A decade ago, the biggest network for journalists ever assembled set out to investigate a system built to stay hidden.

What they uncovered became the Panama Papers, a sweeping investigation that broke open the secretive world of finance and exposed how the rich and powerful use offshore structures to protect wealth and dodge scrutiny.

This is the final part in a series that explores how it all came together, drawing on the recollections of the journalists whose reporting sparked a global reckoning over financial secrecy and its consequences. Read parts one and two, or revisit the Panama Papers investigation in its entirety.

The high view

Marina Walker Guevara (United States)
Then: Deputy director, ICIJ | Now: Executive editor, Pulitzer Center

At 2 p.m. on April 3, 2016, when the first Panama Papers stories started publishing, Marina Walker Guevara was somewhere over the United States, suspended between time zones and cut off from the political tremors that had already begun.

She was traveling home from a family wedding in San Francisco, wondering how the stories would land and whether anyone would care.

The answers came quickly.

The plane had barely touched down in Washington when Walker Guevara turned on her phone. Messages surged in faster than she could open them.

“I had to catch my breath,” recalled Walker Guevara, an Argentine journalist who is now executive editor of the Pulitzer Center.

The world was absorbing the secrets she’d guarded for more than a year — details that were about to spark protests, topple world leaders and ignite criminal investigations.

Within the first hours and days, angry crowds gathered in Reykjavík and London, governments from Panama to Pakistan scrambled to issue denials, and all the while presses were still running, printing story after story about the global mix of politicians, financiers and celebrities whose financial dealings spanned jurisdictions.

Watching it all unfold, Walker Guevara began to understand the gravity of what this global team had achieved.

“This is much bigger than anything we thought,” she recalled. “This is truly a story about systemic inequity.”

Naming the untouchable

Moussa Aksar (Niger)
Founder and editor, L’Evenement

When L’Evenement published the Panama Papers, the paper’s founder and editor Moussa Aksar knew there would be consequences. The coverage named a powerful financier closely tied to the country’s ruling elite — “un intouchable,” Aksar said recently in his native French. An untouchable.

The reaction came quickly. L’Evenement sold out within hours. Another print run was needed. Aksar felt satisfaction — until he thought of his three children and unease took over.

Aksar had just told the world that a major political donor had used an offshore company to move revenue from his bus company into tax havens.

The calls began the morning of publication. First, a warning from a friend who admired his courage and urged him to be careful.

Then came calls from people he did not know. Threats. Each time the phone rang, the risk felt less abstract. In Niger, reprisals rarely stop with the journalist alone.

Journalist Moussa Aksar stands at the entrance to his newspaper, L’Evenement, in Niger. Image: L'Evenement

Aksar’s work was attacked in other newspapers. His motives were questioned. He was accused of serving Western interests — a dangerous charge in a fragile democracy.

His children — two teenagers and a 9-year-old — wondered if it was worth it. Aksar remembers them struggling to understand why he was, as he put it, sacrificing himself for an ungrateful society.

A decade later, Aksar says, they no longer ask why he took the risk. They’re proud of his reputation as a journalist who ensures that even les intouchables aren’t beyond the reach of scrutiny.

Defending the documents

Minna Knus-Galán (Finland)
Investigative reporter, Yle

As the Panama Papers shook governments around the world, one of the fiercest fights played out not in an authoritarian state, but in a country that routinely tops global press freedom rankings: Finland.

ICIJ member Minna Knus-Galán and her colleagues at the Finnish public broadcaster Yle found themselves fighting their own government’s tax authority’s threats of raids on their homes and newsroom unless they surrendered leaked documents.

Knus-Galán had just produced some of Finland’s most explosive findings from the leak: that Mossack Fonseca, the law firm at the center of the Panama Papers, had worked with Nordea, the Nordic region’s biggest bank, to establish hundreds of offshore companies, backdate documents and register deceased individuals as company directors to conceal the true owners.

The government argued it needed access to the Panama Papers material to investigate tax evasion by Finns named in the files.

I don’t know what the Finnish tax authorities thought — that we would have the Panama Papers in a [pile] on our desks?

Compliance, Yle countered, would violate source protection and shatter the trust that made cross-border collaboration possible. If one newsroom could be forced to surrender leaked material, whistleblowers might stay silent and future investigations could be jeopardized, Knus-Galán said.

“I don’t think we could do more ICIJ projects after that if there’s this risk,” she said.

The standoff spilled into reporters’ personal lives, too. When a demand from Finland’s tax authority arrived at Knus-Galán’s home, it felt intimidating — an official threat breaking into her private space. Over dinner, she told her teenagers there was a small but real chance police might burst in and seize their computers. Her son, a budding tech whiz, worried: would they take his machine, too?

For all the pressure, there were no documents in her house or her newsroom for authorities to seize. The files were safe on ICIJ’s secure platform.

“I don’t know what the Finnish tax authorities thought — that we would have the Panama Papers in a [pile] on our desks?” Knus Galán said.

Finnish journalist Minna Knus-Galan speaks at a September 2016 meeting of European Parliament’s PANA Committee, which was convened in the wake of the Panama Papers. Image: Jan van de Vel / European Parliament

Partner journalists never possessed the data themselves. It was stored in the cloud. Reporters could log in to search the files, and ICIJ could cut off access at any time. By design, no single newsroom controlled the files — a safeguard that protected both the material and the investigation.

Still, the demand alone was a threat to press freedom. If authorities could compel journalists to hand over confidential material, it would compromise the independence that protects sources and hamstring future investigations.

Knus-Galán said the letter was “very, very stressful and super strange” — the kind of threat she expected colleagues in Russia might face, not reporters in Helsinki, which was, at the time, preparing to host World Press Freedom Day. “I was sort of thinking, this can’t be happening in Finland.”

https://www.icij.org/investigations/panama-papers/watch-the-panama-papers-at-10-live-panel-event/

VIDEO WATCH: The Panama Papers at 10 live panel event Apr 02, 2026

https://www.icij.org/investigations/panama-papers/ten-years-after-the-panama-papers-enablers-and-tax-cheats-are-still-being-brought-to-justice/

IMPACT Ten years after the Panama Papers, enablers and tax cheats are still being brought to justice Apr 02, 2026

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