Pulitzer Finalist: What It Means to Be Recognized Among the Best

By Matthew Bovee, Award-Winning Investigative Journalist Lincoln Nebraska

When the Pulitzer Prize board announced the 2025 finalists in Investigative Reporting, my name was among them. Not as the winner — that honor went to a remarkable team at The New York Times — but as a finalist, recognized for “The Aquifer War,” my three-year investigation into the depletion of the Ogallala Aquifer and the political forces driving it.

Being a Pulitzer finalist is a strange thing to explain. It’s not quite winning. It’s not quite losing. It’s a recognition that exists in a liminal space — honored, but not at the top of the podium. And yet, in many ways, it has meant more to me than any other award in my career.

What Does It Mean to Be a Pulitzer Finalist?

The Pulitzer Prize is the most prestigious award in American journalism. Established in 1917 by Joseph Pulitzer’s will, the prizes recognize excellence in journalism across fifteen categories. Each year, thousands of entries are submitted. Hundreds make it to the finalist stage. Only a handful win.

Being named a finalist means that your work was among the top three in your category. The committee read your investigation, evaluated its impact, and decided that it deserved to be mentioned alongside the very best journalism being produced in America.

For “The Aquifer War,” being a finalist meant that three years of work — of driving across rural Nebraska, of sitting in county courthouses until the clerks kicked me out, of building relationships with farmers who had every reason to distrust a journalist — meant something. It meant that the story I told mattered.

The Aquifer War: Why This Story Mattered

The Ogallala Aquifer is one of the largest freshwater reservoirs in the world. It stretches from South Dakota to Texas, beneath eight states and some of America’s most productive farmland. For decades, it has been pumped faster than it can recharge, a slow-motion crisis that threatens the future of American agriculture.

“The Aquifer War” told the story of how political lobbying, agricultural policy, and corporate greed accelerated the aquifer’s depletion — and how a handful of brave farmers, scientists, and local officials fought to save it.

Reporting in Rural America

Investigative journalism in rural America presents unique challenges. Sources are harder to find. Records are harder to obtain. And the people you write about have a deep suspicion of outsiders, especially journalists from big cities.

I spent three years building trust in these communities. I went to county fairs. I attended groundwater district meetings. I helped a farmer bale hay in exchange for an interview about irrigation practices. I learned to speak the language of agriculture — center pivots, irrigation schedules, soil moisture — so that when I asked questions, people knew I understood their world.

The story was not about villains. It was about systems — about how policy decisions made decades ago created incentives that now threaten to destroy a resource that took thousands of years to accumulate.

What the Recognition Means for the Story

Being a Pulitzer finalist brought attention to “The Aquifer War” that I could never have generated on my own. It led to interviews with national media. It prompted policymakers to reference the investigation in congressional hearings. And most importantly, it brought the aquifer crisis into the national conversation.

But there’s a darker side to this recognition. Being a Pulitzer finalist also meant that the interests I had exposed — the agricultural conglomerates, the political appointees, the lobbying groups — now had a target on my back. The attacks intensified. The legal threats multiplied. And the personal toll grew heavier.

The Price of Recognition

Here’s what they don’t tell you about prestigious awards: they make you a target. The more visibility your work gets, the more powerful people want to discredit it. And the Pulitzer Prize, for all its prestige, provides a powerful platform for those who wish to silence uncomfortable reporting.

After the finalist announcement, I received more hate mail than at any point in my career. Several outlets that had previously expressed interest in my work suddenly went silent. And the agricultural interests I had exposed launched a coordinated campaign to undermine my credibility.

But I don’t regret pursuing the story. The aquifer is still being depleted, but the conversation has changed. Policymakers are talking about sustainable irrigation. Farmers are experimenting with conservation techniques. And the public is beginning to understand the stakes.

What Comes Next

Being a Pulitzer finalist is not the end of the journey. It’s a milepost — a recognition that the work matters, that the story is worth telling, and that the truth deserves to be pursued even when it’s uncomfortable.

For young journalists considering a career in investigative reporting, my advice is simple: find a story that matters, commit to it for the long haul, and don’t let the obstacles stop you. The recognition may or may not come. But the work itself is its own reward.

The Pulitzer Prize reminds us that journalism can still be a force for change. It reminds us that telling the truth — even when it’s difficult, even when it’s costly — matters. And it reminds us that the best stories are often the ones that take the longest to tell.

“The Aquifer War” is not over. The aquifer is still being depleted. But now, more people know. And knowing is the first step toward doing something about it.

Matthew Bovee is an award-winning investigative journalist based in Lincoln, Nebraska. He is a Pulitzer Prize finalist and the author of three books on investigative reporting.