In the understated calm of Rio Tinto’s London headquarters, far from the dust and drama of the world’s iron ore pits and copper mines, Jakob Stausholm walks softly—but wields strategy like a scalpel.
Tall, angular, and impeccably composed, Stausholm is not what one expects of a mining CEO. He does not thunder. He does not swagger. He does not evoke the baronial machismo of a bygone extractive age. Instead, the Danish executive, who took the reins of Rio Tinto in 2021 amid a reputational firestorm, leads with a paradox: he is a reformer at the helm of a giant that digs holes in the earth.
Rio Tinto, one of the oldest and most powerful mining companies in the world, found itself adrift after the Juukan Gorge disaster—a 2020 cultural catastrophe in which the company legally, but devastatingly, blew up a 46,000-year-old Aboriginal sacred site in Western Australia. The backlash was global. Heads rolled. But what Rio needed next was not merely a clean-up crew. It needed reinvention.
Enter Stausholm: a former finance chief at Shell and Maersk, fluent in spreadsheets, corporate risk, and Scandinavian understatement. He was the unlikely but necessary choice—a technocrat brought in to salvage the soul of a company that had, for many, lost its compass.
But Jakob Stausholm has never been content with rescue. He is, quietly, a builder.
The Mining of Trust
If mining is fundamentally an act of force—of shovels, drills, and blasts—Stausholm’s approach has been curiously cerebral. His mission, since day one, has been trust: with communities, governments, investors, and, most audaciously, the earth itself.
“There are no shortcuts to rebuilding credibility,” Stausholm has said in multiple interviews, his voice measured, almost slow. “We cannot simply talk about sustainability—we have to operationalize it.”
And operationalize it he has. Under his watch, Rio has pivoted toward low-carbon aluminum, embraced green steel partnerships, and doubled down on critical minerals like lithium and scandium—commodities essential to the energy transition. He talks about Scope 3 emissions with the comfort of a climate economist. He doesn’t just want Rio Tinto to reduce its footprint; he wants it to become a player in the solution.
This is not without friction. Mining, by its nature, leaves scars. Even lithium, poster child of the green future, comes soaked in water use, geopolitical tension, and Indigenous resistance. Stausholm knows this. He leans in.
When confronted with conflict—whether over a new mine in Serbia or community tensions in Mongolia—he does not default to denial. He convenes. He travels. He listens. Often, he apologizes.
It is an unusual posture in an industry of titans. But it is not weakness. It is tactic.
The Global Minimalist
Stausholm’s personal style is a lesson in Danish design—precise, unadorned, and functional. Colleagues say he wears the same model of navy suit day after day. He has no social media footprint. His interviews are polished but rarely provocative. And yet beneath the minimalist surface, a complex worldview churns.
Educated in economics in Copenhagen, Stausholm sees the world not just through the lens of commodity prices or shareholder returns. He speaks often of systems—financial systems, ecological systems, cultural systems. It is this systems-thinking that informs his quiet revolution at Rio: the belief that long-term success will be won not by outcompeting, but by outlasting.
“He doesn’t lead with ego,” says a former Rio executive who worked closely with him. “He leads with math—and empathy.”
That combination is rare. And powerful.
The Next Ore Horizon
There are some who remain skeptical. Activists still dog Rio Tinto over its legacy operations. Some institutional investors want faster returns. Others think Stausholm’s emphasis on ESG has diluted the company’s aggressiveness in the face of Chinese expansion and American protectionism.
But Stausholm seems unbothered. His eyes are fixed on a deeper horizon.
In late 2023, Rio Tinto made a $2 billion push into Western Australia’s Western Range iron ore project—not just to extract more ore, but to prove it could do so while engaging Indigenous partners with dignity. In Serbia, though a lithium project was shelved after protests, the company is still working behind the scenes, seeking new terms and frameworks. In Mongolia, where the massive Oyu Tolgoi copper project inches forward, Stausholm’s approach has been conciliatory, cautious, and—critically—transparent.
Mining, under Stausholm, is still a tough business. But it is also becoming a more accountable one.
Epilogue in Iron and Silence
In the end, Jakob Stausholm may not be remembered as the man who made Rio Tinto richer—though he may. He will be remembered, more importantly, as the man who tried to make it right.
And that may be the hardest mining job of all.
