Dear Sir David,

Twenty years ago, I watched you on screen in a lecture theatre with fellow Zoology Club students as your rib raced through the water alongside the world’s largest living mammal. A blow, a back, a dive. Spray in the air. The screen was shades of blue: pale blue sky, dark blue ocean, grey-blue animal sluicing through transparent blue waves. The whale was incredible. The cinematography was thrilling. Your joy was infectious. I knew then my chosen career in marine biology was the right place for me. 

Except, of course, it wasn’t. Priorities change, new ideas come in, and paths shift along the way. I did marine biology for a few years, sure – studying bottlenose dolphins in the Moray Firth, Hector’s dolphins in Banks Peninsula, humpback whales on both coasts of Australia, and even blue whales as they migrated through Geographe Bay. Being on the water was incredible. But science is full of statistics, and maths is not my strong point. Stories, though. Stories, I love. 

I became a teacher. High school, early childhood, everything in between. In schools, in conservation centres, in a zoo, an aquarium, a science festival or two. Throughout, your documentaries continued to spread awe and wonder around the Western world. I shared National Geographic and Double Helix magazines with my teenaged students. I channelled your joy when handling animals to showcase at the zoo. The message of conservation, of care as well as wonder, was always forefront in my mind. We have to look out for our beautiful world. We have a responsibility, you said.

I learnt about palm oil production destroying rainforests. I volunteered for Greenpeace Australia-Pacific on a campaign to label canned tuna with transparency about species fished, how, and where. I worked with another NGO on a campaign for marine protected areas in Australia’s southwest. I taught people from toddlers through to tertiary education, and always the question in my mind was, why don’t other people see the same thing I do? How do they not share the wonder and care for our planet’s richness? What can I do – what can anyone do – to break through our daily struggles and bring people into a collective movement for something that is bigger than each of us?

It was this question which brought me to where I am now: studying science communication. But in science communication, I found that my feeling that something was missing was not as black and white as it had seemed. It’s not ‘conservationists’ against everyone else. It’s not a ‘lack of care’ or ‘lack of awareness’ driving us ever on to global destruction and collapse. It’s also not as bleak as all that, either.  

We live complicated lives in a complicated world. Every day, forces both beyond and within our control shape our every minute. It’s exhausting to think about. To be frank, it’s either a necessity or a privilege to do so. The middle ground, the place where many (Westerners, in particular) inhabit, that’s a place that’s hard to break into. A space where priorities and values vary, time is precious, and competition for attention is extreme. The fact that so many millions around the world love your documentaries, love your messages of joy, wonder, and care, speaks to the power of attention that has been afforded to you, that you have worked so hard to gain. So many people have been affected by you in their lives. Have made changes for good because of you.  

From those early origins searching for novelty, to showcasing species and places and wonder, to raising awareness of conservation issues via lessons in history, and science, and sociology, to your newest messages of hope and possibility… You made a difference, Sir David. You make a difference. You are heard. Our planet thanks you.  

(I do also recognise the significant contribution of your teams and collaborators along the way. As you have said, this is not something you could have done alone. You are the face, the voice, of so many. Thank you also to all of them.) 

I took my children to see Ocean. The trawlers destroying the ocean floor – something which 20 years ago I’d only imagined from the pictures of the destruction they left behind – it had us all in tears. The scale of humanity’s hubris. The complexity of our struggle for growth versus survival, versus thriving. Versus care. Then the change. The message that all is not lost. That we still have time to make a difference. The blue whale surfacing, the coral regrowing.  

My children love you and all that you represent. As do I. Because you represent a message. That we can change. That people are not a lost cause, that our planet is not beyond repair. That middle class, white, Western men in positions of public influence can be forces for good. That we can start a journey with one intention and end up somewhere completely unexpected.  

I’ve heard that you read all your letters. Admirable, I’m sure – but it’s ok if you don’t read mine. I write this as catharsis; a reflection, in a way. Perhaps we should all write letters to those we admire every now and again, to see why. To understand ourselves a little more. To uncover what it is that really matters.  

Your voice has mattered. It still does. Thank you for using it to tell stories that make a difference. For your science communication. For your care. For your inspiration, and your legacy.  

Happy 100th birthday, Sir David.  

-Emma Gill