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FBI sent several informants to Standing Rock protests, court documents show

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Friday, March 15, 2024

Up to 10 informants managed by the FBI were embedded in anti-pipeline resistance camps near the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation at the height of mass protests against the Dakota Access pipeline in 2016. The new details about federal law enforcement surveillance of an Indigenous environmental movement were released as part of a legal fight between North Dakota and the federal government over who should pay for policing the pipeline fight. Until now, the existence of only one other federal informant in the camps had been confirmed.  The FBI also regularly sent agents wearing civilian clothing into the camps, one former agent told Grist in an interview. Meanwhile, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, or BIA, operated undercover narcotics officers out of the reservation’s Prairie Knights Casino, where many pipeline opponents rented rooms, according to one of the depositions.  The operations were part of a wider surveillance strategy that included drones, social media monitoring, and radio eavesdropping by an array of state, local, and federal agencies, according to attorneys’ interviews with law enforcement. The FBI infiltration fits into a longer history in the region. In the 1970s, the FBI infiltrated the highest levels of the American Indian Movement, or AIM.  The Indigenous-led uprising against Energy Transfer Partners’ Dakota Access oil pipeline drew thousands of people seeking to protect water, the climate, and Indigenous sovereignty. For seven months, participants protested to stop construction of the pipeline and were met by militarized law enforcement, at times facing tear gas, rubber bullets, and water hoses in below-freezing weather. Read Next How the US government began its decade-long campaign against the anti-pipeline movement Adam Federman After the pipeline was completed and demonstrators left, North Dakota sued the federal government for more than $38 million — the cost the state claims to have spent on police and other emergency responders, and for property and environmental damage. Central to North Dakota’s complaints are the existence of anti-pipeline camps on federal land managed by the Army Corps of Engineers. The state argues that by failing to enforce trespass laws on that land, the Army Corps allowed the camps to grow to up to 8,000 people and serve as a “safe haven” for those who participated in illegal activity during protests and caused property damage.  In an effort to prove that the federal government failed to provide sufficient support, attorneys deposed officials leading several law enforcement agencies during the protests. The depositions provide unusually detailed information about the way that federal security agencies intervene in climate and Indigenous movements.  Until the lawsuit, the existence of only one federal informant in the camps was known: Heath Harmon was working as an FBI informant when he entered into a romantic relationship with water protector Red Fawn Fallis. A judge eventually sentenced Fallis to nearly five years in prison after a gun went off when she was tackled by police during a protest. The gun belonged to Harmon.  Manape LaMere, a member of the Bdewakantowan Isanti and Ihanktowan bands, who is also Winnebago Ho-chunk and spent months in the camps, said he and others anticipated the presence of FBI agents, because of the agency’s history. Camp security kicked out several suspected infiltrators. “We were already cynical, because we’ve had our heart broke before by our own relatives,” he explained. “The culture of paranoia and fear created around informants and infiltration is so deleterious to social movements, because these movements for Indigenous people are typically based on kinship networks and forms of relationality,” said Nick Estes, a historian and member of the Lower Brule Sioux Tribe who spent time at the Standing Rock resistance camps and has extensively researched the infiltration of the AIM movement by the FBI. Beyond his relationship with Fallis, Harmon had close familial ties with community leaders and had participated in important ceremonies. Infiltration, Estes said, “turns relatives against relatives.” Less widely known than the FBI’s undercover operations are those of the BIA, which serves as the primary police force on Standing Rock and other reservations. During the NoDAPL movement, the BIA had “a couple” of narcotics officers operating undercover at the Prairie Knights Casino, according to the deposition of Darren Cruzan, a member of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma who was the director of the BIA’s Office of Justice Services at the time.   It’s not unusual for the BIA to use undercover officers in its drug busts. However, the intelligence collected by the Standing Rock undercovers went beyond narcotics. “It was part of our effort to gather intel on, you know, what was happening within the boundaries of the reservation and if there were any plans to move camps or add camps or those sorts of things,” Cruzan said. A spokesperson for Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, who oversees the BIA, also declined to comment.  According to the deposition of Jacob O’Connell, the FBI’s supervisor for the western half of North Dakota during the Standing Rock protests, the FBI was infiltrating the NoDAPL movement weeks before the protests gained international media attention and attracted thousands. By August 16, 2016, the FBI had tasked at least one “confidential human source” with gathering information. The FBI eventually had five to 10 informants in the protest camps — “probably closer to 10,” said Bob Perry, assistant special agent in charge of the FBI’s Minneapolis field office, which oversees operations in the Dakotas, in another deposition. The number of FBI informants at Standing Rock was first reported by the North Dakota Monitor. According to Perry, FBI agents told recruits what to collect and what not to collect, saying, “We don’t want to know about constitutionally protected activity.” Perry added, “We would give them essentially a list: ‘Violence, potential violence, criminal activity.’ To some point it was health and safety as well, because, you know, we had an informant placed and in position where they could report on that.”  The deposition of U.S. Marshal Paul Ward said that the FBI also sent agents into the camps undercover. O’Connell denied the claim. “There were no undercover agents used at all, ever.” He confirmed, however, that he and other agents did visit the camps routinely. For the first couple months of the protests, O’Connell himself arrived at the camps soon after dawn most days, wearing outdoorsy clothing from REI or Dick’s Sporting Goods. “Being plainclothes, we could kind of slink around and, you know, do what we had to do,” he said. O’Connell would chat with whomever he ran into. Although he sometimes handed out his card, he didn’t always identify himself as FBI. “If people didn’t ask, I didn’t tell them,” he said.   He said two of the agents he worked with avoided confrontations with protesters, and Ward’s deposition indicates that the pair raised concerns with the U.S. marshal about the safety of entering the camps without local police knowing. Despite its efforts, the FBI uncovered no widespread criminal activity beyond personal drug use and “misdemeanor-type activity,” O’Connell said in his deposition.  The U.S. Marshals Service, as well as Ward, declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation. A spokesperson for the FBI said the press office does not comment on litigation. Infiltration wasn’t the only activity carried out by federal law enforcement. Customs and Border Protection responded to the protests with its MQ-9 Reaper drone, a model best known for remote airstrikes in Iraq and Afghanistan, which was flying above the encampments by August 22, supplying video footage known as the “Bigpipe Feed.” The drone flew nearly 281 hours over six months, costing the agency $1.5 million. Customs and Border Protection declined a request for comment, citing the litigation. The biggest beneficiary of federal law enforcement’s spending was Energy Transfer Partners. In fact, the company donated $15 million to North Dakota to help foot the bill for the state’s parallel efforts to quell the disruptions. During the protests, the company’s private security contractor, TigerSwan, coordinated with local law enforcement and passed along information collected by its own undercover and eavesdropping operations. Read Next After infiltrating Standing Rock, TigerSwan pitched its ‘counterinsurgency’ playbook to other oil companies Alleen Brown & Naveena Sadasivam Energy Transfer Partners also sought to influence the FBI. It was the FBI, however, that initiated its relationship with the company. In his deposition, O’Connell said he showed up at Energy Transfer Partners’ office within a day or two of beginning to investigate the movement and was soon meeting and communicating with executive vice president Joey Mahmoud. At one point, Mahmoud pointed the FBI toward Indigenous activist and actor Dallas Goldtooth, saying that “he’s the ring leader making this violent,” according to an email an attorney described. Throughout the protests, federal law enforcement officials pushed to obtain more resources to police the anti-pipeline movement. Perry wanted drones that could zoom in on faces and license plates, and O’Connell thought the FBI should investigate crowd-sourced funding, which could have ties to North Korea, he claimed in his deposition. Both requests were denied. O’Connell clarified that he was more concerned about China or Russia than North Korea, and it was not just state actors that worried him. “If somebody like George Soros or some of these other well-heeled activists are trying to disrupt things in my turf, I want to know what’s going on,” he explained, referring to the billionaire philanthropist, who conspiracists theorize controls progressive causes. To the federal law enforcement officials working on the ground at Standing Rock, there was no reason they shouldn’t be able to use all the resources at the federal government’s disposal to confront this latest Indigenous uprising. “That shit should have been crushed like immediately,” O’Connell said. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline FBI sent several informants to Standing Rock protests, court documents show on Mar 15, 2024.

Until now, only one other federal informant was known to be in the camps.

Up to 10 informants managed by the FBI were embedded in anti-pipeline resistance camps near the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation at the height of mass protests against the Dakota Access pipeline in 2016. The new details about federal law enforcement surveillance of an Indigenous environmental movement were released as part of a legal fight between North Dakota and the federal government over who should pay for policing the pipeline fight. Until now, the existence of only one other federal informant in the camps had been confirmed. 

The FBI also regularly sent agents wearing civilian clothing into the camps, one former agent told Grist in an interview. Meanwhile, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, or BIA, operated undercover narcotics officers out of the reservation’s Prairie Knights Casino, where many pipeline opponents rented rooms, according to one of the depositions. 

The operations were part of a wider surveillance strategy that included drones, social media monitoring, and radio eavesdropping by an array of state, local, and federal agencies, according to attorneys’ interviews with law enforcement. The FBI infiltration fits into a longer history in the region. In the 1970s, the FBI infiltrated the highest levels of the American Indian Movement, or AIM. 

The Indigenous-led uprising against Energy Transfer Partners’ Dakota Access oil pipeline drew thousands of people seeking to protect water, the climate, and Indigenous sovereignty. For seven months, participants protested to stop construction of the pipeline and were met by militarized law enforcement, at times facing tear gas, rubber bullets, and water hoses in below-freezing weather.

After the pipeline was completed and demonstrators left, North Dakota sued the federal government for more than $38 million — the cost the state claims to have spent on police and other emergency responders, and for property and environmental damage. Central to North Dakota’s complaints are the existence of anti-pipeline camps on federal land managed by the Army Corps of Engineers. The state argues that by failing to enforce trespass laws on that land, the Army Corps allowed the camps to grow to up to 8,000 people and serve as a “safe haven” for those who participated in illegal activity during protests and caused property damage. 

In an effort to prove that the federal government failed to provide sufficient support, attorneys deposed officials leading several law enforcement agencies during the protests. The depositions provide unusually detailed information about the way that federal security agencies intervene in climate and Indigenous movements. 

Until the lawsuit, the existence of only one federal informant in the camps was known: Heath Harmon was working as an FBI informant when he entered into a romantic relationship with water protector Red Fawn Fallis. A judge eventually sentenced Fallis to nearly five years in prison after a gun went off when she was tackled by police during a protest. The gun belonged to Harmon. 

Manape LaMere, a member of the Bdewakantowan Isanti and Ihanktowan bands, who is also Winnebago Ho-chunk and spent months in the camps, said he and others anticipated the presence of FBI agents, because of the agency’s history. Camp security kicked out several suspected infiltrators. “We were already cynical, because we’ve had our heart broke before by our own relatives,” he explained.

“The culture of paranoia and fear created around informants and infiltration is so deleterious to social movements, because these movements for Indigenous people are typically based on kinship networks and forms of relationality,” said Nick Estes, a historian and member of the Lower Brule Sioux Tribe who spent time at the Standing Rock resistance camps and has extensively researched the infiltration of the AIM movement by the FBI. Beyond his relationship with Fallis, Harmon had close familial ties with community leaders and had participated in important ceremonies. Infiltration, Estes said, “turns relatives against relatives.”

Less widely known than the FBI’s undercover operations are those of the BIA, which serves as the primary police force on Standing Rock and other reservations. During the NoDAPL movement, the BIA had “a couple” of narcotics officers operating undercover at the Prairie Knights Casino, according to the deposition of Darren Cruzan, a member of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma who was the director of the BIA’s Office of Justice Services at the time.  

It’s not unusual for the BIA to use undercover officers in its drug busts. However, the intelligence collected by the Standing Rock undercovers went beyond narcotics. “It was part of our effort to gather intel on, you know, what was happening within the boundaries of the reservation and if there were any plans to move camps or add camps or those sorts of things,” Cruzan said.

A spokesperson for Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, who oversees the BIA, also declined to comment. 

According to the deposition of Jacob O’Connell, the FBI’s supervisor for the western half of North Dakota during the Standing Rock protests, the FBI was infiltrating the NoDAPL movement weeks before the protests gained international media attention and attracted thousands. By August 16, 2016, the FBI had tasked at least one “confidential human source” with gathering information. The FBI eventually had five to 10 informants in the protest camps — “probably closer to 10,” said Bob Perry, assistant special agent in charge of the FBI’s Minneapolis field office, which oversees operations in the Dakotas, in another deposition. The number of FBI informants at Standing Rock was first reported by the North Dakota Monitor.

According to Perry, FBI agents told recruits what to collect and what not to collect, saying, “We don’t want to know about constitutionally protected activity.” Perry added, “We would give them essentially a list: ‘Violence, potential violence, criminal activity.’ To some point it was health and safety as well, because, you know, we had an informant placed and in position where they could report on that.” 

The deposition of U.S. Marshal Paul Ward said that the FBI also sent agents into the camps undercover. O’Connell denied the claim. “There were no undercover agents used at all, ever.” He confirmed, however, that he and other agents did visit the camps routinely. For the first couple months of the protests, O’Connell himself arrived at the camps soon after dawn most days, wearing outdoorsy clothing from REI or Dick’s Sporting Goods. “Being plainclothes, we could kind of slink around and, you know, do what we had to do,” he said. O’Connell would chat with whomever he ran into. Although he sometimes handed out his card, he didn’t always identify himself as FBI. “If people didn’t ask, I didn’t tell them,” he said.  

He said two of the agents he worked with avoided confrontations with protesters, and Ward’s deposition indicates that the pair raised concerns with the U.S. marshal about the safety of entering the camps without local police knowing. Despite its efforts, the FBI uncovered no widespread criminal activity beyond personal drug use and “misdemeanor-type activity,” O’Connell said in his deposition. 

The U.S. Marshals Service, as well as Ward, declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation. A spokesperson for the FBI said the press office does not comment on litigation.

Infiltration wasn’t the only activity carried out by federal law enforcement. Customs and Border Protection responded to the protests with its MQ-9 Reaper drone, a model best known for remote airstrikes in Iraq and Afghanistan, which was flying above the encampments by August 22, supplying video footage known as the “Bigpipe Feed.” The drone flew nearly 281 hours over six months, costing the agency $1.5 million. Customs and Border Protection declined a request for comment, citing the litigation.

The biggest beneficiary of federal law enforcement’s spending was Energy Transfer Partners. In fact, the company donated $15 million to North Dakota to help foot the bill for the state’s parallel efforts to quell the disruptions. During the protests, the company’s private security contractor, TigerSwan, coordinated with local law enforcement and passed along information collected by its own undercover and eavesdropping operations.

Energy Transfer Partners also sought to influence the FBI. It was the FBI, however, that initiated its relationship with the company. In his deposition, O’Connell said he showed up at Energy Transfer Partners’ office within a day or two of beginning to investigate the movement and was soon meeting and communicating with executive vice president Joey Mahmoud.

At one point, Mahmoud pointed the FBI toward Indigenous activist and actor Dallas Goldtooth, saying that “he’s the ring leader making this violent,” according to an email an attorney described.

Throughout the protests, federal law enforcement officials pushed to obtain more resources to police the anti-pipeline movement. Perry wanted drones that could zoom in on faces and license plates, and O’Connell thought the FBI should investigate crowd-sourced funding, which could have ties to North Korea, he claimed in his deposition. Both requests were denied.

O’Connell clarified that he was more concerned about China or Russia than North Korea, and it was not just state actors that worried him. “If somebody like George Soros or some of these other well-heeled activists are trying to disrupt things in my turf, I want to know what’s going on,” he explained, referring to the billionaire philanthropist, who conspiracists theorize controls progressive causes.

To the federal law enforcement officials working on the ground at Standing Rock, there was no reason they shouldn’t be able to use all the resources at the federal government’s disposal to confront this latest Indigenous uprising.

“That shit should have been crushed like immediately,” O’Connell said.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline FBI sent several informants to Standing Rock protests, court documents show on Mar 15, 2024.

Read the full story here.
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Goodall's Influence Spread Far and Wide. Those Who Felt It Are Pledging to Continue Her Work

In the wake of Jane Goodall's death, the many scientists and others influenced by her are promising to do their best to carry on her legacy

In her 91 years, Jane Goodall transformed science and humanity's understanding of our closest living relatives on the planet — chimpanzees and other great apes. Her patient fieldwork and tireless advocacy for conservation inspired generations of future researchers and activists, especially women and young people, around the world.Her death on Wednesday set off a torrent of tributes for the famed primate researcher, with many people sharing stories of how Goodall and her work inspired their own careers. The tributes also included pledges to honor Goodall’s memory by redoubling efforts to safeguard a planet that sorely needs it. Making space in science for animal minds and emotions “Jane Goodall is an icon – because she was the start of so much,” said Catherine Crockford, a primatologist at the CNRS Institute for Cognitive Sciences in France. She recalled how many years ago Goodall answered a letter from a young aspiring researcher. “I wrote her a letter asking how to become a primatologist. She sent back a handwritten letter and told me it will be hard, but I should try,” Crockford said. “For me, she gave me my career.”Goodall was one of three pioneering young women studying great apes in the 1960s and 1970s who began to revolutionize the way people understood just what was -- and wasn’t -- unique about our own species. Sometimes called the “Tri-mates,” Goodall, Dian Fossey and Biruté Galdikas spent years documenting the intimate lives of chimpanzees in Tanzania, mountain gorillas in Rwanda, and orangutans in Indonesia, respectively.The projects they began have produced some of the long-running studies about animal behavior in the world that are crucial to understanding such long-lived species. “These animals are like us, slow to mature and reproduce, and living for decades. We are still learning new things about them,” said Tara Stoinski, a primatologist and president of the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund. “Jane and Dian knew each other and learned from each other, and the scientists who continued their work continue to collaborate today.”Goodall studied chimpanzees — as a species and as individuals. And she named them: David Greybeard, Flo, Fifi, Goliath. That was highly unconventional at the time, but Goodall’s attention to individuals created space for scientists to observe and record differences in individual behaviors, preferences and even emotions.Catherine Hobaiter, a primatologist at St. Andrews University who was inspired by Goodall, recalled how Goodall carefully combined empathy and objectivity. Goodall liked to use a particular phrase, “If they were human, we would describe them as happy,” or “If they were human, we would describe them as friends –- these two individuals together,” Hobaiter said. Goodall didn’t project precise feelings onto the chimpanzees, but nor did she deny the capacity of animals besides humans to have emotional lives.Goodall and her frequent collaborator, evolutionary biologist Marc Bekoff, had just finished the text of a forthcoming children's book, called “Every Elephant Has a Name,” which will be published around early 2027. Inspiring scientists and advocates for nature around the world From the late 1980s until her death, Goodall spent less time in the field and more time on the road talking to students, teachers, diplomats, park rangers, presidents and many others around the world. She inspired countless others through her books. Her mission was to inspire action to protect the natural world.In 1991, she founded an organization called Roots & Shoots that grew to include chapters of young people in dozens of countries.Stuart Pimm, a Duke University ecologist and founder of the nonprofit Saving Nature, recalled when he and Goodall were invited to speak to a congressional hearing about deforestation and extinction. Down the marble halls of the government building, “there was a huge line of teenage girls and their mothers just waiting to get inside the room to hear Jane speak,” Pimm said Thursday. “She was mobbed everywhere she went -- she was just this incredible inspiration to people in general, particularly to young women.”Goodall wanted everyone to find their voice, no matter their age or station, said Zanagee Artis, co-founder of the youth climate movement Zero Hour. “I really appreciated how much Jane valued young people being in the room -- she really fostered intergenerational movement building,” said Artis, who now works for the Natural Resources Defense Council.And she did it around the world. Roots & Shoots has a chapter in China, which Goodall visited multiple times.“My sense was that Jane Goodall was highly respected in China and that her organization was successful in China because it focused on topics like environmental and conservation education for youth that had broad appeal without touching on political sensitivities,” said Alex Wang, a University of California, Los Angeles expert on China and the environment, who previously worked in Beijing.What is left now that Goodall is gone is her unending hope, perhaps her greatest legacy.“She believed hope was not simply a feeling, but a tool,” Rhett Butler, founder of the nonprofit conservation-news site Mongabay, wrote in his Substack newsletter. “Hope, she would tell me, creates agency.” Carrying forward her legacy Goodall’s legacy and life’s work will continue through her family, scientists, her institute and legions of young people around the globe who are working to bridge conservation and humanitarian needs in their own communities, her longtime assistant said Thursday.That includes Goodall’s son and three grandchildren, who are an important part of the work of the Jane Goodall Institute and in their own endeavors, said Mary Lewis, a vice president at the institute who began working with the famed primatologist in 1990.Goodall’s son, Hugo van Lawick, works on sustainable housing. He is currently in Rwanda. Grandson Merlin and granddaughter Angelo work with the institute, while grandson Nick is a photographer and filmmaker, Lewis said. “She has her own family legacy as well as the legacy through her institutes around the world,” said Lewis.In addition to her famed research center in Tanzania and chimpanzee sanctuaries in other countries, including the Republic of Congo and South Africa, a new cultural center is expected to open in Tanzania late next year. There also are Jane Goodall Institutes in 26 countries, and communities are leading conservation projects in several countries, including an effort in Senegal to save critically endangered Western chimpanzees.But it is the institute’s youth-led education program called Roots & Shoots that Goodall regarded as her enduring legacy because it is “empowering new generations,” Lewis said.The Associated Press Health and Science Department receives support from the Howard Hughes Medical Institute’s Department of Science Education and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. AP’s climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP’s standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – Sept. 2025

‘Only if we help shall all be saved’: Jane Goodall showed we can all be part of the solution

Jane Goodall showed tremendous courage in charting her own course as a pioneering researcher – and working to spread hope wherever she went.

Penelope Breese/GettyWith the passing of Dr Jane Goodall, the world has lost a conservation giant. But her extraordinary achievements leave a profound legacy. Goodall was a world-leading expert in animal behaviour and a globally recognised environmental and conservation advocate. She achieved all this at a time when women were commonly sidelined or ignored in science. Her work with chimpanzees showed it was wrong to assume only humans used tools. She showed us the animals expressed emotions such as love and grief and have individual personalities. Goodall showed us scientists can express their emotions and values and that we can be respected researchers as well as passionate advocates and science communicators. After learning about how chimpanzees were being used in medical research, she spoke out: “I went to the conference as a scientist, and I left as an activist.” As childhood rights activist Marian Wright Edelman has eloquently put it, “You can’t be what you can’t see”. Goodall showed what it was possible to be. Forging her own path Goodall took a nontraditional path into science. The brave step of going into the field at the age of 26 to make observations was supported by her mother. Despite making world-first discoveries such as tool use by non-humans, people didn’t take her seriously because she hadn’t yet gone to university. Nowadays, people who contribute wildlife observations are celebrated under the banner of citizen science. Goodall was a beacon at a time when science was largely dominated by men – especially remote fieldwork. But she changed that narrative. She convinced famous paleoanthropologist Louis Leakey to give her a chance. He first employed her as a secretary. But it wasn’t long until he asked her to go to Tanzania’s remote Gombe Stream National Park. In 1960, she arrived. This was not easy. It took real courage to work in a remote area with limited support alongside chimpanzees, a species thought to be peaceful but now known to be far stronger than humans and capable of killing animals and humans. Goodall is believed to be the only person accepted into chimpanzee society. Through calm but determined persistence she won their trust. These qualities served Goodall well – not just with chimps, but throughout her entire career advocating for conservation and societal change. At Gombe, she showed for the first time that animals could fashion and use tools, had individual personalities, expressed emotions and had a higher intelligence and understanding than they were credited with. Jane Goodall worked with chimpanzees for decades. This 2015 video shows her releasing Wounda, an injured chimpanzee helped back to health in the Republic of Congo. Goodall was always an animal person and her love of chimps was in part inspired by her toy Jubilee, gifted by her father. She had close bonds with her pets and extended these bonds to wildlife. Goodall gave her study subjects names such as “David Greybeard”, the first chimp to accept her at Gombe. Some argue we shouldn’t place a human persona on animals by naming them. But Goodall showed it was not only acceptable to see animals as individuals with different behaviours, but it greatly aids connection with and care for wildlife. Goodall became an international voice for wildlife. She used her profile to encourage a focus on animal welfare in conservation, caring for both individuals and species. Jane Goodall’s pioneering work with chimpanzees shed light on these animals as individuals – and showed they make tools and experience emotions. Apic/Getty A pioneer for women in science With Goodall’s passing, the world has lost one of the three great “nonagenarian environmental luminaries”, to use co-author Vanessa Pirotta’s phrase. The other two are the naturalist documentary maker, Sir David Attenborough, 99, and famed marine biologist Dr Sylvia Earle, who is 90. Goodall showed us women can be pioneering scientists and renowned communicators as well as mothers. She shared her work in ways accessible to all generations, from National Geographic documentaries to hip podcasts. Her visibility encouraged girls and women around the world to be bold and follow our own paths. Goodall’s story directly inspired several authors of this article. Co-author Marissa Parrott was privileged to have spoken to Goodall several times during her visits to Melbourne Zoo and on her world tours. Goodall’s story was a direct inspiration for Parrott’s own remote and international fieldwork, supported by her mother just as Goodall’s mother had supported her. They both survived malaria, which also kills chimpanzees and gorillas. Goodall long championed a One Health approach, recognising the health of communities, wildlife and the environment are all interconnected. Co-author Zara Bending worked and toured alongside Goodall. The experience demonstrated how conservationists could be powerful advocates through storytelling, and how our actions reveal who we are. As Goodall once said: every single one of us matters, every single one of us has a role to play, and every single one of us makes a difference every single day. From the forest floor to global icon Goodall knew conservation is as much about people as it is about wildlife and wild places. Seventeen years after beginning her groundbreaking research in Gombe, Goodall established the Jane Goodall Institute with the mission of protecting wildlife and habitat by engaging local communities. Her institute’s global network now spans five continents and continues her legacy of community-centred conservation. Researchers have now been studying the chimps at Gombe for 65 years. Goodall moved from fieldwork to being a global conservation icon who regularly travelled more than 300 days a year. She observed many young people across cultures and creeds who had lost hope for their future amid environmental and climate destruction. In response, she founded a second organisation, Roots & Shoots, in 1991. Her goal was: to foster respect and compassion for all living things, to promote understanding of all cultures and beliefs, and to inspire each individual to take action to make the world a better place for people, other animals, and the environment. Last year, Roots & Shoots groups were active in 75 countries. Their work is a testament to Goodall’s mantra: find hope in action. Jane Goodall went from pioneering field researcher to international conservation icon. David S. Holloway/Getty Protecting nature close to home One of Goodall’s most remarkable attributes was her drive to give people the power to take action where they were. No matter where people lived or what they did, she helped them realise they could be part of the solution. In a busy, urbanised world, it’s easier than ever to feel disconnected from nature. Rather than presenting nature as a distant concept, Goodall made it something for everyone to experience, care for and cherish. She showed we didn’t have to leave our normal lives behind to protect nature – we could make just as much difference in our own communities. One of her most famous quotes rings just as true today as when she first said it: only if we understand, can we care. Only if we care, will we help. Only if we help shall all be saved. Let’s honour her world-changing legacy by committing to understand, care and help save all species with whom we share this world. For Jane Goodall. Euan Ritchie is a Councillor with the Biodiversity Council, a member of the Ecological Society of Australia and the Australian Mammal Society, and President of the Australian Mammal Society.Zara Bending is affiliated with the Jane Goodall Institute as a resident expert on wildlife crime and international law. Kylie Soanes, Marissa Parrott, and Vanessa Pirotta do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Wildlife Advocate and Primate Expert Jane Goodall Dies at 91

By Susan Heavey(Reuters) -Scientist and global activist Jane Goodall, who turned her childhood love of primates into a lifelong quest for...

(Reuters) -Scientist and global activist Jane Goodall, who turned her childhood love of primates into a lifelong quest for protecting the environment, died on Wednesday at the age of 91, the institute she founded said.Goodall died of natural causes, the Jane Goodall Institute said in a social media post."Dr. Goodall’s discoveries as an ethologist revolutionized science, and she was a tireless advocate for the protection and restoration of our natural world," it said.The primatologist-turned-conservationist spun her love of wildlife into a life-long campaign that took her from a seaside English village to Africa and then across the globe in a quest to better understand chimpanzees, as well as the role that humans play in safeguarding their habitat and the planet's health overall.Goodall was a pioneer in her field, both as a female scientist in the 1960s and for her work studying the behavior of primates. She created a path for a string of other women to follow suit, including the late Dian Fossey.She also drew the public into the wild, partnering with the National Geographic Society to bring her beloved chimps into their lives through film, TV and magazines.She upended scientific norms of the time, giving chimpanzees names instead of numbers, observing their distinct personalities, and incorporating their family relationships and emotions into her work. She also found that, like humans, they use tools."We have found that after all there isn't a sharp line dividing humans from the rest of the animal kingdom," she said in a 2002 TED Talk.As her career evolved, she shifted her focus from primatology to climate advocacy after witnessing widespread habitat devastation, urging the world to take quick and urgent action on climate change."We're forgetting that were part of the natural world," she told CNN in 2020. "There's still a window of time."In 2003, she was appointed a Dame of the British Empire and, in 2025, she received the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom.Born in London in 1934 and then growing up in Bournemouth on England's south coast, Goodall had long dreamed of living among wild animals. She said her passion for animals, stoked by the gift of a stuffed toy gorilla from her father, grew as she immersed herself in books such as "Tarzan" and "Dr. Dolittle."She set her dreams aside after leaving school, unable to afford university. She worked as a secretary and then for a film company until a friend's invitation to visit Kenya put the jungle - and its inhabitants - within reach.After saving up money for the journey, by boat, Goodall arrived in the East African nation in 1957. There, an encounter with famed anthropologist and paleontologist Dr. Louis Leakey and his wife, archaeologist Mary Leakey, set her on course to work with primates.Under Leakey, Goodall set up the Gombe Stream Chimpanzee Reserve, later renamed the Gombe Stream Research Centre, near Lake Tanganyika in present-day Tanzania. There she discovered chimpanzees ate meat, fought fierce wars, and perhaps most importantly, fashioned tools in order to eat termites."Now we must redefine tool, redefine man, or accept chimpanzees as humans," Leakey said of the discovery.Although she eventually paused her research to earn a PhD at Cambridge University, Goodall remained in the jungle for years. Her first husband and frequent collaborator was wildlife cameraman Hugo van Lawick.Through the National Geographic's coverage, the chimpanzees at Gombe Stream soon became household names - most famously, one Goodall called David Greybeard for his silver streak of hair.Nearly thirty years after first arriving in Africa, however, Goodall said she realized she could not support or protect the chimpanzees without addressing the dire disappearance of their habitat. She said she realized she would have to look beyond Gombe, leave the jungle, and take up a larger global role as a conservationist.In 1977, she set up the Jane Goodall Institute, a nonprofit organization aimed at supporting the research in Gombe as well as conservation and development efforts across Africa. Its work has since expanded worldwide and includes efforts to tackle environmental education, health and advocacy.She made a new name for herself, traveling an average of 300 days a year to meet with local officials in countries around the world and speaking with community and school groups. She continued her world tours into her 90s.She later expanded the institute to include Roots & Shoots, a conservation program aimed at children.It was a stark shift from her isolated research, spending long days watching chimpanzees."It never ceases to amaze me that there's this person who travels around and does all these things," she told the New York Times during a 2014 trip to Burundi and back to Gombe. "And it's me. It doesn't seem like me at all."A prolific author, she published more than 30 books with her observations, including her 1999 bestseller "Reason For Hope: A Spiritual Journey," as well as a dozen aimed at children.Goodall said she never doubted the planet's resilience or human ability to overcome environmental challenges."Yes, there is hope ... It's in our hands, it's in your hands and my hands and those of our children. It's really up to us," she said in 2002, urging people to "leave the lightest possible ecological footprints."She had one son, known as 'Grub,' with van Lawick, whom she divorced in 1974. Van Lawick died in 2002.In 1975, she married Derek Bryceson. He died in 1980.(Writing by Susan Heavey, Editing by Rosalba O'Brien)Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.Photos You Should See – Sept. 2025

Starmerism has almost destroyed the Labour party, but I still have hope for renewal | Clive Lewis

As our party conference gets under way this weekend in Liverpool, we must start to work out how we can inspire the countryClive Lewis is the Labour MP for Norwich SouthSo choppy are the waters of the UK’s permacrisis, and so flat-bottomed the life raft known as Starmerism, that ideas once thought impossible at the outset of Keir Starmer’s initial soft-left, “Corbyn-in-a-suit” journey have become the defining realities of Labour’s present course. As its conference begins in Liverpool this weekend, the party must ask itself whether the political culture it is building is one that can inspire a country, or merely discipline it into compliance. Without a shift towards democracy, discussion and pluralism, Labour risks forfeiting the very moral and political authority it needs to confront the authoritarian voices shouting so loudly beyond our own ranks, and increasingly within them.The Corbyn wave that swept Labour in 2015 was more than just a political surge. It was a redefinition of the possible, a moment when grassroots activism, radical ideas and the audacity of political hope took centre stage. It represented a demand for genuine democracy, pluralism and change. For many, it was the first time in living memory that Labour had felt like a movement rather than a machine. Today, Starmer’s absolute determination to distance Labour from that era speaks volumes.Clive Lewis is the Labour MP for Norwich South. This is an edited extract from Clive Lewis’s foreword to The Starmer Symptom, by Mark Perryman Continue reading...

So choppy are the waters of the UK’s permacrisis, and so flat-bottomed the life raft known as Starmerism, that ideas once thought impossible at the outset of Keir Starmer’s initial soft-left, “Corbyn-in-a-suit” journey have become the defining realities of Labour’s present course. As its conference begins in Liverpool this weekend, the party must ask itself whether the political culture it is building is one that can inspire a country, or merely discipline it into compliance. Without a shift towards democracy, discussion and pluralism, Labour risks forfeiting the very moral and political authority it needs to confront the authoritarian voices shouting so loudly beyond our own ranks, and increasingly within them.The Corbyn wave that swept Labour in 2015 was more than just a political surge. It was a redefinition of the possible, a moment when grassroots activism, radical ideas and the audacity of political hope took centre stage. It represented a demand for genuine democracy, pluralism and change. For many, it was the first time in living memory that Labour had felt like a movement rather than a machine. Today, Starmer’s absolute determination to distance Labour from that era speaks volumes.The current party leadership views unity not as something cultivated through respectful dialogue and diverse perspectives, but something enforced through control. The Corbyn moment threatened Labour precisely because it signalled a party potentially ungovernable by conventional managerial methods. This is a party unsure how to reconcile democratic participation with electoral success.Parliamentary candidate selections have been increasingly centralised, and grassroots members and leftwing voices within the party marginalised. A party once brimming with energy, ideas and volunteers has become a professionalised bureaucracy aimed at maintaining power rather than transforming society.Labour’s aversion to pluralism is most obvious in its rejection of coalition politics. It wants to be an electoral juggernaut capable of winning alone or not at all. Yet contemporary crises – climate breakdown, authoritarian populism, stark economic inequality – demand cooperation beyond narrow party lines. Collaboration between Labour, the Greens, the Liberal Democrats and other progressive forces is not a sign of weakness, but maturity. And the stakes are as high as the very future of our democracy, our planet. Such a refusal to share power becomes not just strategically foolish, but morally questionable.Nowhere is Labour’s aversion to transformative politics clearer than in its avoidance of public ownership. Consider water. Public opinion consistently favours renationalisation – not as nostalgia, but as a pragmatic response to corporate failures, ecological crises and profound erosion of trust in privatised utilities. Refusing public ownership signals abandonment of democratic control over our collective future, showing Labour’s alignment with a neoliberal orthodoxy that has repeatedly failed.This alignment finds its starkest symbol in the party’s embrace of corporate influence. This undermines democracy itself by nourishing popular cynicism. When voters see politicians cosying up to the same firms that profited from the 2008 crash, the social contract frays further.Labour’s timidity on the climate emergency underscores this problem further. This defining crisis of our times demands bold, courageous and imaginative responses. Yet Labour’s approach has been cautious and timid, perpetually afraid of alienating swing voters or corporate backers. Net zero is framed only in terms of competitiveness, not adaptation and survival. Green investment is promised, but always secondary to fiscal rules set by an economic consensus long past its sell-by date. While floods devastate communities and air quality worsens, Labour dithers.Part of the problem is that the party is paralysed by institutional pressures and geopolitical alignments. Of course, balancing these forces is what makes for great governments and leaders. But Starmer has shown no such inclination. As prime minister, he faces substantial constraints, particularly regarding established alliances such as those with the US. But his careful neutrality over the humanitarian crisis in Gaza and quiet acquiescence to harsh immigration policies reflect an inclination toward diplomatic continuity rather than ethical clarityor moral leadership.In this vacuum, the populist right seizes ground, offering nativist, nationalist solutions to problems that demand internationalist, ecological and equitable solidarity.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Matters of OpinionGuardian columnists and writers on what they’ve been debating, thinking about, reading, and morePrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. If you do not have an account, we will create a guest account for you on theguardian.com to send you this newsletter. You can complete full registration at any time. For more information about how we use your data see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionAnd yet, despite these profound concerns, hope persists. Not because the current Labour leadership inspires it, but in spite of it. Hope survives in the growing networks of community organisers, cooperative movements, union branches, citizen assemblies and environmental campaigns. It flourishes in places ignored by Westminster – municipal projects reclaiming public land, local councils experimenting with participatory budgeting, workers organising in Amazon warehouses and Uber ranks. These spaces show that politics is not the property of party elites, but of people acting in concert to change their lives.Ultimately, Starmerism risks rendering Labour unfit for the purpose it was created for: to give a political voice to working people and deliver collective solutions to collective problems. Openly addressing this is essential for Labour – and British politics broadly.The crisis is real, yet so too is the potential for renewal. But that renewal cannot come from above. It must come from below – from a revitalised political culture that sees people not as voters to be harvested, but as citizens to be empowered. Recognising this is the first critical step toward a politics daring enough to imagine and urgently act upon the challenges we collectively face. And if this moment is indeed one of endings, then let it also be a moment of beginnings – a time to organise, to imagine and to build anew.

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