The Science of Care: On Jane Goodall’s Legacy
Written By Adiyat Zahir
I do not regret my early contact with David Graybeard; David, with his gentle disposition, who permitted a strange white ape to touch him... In those early days I spent many days alone with David. Hour after hour I followed him through the forests, sitting and watching him while he fed or rested, struggling to keep up when he moved through a tangle of vines. Sometimes, I am sure, he waited for me—just as he would wait for Goliath or William—for when I emerged, panting and torn from a mass of thorny undergrowth, I often found him sitting, looking back in my direction; when I had appeared, he got up and plodded on again.
Dr Jane Goodall, In the Shadow of Man (1971)
1960 was no trivial year for scientific pursuit. In New York, surgeons were performing the first coronary artery bypass surgery, while across the pond, doctors in Edinburgh had carried out the first kidney transplant. The first trials of the measles vaccines were underway in Nigeria, and Czech biochemist Emil Paleček discovered that nucleic acids could be studied using electrochemistry, paving the way to diagnosing genetic diseases. At the same time, a 26 year-old Jane Goodall, with no degree or any formal training, arrived at what is now the Gombe National Park in Tanzania, where she too would forge her name into the scientific annals as an ethologist and field scientist.
Before Goodall arrived in Gombe, chimpanzees were studied in science just as any other animal. They were shot, caged, tested and dissected, curiosities in zoos or corpses in museums for the public to ogle at and be reminded of how different they were from us. There was a prevailing belief that everything there was to know about an animal could be gleaned by studying their biology - from their pelts and bones, or from the behaviours of an isolated individual in a zoo. Everything a chimpanzee did was programmed by instinct, which was merely an extension of its biology. This was the paradigm which Jane Goodall radically challenged.
During her time in Gombe, Goodall discovered that chimpanzees could use tools as humans did, that they could experience jealousy, grief and profound sadness, that they could form fiercely loyal alliances and wage devastating wars. She did this with no training on how to ‘do science’, never conducting statistical tests or independent trials, having never been to university. Instead, she sat quietly, with her notebook and a pair of binoculars. In Gombe National Park, Jane Goodall simply lived and watched. More than this, she did not bring with her the lens of objectivity and depersonalisation that had become inseparable from the scientific method of ethology at the time; where other scientists may have scoffed at the notion, Goodall gave the chimpanzees names instead of numbers. She recognised their tenderness, their joy and their sorrow. She took notice of their politics and connections and, rather than dismissing this as non-data, she flew in the face of scientific convention and began to theorise the motives behind their behaviours, coming up with elaborate social hierarchies and networks. By disavowing herself of the notion that ideas of politics and complex emotion were uniquely human, she was able to see that conventional scientific inquiry had become so venerated as the sole path to truth that it was leading us to ignore the nuance, complexity and kinship of the natural world before us.
So, Jane Goodall did science differently. She attributed so-called ‘uniquely human’ explanations to behaviours the chimpanzees displayed, documenting cases of depression, altruism, and organised warfare. She intervened when she felt it was morally necessary - at one point, she threw sticks and stones and yelled to prevent an infanticide. She gained the chimpanzees’ trust. It was here that Goodall observed David Greybeard, named after the white hairs on his chin, strip the leaves back from a twig and use it to ‘fish’ in a termite mound for termites to eat, the discovery which cemented her place as a pioneering primatologist. She became their friend.
Dr Goodall’s work was not met without criticism when it was first published. Her detractors chastised her for being ‘unscientific’, relying on ‘anecdote’ and ‘unbounded speculation’ to establish her conclusions. Many in the scientific community were unsettled by the fact that Goodall had no academic credentials; a touch-typing certificate was her only formal qualification at the time. Today, many of her once-controversial methods are common practice in ethology, such as long-term, immersive observation and recognising individual animal personalities.
We are quick to credit novel surgical interventions or data-driven laboratory breakthroughs within the field of medical research. This is not to say that this should not be the case - it is, of course, a spectacular achievement when such biomedical advancements are made. Yet, Jane Goodall’s legacy reminds us that, within the body of scientific research, there is always a place for inquiry led by open-minded curiosity, and, beyond this, a critical questioning of the methods by which we arrive at progress and discovery.
Medical research is no exception to this. Doctors too must pay close attention to the behaviours of the subjects they observe - in their case, human patients as opposed to chimpanzee communities. There is much to be learned from the deeply personal narratives which accompany disease and recovery. Such knowledge about how illness shapes patient identity (or vice versa) cannot be gleaned from quantitative data and clinical metrics alone. If we rely solely on numbers and protocols, we risk viewing patients as vessels of disease, rather than recognising the complex sociocultural factors simultaneously at play. In doing so, we obscure the truth of their lived experience of illness, just as our devotion to ‘objective’ methods once marred our understanding of the natural world. Goodall showed that science could extend its boundaries without losing its rigour. Medicine, positioned at the intersection between empirical inquiry and empathetic care, seems the perfect discipline to carry Goodall’s teachings forward.
Already, modern ethnographic methods of conducting medical research, stemming from studies in medical anthropology, incorporate many of Dr Goodall’s methods into their approach. At Gombe, Goodall’s work was not casual and random - her observations were systematic, longitudinal, and meticulously recorded, allowing patterns of behaviour to emerge over time through careful comparison and replication. Similarly, medical researchers may conduct walking interviews with individuals as they go about their daily lives, blurring the line between participant and observer, helping to understand the unspoken aspects of the health behaviors, social norms, and contextual factors which may impact chronic disease management. Long-term studies often involve repeated, in-depth interactions between researcher and participant, rather than an appointment at the beginning of the study and a follow-up appointment with a different researcher a year later. The researcher might not ask any questions, allowing patient narratives to progress naturally, analysing their observations across different settings and individuals. This longer, less paternalistic approach can help to build trust, as well as allowing the researcher to develop a more attuned understanding of the incremental changes and challenges associated with a chronic illness. Such research may not yield any p-values or confidence intervals, but, as Goodall so keenly demonstrated, the knowledge gained is just as valuable.
For many people, Jane Goodall will be remembered as the woman who talked to chimpanzees. Perhaps for others, they will remember her as an inspiring conservationist and tenacious protector of the natural world. But for some, she will be remembered as the revolutionary scientist that she was, who conducted her research free from any preconceived notions of what it meant to be a scientist in her time, equipped with only her notebook, her binoculars and unbounded curiosity to learn from the community around her. In a time of rapid scientific progress, Jane Goodall did more than contribute to the ever-expanding body of scientific knowledge - she showed us all that science could not see, redefining what science could be. She showed us that science could care.
Only if we understand, can we care. Only if we care, we will help. Only if we help, we shall be saved.
Dr Jane Goodall (1999)
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