What sharks are worth—and why that matters

Shark conservation is not a field for the faint of heart. It pits biology against commerce, sentiment against symbolism, and, frequently, science against entrenched bureaucracies. Sharks themselves, apex predators honed over hundreds of millions of years, are now among the most imperiled inhabitants of the world’s oceans. Vilified in pop culture, sliced up for their fins, and managed more like commodities than living creatures, sharks have few allies in high places. One of the more persistent, however, is Stefanie Brendl.

Brendl did not arrive at shark advocacy by way of academia, marine biology, or institutional science. Her background was in scuba diving and ecotourism, and her immersion in shark conservation began not in a laboratory but in the ocean itself. What began as a fascination morphed into a calling, spurred by a single free-diving encounter with a tiger shark: A moment Brendl describes as transformative, almost mythic in tone. But it was what followed that mattered. Within a week, she was inside Hawaii’s legislative chambers, helping craft America’s first major ban on the shark fin trade.

That campaign would become a blueprint. Hawaii’s legislative success ricocheted outward, eventually helping to inspire similar laws across the United States and in parts of the Pacific. Brendl founded Shark Allies to institutionalize her advocacy and has since combined policy work, public education, and strategic coalition-building to pursue greater protections for sharks and rays.

While the victories are real, Brendl is clear-eyed about their limitations. Fin bans help, but the global machinery of shark exploitation continues apace. In some regions, demand is falling; in others—especially where economic growth fuels luxury consumption—it is quietly rising.

Brendl’s approach is pragmatic, unsentimental, and informed by years of legislative trench warfare. She relies less on emotional appeals than on making the case that sharks are not just ecologically vital, but economically valuable. A live shark, she argues, can yield far more over its lifetime than a dead one: through ecotourism, media, and the intangible services of maintaining healthy marine ecosystems. She is working on new valuation models to show governments exactly that—line items and forecasts, not just photographs and facts.

But for all the data and legislative victories, sharks remain at risk. Brendl is under no illusion that the tide has turned. Media depictions, often cartoonishly villainous, still drive public perception. Social media influencers, while helpful in some ways, have also introduced performative elements that distort the species’ reality. Even well-managed sanctuaries, such as those in the Pacific, struggle with enforcement.

What emerges from the following conversation is a portrait of an advocate who has traded the thrill of personal encounters for the grind of political engagement. Brendl is less interested in awe than in outcomes. She doesn’t ask policymakers to love sharks, only to understand their function. She doesn’t chase headlines, only legislative traction. And she doesn’t pretend that awareness alone will solve the problem.

In this interview, Brendl discusses the origins of her work, the architecture of a successful shark conservation campaign, and the difficult trade-offs involved in trying to change public perception. The narrative she offers is not of a movement nearing resolution, but of one recalibrating—learning what works, what doesn’t, and how to press forward even when the ocean’s most iconic predators remain misunderstood and undervalued.

An interview with Stefanie Brendl

Mongabay: What’s your name and what do you do?

Stefanie Brendl: My name is Stefanie Brendl. I work as a shark conservation advocate—that’s probably the easiest way to describe it.

Mongabay: How did you get started in this line of work?

Stefanie Brendl: I came from a background in scuba diving, ecotourism, and travel.

I became increasingly interested in sharks and eventually started a shark diving company in Hawaii. Through that, I got more involved in conservation and ultimately transitioned fully into advocacy work and away from tourism.

Mongabay: Why sharks?

Stefanie Brendl: I love animals and I love the ocean. Coming from a non-academic background, I realized that to be effective in conservation, I needed to find my niche. I had the opportunity to dive with sharks frequently and got to know them well. It became clear that this was where I could contribute the most. Sharks are underrepresented, underfunded, and often disliked. While public perception is improving, there’s still a long way to go. It felt like an area where I could make a real impact. Around that time, an opportunity came up to get involved in legislation, and I realized that’s where I might actually be able to create change.

Mongabay: Was there a particular moment that sparked your interest?

Stefanie Brendl:

Yes, I call it my “creation story”. I had been diving with sharks for years, pretty selfishly, just enjoying myself. It was fun, it was exhilarating, and I loved it. But then I had this one encounter that shifted everything.

It was with a very large female tiger shark. She just lingered—kept circling, coming closer and closer in this calm, non-aggressive way. It wasn’t threatening, it was… intentional. She looked at me, squarely, again and again. At one point, I found myself between her and the cage. She kind of pushed into me from the side—not in an attack, just contact. And I couldn’t help but feel like she was trying to tell me something.

In that moment, something clicked. I heard this voice in my head—whether it was my own or something else, who knows?—and it said: You need to do more than just enjoy this. You know what’s happening. You need to help. And that was it. That was the day I decided to change my path. I’d had enough fun. It was time to step up and become an advocate.

That moment stayed with me so clearly. I can still picture it. Maybe it was just the right moment, the right headspace. Maybe I imagined it. But it changed my trajectory. Within a week, I was walking into the legislature.

Mongabay: Just to clarify—you said the tiger shark was between you and the cage?

Stefanie Brendl: Actually, I was between the cage and the shark. The cage was behind me. I was swimming and filming, and she kept approaching, slowly. She was massive, but calm—very easy to be around. What struck me was how deliberately she came closer, not in a head-on way, just kind of sidling in. At one point, she nearly stopped swimming altogether, which is really unusual.

It felt like a real moment of contact—she chose to engage. I was already backing up as much as I could, but she just kept closing the space. For probably an hour or more, she stayed around me. I didn’t feel threatened, just… seen.

Mongabay: Was that while snorkeling or diving?

Stefanie Brendl: That was free diving. I was mostly on the surface, occasionally swimming down a bit, but I tried not to move too much. I wanted to leave the interaction entirely up to her. Who knows—maybe she was pregnant or in some kind of hormonal state. She reminded me of a cat in heat, affectionate and present. But whatever was going on, for me, it was the moment I realized I had to evolve. I needed to stop being a shark diver and become a shark advocate. And within a week, I found myself testifying on legislation.

Mongabay: What’s your approach?

Stefanie Brendl: Finding opportunities is key—especially in shark legislation, whether it’s establishing shark sanctuaries or banning the fin trade. It’s about evaluating the location, identifying the right people, building coalitions, and figuring out the most effective path forward. Sometimes that means a grassroots approach, sometimes it’s top-down—straight to leadership. It varies by place, and I enjoy figuring that out.

Mongabay: I read that you founded Shark Allies after witnessing shark finning. Is that accurate?

Stefanie Brendl: Not exactly. I didn’t witness shark finning in the act. What we saw were shark fins in a shipping container. Technically, that’s not finning itself, but it made us realize the fin trade was happening right in our own backyard—Hawaii. I was working with a German documentary team at the time, and we got undercover footage of that container, which held thousands of fins. That footage became the starting point for the legislative campaign that led to the world’s first shark fin trade ban.

Mongabay: What was the process like?

Stefanie Brendl: It’s a great story because it didn’t unfold the way you’d expect. I heard about the bill and went to the first hearing. I had no experience with legislation but thought I should show up in case they needed someone to answer shark-related questions. Senator Hee had introduced the bill because Vicky Cayetano, wife of the former governor Ben Cayetano, had taken on animal-related causes—puppy mills, cockfighting, and that year, shark finning.

After the hearing, the Senator’s staff approached me. They said Senator Hee wanted to talk. I thought I was in trouble, but it turned out they needed help. They didn’t have much background on sharks or international context, and they needed science, data, photos—all the materials for a proper campaign. They asked if I’d help, and I agreed. I hadn’t planned on it, but I ended up committing fully. For three months, I was basically in the office every day, figuring out what the next hurdle was. Senator Hee would send me to meet with specific legislators who needed education or data in advance of hearings.

It was a classic legislative campaign—educating lawmakers, building support, holding press conferences, getting media attention. We didn’t think it would pass. Hawaii has a large Chinese business community, and we were told it would become a cultural issue. But Senator Hee was half Chinese, and Vicky Cayetano was also Chinese. That helped tremendously—it wasn’t seen as outsiders imposing something, but as members of the community leading the change.

We took it one hearing at a time, and it passed. I thought that would be the end of it, but it became model legislation. We helped introduce similar efforts in other places, and Senator Hee even traveled with me to meet new lawmakers. As a respected Hawaiian Senator, he was a powerful voice, especially in the Pacific Islands. It was really a perfect storm of good timing, committed people, and the right message.

Mongabay: What were some of the legislative actions that followed? In other jurisdictions, how did things evolve?

Stefanie Brendl: As soon as Hawaii passed the law, it became a model because it was a very simple bill. It addressed the trade of shark fins—not from a fisheries management perspective, but as a trade issue. That made it much easier to monitor and enforce. It banned possession, sale, and trade of fins as a product, rather than trying to regulate how they were fished. That structure made it easy for other jurisdictions to replicate. All they had to do was change the name of the state.

We immediately traveled to California and met with NGOs and shark groups there. California became the next state to introduce similar legislation. Around the same time, Guam, the Northern Marianas, and the Marshall Islands—essentially all of Micronesia—followed suit over the next two years. Other U.S. states came on board too: Texas, Illinois, and so on. In total, 14 states passed similar laws.

But then we hit a wall in Florida. It was a key state—if we could pass it there, we believed we could push it federally. Florida presented a lot of challenges due to opposition from fishing associations and other powerful interests. I went there for two legislative sessions, and we eventually passed the Florida state bill in 2020. That unlocked the possibility of a federal U.S. shark fin trade ban. Canada passed a similar law around the same time.

We also supported a campaign in the European Union, collaborating with many European NGOs. That’s going to be a much slower process for obvious political and structural reasons, but it’s underway.

That might be the end of the legislative trajectory for fin trade bans. It would be great if Latin America joined, but we probably need to shift toward even more impactful measures—like marine protected areas or shark sanctuaries—because we’re still not getting ahead of the problem. While we’ve made progress, it sometimes feels like a drop in the bucket. The fin trade is slowing down in some countries but picking up in others. It remains a major driver of shark overfishing globally. Even if fishers say they’re catching sharks for meat and fins are just a byproduct, the reality is that without the ability to sell the fins, most of those operations wouldn’t be economically viable. Fins still drive the catch.

Mongabay: You mentioned a divergence—some places are improving while others are getting worse. Can you give examples?

Stefanie Brendl: Sure. Hong Kong and mainland China have reduced consumption. The Chinese government implemented measures, including banning shark fin soup at official functions. That shift was driven not only by conservation concerns but also because the soup was seen as elitist. During the country’s anti-corruption efforts, shark fin soup became a symbolic target.

But in contrast, countries like Vietnam, Thailand, Singapore, and even Japan have seen increases in consumption. Often this correlates with where wealthy Chinese businessmen travel. They expect the soup to be served as a status symbol, to impress business associates.

The U.S. used to be a significant market outside Asia because of the presence of Chinatowns in many cities. While there’s undoubtedly still some black-market activity, the scale has greatly diminished thanks to legal bans and better enforcement. And that’s another advantage of treating it as a trade law: if fins are simply prohibited, enforcement becomes much easier. You don’t have to identify the species or determine if the shark was legally caught. If the fin shouldn’t be there, that’s enough.

That approach has inspired similar laws for ivory and rhino horn—shifting from poaching or endangered species laws to outright trade bans. If you have it, you can’t sell it. And if you do possess it, you need to prove why.

Mongabay: Beyond the fin trade, what are some other effective legislative strategies? You mentioned previously that sharks are often treated as a fisheries issue, whereas marine mammals are protected differently.

Stefanie Brendl: Yes, and while I don’t know how realistic it is, I do think it’s time to stop leaving sharks under the control of fisheries agencies. They’ve failed to protect them. Sharks are fish, yes—but cartilaginous fish. They reproduce slowly and are apex predators, so large-scale industrial fishing just doesn’t work. They’re being managed like a commodity, not like wildlife.

In fisheries management, everything is about quotas. Sharks are often viewed as a collection of parts—fins, meat, liver oil—that can be sold. But most of their body isn’t even used. Except for a few species like thresher and mako, the meat isn’t popular. Many sharks die as bycatch or are caught just for their fins. The rest is discarded or greenwashed through token donations.

Meanwhile, sharks are incredibly valuable as ecosystem engineers. Each species plays a specific role in maintaining healthy marine systems. And from an economic standpoint, they generate massive revenue through ecotourism and media. A live shark can generate millions over its lifetime—for tour operators, dive resorts, hotels, and even content creators. It’s a renewable resource. You can kill it once and make a few hundred dollars, or let it live and benefit from it for decades.

Mongabay: On that economic valuation front, you’ve been working on a project involving rays and sharks. Can you tell us more?

Stefanie Brendl: Yes. For years, people have conducted valuations of specific shark populations—like in Palau or the Bahamas—to show how much they’re worth for tourism. Those numbers often support full legal protection.

What I’m working on now is expanding those valuations beyond tourism. I’m collaborating with a firm that evaluates businesses and raw materials. We’re treating sharks almost like we would a business asset.

We’re including ecosystem services, tourism revenue, the importance to fisheries health, aesthetic value—like social media and influencer activity—and entertainment contributions. Think about how many people have built careers on shark content. Movies, games, even something like Baby Shark. There’s real economic value.

We’re building models to show how much a population—or even an individual shark—is worth over 30 years. The numbers are staggering. In some areas, it’s hundreds of millions over a generation. Take the white sharks at Guadalupe—they weren’t a huge population, but the individuals that frequented cage diving sites generated enormous value for the park, local businesses, and beyond.

These numbers matter to governments. Even conservative stakeholders respond to hard economic data. While I believe animals have an intrinsic right to live, sometimes the economic argument is what moves the needle—especially for a species that people often fear or view as a commodity.

Mongabay: On the topic of awareness—especially with influencers—you’ve said they drive attention to sharks, but there are downsides. Could you speak to that?

Stefanie Brendl: Sure. The influencer effect is a mixed bag. Social media has been great in some ways—photographers sharing stunning images and videos has helped change perceptions. Sharks are shown as peaceful, beautiful, and diverse animals in their natural habitats. That’s powerful.

But there’s a downside when the focus shifts from the animals to the influencer. It becomes about showing off—”Look at me with this shark,” “Look how fearless I am.” Some people push boundaries just to get likes or appear as expert shark handlers. That can be misleading and even dangerous.

You don’t need to physically handle sharks. You can interact respectfully. The techniques for redirecting sharks or knowing how to behave around them are fine, but often the situation is being created just for a photo op. That’s not helpful. It can lead untrained people to try the same stunts, putting themselves and the animals at risk.

There’s also a lack of respect in those dominant, performative images—people holding onto shark fins or riding sharks. It’s more about human ego than conservation. I’ve seen it myself. Early in my career, I participated in some of those staged moments at the request of photographers. But I realized quickly—it’s no longer about the shark. It’s about me.

That’s not the message I want to send. If I take a personal risk, that’s my choice. But I don’t need to broadcast it or encourage others to do the same. We shouldn’t aim to get as many people as possible free-diving with sharks. I’d rather see fewer people doing it responsibly—and respecting sharks for what they are. They’re wild animals, not mascots. Let them be.

Mongabay: Building on that, part of your strategy involves shifting public perception around sharks. What strategies have you found effective in changing how people view them?

Stefanie Brendl: Honestly, it’s been a lot of trial and error. At first, I tried showing people how peaceful sharks are. And that does work—when you take people out on a shark dive, they often walk away with a totally different perspective. That’s great. But it’s not scalable. You can only take so many people into the water, and only in a few places.

What I’ve found most effective—especially when talking to policymakers who will never step foot in the ocean—is being pragmatic. I tell them: You don’t have to like sharks. You don’t have to love them. You can even be indifferent. But if we want a healthy ocean, we need sharks. They’re the best natural tool we have for maintaining healthy ecosystems—and they do it for free. There’s no app, no technology, no machine that can replace what they do.

So the cheapest, most effective thing we can do is protect them. Every healthy ocean ecosystem has sharks. Whether people like that or not is beside the point. And most people, when you present it that way, listen—because I’m not asking them to love sharks or overcome their fears. A lot of people are traumatized by Hollywood movies. That perception won’t change overnight. I don’t have time to convince everyone to like sharks—I just need decision-makers to make good choices, based on facts and science.

Yes, I’ll take people shark diving if they’re open to it. But 99.9% of policymakers never will. And that’s okay. We still need to reach them. That’s where the strategy of showing sharks as beautiful, inspiring animals sometimes falls flat. If you show a stunning image of a shark to someone who’s scared of them, they’ll still just see something terrifying.

Also, most decision-makers aren’t part of our Instagram bubble. They’re not seeing those posts. There’s a delusion within parts of the shark conservation community that everyone is watching shark content on social media. They’re not. And even when there are lots of followers, the attention span is short. I haven’t seen strong evidence that it’s making a large-scale impact—because we’re still losing sharks.

Mongabay: We’ve talked a bit about the media. What role does the media play in shaping public perception about sharks? What are they getting right—or wrong?

Stefanie Brendl: Over the last 30 or 40 years, the media has fed the negative image of sharks. They’re easy to fear. They’re seen as monsters—one of the last ones we still believe in—and they live in a mysterious, alien environment. Every newscast or movie that features sharks tends to reinforce that fear. It taps into something primal: the fear of being attacked or eaten.

The media has leaned into that because it sells. Any headline with “shark” in it goes global. A single shark attack becomes international news. Meanwhile, dog bites or even violent crimes involving people rarely make a ripple by comparison. But when a wild animal like a shark is involved, it feels so unusual, so sensational, that it dominates the news cycle.

Movies are even worse. Many ocean-themed films are just wildly inaccurate and ridiculous—but people believe them because they don’t know better. The media—news, television, film—bears a huge responsibility here. Some local outlets are getting better. In California, for example, shark sightings are sometimes reported in a positive light: people see great whites while paddling and it’s treated as a cool event, not a threat.

But the big-budget movies? They’re still stuck in the same old narrative. I don’t expect a Hollywood blockbuster to turn sharks into the hero—but the entertainment industry could do more. They’ve profited enormously from sharks, so they could become conservation stakeholders. I’m not just talking about money. A bit of accurate messaging, or even symbolic support, would go a long way. Ideally, they’d share some of the profits with the one species that has fed entire media empires. That would be a worthy goal—though I don’t yet know how to make it happen.

Mongabay: You produced a film—Extinction Soup. Did you see any impact from it?

Stefanie Brendl: We took it around the film festival circuit, and it definitely had an impact in those spaces. Most people already oppose shark finning and the shark fin trade, so there was a lot of support. People would come up and say, “Good for you,” and offer encouragement.

But I didn’t leverage the film as well as I could have. I didn’t get strong distribution, so not enough people saw it. And I didn’t tie it to a coordinated advocacy campaign. At the time, it was just me and a few others trying to juggle both the film and the legislative work. If I did it again, I’d do it differently—link it to a specific, high-impact campaign with real policy objectives.

I mostly made the film because I wanted to tell the story before someone else did. It was a huge part of my personal journey, and I didn’t want someone else to claim it. There have been other shark documentaries since—probably better ones—that have helped grow the international shark conservation community. But we haven’t yet had our Blackfish moment.

Blackfish worked because it was about a single animal people could empathize with, and it had a clear villain. With sharks, it’s harder. The problem is global. Every country plays a role. It’s multiple cultures, entire industries. There’s no one bad actor. And we’re not talking about just one species—we’re talking about 350 to 500, depending on how you count. It makes for a far messier story. I wish we had something that could unify the narrative like Blackfish did. But we don’t—at least not yet.

Mongabay: What do you see as the current bright spots in shark conservation?

Stefanie Brendl: Places like the Bahamas—and even better, well-managed marine protected areas. These aren’t just good for sharks, but for entire ecosystems. They give everything a break and space to recover. Those are the bright spots. There are more of them in the Pacific than in the Atlantic or Indian Oceans.

To me, the Pacific—especially the Eastern Pacific—is where we still have a real chance to prevent the worst outcomes if we lean in and do the work. Places like Hawaii, the Marshall Islands, French Polynesia—they’ve established massive shark sanctuaries. Maybe they’re not 100% enforced—because it’s incredibly difficult—but those governments have made the decision to stop shark fishing altogether. That’s hopeful. In much of the rest of the world, though, it’s harder to find similar bright spots.

Mongabay: Beyond MPAs and sanctuaries, are there other developments that give you hope—like changes in legislation, consumer demand, or anything else?

Stefanie Brendl: That’s a good question. I hadn’t really thought about it that way. There’s not much happening in terms of breakthrough technology, unfortunately. I’ve been talking with Mark Erdmann who’s working on rewilding at scale. That’s not making a major impact yet, but as it grows and more species are restored in combination with protections, the cumulative effect could be powerful. We’re just not there yet.

In the ocean space, technology isn’t advancing quickly. So no, there’s not some cool tech solution we can point to. But I do have hope in the leadership of small island nations. In the Pacific in particular, more and more leaders are recognizing the need to protect their islands and marine life and are investing in ecotourism. They don’t really have a choice—many of these nations are in serious trouble from climate and economic threats. So I’m seeing more commitment from smaller governments. The big governments—the EU, the U.S.—are preoccupied with everything else. I don’t expect bold action from them anytime soon.

Mongabay: Do you have any advice for a young person who wants to get involved in shark conservation?

Stefanie Brendl: I get that question a lot. First, I always say: you have to figure out what part of conservation you’re interested in. Is it research? Advocacy? Media creation? There’s no such thing as “just” being a shark conservationist—you need to bring a skillset.

I’ve worked with volunteers who were professionals in other fields—graphic designers, fundraisers, salespeople—and I always ask: what can you do in your field that could help? Sometimes it’s more valuable to apply your specific talent to conservation than to try to become a generalist in conservation itself. Conservation is a field, not a job title.

Now, shark science is very competitive. Everyone wants to be out on the boat tagging sharks, but there are only so many boats and sharks to go around. It’s a tough path to break into. And while research is essential, research alone doesn’t save species. What saves species is applying that science—turning it into legislation, protections, and action.

That’s where I’ve found my place: in advocacy. I work with the science that’s already out there and help translate it into tangible protections. That’s where I feel I can make the most difference. So my advice would be: know where your strengths are, build on them, and don’t assume you need to be a marine biologist to contribute meaningfully. There are many ways to help.

Mongabay: One last thing—how can people help support your work?

Stefanie Brendl: I’m easy to find—Shark Allies has a website and we’re on social media. The best way people can help is to come with a sense of how they want to contribute. I get a lot of “I want to help—tell me what to do.” That’s great, but unless there’s an active campaign happening, it’s hard to plug someone in without context.

Of course, the easy answer is always money—funding makes everything possible. But even better is when someone says, “Hey, I’m great at social media, can I support your outreach?” Or “I’m a graphic designer, do you need artwork?” Or “I’m good at organizing events—how can I help?” That’s the kind of support that really makes a difference.

Banner image: Stefanie Brendl free diving with sharks. Image by Phil Waller.