Jane Goodall became famous 34 years before I was born. Her groundbreaking work observing chimpanzees in Tanzania put her on the cover of National Geographic in 1960. Ever since, she has remained one of the environmental movement's most active voices, traveling the world 300 days out of the year to campaign against the destruction and abuse of the natural world by humans. Last week, when I arrived at Goodall's family home in the English seaside town of Bournemouth, I brought with me questions about hope. Goodall is set to publish a new book, aptly titled The Book of Hope, on Oct. 19 in the U.S., and I am personally fascinated by the generational divide in what it means to hope for the planet. When Goodall came to activism, staying hopeful was a very different proposal than it is for the other environmental activists I've interviewed, mostly from new movements like the school strikers movement and Extinction Rebellion, who have adopted more aggressive strategies compared to Goodall's awareness-raising. In the late-20th century, environmentalism was a fringe activity, and it was harder for activists like Goodall to get people to listen. On the other hand, it might have been easier to hope that humanity would get its act together when we were decades away from the point of no return, rather than years away from it—or possibly past it. Over our hour-long conversation in Goodall's cozy living room and in the company of her family's sedate whippet, Bean, she shared inspiring stories of humans and animals triumphing over adversity—which has long been her primary way of convincing others to hope, and, ideally, to act. But what struck me most about Goodall, and the thing that younger generations could learn the most from, was her stubbornness. This doesn't appear to be a characteristic acquired with age. Throughout her life, when Goodall has believed she's right about something—the importance of animals, her campaign methods, the best location for a photo shoot—she is unshakeable. She doesn't ignore changes in the world around her, like the shifts in activism or the worsening climate prognosis, but she also doesn't allow them to undermine her drive. Goodall knows that would be fatal. "If you don't hope that your actions can make a difference, then you sink into apathy," she told me. "If young people succumb to the doom and gloom—if they lose hope—that's the end." |
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