On a memorable day in April 2024, as Jane Goodall celebrated her 90th birthday, I had the privilege of sitting down with her in Manhattan. She was there to unveil an inspiring collaboration with Brilliant Earth, a jewelry company. This partnership included a generous $100,000 donation to her foundation, the Jane Goodall Institute, and a new eco-conscious collection of jewelry bearing her name. Every piece featured recycled gold and lab-grown diamonds, emphasizing a commitment to ethical sourcing and zero mining.
The event was a flurry of activity, with a luncheon and prominent fashion influencers creating a vibrant atmosphere. Amidst the buzz, Dr. Goodall appeared noticeably petite and somewhat weary.
I knew exactly how I wanted to begin our conversation.
“When you woke up this morning, on your 90th birthday, what was the very first thought that crossed your mind?” I asked, leaning in to catch her answer over the lively crowd.
“I wish I was somewhere else,” she replied, a response that certainly wasn’t what I had anticipated.
Listening back to the recording of our interview on Wednesday, the day of her passing, I can hear a clear shift in my voice, moving from cheerful curiosity to genuine concern.
“Well, you know, I simply prefer being immersed in nature,” she clarified. She then shared anecdotes about the birthday wishes she received and how her thoughts turned to family and friends. However, she explained, this particular day was dedicated to a greater purpose, a sentiment she conveyed with a mix of sadness and determination.
“This birthday,” she stated, “is focused on my mission: to spread awareness globally and secure funding for our vital conservation initiatives.”
Those close to Dr. Goodall confirmed her unwavering dedication to this mission. She poured all her energy into ensuring her institute’s conservation and educational work would thrive long after she was gone. Her commitment to leveraging her immense fame – indeed, the profound respect she commanded – to inspire global action against climate change and biodiversity loss was absolute.
“That’s precisely why I spend 300 days a year traveling,” she told me. “It’s not enough to simply discuss what needs to be done. We must actually get it done, wholeheartedly.”
From her early days as a groundbreaking researcher, observing chimpanzees use tools like stems and twigs to catch termites, Jane Goodall always demonstrated a profound willingness to dedicate herself and her public image entirely to her causes.
She often recounted a memorable story about her legs. In 1960s National Geographic photos, she appeared as a young woman in Tanzania, ponytail swinging, dressed in shorts. Her legs garnered significant attention, often deemed attractive. On a podcast this year, she humorously recalled how some envious male scientists grumbled that her ‘legs’ were the real reason she secured magazine covers and research funding.
“Today, such comments would lead to a lawsuit, wouldn’t they?” she remarked. “But back then, my only desire was to return to the chimps. So, if my legs helped bring in the funding, then, ‘Thank you, legs!’” she said, patting her thigh with a grin.
“And honestly,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “they were pretty good legs!”
However, in April of the previous year, she admitted to feeling utterly drained, a weariness evident in her demeanor. I offered to conclude our interview early, but she insisted I continue asking questions.
“It means I can sit here and chat with you instead of mingling,” she said with a warm smile.
Our conversation then shifted to the upcoming United Nations biodiversity conference. I brought up a message of hers that often struggles to gain widespread adoption: the critical need to consume less. I recalled how she expanded the traditional three R’s (reduce, reuse, recycle) to five, by adding ‘refuse’ at the beginning and ‘rot’ at the end. She firmly believed that adopting a circular economy, one that mirrors nature’s inherent zero-waste cycles, was essential for us to overcome the ecological crisis we face.
She also emphasized the crucial role children play in encouraging adults to adopt more ethical lifestyles. Knowing her passion for Roots & Shoots, her institute’s youth program, she eagerly took the opportunity to highlight its importance.
We also discussed journalism. She believed it was vital for reporters to shine a light on the unsung heroes who are diligently working to create positive change.
“It’s not just about sharing good news,” she stated, “but illustrating how those positive stories contribute to easing the prevailing sense of doom and gloom.”
While we didn’t touch upon the topic of death during our conversation, it was a subject she frequently addressed in her writings and speeches. In “The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times,” co-authored with Doug Abrams, she famously referred to death as her “next great adventure.”
A few months later, I had the opportunity to interview Dr. Goodall once more, this time on stage at The New York Times’s 2024 Climate Forward event, precisely a year prior to last week.
My most cherished memories from that day are of our time in the greenroom before the interview. We spoke casually about her Welsh grandfather and my own Welsh mother. On this occasion, she exuded a quiet, yet powerful energy – a captivating blend of gentleness and keen intelligence.
As we prepared to go onstage, I knew precisely what my final question would be.
In preparation for the interview, I had asked numerous people, from all walks of life, what they most wanted to hear from Dr. Goodall. The overwhelming response was consistent: they sought guidance on where to find hope. However, she had already addressed this extensively in at least two of her books. So, instead, I probed how she balanced genuine hope – which she found in human ingenuity, nature’s resilience, the potential of young people, and the indomitable human spirit – with what is sometimes dismissed as ‘hopium,’ or false optimism.
Her response was immediate and unwavering.
“Hope isn’t merely wishful thinking,” she declared, inviting us to visualize a long, dark tunnel with a distant star symbolizing hope.
“It’s no good just sitting at the entrance of that tunnel, passively hoping for that star to reach us,” she asserted. “We must actively roll up our sleeves. The Bible wisely advises, ‘gird your loins.’ I adore that phrase, even if I’m not entirely sure of its literal meaning! But let us indeed gird our loins. And then, we must climb over, crawl under, and strategically navigate all the obstacles that stand between us and that guiding star.”