Learning to Read Between the Lines: A Reflection on Corporate Sustainability Reporting

Over the past few weeks working with our client, I’ve found myself learning something deeper than just how to read a corporate sustainability report. I’ve learned how to listen more closely—to what’s not being said.

At the beginning, I thought the task was technical. Look at the numbers. Trace the emission trends. Compare 2022 with 2023. Map out the energy and water consumption, the waste outputs, and the sustainability indicators. Understand what performance goals were met and which ones weren’t. But the more I read, the more I realized that a sustainability report isn’t just a data document—it’s a carefully constructed narrative. A branding tool. A version of the truth a company chooses to tell.

And with that realization came a sense of unease. It wasn’t just about what was in the report—it was also about what was left out.

What does it mean when a company highlights its 20% waste reduction but says nothing about its hazardous waste disposal methods? When they celebrate scope 1 and 2 emissions decreases, but go quiet on supply chain violations or water pollution in outsourced manufacturing regions? What happens to the metrics that don’t look good on glossy pages?

I used to think I could approach sustainability work with a clear sense of objectivity. But this process taught me that objectivity doesn’t mean neutrality. Objectivity, in practice, is often a negotiation—between my values and the corporate reality. Between the business imperative and the social responsibility. And sometimes, being objective means daring to ask uncomfortable questions, even when you know the answer might make the conversation harder.

I found myself wondering: if sustainability reporting is a space where companies shape their identity, what happens to the truths that don’t serve that identity? Are they abandoned? Hidden? Excused? Or simply left unspoken because they don’t drive profit?

This internal conflict hit me hardest when I realized how much of what is “measured” is driven by what is considered “material” to the business. Impact metrics—those meant to reflect the true social or environmental footprint—are often filtered through a lens of profitability. If an issue isn’t seen as relevant to revenue or stakeholder perception, it risks being erased from the company’s sustainability agenda altogether. And yet, those very metrics—access to clean water, fair labor conditions, maternal health, indigenous land rights—are the ones that matter most to the communities affected.

That realization broke something in me. But it also lit a fire.

It made me ask: how do we push beyond the performative, and get closer to the transformative? How do we, as analysts, researchers, advocates—humans—help companies see the value of addressing what doesn’t yet feel “material” to their bottom line?

Because if impact metrics always have to be profitable to be prioritized, we are locking ourselves into a cycle where the most pressing social problems remain neglected. We’re telling companies it’s okay to care—so long as the market rewards them for it. But real change doesn’t always come with a return on investment in the short term. Sometimes, it’s slow. Sometimes, it’s invisible. Sometimes, it’s uncomfortable. But that doesn’t make it less important.

I don’t have all the answers. I still wrestle with my own biases—when to compromise, when to push, when to meet a client where they are versus when to challenge them to be better. But I do know that if we want a future where sustainability isn’t just a corporate slogan, we need to start holding space for the unspoken, the unprofitable, and the inconvenient truths.

We need reporting systems that ask companies not only what they’ve improved, but what they’ve ignored. We need frameworks that elevate the metrics that don’t scream “brand value” but whisper “human dignity.” We need more people in rooms asking, “What didn’t make it into this report—and why?”

Most of all, we need courage. Courage to admit that progress isn’t always linear or market friendly. Courage to believe that even the smallest shifts in how we evaluate impact can ripple into something meaningful. And courage to stand in that in-between space, where objectivity meets advocacy, and say: this isn’t enough. We can do better.

Working on this project didn’t just make me a better analyst or consultant—it made me a more critical thinker, a humbler learner, and a more hopeful human being. Because for all the gaps and silences in these reports, there’s also opportunity. Opportunity to rewrite the narrative, to push for metrics that truly matter, and to hold companies—and us—accountable for the kind of world we want to build.

And I want to be part of building that world, even if it doesn’t always fit neatly into a spreadsheet.