an old one. That does not need to be complicated. It can be instinctive. It can be the feeling of delight in seeing the world as it should be. It can even start with the simple expression of joy Dom shared in the last social media post of his life: ¡Amazônia, sua linda!—Amazonia, you beauty!