“What journalism has taught me more than anything is persistence. You’ll hear a lot of ‘no’s throughout your life, but being persistent—in journalism, and in life in general—is always rule number one if you want to achieve your dreams.”
The desire to become a journalist began early for Mariana van Zeller—at the age of 12, sitting on the couch with her family in Portugal. Before the sacred ritual of the nightly Brazilian soap opera came the news broadcast. It was there, watching the anchors talk about what was happening in the world—the Brazilian economy, U.S. military operations, all explained with such clarity—that Mariana became enchanted.
“I thought they were the smartest people in the world,” she says, laughing. “How could they know so much, just from memory?” At the time, she had no idea they were reading from a teleprompter. It was in that familiar, curiosity-filled setting that she made her decision: “I want to be like those people. I want to understand the world.”
What might have seemed like a childhood dream soon became a life plan. Mariana grew up with that thirst for learning and telling true stories. From early on, what moved her was curiosity—and the drive to get closer to what most people prefer to turn away from.
And if there’s one thing she learned early in her journey, it’s that closed doors don’t mean the end of the road. Persistence—now almost a trademark of her journalism—was also her first major lesson as a future reporter, long before she ever held a microphone.
“I went to college in Portugal and started applying for the journalism master’s program at Columbia University in the U.S.,” she recalls. “The first year, I wasn’t accepted. The second year, I made the waitlist… but I didn’t get in then either.”
At that point, many people might have given up. But not Mariana. “On the third year, I decided I was going to fly to New York and knock on the dean’s door.” And that’s exactly what she did.
“I said, ‘I’m Mariana, I’m Portuguese, and my dream is to study at this university,’” she tells.
The bold move—which might have seemed impulsive to some—opened the door to what would become a globally impactful career. “That year, I was accepted,” she says, smiling. “And that taught me the first great lesson of journalism: persistence. We’re going to hear many ‘no’s in life, but being persistent—in journalism and in life—is the number one rule to making our dreams come true.”
And that’s how she began forging the path that would make her one of the leading investigative journalists of her generation.
There’s something about Mariana that reaches through the screen with grace: a steady yet welcoming presence, one that commands attention without ever raising her voice. That’s exactly how she revealed herself in front of Kathlyn Almeida’s lens during the exclusive editorial for D’Idées, held at the Delphi Hotel in Downtown Los Angeles—a space that, like her, rewrites narratives and overflows with authenticity. With its architecture inspired by the vibrant Los Angeles of the 1960s, the hotel served as the perfect backdrop to capture the essence of a journalist who dives fearlessly into the world’s most challenging stories.
Makeup was done by Itzel, an artist who uses her craft to empower immigrants and elevate creative standards in the beauty industry. Hair was styled by Samm Castro, a hairstylist known for his aesthetic sensitivity and inventiveness, capable of turning every strand into a form of expression.
Behind the scenes, between bursts of laughter with the team, Mariana shared behind-the-scenes anecdotes from Trafficked, her award-winning documentary series for Nat Geo, where she investigates the inner—and often dangerous—workings of underground networks around the world.
At one point in our conversation, I couldn’t help but joke, “Didn’t your mom want to kill you?”—given the many dangerous places she’s been to. Mariana burst into laughter and replied with the honesty of someone who’s always had the freedom to be exactly who she is:
“My mom wanted to kill me many times throughout my life,” she said, laughing. “But I’m lucky to have a mom and dad who always believed in my dreams and trusted that I’d know the difference between what’s safe and what’s not. They were never overprotective. Since I was little, if I wanted to climb a tree, they let me. If I had wild ideas, they let me have them, too. They gave me room to be creative and explore. I try to do the same with my son. One of the biggest pieces of advice I have as a mother is to give our children space—to fail, to grow, to make mistakes, to fall. Because in the end, that’s how they’ll discover themselves and go after their own dreams. That’s how they’ll become who they truly are.”
This blend of courage and tenderness is what makes her so singular: a woman who doesn’t just report on the world—she listens to it, steps into it, and still finds room to cultivate lightness amid complexity.
It was with that same courage that Mariana boarded a flight to New York, after finally being accepted into the journalism master’s program at Columbia University — a milestone that came only after three attempts and unwavering persistence. She arrived in the United States with little familiarity with investigative journalism or documentaries.
“In Portugal, I didn’t have much access to that kind of journalism. But once I got into Columbia, everything changed,” she recalls.
And it only took three weeks on American soil for the world — and fate itself — to place Mariana before the greatest challenge of her life up to that point. It was September 2001.
“It was 9/11. And I was the only Portuguese journalist in Manhattan at the time. The TV station I worked with in Portugal called me and said, ‘You need to get on a rooftop and go live to report on the attacks.’ I was trembling with nerves. My mother, on the other end of the line, was crying, begging me not to leave the house. But I felt I had to go. It was my dream — to be a journalist.”
Mariana climbed up. And she went live, surrounded by journalists she had admired since childhood — international colleagues with decades of experience. She ended the broadcast with a racing heart and a quiet, relieved smile. But as she made her way back down through the streets of New York, everything changed.
“I started seeing the posters… People searching for their brothers, fathers, wives, friends. The whole city was in shock. That’s when I realized I had just witnessed a historic moment. A tragic one. And a moment that would change my life forever.”
It was also there that Mariana learned her first profound lesson as a journalist: the job demands presence, courage, and above all, humanity.
The impact of 9/11 didn’t just shape her worldview — it redefined her professional purpose. Amid the chaos, the unanswered questions, and the urgent need to understand the roots of such pain, she found her path.
“I immediately decided I wanted to do investigative journalism. I wanted to give context, to try to understand why things like this happen.”
The restlessness born in the streets of New York would lead Mariana to an even more challenging — and as she describes it, transformative — destination. Just one year after completing her master’s at Columbia University, she packed her bags and moved to the Middle East. The war in Iraq had just begun, and she wanted to be close to the heart of the news.
“I moved to Syria, which borders Iraq. I wanted to learn Arabic. I knew the Middle East was going to be at the center of global attention, and I wanted to be close to the action.”
The decision, courageous in and of itself, came with an even more intense reality: doing journalism in a region where the profession was often seen as a threat.
“I became kind of a secret journalist, because at the time you couldn’t openly report in Syria.”
Without a major newsroom behind her, with few resources and boundless determination, Mariana took her first steps as a freelance reporter. Hunting for stories with the same curious gaze as always, she found creative ways to support herself.
“I had no money. I was a broke freelance journalist… so I sold rugs.”
She bought Syrian rugs and shipped them to her mother in Portugal, who hosted tea parties with her friends to sell the pieces and send the proceeds to her daughter. With that money, Mariana managed to survive for several months in Syria — while learning Arabic and seeking out stories that needed to be told.
“That’s when I found my first real story as a freelance journalist,” she says, with the spark of someone reliving a defining moment.
“It was about Syrian foreign fighters — young men crossing the border to fight against the Americans in Iraq.”
At the time, no one was talking about it. These were invisible stories, buried beneath the noise of war and diplomacy. But Mariana, with the help of a Syrian friend, achieved what seemed impossible: she filmed interviews with those fighters and brought to light a powerful, uncomfortable, and urgent narrative.
“For me, it was a moment of deep discovery,” she says. “I realized there are these underground markets, these hidden worlds that people have little access to — but that have an enormous impact on our lives.”
It was there that a journalist was born — one willing to cross borders, both physical and emotional, to understand the backstage of the world. And it was with that story, born from improvisation and courage, that Mariana made a decision that would forever alter the course of her life:
“That’s when I decided I would dedicate myself to investigative journalism and focus on illegal markets around the world.”
The piece, produced with limited resources and sharp instincts, found a home on Channel 4 in the UK — and more than that, it opened a new path.
“It was with the money we earned from selling that story that we began to think differently,” she recalls. “After all, we were freelance journalists — broke, like so many others. But I wanted to understand: what was my advantage? My edge, as they say in the U.S.”
At that time, Mariana was already sharing her life — and her profession — with her then-boyfriend, a fellow Columbia classmate who would later become her husband. It was with him that she produced that first story in Syria.
“He came to visit me, and I told him I wanted to do this piece, and we did it together.”
From there, they traveled to London with raw footage in hand and dreams in their eyes. They edited everything on their own and managed to sell the piece. And it was during that journey that Mariana began to see more clearly what her most valuable tools were for moving forward in the competitive world of international journalism.
“For me, one of my biggest advantages has always been that I speak several languages,” she says. “I speak Portuguese. I’m Portuguese. And Brazil… Brazil is a huge country, full of incredible stories.”
That realization — that her cultural and linguistic background could be her differentiator — would be essential for the next steps in her career. Mariana’s restlessness continued guiding her path, and now she knew she could look at the world not just through the eyes of an outsider, but with the understanding of someone who belonged to more than one place.
With the conviction that Brazil held unique stories waiting to be told, Mariana and her partner, Darren Foster — director and producer — decided to cross the ocean. They bought their plane tickets and landed in Rio de Janeiro with the courage of those who may have little, but believe greatly.
In their very first week in the city, she opened the newspaper and came across a story about illegal mining in the Cinta Larga Indigenous Reserve in Rondônia. What caught her attention was the gravity of the situation: a massacre had left around 30 miners dead. Mariana was instantly intrigued.
“Wow, this is a really compelling story,” she thought.
Curious and determined, she began making phone calls. Eventually, she managed to get in touch with the head of the Federal Police overseeing the case — a man known for his no-nonsense demeanor, almost legendary in stature, whom Mariana describes as the “John Wayne of the Amazon.”
To her surprise, he agreed to let her and her partner closely follow the police operation.
What followed were four long days on a budget bus to Rondônia. An uncomfortable journey, but one filled with anticipation. Upon arrival, they went straight into the jungle. They spent three to four weeks camped in the heart of the Amazon, alongside the Federal Police team investigating the massacre. There, deep in the forest, they gained access not only to the operations but also to members of the Cinta Larga Indigenous group and surviving miners who had witnessed the violence firsthand.
With the rare footage they captured — raw images, powerful interviews, and a perceptive lens — they sold their first major documentary report. PBS, in the United States, bought the piece.
“It was a big achievement for us,” Mariana says, her voice lighting up at the memory.
The payment allowed them to buy their first semi-professional camera — a tool that, for two independent journalists, meant freedom and opportunity. Shortly afterward, a new possibility emerged: a newly created television channel founded by Al Gore, called Current TV, was looking for young reporters who could do it all — film, edit, and tell stories with full autonomy.
They sent in their material. And they were hired.
That marked the beginning of a new chapter: six or seven years traveling the world as digital correspondents, producing reports from different corners of the globe — many of them, in Brazil itself.
“Because I love Brazil,” she says. “I’m absolutely passionate about Brazil.”
Mariana’s connection to Brazil didn’t end with that first big story. Since then, the country has become a place of constant return — both professionally and emotionally.
“I’ve traveled to the Amazon… more than seven, eight, nine times,” she shares. She’s produced countless in-depth reports immersed in the rainforest.
But it wasn’t just the jungle that became the backdrop for her storytelling.
“I’ve done several pieces in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro,” she recalls. From hilltops to deep forest trails, she unearthed stories that reveal the many layers of a country as diverse as it is intense. And she doesn’t hide her affection:
“I have such a deep love for Brazil. So whenever I have an excuse, I come back.”
Among her most recent works in the country is a powerful episode about militias — the result of an investigation she carried out the previous year. The report is part of the new season of Trafficked, her documentary series that unravels underground networks of power and illicit economies across the world.
Originally aired by National Geographic, the series can now be watched in Brazil on Disney Plus, following the channel’s exit from cable television.
The series Trafficked means far more than a successful project to Mariana — it is, in truth, the materialization of a dream.
“Especially with Trafficked, with the series… it came after years and years of reporting on these illegal markets,” she says. It was a path paved with stamina, investigation, and persistence.
“To finally have a TV series truly focused on the work I do… for me, it’s been a dream come true.”
But getting to this point was anything but easy. On the contrary. The transition from Portugal to the United States was marked by deep challenges and a constant feeling of uncertainty.
“It was not easy,” she says, with the honesty of someone who never romanticized the journey.
“I think the unemployment rate among people who graduate from journalism schools is huge. We all know it’s not going to be easy.”
She never had illusions about what it meant to choose journalism as a profession.
“You don’t become a journalist because you want to be rich or have an easy life. It’s a calling.”
Mariana speaks of journalism as one speaks of fate — not something you choose, but something you accept, with courage and conviction.
“It was really hard in the beginning. Leaving my family to go to a country I didn’t know. Where I didn’t know anyone. Surrounded by uncertainty.”
And still, she never wavered.
“For me, it was always the only option. I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life. I knew all the sacrifice would be worth it.”
And it was. Story by story, Mariana built a solid, respected career — one with international recognition.
“Because I knew that one day, I would become a serious journalist. And be paid for my work.”
Today, when she sees her name in the credits of a series like Trafficked — one that reveals the inner workings of illegal global markets — she knows every bit of effort was worth it.
“After so much hard work, after grinding it out, I finally reached my dream.”
That body of work — built on courage, empathy, and years of investigation — has not gone unnoticed.
Trafficked received an impressive 20 Emmy nominations in 2024, a remarkable achievement for a documentary series that dives so deeply into complex and often invisible realities. Of those nominations, five became wins, celebrating episodes that explored topics ranging from ghost gun trafficking to the underworld of cybercrime.
But the impact of the series went far beyond technical accolades. It also cemented Mariana’s place as one of the most respected journalists of her generation.
But why delve into such a dark and dangerous world — the world of illegal markets?
For Mariana, the answer is clear — and rooted in the purpose that has guided her career from the beginning.
“Most people don’t realize it, but these illegal and informal markets represent nearly 38% of the global economy,” she explains. “And yet, almost no one knows anything about them. It’s a world we understand very little.”
It was that gap — between what is lived and what is known — that sparked a deep restlessness in her. From early on, Mariana saw an essential journalistic frontier in that space: investigating what exists at the margins of legality, but at the very center of global economic and social machinery.
“Whether it’s drug trafficking, arms smuggling, illegal immigration, or online scams that victimize thousands of people… all of these markets have an enormous impact on our daily lives,” she says.
Her mission, then, has never been just to report. It has always been to shed light. To bring out of the shadows the forces that shape policies, fuel conflicts, destroy communities — and, at the same time, move billions.
“I’ve always seen it as my mission — and the mission of the journalism I do — to bring knowledge, to shine a light on these markets.”
And so, episode after episode, Mariana van Zeller continues to fulfill that mission with courage and humanity.
Interviewing traffickers, smugglers, immigrants, victims, and criminals, she builds portraits that defy clichés and broaden the public’s understanding of subjects that often only appear in headlines in the most superficial way.
Amidst the harsh and dangerous topics she investigates, there is one detail that, although silent, never goes unnoticed: Mariana van Zeller is, almost always, the only woman in the room.
“I’m almost always the only woman. Almost always. In a room, in a house… Surrounded by men. Usually armed. And wearing masks,” she says, with the natural ease of someone who has grown used to this reality, though never ignoring the weight of what it represents.
In a journalistic universe largely dominated by male figures — both in subject matter and in those covering it — Mariana doesn’t just take up space. She transforms it. “I always say: I use the qualities of being a woman to my advantage. As women, we’re constantly underestimated. They don’t know the power I hold. The capacity I have as a woman… And that often works in my favor.”
Far from trying to masculinize herself to gain acceptance, she leans into qualities traditionally attributed to femininity to build rapport with sources and stories. “Empathy is one of our greatest strengths,” she reflects. “And I use that empathy all the time. For me, one of the most important parts of journalism is trying to understand the ‘why’ — not to judge.”
This approach — blending genuine listening, courage, and sensitivity — is what allows her to sit face-to-face with traffickers, smugglers, scammers, and criminals — people who usually refuse to speak with the press — and extract not only information but humanity.
“When I’m interviewing these scammers, arms or drug traffickers, I tell them: ‘I’m here to listen to your story. With curiosity and empathy. Not to judge.’ That changes everything. It makes them feel comfortable enough to let me into their world.”
It’s this attentive listening and nonjudgmental gaze that grant Mariana access to spaces where few can tread — and show that being a woman, in such a setting, can also be a privilege. “Being a woman has huge advantages for me. And I think all of us should be exploring that.”
After hearing Mariana recount her journey, I asked if there was a female journalist who had inspired her early in her career. Her answer came without hesitation.
“Yes, Christiane Amanpour, from CNN,” she said, with a smile that seemed to draw up very vivid memories. “I remember being a teenager in Portugal, watching CNN during the first war in Iraq. It was the Gulf War. And I saw her doing those reports, in a world that was usually dominated by men… Seeing a woman there, doing that, was the moment I realized: ‘She’s a woman and she’s doing this. I can do it too.’”
The reference turned into lasting admiration — and, years later, into something even more powerful. “She was always my hero. And I’ve met her in person. She really enjoys watching my reports, and always has the kindest words about my work.”
But it was at an awards ceremony that this symbolic relationship took on an almost surreal quality. “Last year, we were nominated for the Emmys, and we won five. Christiane Amanpour was there, watching us win Emmy after Emmy.” When Amanpour herself took the stage to receive her award, she made a joke Mariana will never forget. “She said something like: ‘Mariana, thanks for leaving this Emmy for me… because you’ve already taken all the others!’”
“It was a moment that completely floored me. I grabbed my husband’s arm and said: ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ Seeing my biggest inspiration on that stage, making a sweet joke about me… it was profoundly rewarding.”
Today, Mariana is to other young journalists what Amanpour was to her: proof that it’s possible to take up space in a world still ruled by men.
When I asked her about the behind-the-scenes of her reports — the real risks and extreme situations — she didn’t hold back on the details. And with the same calm demeanor she uses to describe journalistic work, she shared one of the most intense episodes of her career: the moment she was trapped during a military coup in Niger.
“There were many moments of uncertainty,” she began. “Including when I got stuck during the coup d’état in Niger. I didn’t know if I’d be able to get out.” A coup d’état occurs when a government authority is overthrown by military forces or armed groups — almost always in a violent and unexpected manner. “They closed the airspace, closed the borders, and we were in a desert area. Surrounded by terrorist groups: ISIS, Al-Qaeda, Boko Haram. And several kidnapping squads.”
Kidnapping squads are organized groups specialized in abductions — many of them operating in conflict zones as a way to finance illegal activities. Being in such a region, with no means of escape and in the presence of terrorist organizations, is an extreme situation that even seasoned journalists rarely face.
“It was a week of great unrest, of fear,” she admitted. “But never, not even in moments like that, did I think about giving up.”
Mariana also shared other high-risk situations: “We’ve been surrounded by cartel members in Mexico, in Sinaloa. We’ve come face to face with armed individuals — and even armed children — in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.” Still, she assures that she never hesitated. “There were many moments of fear. But there was never a moment when I thought maybe this wasn’t the profession I wanted to pursue.”
It is precisely this conviction — almost serene, yet deeply resolute — that defines the essence of her work. She doesn’t romanticize risk, but she also doesn’t allow it to paralyze her. Her focus is always on a greater mission: to understand, investigate, and translate hidden realities for the public, even if it means stepping into the heart of danger.
At a certain point in our conversation, I asked Mariana which story had been the hardest to tell while filming her series. She paused for a moment, then, with an expression that mixed strength and vulnerability, she shared:
“I think the interview we did with the killer here in Los Angeles was a tough one for me.”
Mariana always approaches others with empathy — even when facing individuals who live on the margins of legality. Her approach isn’t rooted in judgment but in a genuine desire to understand what led someone to cross certain lines. However, that’s not always possible.
“With this killer, it was pure coldness,” she confessed. “It was very hard to find anything positive about this person. And that was hard for me, because I always try to find the good. All of us, as human beings, carry both light and darkness within. But in this case…”
The difficulty in finding even a trace of humanity was not due to an excess of sensitivity, but rather to the very ethics that Mariana carries throughout her career: the belief that journalism can uncover the roots of violence — without glamorizing, without justifying, but also without dehumanizing. When that layer simply doesn’t appear, it feels as if something essential is missing from the narrative.
Another moment that deeply marked her was an interview with an organ trafficker in Colombia. “He showed videos of them killing migrants and removing body parts. It was extremely difficult. I even became a bit skeptical at that moment, not knowing if it was real or if he was just trying to shock me. But he showed the videos… and it was horrifying.”
Despite carrying these heavy memories, Mariana also holds close stories of resilience, strength, and love. “There were beautiful moments too,” she recalled. “Like seeing the mothers in Mexico searching for their missing children. Every day, they go out and dig with their bare hands, because they know the bodies are buried there… They just want to find them. It was deeply moving.”
Or when she had the chance to speak with the widow of Marielle Franco. “A woman who turned pain into action and was elected as a congresswoman to continue defending the causes Marielle believed in.”
“Amid so many traffickers, scammers, and murderers, we also managed to speak with people who gave me great inspiration for the future.”
The contrast between horror and hope is perhaps what best defines Mariana’s work. Her journalistic gaze is always alert to the darkest corners of the world — but also to what still shines, even in the midst of shadows.
Faced with such intense stories — like the one with the murderer in Los Angeles or the organ trafficker in Colombia — it was impossible not to wonder how Mariana deals with the risks and dangers of covering such extreme subjects. How do you protect your own integrity when you’re face to face with people capable of such brutal acts?
With the calm of someone who’s been through many tension zones, she answered:
“There are a lot of rules we follow when we go out filming. We spend months, sometimes years, trying to gain access to these people and these worlds. When we finally get there, there’s already an agreement — the person may not want to show their face, may ask to have their voice altered, or require that their location not be revealed.”
These conditions are essential for the meeting to take place. But even so, the unpredictable is always lurking.
“There have been situations where everything was set, and when we arrived, the person decided they wanted to leave, or that they weren’t happy with something, or even threatened us. And then… everything changes.”
Exposure to risk isn’t the exception — it’s a constant possibility. Still, Mariana doesn’t back down. And perhaps the secret lies in a delicate balance that she herself acknowledges exists within her:
“In my head, there’s a constant battle between curiosity and fear. And usually, curiosity always wins.”
She laughs, aware that this impulse doesn’t always lead to comfortable places. But it’s also what drives her — and what turns her reports into vivid, deeply human portraits.
“I think part of the work I do is this: treating other human beings, even those we consider criminals, with respect. If we treat people with empathy, they usually treat us with respect too. And for me, that’s how it’s been in almost every situation.”
The choice to look at others without filters or prejudice — even in the face of brutality — may be the most striking feature of her journalism. Mariana doesn’t present herself as a heroine. She simply believes that if she enters a place with respect, she’ll be received the same way. And so far, that belief has proven true.
After hearing so many intense stories and reflecting on the dangers faced in the field, I asked Mariana what she hopes to provoke in the people who watch her series Trafficked. What kind of reflection does she hope to spark by exposing such raw, often invisible, realities?
She doesn’t hesitate in her answer. She speaks with conviction, but also with the gaze of someone who truly believes change — even if just a little — is possible in how we view the world:
“I think that just becoming aware that these illegal markets exist, that they are global, that they’re all around us and have a huge impact on our lives — that’s already a step. It’s what economists call The Hidden Third — the hidden third. This part of the world we don’t see, but that directly interferes with how we live.”
But beyond the shock or the denunciation, there’s something even more essential for her: empathy. The recognition of humanity, even where the system insists there is none.
“One of the big messages I try to convey in the series is this idea of finding humanity in people. At the end of the day, no one is born wanting to be a criminal. It’s the circumstances, the disadvantages, the inequality… that push someone down this path.”
Mariana speaks with social awareness, but without being didactic. What she has seen — and lived — doesn’t fit into easy speeches. She mentions the armed communities in Rio and São Paulo and states, with conviction:
“If these same people had grown up in different areas of the city or the country, they wouldn’t be in the Comando Vermelho or the PCC. They wouldn’t be criminals.”
And she concludes with the sensitivity that runs through all her work:
“The geography where you’re born, where you live, has a huge impact on who you will become. And it’s with this understanding that we need to look at others — with humanity. Trying to understand why someone becomes a criminal is much more important than judging them for being one.”
Throughout the conversation, it became clear that Mariana never returns from filming the same person. And when I ask if this perspective — that no one is born destined for crime — was, in fact, the greatest lesson she took away from Trafficked, she answers without hesitation.
“Completely,” she affirms. “It’s knowing that, even traveling to the most distant corners of these illegal markets, of our society, of our world, I can still find people who are just like us. Who are human, who are mothers, fathers, our neighbors. Who want to be happy, just like us.”
The pause in her speech leaves room for the echo of something greater. Because, for Mariana, this is the true essence of the series — the realization that behind violent structures and illegal plots, there are stories that don’t fit only into labels.
“No one is born wanting to be a criminal,” she says. “For me, that’s the most important message of the series.”
But is the public ready to absorb this complexity? To understand that not everything is black and white, victim or villain?
“I hope so,” she responds, with delicate hope. “We keep trying to spread this message, one person through another, right? You understood?”
I did understand. And I press a little further: how do you balance empathy and responsibility? How do you listen with humanity while also maintaining the critical eye of a journalist?
“Of course, but having empathy doesn’t mean we don’t hold these people accountable, that we don’t ask the tough questions,” she explains.
“We ask the tough questions. I always ask the tough questions — even sometimes at my own risk.”
She shares that she asks directly: “How do you live with this? How do you sleep at night knowing what you’ve done?” These are questions that require courage, sensitivity, and, above all, ethics. “This is part of journalism. Empathy comes with the responsibility to demand clarifications, to require people to take a stand on what they’ve done. This is an essential part of our work.”
Mariana van Zeller, with her attentive listening and almost silent courage, shows us that understanding is not the same as justifying. And that judging is much easier than listening.
When discussing the role of investigative journalism in the current scenario, Mariana speaks with lucidity and urgency. “It’s increasingly difficult,” she confesses, without beating around the bush. In a world where the boundaries between fact and opinion blur rapidly, where fake news circulates at a viral pace and influencers often take the place of traditional news outlets, the journalist vehemently defends the value of investigative work — despite the numerous obstacles.
“We’re at a moment of real crisis in journalism. There’s less investment in investigative journalism. A lot of talk, a lot of conversation about fake news, which gives the press a bad name,” she explains. For her, however, it is precisely in times like these that journalism becomes even more relevant. “No democracy in the world will survive without journalism. Journalism is crucial to the health and survival of a democracy.”
Her words sound like a plea — almost a manifesto — for more support, more investment, more collective awareness. “This is always my plea: that they continue to invest in journalism, that they continue to watch documentaries, to watch newscasts, to check sources. Because it’s also part of us, as consumers, the responsibility to keep this ecosystem healthy.”
When mentioning the “boom of influencers” who often spread misinformation, Mariana points out the risk of a vulnerable public being manipulated by content that hasn’t even gone through the ethical or technical filter of journalism. “Are you going to read an article? See if it was written by a respected outlet. Because today there are many that are not.”
The restlessness that drives Mariana van Zeller in the field is the same that echoes outside of it — in the backstage, in her commitment to truth, in her belief in the transformative power of information. She is the journalist who not only investigates the world on the margins, but also invites us to reflect on the world we live in — and how we choose to inform ourselves about it.
At the end of the interview, a question full of affection and symbolism brought one of the most poetic answers of our meeting. I ask Mariana: if today she could go back in time and tell something to the young woman who sold carpets before becoming one of the leading investigative journalists in the world, what would the advice be? She smiles and turns the question around: “What advice would Mariana, selling carpets, give to me today?”
The idea, as simple as it is powerful, opens space for reflection on how we often leave behind versions of ourselves that, although inexperienced, knew essential truths — about hope, strength, and faith. “I think the advice would be to always keep the light. Because it’s hard, right? You do this for many years, and it gets difficult sometimes… It’s hard to maintain a positive image of the world.”
Mariana speaks with the honesty of someone who has walked long paths, visited places where human dignity seems absent, faced risks, and confronted the darkest side of reality. “Even with what I’ve achieved, it’s hard to keep doing the work I love to do, my dream, everything. So, the advice that the Mariana from back then would give to the one from now would be to maintain that positive outlook, that faith in myself and my ability. Because, in the end, it works. The Mariana from back then would know.”
There is something profoundly beautiful in this idea: that, even after so much time, we are — at our core — still the same. And that sometimes, the wisdom we need can come from that more naïve, dreamy, and resilient version of ourselves.
With the success of the series Trafficked, it’s natural to wonder what’s next for Mariana. When I ask, her eyes light up with enthusiasm: “I have several [projects]. I want to start a podcast — it will also be available in Brazil — about this world of illegal markets. And I also want to write a book.” As someone who breathes investigation, she also reveals the desire to explore new formats, such as longer documentaries. “Guys, the work never ends.”
But how does she balance such professional intensity with her personal life? Mariana answers honestly, without trying to romanticize her routine. “It’s hard. I spend almost half my life traveling. But I’m lucky to have a husband who supports me. My dad lives with us and helps me with my son and my life.” When talking about her son, her eyes soften and her tone changes: “I have a son who is the perfect child for me. He’s 14. He loves the work I do. He’s the number one fan of Trafficked. He watches everything. He has a huge tolerance for the times I’m not at home. We’re very close. He tells me everything. I tell him everything.”
By the end of the conversation, it becomes clear that Mariana not only investigates the darkest places in the world but also illuminates what she finds with empathy, courage, and truth. She shows us that journalism, when done with soul, can be a bridge, a beacon, and a form of resistance — all at once. And deep down, that’s exactly what she continues to do: keeping the light on, even when the world seems too dark.
