I fell in love with Jane Goodall when I was ten years old. And a part of me changed when she died on Oct. 1.
Friends came up to me that day and asked if I’d heard the news. Of course I had. Her impact on my life could never be quantified, and her death shattered part of my hope for our planet’s future.
But it also filled me with the passion to fight, and it should for you too.
It all began when I was perusing the graphic novel section at my local library. I pulled out the book with the brightest cover I could find: “Primates” by Jim Ottaviani and Maris Wicks.
“Primates” follows the lives of Goodall, Dian Fossey and Biruté Galdikas, who were trailblazing primatologists dedicated to species conservation. Over the course of a week, I read it four times.
After the third time, I asked my mother if she had ever heard of Goodall. Unsurprisingly she had, as my mom has been a science teacher since before I was born.
Together we talked on our couch about Goodall and about “Primates” for hours. Before returning the book to the library the following day, I read it once more.
This book planted a seed of climate activism in me, but it would be another few years before I heard of Goodall again, and my passion really started to grow.
When I was in middle school, my mom found out that Goodall would be giving a talk nearby, and she wanted to take her science classes to watch. But the school’s administration forbade it. I was distraught for her sake. I decided then and there that someday, somehow, I would help my mom meet with Goodall. When that day came, I would be able to make them both proud.
My mom helped create America’s delegation of Caretakers of the Environment International (CEI), an international high school program created to empower students towards climate justice and action against the ever-present threat of climate change.
Throughout high school, I joined my peers in completing local service projects to educate people about sustainability.
And during it all, my promise to myself and the legacy of Goodall stayed in the back of my mind. It came to life my senior year of high school.
Without telling anyone, I emailed Goodall to explain my mother’s admiration for her and her fruitless attempt to attend her talk many years ago.
I told her about our work to help the environment and how she had inspired us to turn promises into action. I carefully crafted each sentence and sent the email. My passion had driven me to action.
A few weeks later I received a reply: She said yes.
In 2024, my mom, sister and I met with Goodall over Zoom for what was the greatest conversation of my life. Goodall had a kind smile as we told her about our activism and our plans for the future, and we listened with wonder as she recalled her intense curiosity as a child that inspired her passion for nature.
I cried the day she died. And who could blame me? It felt as though a light in the fight against climate change had been torn from the world. How could the fight possibly go on without her?
I had seen concerning headlines in previous weeks about President Donald Trump’s disastrous efforts to destroy the environment that Goodall had spent her life protecting. I watched all the interviews of Goodall that I could find in search of answers on how to move forward when those in power are trying to take us backwards.
I came across a quote of hers that dispelled those pessimistic thoughts. It feels more meaningful now than ever.
“Without hope, we fall into apathy — and do nothing.”
Hope. Sometimes that is all we ever have. And we will not lose hope; we cannot lose hope.
We are Goodall’s legacy. We are the people who she has called upon to turn our promises into actions. We must fight to save our planet because letting it die would be the ultimate disservice to the 91 years that she tirelessly spent fighting for our futures.
It is time for us to return the favor.
Rieve Randall is the Community Engagement Editor for The Beacon. He can be reached at randallr28@up.edu.
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