Dr. Jane Goodall · photo credit: Stuart Clarke
There are so many profound tributes to Jane Goodall that when I was first asked to write one, I hesitated. She has won accolades worldwide, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, Hubbard Medal, Benjamin Franklin Medal, the Paul Getty Wildlife Conservation Prize, the Kyoto Prize, Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, France’s Légion d’Honneur, the Medal of Tanzania, and the UN Messenger of Peace. The Jane Goodall Institute’s Roots and Shoots programs are now in over 80 countries. What more is there to say that hasn’t already been said about the most beloved woman in the world?
As a wildlife biologist I was overjoyed to meet Jane numerous times, once with an excited gaggle of 4th grade protégés who were developing a new Roots and Shoots chapter. It was the first time I got to see Jane the Pied Piper, she had a welcoming vitality that was calm but provocative to all ages. Meeting her felt like a personal invitation to be genuine and curious. As a child I read about Jane’s chimpanzee research In the Shadow of Man and grew up dreaming of working in Africa. I didn’t know her personally but she was a steadfast mentor throughout my life. She inspired me to go beyond scientist and become an activist, advancing my goal to try to save the wildlife I saw disappearing before my eyes. And yet she inspired countless others who were not wildlife enthusiasts. What was her superpower?
Jane’s ground-breaking research on chimpanzees was completely new at the time; it revealed as much about humanity as it did chimps. Yet there are many researchers with interesting revelations about their wild subjects. What did Jane do that made her so loved beyond fame or celebrity? I think there are three reasons for how she ministered her message with such grace and broad appeal.
The first reason is unfailing confidence. Not to be confused with arrogance or narcissism, unwavering confidence is a trait that is vital for success, particularly in a culture that is much quicker to criticize than give merited praise. Part of Jane’s lifelong success began with a healthy dose of confidence as a child. She relates how from an early age her family, her mother in particular, whole-heartedly supported her and gave her a safe space for her drive to explore the natural world. Her dogged persistence as an adult – her thick skin as she described it – was thanks in part to her diligent faith in her own research discoveries early in her career. She believed her revelations were broadly important and worth sharing regardless of the resistance from even the noisiest detractors.
Confidence fueled her persistence when she embarked on her chimpanzee research in her early twenties. She went from a secretary in England to working in a dense wilderness in Africa, embracing the world of a scientist as a young, attractive blonde not yet college educated (she later obtained a PhD from Cambridge). Her findings, despite being rigorously researched with meticulous dedication, were met with more than the average sized fruit basket of sexism and hubris from what she called the erudite scholars. She was objectified, her credibility disparaged; when she made the cover of National Geographic one famous male biologist claimed that her research was suspect, and that “she wouldn’t be on the cover if she didn’t have nice legs.” To this she responded “well, if being on the cover helped me get more funding to study chimpanzees due to nice legs, then I say thank you, legs!” One of her quotes is likely due to maneuvering the world of academics since the 1960s when she quipped, “It actually doesn’t take much to be considered a difficult woman. That’s why there are so many of us.”
She was condemned for being “too emotional” and unscientific because she gave her chimps human names. Critics voicing this tired notion are not just pretentious misanthropes, but purveyors of a more insidious notion: That scientists expressing emotional opinions about the wildlife we share the world with are wholly irrational. This criticism is a dog whistle for a cultural norm created centuries ago. It insidiously revives an old trope that giving your subject names indicates you care about them too much, you are an academic dilettante incapable of objectivity. It is meant to cast doubt on one’s entire existence as a valid professional if you show you care – or dare say love – your research subjects. This begs the question what kind of work would it be if the animals we observe and study – sentient, feeling individuals with innate rights – don’t inspire in us a deep concern about their well-being? The premise that every scientist who expresses real world empathy for nonhumans is unprofessional infers that their supposed emotional bias makes them incapable of following the scientific method with its parameters of objectivity intact. Such criticism, eschewing even a whiff of compassion, disregards the reality that the scientific method is a measuring tool, not a way of life. The problem is this type of criticism deliberately reinforces the Old Testament concept applauding human domination of the natural world while giving researchers permission to side-step the responsibility of reducing – or worse, causing – the suffering of animals in the name of scholarly professionalism.
Jane once said, “Whereas a scientist is more focused on facts and the desire to quantify, the naturalist looks for the wonder of nature, she listens to the voice of Nature and learns from Nature as she tries to understand it.” She believed that we can better serve the world when we aspire to both. The way Jane very publicly persisted despite an entrenched patriarchal culture of myopic mansplainers was nothing short of heroic. In doing so she granted scientists worldwide, especially women, a huge boon by demonstrating how love and empathy, and astute biological research, are not mutually exclusive. Simply put, she gave researchers the freedom to be real, to be advocates for animals outside of their analytical duties.
Dr. Goodall skillfully described the interconnection of science, facts, and human emotions without pretense. This leads to the second reason why so many called her their hero: She was fearless in articulating how to unite what she called “our clever brains with our compassionate hearts”. Most of us agree how important this is, yet it can require courage to speak openly about. For example, Jane spoke often about how eating a plant-based diet is a powerful way to help animals, humans, and the environment all at once, declaring “Most people do not realize the unspeakable cruelty suffered by millions of animals on our factory farms. And some who know, do not really care. But if we do not do something to help these creatures, we make a mockery of the whole concept of justice. Only when there is wider acceptance that farm animals are sentient and often sapient, can we hope to end these barbaric practices. I stopped eating meat some 50 years ago when I looked at the pork chop on my plate and thought: this represents fear, pain, death. That did it, I went plant-based instantly. There are three main reasons why we should eat less – or preferably no – meat. Firstly, so that we may eliminate factory farms and the suffering they impose on millions of animals. Secondly, to reduce the shocking damage the meat production industry inflicts on the environment and its contribution to climate change. And finally, to improve human health.”
How many scientists have the courage to publicly discuss the unpopular realities of inhumane treatment of billions of animals in farming, medical research, trophy hunting, entertainment? I do not speak of this conundrum as an armchair philosopher. Fresh out of college there were few opportunities where I lived for paid work with wildlife, so I rationalized that I had to make big sacrifices for my career. I accepted work at a prestigious university medical center as a lab assistant doing research on monkeys. The animals were miserable, housed and treated in ways no sentient creature should be. After a year of working at such a soul-killing job I began graduate school, yet once again I was naively drawn into an unwanted scenario. In my desire to study mammal communication I found myself instead witnessing the ugly realities behind the scenes at Sea World, where they held captive some Commerson’s dolphins, a species I was studying for their uniquely fascinating bioacoustics. I learned quickly there are undeniable reasons why these theme parks should end their exploitation of such intelligent, feeling individuals.
After graduating I happily embraced a new project location, researching anacondas, birds, and otters in the remote wetlands of Venezuela. The snake work was very popular and funded by the National Geographic Society; it was showcased on a National Geographic special and in their magazine. The most controversial challenge for me then revolved around my stubborn insistence on being female in an academic and geographical world too often dominated by sexists. Despite conducting the first ever field study of giant anacondas – with a garrulous PhD candidate and co-researcher – I was downgraded in some laymen’s articles as the nameless “assistant”, or even in one Spanish magazine as simply “the woman”. When I moved back to the U.S. I was dismayed to learn I had to persevere in claiming proprietorship of my research. The experience engendered my decision to publicly share my adventures not as a neutral researcher but as a “compassionate conservationist” (a formal branch of science) in the human world of wildlife conservation. Doing so would necessitate a major shift in my volunteer and professional trajectory. Observing Jane’s consistency in her holistic message of empathy in action was a lifeline, it helped me find the courage to choose compassion over convenience regardless of the job at hand.
It certainly helped that Dr. Goodall’s famous research was a catapult to open doors for her as an invited speaker, but that also meant she had a choice to say things that were comfortable and not prone to criticism. Had she chosen the safe route she undoubtedly would have maintained her popularity but with less impact. Instead she chose truth. She spoke of everyone’s ability to reduce climate change, animal suffering, extinction, and habitat destruction, all in one parlay about our responsibilities and capabilities as individual members of the planet. Her selfless persistence in doing this for audiences big and small, kids and adults, poor to uber-wealthy, indigenous to corporate crowds is a major reason for the power and longevity of her legacy. Despite the trappings of our modern techno-world her message marvelously permeated our fickle attention spans, a testament to her brilliance.
Jane’s approach resonated by being logical, kind, and direct without ego getting in the way. This is a rare ability and certainly not a cakewalk in a world that still tells assertive women they should speak less and embrace humility more if they want to be broadly appealing. Meanwhile Jane didn’t speak only about her chimpanzee research. She told stories, ones that clarified the essence of saving our planet: that to save Mother Nature, and humanity itself, we need action, community, and love. She said what many of us intuitively know, yet what so few experts dare say out loud, “We hold in our hands the responsibility to preserve harmony in the natural world, to demonstrate compassion towards all who call this home. So many living creatures have feelings, know loss, suffer pain. We must understand the mutual dependence between humans and animal, for only if we understand can we care, only if we care can all be saved.” Her strategy reminds me of another famous activist, Father Daniel Berrigan, who said, “Know where you stand, and stand there.”
Jane’s third superpower was that when she observed that her beloved chimpanzees and their forests were disappearing, she concluded two things: conservation anywhere was a problem that required direct action everywhere, and to implement solutions meant she had to go to the people, not wait for them to come to her literal and figurative neck of the woods. Doing so included asking people to change their practices and sometimes their beliefs. That is a lot to ask, and it takes a lot of work. Jane’s speaking tours had her traveling 300 or more days year after year, while being an avid writer and on-the-ground activist. Is should be no surprise that when she died she was on the road in California, far from her home in England, still devoted to sharing her message at age 91.
Jane told us the most common question she was asked, especially by children, was if she ever got depressed at the state of the world, and if so what did she do? Her answer was always yes, some days very much so, but in finding hope in the world she was inspired and even joyful. It is important to understand she didn’t wax poetic on the word hope, she gave us reason for hope, the very title of one of her books, and she explained to us exactly what it means and how to find it.
We desperately need hope now more than ever. The daily news is laden with one horrendous story after another, and if you don’t feel somewhat demoralized at present you are living in a bubble or have a clinical shortage of empathy. However, if you are under the impression that Jane’s idea of hope is a nice sentiment that only perfectly happy healthy folks have, then you are a perfect candidate to read one her books, such as The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times. When Goodall was given the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Biden in January 2025, the award committee summarized her contribution saying, “She taught us that when we search for humanity in the natural world around us, we discover it in ourselves.” Indeed she succeeded at this and more. She calmly repeatedly everywhere she went that small actions make big change no matter who you are. This is a powerful message in a world of over 7 billion people. It is not only powerful because small actions can add up hugely when embraced by many, but because it is too easy to feel lost and powerless in such a massive sea of humans longing for validation. What made her message resonate was not that she ignored grim realities, but that she acknowledged them without capitulating. She agreed that despair was seductive and normal, but treated it as indulgent. “Most of us don’t realize the difference we could make” she said. “We love to shrug off our own responsibilities, to point fingers at others. “Surely,” we say, “the pollution, waste, and other ills are not our fault. They are the fault of the industry, business, science. They are the fault of the politicians.” This leads to a destructive and potentially deadly apathy. If you care, you cannot give up. Hope is not passive — it’s about action. Hope does not deny all the difficulty and all the danger that exists, but it is not stopped by them. There is a lot of darkness, but our actions create the light.”
Jane was not a fan of ‘think globally, act locally’. “If you think globally, you become filled with gloom” she said. “It is overwhelming to contemplate the world’s problems all at once, which can lead to apathy.” Her message was proactive: If you – and perhaps a friend or two – take action, something small but one that aids people, animals, the environment, you will see some kind of positive change. Upon seeing that change, you will feel inspired to do more, and maybe another person, or a group will join you. And then when you search you will see others around the world doing the same thing, making small changes where they live. Even changing the life of one individual for the better has helped that someone, and yourself included. (A lifelong lover of dogs, Jane was quoted as saying “I don’t really like to go for a walk without a dog.” “Why is that?” “A dog gives a walk a purpose.” “How?” “Well, you are making someone else happy.”)
Seeding hope with local action is the foundation of the Jane Goodall Institute’s Roots and Shoots program, whose tenants are “Get inspired, Observe, Take Action, and Celebrate!” I think the most brilliant part of this strategy is the “celebrate” step. Doing so not only reinforces that our contribution really does make a difference, but spreading the word by celebrating even minor success is a key component of making hope contagious. As we get older we are very good at forgetting that we adults, not just children, need to celebrate our achievements, that doing so is essential to keeping us motivated. (This is not just my opinion, sociology studies on the best recipes for volunteer longevity put fun and validation, not ideology, at the top of the list.) Environmental activists, particularly, are too good at what Brené Bown – the famous researcher of humanity’s dysfunctional relationship with shame – calls “foreboding joy.” We are so worried anticipating the next event to harm Mother Nature that we forget to enjoy the moment, the good things happening now, even if we helped make the good thing happen. Finding hope happens from simple proactive steps implemented with a dash of creativity. Don’t know where to begin? The Roots and Shoots program has kits you can order and build ideas from.
“We are grieving for the departure of one of the most important women of our time, one of those people who aren’t supposed to ever die. But true to her timeless legacy, the lessons she shared are alive and well and can be tapped into by way of the books, interviews, and articles she wrote to help us all, not to mention her advocacy organization the Jane Goodall Institute. A recent interview of her now airing on Netflix is titled ‘Final Message to the World: Famous Last Words,’ a reminder she wanted to be remembered for her reasons for hope, not her celebrity. In honor of that desire we can recall her favorite quote: ‘You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.’ Thank you, Jane, for showing us the world as it truly is: Interconnected, precious, and worth fighting for.”
