Protected on Paper, Plundered in Reality
The conservation world rewards declarations over defense — and everyone knows it.
In 2023, the United Nations agreed on the High Seas Biodiversity Beyond National Jurisdiction (BBNJ) Treaty, the first legally binding framework for governing the ~60% of the ocean that lies beyond any one nation’s control (UN, 2023). It was hailed as historic. And it is.
It also risks being meaningless.
Why? Because we keep measuring the wrong things, rewarding the wrong actors, and funding the wrong outcomes. The BBNJ Treaty is already being folded into the conservation world’s favorite vanity metric: 30×30 — the pledge to designate 30% of Earth’s land and sea as “protected” by 2030.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth: most of what we call “protected areas” aren’t protected at all. They’re paper parks — lines drawn on a map, declarations made from a podium — but with no rangers, no patrols, no enforcement. Even in wealthy countries, illegal fishing and poaching continue inside supposedly “protected” areas (UNEP-WCMC, 2022; Jones et al., Nature Sustainability, 2021).
We all know this. Yet few seem willing to say it plainly: declaring more MPAs without meaningful enforcement is worse than doing nothing. It creates a false sense of progress, a greenwashed victory that diverts attention and resources from real protection.
The Tyranny of the Dashboard
This is not just about the NGOs that perpetuate the problem. It’s about the philanthropies and donors who enable it.
Big international NGOs — the BINGOs — are rational actors. They respond to the incentives the funding system gives them. And the system values announcements over outcomes.
Donors love dashboards. They like to see hectares declared, treaties signed, percentages tick upward toward 30×30. These are easy numbers to put in an annual report or press release. They feel like progress.
But they’re not progress. In many cases, they’re theater.
Meanwhile, the unglamorous work of actual enforcement — paying ranger salaries, maintaining patrol boats, providing medical insurance, prosecuting offenders — is underfunded, underprioritized, and often dismissed as someone else’s problem.
The Numbers Tell the Story
A 2021 study in Nature Sustainability found that only 6.5% of marine protected areas have high or full levels of implementation and enforcement (Jones et al., 2021). Even on land, fewer than 1 in 5 protected areas worldwide are adequately managed (UNEP-WCMC, 2022).
And yet the largest BINGOs raised more than $3.7 billion last year. WWF alone brought in over $1.1 billion (WWF, Annual Report, 2022). Yet ranger programs, basic field operations, and local government support remain chronically underfunded. Why? Because those outcomes don’t fit neatly into a pie chart.
Global Conservation - A Counter example — and a Lesson
Organizations like Global Conservation prove that a different model is not only possible — it already exists.
On a budget of under $10 million a year, Global Conservation funds enforcement in 22 terrestrial and 10 marine parks, covering over 22 million hectares across multiple countries (Global Conservation, 2024). No Big International NGO comes close to this kind of field‑level impact per dollar spent — not even in the same league. Across these 32 parks, “protected” is not a line on a map or a press release — it’s rangers in the field, patrol boats on the water, radios crackling, and laws enforced.
They fund the basics: rangers, radios, patrol boats, legal support. They deliver measurable declines in illegal activity. They prove what billion‑dollar BINGOs pretend isn’t possible: that meaningful protection is not only achievable, it’s affordable — when you stop funding theater, stop outsourcing without oversight, and start funding the fight directly.
This isn’t a plea for Global Conservation specifically (though some big funders should take a hard look at their example). It’s a plea for philanthropy to change what it values. To stop confusing maps with protection. To stop rewarding the wrong behaviors. And to finally start funding what actually works.
Why Do We Keep Funding Declarations Over Defense?
Because it’s easier. Easier to measure. Easier to sell. Easier to feel good about.
For donors, declarations are clean: a map with more hectares shaded, a press release touting progress, a dashboard inching toward 30×30. These are simple, countable, and headline-friendly. They fit neatly into the annual reports of philanthropies eager to show results.
For BINGOs, declarations scale. Announcing a new “protected” area is a global story. It reinforces their brand, keeps corporate partnerships happy, and feeds the billion-dollar fundraising machine.
But enforcement? That’s messy. It doesn’t scale cleanly. It’s hyperlocal, politically fraught, and expensive. It requires trust with communities and accountability for actions on the ground — things that don’t fit in a dashboard. Worse, it’s invisible when it works. Nobody holds a press conference because a ranger prevented illegal fishing.
At their scale, BINGOs simply aren’t built to operationalize anything. They outsource it to local actors with little oversight, no real community connection, and weak governance.
In other words: the system is working exactly as designed. Donors reward what looks good. NGOs deliver what donors want. And the ecosystems we claim to protect are left undefended.
Hard Questions Philanthropy Should Be Asking
How much of your grant actually reaches the field?
How much is spent on enforcement and maintenance versus policy reports and PR campaigns?
How many illegal incursions were there into what you funded last year and is your NGO anywhere to be seen?
Why are we adding more “protected areas” when we can’t defend the ones we already have?
Who benefits from the illusion of progress?
Too Big to Be Meaningful?
Big International NGOs (BINGOs) are not conservation organizations anymore — they are global brands. And like most global brands, their first priority is protecting their own growth and relevance, even if it means compromising the mission they were founded to serve.
At their scale, meaningful enforcement work — messy, slow, hyper‑local — simply doesn’t fit their model. Instead, BINGOs pursue strategies that generate headlines, build relationships with powerful funders and corporations, and maintain their billion‑dollar fundraising machines.
Case in point:
The Nature Conservancy’s logging ties.
In 2022, TNC came under fire after 158 NGOs publicly condemned its ties to the forestry and wood‑pellet industries, which are major drivers of deforestation and biodiversity loss. Why did TNC, a conservation NGO, align itself with logging interests?
Because at their scale, corporate partnerships are central to their business model. TNC earns millions annually by advising and certifying companies on “sustainable” forestry and carbon offsetting — even when the ecological integrity of those operations is dubious.
This is not an isolated incident — it’s symptomatic of the BINGO model:
🌊 TNC’s debt‑for‑nature swap in Seychelles (2021) generated headlines and financial returns, but mobilized no outside capital and delivered no evidence of improved enforcement.
🌳 WWF and WCS were publicly investigated (2021) after credible reports of human rights abuses by anti‑poaching rangers they funded. They were widely criticized not for funding enforcement itself — but for failing to establish oversight, accountability, and community engagement needed to prevent abuses.
Enforcement is not inherently abusive. But at BINGO scale, it becomes another “line item” subcontracted to local actors with minimal visibility, weak governance, and no real connection to the communities it affects. Done badly, enforcement can harm people and undermine legitimacy. Done properly, it protects ecosystems and strengthens communities.
We Don’t Have Time for Theater
The conservation world is running out of time — and it’s still playing the wrong game.
We don’t need more lines on maps. We need boots on the ground, boats in the water, and communities engaged. We need donors to fund protection, not press releases. We need NGOs to measure what matters, not what flatters.
If we keep mistaking declarations for defense, we risk squandering this decade on vanity and greenwash while the ecosystems we claim to protect collapse around us.
It’s time to stop pretending that “protected” means anything at all — until it actually is.
Stop funding the illusion. Start funding the fight.
Note: I have no affiliation with Global Conservation. I highlight their work purely as an example of field-based conservation with measurable impact — not as an endorsement, partnership, or promotional mention.