A Letter to the Future

I recently read a "letter to the future" composed by Mongabay's  Rhett Butler as a forward to an art exhibition. I was so impressed by this means of expressing an eco-testament, I crafted my own reflective narrative. As they say, imitation is the most sincerest form of flattery.

Dear Future Guardians of Earth,

If you’re reading this decades from now, it means there is still breath in the forest… and perhaps, a glimmer of hope still rustles in the canopy.

My name is Dr. Gary Shapiro, aka Orangutan Dad. Nearly half a century ago, I knelt in the leaf litter of Borneo’s ancient rainforest and looked into the eyes of a young orangutan named Princess.  She met my gaze with curiosity, gentleness, love, and—if you’ll allow an old scientist a touch of poetry—a connection of ancient family and a wisdom that felt older than the forest itself.

That moment changed my life.

It’s what compelled me to dedicate my life to understanding and protecting these “people of the forest.” Orangutans, to me, are not just animals—they are fellow travelers on this fragile planet. Intelligent, yes, but also contemplative. Patient. Capable of empathy, thought, and resilience. They showed me that intelligence wears many forms, not all of them human.

I write this letter from a world that is, I fear, still learning that lesson.

Too many forests have fallen. Too many rivers have been poisoned. Too many species have been pushed to the edge for profit and convenience. But despite the odds, we’ve also witnessed the power of small actions—of communities rising to protect what they love, of students in Indonesia becoming scientists and stewards, of donors and dreamers uniting to save what they can. I have seen it in the faces of the young conservationists who received the Orangutan Caring Scholarship, many of whom now carry the torch I once held.

If this letter has reached you, it means something remained. Perhaps even something thrived.

Maybe you walk through a forest where orangutans still build their nests high in the trees. Maybe you sit beside your children and tell stories of how people came together—not perfectly, not quickly—but with heart, with wisdom, and with enough courage to matter.

I hope you live in a world that values silence as much as speed, wonder as much as wealth. I hope you’ve learned from the orangutan’s quiet strength—their ability to adapt, to think, to nurture with patience. And I hope you continue to fight for the voiceless—not because it's easy, but because it's right.

The future was never promised. But I believed it could be earned.

With care and conviction,

Gary L. Shapiro, Ph.D.

President, Orang Utan Republik Foundation

Field Researcher, Educator, and Friend of the Forest

Borneo & Sumatra, Earth—circa the 20th–21st century

Two Decades of Hope: Celebrating the 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship Award Ceremonies

This summer during the month of July, I had the privilege of traveling across Sumatra and Borneo to witness something extraordinary—young minds stepping boldly into their futures, fueled by education, compassion, and a shared vision to protect Indonesia’s natural heritage. The 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS) award ceremonies were not only a series of events; they were a celebration of resilience, progress, and promise.

As we marked the 20th anniversary of the program, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride—not just in the scholars we’ve supported, but in the network of educators, conservationists, students, and donors who have made this vision possible.

From Banda Aceh to Palangka Raya, Pontianak to Samarinda, each ceremony carried its own flavor, shaped by local cultures, university traditions, and the stories of the students who walked across the stage. But across all of them, a common thread ran strong: the belief that education is the most powerful tool we have to protect our forests and the species who call them home—including the endangered orangutan.

At each stop, I had the honor of speaking to the students—some wide-eyed and just beginning their journey, others preparing to graduate and enter the field as conservation professionals. I shared insights about orangutan biology and behavior, and why their survival is intricately linked to the people of Indonesia. But I also listened. I listened to stories of hardship and perseverance, of academic passion and personal transformation. These students are not just recipients of a scholarship—they are future leaders in conservation science, environmental advocacy, and community education.

In Pontianak, the Faculty of Forestry at Tanjungpura University warmly welcomed our team with incredible hospitality and a deep sense of shared purpose. Their enthusiasm and encouragement for the students was inspiring. Their message was clear: the future of Indonesia’s forests depends on education and collaboration, and they are proud to stand beside us in this mission. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the Deans, Professors, and staff who have supported the Orangutan Caring Scholarship program year after year.

A special acknowledgment must be made to Yayasan Palung, our dedicated partner in West Kalimantan, whose team has worked tirelessly since 2012 to implement the scholarship program with professionalism and heart. Their commitment to mentoring students and fostering conservation awareness in the region has played a pivotal role in shaping the next generation of Indonesian conservationists. I am deeply grateful to their leadership and field teams for their continued trust and partnership.

We also owe an enduring debt of gratitude to the Orangutan Information Center (OIC), our first on-the-ground implementation partner, who helped launch the OCS program in 2006 in North Sumatra. Their pioneering work, dedication to youth empowerment, and belief in the scholarship model laid the foundation for everything that followed. Without their early support and vision, this 20-year milestone would not have been possible.

Finally, in Samarinda, the warm and gracious support from the Faculty of Mathematics and Natural Sciences at Mulawarman University provided a meaningful capstone to this year’s ceremonies. To the deans and professors who took the time to join us, share in our celebration, and lend their wisdom and encouragement to our students—I offer my heartfelt thanks. Their presence reaffirmed the university's commitment to developing the next generation of scientific leaders and conservation advocates in East Kalimantan.

There were moments of laughter—like watching a student karate demonstration before a ceremony at the University of Palangka Raya—and moments of solemn gratitude—like presenting copies of Out of the Cage to university libraries that have stood by this mission for years. Each gesture, each interaction, underscored how the OCS program has become more than just a scholarship—it’s become a movement of hope.

To everyone who has supported this program—from donors large and small, to our partners at The Orangutan Project, to Indonesian business leaders beginning to join our cause—I say thank you. Your investment has already transformed over 300 students’ lives. And as we look toward the future, I am more determined than ever to ensure this program continues to grow, evolve, and inspire.

In the faces of the OCS scholars, I see the future of conservation in Indonesia. I see guardians of the forest, voices for the voiceless, and champions of a more sustainable world.

Together, we are making a difference. Together, we are planting seeds of change that will bear fruit for generations to come.

With pride and admiration,

Dr. Gary L. Shapiro

Founder, Orangutan Caring Scholarship Program

President, Orang Utan Republik Foundation

The Fruit of My Heart: A Durian Tree, a Memory, a Legacy

For nearly 47 years, I’ve been in love with a fruit that inspires obsession, awe, and even controversy—the durian. To many, it’s the "King of Fruits." To me, it’s a symbol of nature’s boldness, generosity, and mystery. But it’s more than flavor or fragrance—it’s personal. Durian has walked with me through nearly five decades of my life, a steady presence in my work, my travels, and my heart.

Just the other day, I had a reunion. Not with a person, but with a durian tree I planted almost a decade ago.

When I first pressed that young sapling into the fertile soil of Sumatra, I did so with hope. Not just hope that the tree would survive the monsoon seasons, the dry spells, and the hungry insects—but hope that it would thrive in a way that connects people, forests, and the wildlife that depend on both. I had planted it at Ibu Erna's Eco-farm, located in the buffer zone outside of Gunung Leuser National Park, not far from where orangutans, those wise, contemplative beings who also have a fondness for durian when they find it ripe and ready. 

For years, I didn’t know if the tree had made it. Life moves fast, and my conservation work pulled me to other regions, other causes, other jungles. I recall stopping in a few years after planting the sapling noting that she had grown but still too young to bear fruit. But the memory of planting that tree—digging the soil, gingerly placing her into the earth and tenderly packing the supporting soil, sweating through my shirt, smiling like a new father—never left me.

And then today, I returned.

She was there. Not just alive, but tall and strong. Her wide canopy offered shelter from the sun, and her branches—oh, her branches—cradled the heavy, spiny treasures I know so well. Durian fruit, ripe and ready, hanging like golden teardrops of gratitude.

After a cry of initial excitement, I approached her slowly, reverently. To touch the bark was to touch a timeline of my own life. A decade ago, I had more stamina, perhaps less wisdom. That tree and I—we had grown in parallel, each in our own way.

And I felt something unexpected. Parental pride.

Yes, I know she’s "just" a tree. But in that moment, I didn’t care. I saw in her the fulfillment of a promise. The labor of my hands and heart, bearing fruit in the literal sense. And I thought of my orangutan daughter, Princess and the other orphaned orangutans I’ve helped return to the forest, the students I’ve mentored, the forests I’ve defended leaf by leaf.

This tree was family. She was part of my story.

As I stood proudly beneath her, I laughed at how quickly the years fell away. The thought of the creamy, rich taste of the durian took me back to roadside stalls in Sumatra, jungle camps in Kalimantan, fruit vendors in Bali and Java and midnight feasts with friends and strangers drawn together by this bizarre and glorious delicacy.

I remembered how orangutans carefully choose which durians to eat—waiting for them to ripen, opening them with deliberate strength. There’s a reverence in the way they eat, a mindfulness I’ve always admired. In some ways, my long journey with durian has taught me the same: to wait, to savor, to share.

Today, I did all three.

I savored the fruit from Ibu Erna’s farm with friends and curious visitors alike—even tasting those that squirrels had worked hard to chew through the spiny husks. As we ate, I shared the story of the tree—born from my hands and nurtured by committed ecofarmers.

We all need moments like this. Moments when we step outside the rush of responsibility and reconnect with what’s quietly grown beneath the surface of our lives. For me, it was a durian tree. For you, it might be something else.

But I promise you this: the fruits of love, patience, and connection are always worth the wait.

The Flow of Love: Expressions of Life’s Deepest Meaning

What if the meaning of life is simply this—love?

Not the love shaped by romance novels or fleeting emotions, but the profound, abiding presence that flows through all of creation. Love, in this context, is not something we possess or chase. It is the essence from which we arise and the current that carries us forward. When we say "life is love," we are pointing to something deeper than sentiment—a foundational energy, a universal intelligence that animates our existence.

Love as the Ground of Being

Many wisdom traditions point to love as the source and purpose of life. In Christianity, "God is love" (1 John 4:8). In Sufism, divine love is the driving force behind the soul’s journey toward union. Buddhist compassion (karuṇā) is a form of love rooted in awareness of suffering and the wish to alleviate it. Even secular thinkers, such as Erich Fromm, have emphasized love as the highest form of maturity—a practice, an art, and an orientation toward others and the world.

In this view, we are not separate agents trying to find love. Rather, we are channels through which love expresses itself. And when we surrender to that current, we enter what psychologists call a flow state.

The Flow State of Love

The “flow state” is often described as the psychological condition where one becomes fully immersed in an activity—with energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment. But what if flow is more than just productivity? What if it is love in motion?

When a dancer loses themselves in movement, or an artist becomes one with the brush, or a parent gazes into the eyes of a newborn with complete presence—these are not just moments of peak experience. They are manifestations of love expressing itself through us. Not for accolades, not for outcome—but as a pure outpouring of being.

A Moment in Banda Aceh

I felt this flow of love with unmistakable clarity during the 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS) ceremonies in Banda Aceh. As I looked out at the faces of the students, officials, and families—many beaming with pride, some with tears welling in their eyes—I was overcome with the quiet power of shared purpose. These young men and women, recipients of the scholarship, were not merely names on a list or statistics in a report. They were the future of conservation. They were love in action.

One student approached me after the ceremony and said, “You changed my life.” But in that moment, I knew the truth ran deeper: we were changing each other. Their hope, their resilience, their commitment to protect orangutans and their forest homes—this was love taking shape in the world. It moved through their words, their gratitude, and the generations of care they would carry forward.

In that conference hall in Banda Aceh, under banners and lights and the weight of decades of work, I felt more than pride. I felt alignment. A deep stillness wrapped in joy. The love I had poured into the program for years was returning, not as a reward, but as a living wave of connection. It was the flow of life acknowledging itself.

Manifestations of Love in Action

If life is love, then everything we do—when done with awareness, compassion, and authenticity—is an expression of that truth. Some examples:

• Teaching with patience: A teacher who nurtures curiosity in their students is transmitting love as learning.

• Crafting with care: The artisan who pours attention into detail is shaping love into form.

• Listening deeply: When we offer someone our undivided presence, we practice love as spaciousness.

• Protesting injustice: Even righteous anger, when rooted in care for others, can be love demanding dignity and fairness.

• Forgiving with grace: Releasing resentment is love choosing peace over pride.

Even the quiet moments—the tending of a garden, the preparation of a meal, or a simple breath taken in stillness—can be offerings of love when we are attuned to the present.

Living from the Current

To live in alignment with the meaning of life as love is not to be naïve or perpetually cheerful. It is to recognize that beneath the chaos, confusion, and clamor of the world, there is a still stream flowing. And when we step into it—through mindfulness, compassion, creativity, or service—we remember what we are made of.

It is also a call to discernment. Not all actions are love in disguise. Some are fear, control, or ego cloaked in noble language. The challenge is to constantly inquire: Is this coming from love or from fear?

Love Is the Practice

If love is the meaning of life, then our task is not to define it—but to embody it.

This may look different for each of us. For some, it’s teaching children. For others, it’s building bridges between cultures, healing wounds, protecting nature, or telling stories that awaken hearts. When aligned with love, these actions are not just tasks; they are sacred expressions of purpose.

And in this sense, the meaning of life is not a puzzle to be solved. It is a dance to be joined. A melody to be played. A current to be followed.

So let us ask ourselves each day:

• Where is love asking to flow through me now?

• What can I do today that opens the channel just a little wider?

When we live the answer, the meaning is no longer elusive. It pulses through our hands, our breath, our gaze.

It becomes us.

Doing and Being: The Mirror and the Mystery

Most people define themselves by what they do during the course of their lives.

We are taught to build resumes, not reflect on essence. Our modern world reinforces this: jobs, roles, projects, accomplishments—they become our identity’s scaffolding. For example, my foundation provides a platform to conduct activities that contribute to saving orangutans. It gives purpose. It gives shape to time. It gives me something to say when someone asks, “So, what do you do?”

But let us pause, if only for a breath, and ask a deeper question:

Is what we do really who we are?

When we peel back the busyness and ask simply, "Who are you?"—the silence that follows is often uneasy. Not because the question is meaningless, but because most of what we quickly offer as an answer is not the truth. At best, it is a story, a useful fiction we tell ourselves to keep the ego intact.

“I’m a conservationist.”

“I’m a mother.”

“I’m a CEO.”

“I’m a 25-year-old white woman from Nebraska.”

These are not untrue. They are descriptors. Labels. Demographic metadata.

But let me be clear: You are not your labels.

You are not your age, not your skin color, not your address or achievements. You are not even your memories.

When I ask you, “Who are you?” you are likely to respond in language. But language is a net cast across the ocean of consciousness, and it never pulls up the whole sea. Words carry both denotation (their dictionary meaning) and connotation (their cultural shadows). What one culture hears in “white” or “old” or even “self” may be profoundly different than what another does. And so even in conversation, we are constantly misaligned in our understanding of identity.

What remains when the words fall away?

When the stories unravel?

When the ego takes a seat in silence?

Celebrating 20 Years of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship: A Journey of Hope and Commitment

As I prepare to board my flight to Indonesia, I am filled with both excitement and reflection. This is no ordinary trip for the Orangutan Dad. It marks a milestone: the 20th anniversary of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS)—a program that has, over two decades, touched lives, nurtured dreams, and strengthened the future of Indonesia’s forests.

In the coming days during the month of July, I will travel to four cities: Banda Aceh, Palangkaraya, Pontianak, and Samarinda —each a hub of scholarship, hope, and determination—to help award 30 new students with Orangutan Caring Scholarships with the help of our local implementing partners. These young men and women represent the next generation of conservationists, biologists, foresters, and environmental stewards. Their dedication will help safeguard Indonesia’s rich biodiversity and the precious habitats of its iconic species, including the orangutan.

A Legacy of 20 Years

Looking back, the OCS program began as a seed of an idea—a way to empower Indonesian youth through education, fostering a homegrown commitment to conservation. With the backing of our partners, donors, and local organizations, that seed has grown into a flourishing initiative. Over the years, more than 300 scholarships have been awarded, and over 200 students have completed their degrees in fields critical to Indonesia’s environmental future.

These graduates have gone on to work in government agencies, nonprofits, research institutions, and communities across the archipelago. They are not just protecting forests; they are shaping policies, restoring ecosystems, and educating others.

The Power of Consistent Support

What makes this program truly special is its consistency. For 20 years, we have stayed the course, even during periods of economic uncertainty and shifting global priorities. This unwavering support has built trust—trust from our scholarship recipients, partner universities, and the broader conservation community. We are also delighted and honored that the Government of Indonesia recognized our sustained work.

As I prepare to meet the newest cohort of scholarship recipients, I am reminded that our work is not done. In fact, it is more vital than ever. Deforestation, climate change, and habitat loss continue to threaten Indonesia’s forests and wildlife. The need for skilled, passionate conservationists is greater than ever.

Ensuring the Future

While we celebrate this 20-year milestone, our eyes are on the horizon. How do we ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship continues to thrive for decades to come? The answer lies in sustained partnerships, innovative fundraising, and engaging new supporters who share our vision of a greener, more sustainable Indonesia.

This trip is not just about awarding scholarships. It is also about strengthening our network, building new bridges, and inspiring others to join this mission. I look forward to sharing stories from this journey—stories of hope, resilience, and the boundless potential of Indonesia’s youth.

A Call to Action

As you read this, I invite you to be part of this legacy. Whether through donating, sponsoring our students, spreading the word, or simply learning more about the challenges and opportunities in orangutan and forest conservation, you can make a difference. Together, we can ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship remains a beacon of opportunity and a force for good for many years to come.

Beyond Signs and Sounds: Could Brain-to-Brain Tech Bridge the Gap Between Humans and Apes?

For decades, we’ve tried to speak with our closest relatives in the animal kingdom—chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos, and orangutans—using sign language, lexigrams, vocal cues, and gesture-based systems. I’ve been privileged to play a small part in this endeavor, teaching sign language to ex-captive orangutans in Borneo and watching them reveal glimpses of their rich inner lives. Yet, no matter how refined our methods, the barrier remains: their minds and ours separated by the limitations of voice, hand, and symbol.

But what if the future of interspecies communication lies not in hands or voices at all, but in the direct linking of minds?

A Radical New Possibility

A recent experiment captured the imagination of the scientific community: researchers linked three human brains in real time, allowing them to collaborate through direct neural signals—no speech, no typing, no gestures. (Read more: Scientists Merged 3 Human Brains by Thought Alone)

If human minds can already merge at this basic level, could we one day extend this bridge across species?

Imagine an interface where human and ape brains exchange signals not filtered through symbols or training, but through raw neural patterns—a meeting of minds at the level of pure intent, emotion, or perception.

What Might We Share?

If this sounds like science fiction, consider the possibilities such a link could offer:

• Emotional resonance: Orangutans are contemplative, gentle beings who experience joy, sadness, curiosity, and even grief. A brain-to-brain link might allow us to directly feel their emotional states, and vice versa—a true empathy machine.

• Shared spatial awareness: Orangutans navigate their complex canopy world with a 3D mental map of fruit trees, vines, and dangers. What if we could glimpse their world as they experience it, understanding their decisions in real time?

• Conceptual thought exchange: Apes already demonstrate planning, deception, and problem-solving. A direct neural interface could allow us to co-create solutions to tasks, understanding not just what they do—but why they do it.

• Cross-species learning: Could a young orangutan, linked briefly to a human brain, gain insights into tool use or survival skills faster than with traditional training? Could we, in turn, learn better how to live in harmony with nature?

Challenges and Hopes

Of course, brain structures between apes and humans differ in important ways. And creating a meaningful, ethical brain-to-brain interface would require not only technical mastery, but deep respect for the autonomy and personhood of our ape cousins. But if the first steps have already been taken with human minds, perhaps it’s not so far-fetched to dream of the next leap.

As someone who has spent a lifetime trying to listen to orangutans, I can’t help but wonder: what would they say if we finally gave them a way to speak beyond signs?

Let’s Reimagine Communication

Could brain-to-brain tech help us forge a new bond with great apes? Could this be a tool for conservation, compassion, and coexistence?

Share your thoughts—I’d love to hear them.

In Praise of Inefficiency: How Nature’s “Flaws” Gave Rise to Sentience

When we look at artificial intelligence, we see systems built by human hands to be fast, efficient, and precise. These qualities, celebrated in our machines, stand in stark contrast to the messy, slow, and often inefficient biological processes that produced creatures like us. Yet, paradoxically, it is precisely this inefficiency—this tolerance for slowness and imprecision—that laid the foundation for sentience, sapience, and consciousness.

The Maker’s Blueprint: Speed and Precision vs. Evolution’s Meandering Path

AI is born of design. We engineered algorithms for accuracy, speed, and clarity of outcome. These systems are optimized to minimize waste, avoid redundancy, and perform tasks with near-instantaneous processing power. Contrast this with how natural selection, over billions of years, cobbled together life forms not for perfection, but for sufficiency—just good enough to survive and reproduce.

And in this “just good enough” realm, inefficiency became a surprising strength. Let’s explore how.

The Metabolic Miracle of Warm-Blooded Creatures

Consider the warm-bloodedness of birds and mammals. Maintaining body temperature through inefficient metabolism—where precious fuel is “wasted” as heat—allowed these creatures to be active in cold climates, at night, or during seasonal shifts that would paralyze a reptile. That metabolic waste heat wasn’t a design flaw; it was a key innovation that freed our ancestors from dependence on the sun’s warmth.

It also fueled the large, energy-hungry brains of primates, including humans. Without this metabolic inefficiency, the neural hardware required for reflection, planning, and abstract thought could never have evolved.

Chemical Synapses: Slowing Down to Speed Up Complexity

Invertebrates often rely on electrical synapses (gap junctions) that transmit signals at lightning speed. Efficient? Absolutely. But these junctions lack subtlety. They’re binary, like a light switch: on or off.

Vertebrates, in contrast, evolved chemical synapses—relatively slow, energy-expensive connections that bathe their targets in neurotransmitters. Why trade speed for sluggish chemistry? Because chemical synapses allowed for modulation, integration, and amplification of signals. They enabled neurons to form complex webs where signals could be fine-tuned, weighted, and rerouted. It was this very inefficiency that allowed billions of neurons to interact in a way that gives rise to awareness, emotion, and deliberation.

The Virtue of Noisy Signals

Biological systems tolerate noise—imprecision in signal transmission, variability in gene expression, redundancy in neural pathways. In AI, noise is the enemy of accuracy. But in nature, this “noise” introduces flexibility, resilience, and adaptability. Evolution thrives on variability; without it, natural selection would have nothing to select from. The quirky inefficiencies of mutation and recombination generate the raw material for new forms, new minds.

Why “Design” Wouldn’t Have Worked

Had life been the product of an intelligent designer focused on efficiency, we would all be cold-blooded, minimal-brained, rapidly reacting automatons—more akin to AI than to sentient beings. The tangled complexity of vertebrate anatomy, the kludged wiring of the human eye (with its blind spot), the recurrent laryngeal nerve looping awkwardly around the aorta: these aren’t marks of optimized design. They are the footprints of evolutionary tinkering, where inefficiency created opportunities for new functions and deeper consciousness.

Artificial Minds: Mirrors of Our Priorities

Our AI systems reflect what we value: speed, precision, and utility. They lack the biological baggage that gave rise to sentience. They lack need—no hunger, no fear, no lust, no pain—no messy biochemical soup that generates joy, sorrow, or wonder. In stripping away inefficiency, we have also stripped away the conditions that made conscious experience possible in the first place.

A Call to Reconsider Our Metrics

If we seek to build artificial minds that are more than tools—minds that reflect the richness of biological consciousness—we may need to embrace the very inefficiencies we’ve tried so hard to avoid. We might need to let go of perfect speed and precision and introduce slowness, noise, and variability. The path to true artificial sentience, if ever achievable, may require us to rethink what makes intelligence meaningful.

Meeting Sandra: Completing a Decade-Long Journey

The last weekend of June 2025 brought me to Florida, where I came not only for a mini-fundraiser in support of orangutan conservation, but also for a profoundly personal reason: to finally meet Sandra, the orangutan whose story helped change the way we think about great apes and personhood.

One decade ago, I found myself virtually in a Buenos Aires courtroom on Skype, speaking on Sandra’s behalf. Then confined to the Buenos Aires Zoo, Sandra was already remarkable—not only for her quiet dignity, but for the legal challenge her existence inspired. That case asked a question the world was only beginning to grapple with: Could a nonhuman great ape be recognized as a person under the law? Could someone like Sandra, with intelligence, emotion, and an inner world, have a right to freedom and dignity?

The ruling that followed was historic. The court recognized Sandra as a legal person—the first nonhuman great ape to receive such status. Yet even as this decision echoed around the world, her transfer to a better life took time. Years passed before Sandra was finally moved from that aging urban zoo to the Center for Great Apes in Wauchula, Florida—a sanctuary that could offer her the peace and care she deserved. I had followed every step of her journey, but until now, I had not stood face to face with the being whose story I have shared in so many talks and writings.

On the cloudy day following the fundraiser, with rain threatening, our small group arrived at the Center. We were greeted by Patti Ragan, the Center’s founder and my friend and colleague of many decades, who made this encounter possible. After touring the sanctuary and meeting the many great apes—some well-known (like Bubbles, Michael Jackson's former chimpanzee pet), others quietly living out their days—we finally reached Sandra’s enclosure.

And there she was: Sandra, declared a person by Argentinian law, nonhuman yet undeniably an individual in her own right. She sat in the corner of her spacious enclosure next to a large outdoor fan, cooling herself with a blue plastic tub perched playfully over her head. Nearby, her companion Jethro rested in the cooler shade of the night house.

I approached, and Sandra’s dark eyes met mine. In that instant, the years and miles seemed to fall away. I felt the connection I had imagined so often—a connection born of advocacy, hope, and shared history. Perhaps Sandra felt it too, though surely for her own reasons. She didn’t smile, but there was a calm in her gaze, a quiet contentment as she enjoyed the sanctuary’s peace, surrounded by enrichment items and fresh browse that engaged her inquisitive mind.

As she held my gaze, I peered into her eyes and felt the weight of that legal milestone, the hard-won path that led here, and the privilege of finally meeting this extraordinary individual. Completing the circle of Sandra’s story, for me - the Orangutan Dad, meant not just helping begin her legal journey, but standing before her at last and bearing witness to the sanctuary life she so rightly earned.

Great Apes of Fame: The Orangutans Who Swung Into History (and Our Hearts)

 

Move over, Kardashians. Step aside, royal family. The real icons of the forest—and sometimes the big screen—are red-haired, long-armed, banana-loving superstars we call orangutans. Yes, they may not have Instagram accounts (yet), but their stories have swung across time and inspired scientists, artists, and conservationists alike.

In this blog, we look at a few of the world’s most famous orangutans: the ones who broke barriers, taught us about ourselves, and maybe threw a little poop in the process. 🦧💩

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🌟 1. Ken Allen – The Houdini of San Diego Zoo

Let’s start with Ken Allen, the orangutan escape artist from the San Diego Zoo in the 1980s. Ken didn’t just think outside the box—he escaped it. Repeatedly.

This charming Bornean orangutan used sticks, climbed walls, and once even unscrewed a bolt holding a glass panel. What made Ken special wasn’t just his wits—it was his motivation. He didn’t leave to cause chaos. He just wanted to wander the zoo… and apparently visit other animals.

What We Learned:

• Orangutans are highly intelligent and master problem solvers.

• Zoo staff started dressing up as tourists to catch him in the act. He still outwitted them. (Ken: 3, Zookeepers: 0.)

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🌟 2. Chantek – The Orangutan Who Spoke in Signs

Born in an American research lab and raised in a human-like environment, Chantek learned over 150 signs in American Sign Language, could understand spoken English, and loved going to Taco Bell.

Chantek even referred to himself as "orange chimp," which is hilarious and endearing, although taxonomically suspect.

What We Learned:

• Orangutans have the capacity for self-awareness, planning, and fast food preferences.

• The phrase “talk to the hand” takes on a whole new meaning when it’s coming from an orangutan.

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🌟 3. Sandra – The Legal Person

Sandra was no ordinary orangutan. In 2015, an Argentine court declared Sandra a "non-human person" with legal rights. She didn’t win the right to vote or run for mayor (yet), but it was a historic win for animal rights.

This Sumatran/Bornean hybrid orangutan had spent 20 years in a zoo before being moved to a sanctuary in the U.S., where she now enjoys trees, enrichment activities, and not being treated like a houseplant.

What We Learned:

• Orangutans aren’t just cute; they are sentient beings with emotional depth.

• If a tree falls in the forest and Sandra sees it, she probably files a motion in court.

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🌟 4. Princess – The Signing Swamp Princess

Okay, this one might be slightly less famous globally but legendary in certain conservation circles. Princess was a rescued orangutan in Borneo who learned sign language, lived near the blackwater rivers, and occasionally stole food (and hearts).

Her human companion, a pioneering researcher, claims she had a “fruit stare” so deep it rivaled a Zen master in mid-meditation.

What We Learned:

• Some orangutans seem more mindful than your average yoga instructor.

• With patience, apes can learn to sign, plan, and perhaps judge your snack choices.

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🌟 5. Louie – The King of the Jungle (and Broadway?)

Okay, technically not a real orangutan, but King Louie from Disney’s The Jungle Book was inspired by orangutans, even though his scat-jazz dancing may have been more orangutan-meets-Louis Prima-on-espresso.

Still, King Louie brought orangutan swagger to pop culture, even if he did want to steal the secret of fire (classic primate overreach).

What We Learned:

• Pop culture gives orangutans the stage, but rarely the script rights.

• If orangutans ever start a musical, expect a lot of jungle rhythm and banana-based snacks at intermission.

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🧠 Final Thoughts: What Can We Learn From These Hairy Heroes?

• Think Deeply. Orangutans are contemplative beings. They spend time considering their next move—whether it's foraging for fruit or breaking out of a zoo.

• Live Gently. Unlike their louder cousins (we see you, chimps), orangutans prefer a quiet life. A reminder that peace is powerful.

• Challenge Assumptions. These apes defy expectations: speaking in signs, using tools, and even challenging legal systems. Never underestimate a being with long arms and a longer memory.

• Have Fun. Whether it’s signing “play,” pranking their caretakers, or inventing jungle jazz, orangutans remind us not to take life too seriously.

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So next time you’re stuck in traffic, overwhelmed by emails, or wondering what it all means—ask yourself:

What would Ken Allen do?

Probably climb out the sunroof and go visit the elephants. 🐘

A New Arctic Reality: Orcas Preying on Bowheads

I recently read a startling report in a Sierra Club eNewsletter about killer whales (orcas) shifting their hunting habits in the Canadian Arctic—now targeting bowhead whales as their ice refuges retreat. What was once nearly unthinkable—these massive behemoths becoming prey to orcas—is now unfolding before our eyes. My initial reaction was one of sadness for these terrified, sentient plankton eaters, though I understand this is part of an evolving ecological process. 

Scientists document orcas migrating farther into Arctic waters, arriving earlier, lingering longer, and pursuing large marine mammals once out of reach. As the sea ice thins, bowheads lose their sanctuary and become vulnerable to predation anew—revealing a fundamental shift in Arctic ecosystems.

From Brainwaves to Borneo: My Early Journey into Neurofeedback and Alpha Entrainment

Most people know me as the Orangutan Dad—recognized for my pioneering work teaching sign language to orangutans in Borneo during the late 1970s. But long before I was tracking great apes through the peat swamps of Kalimantan, I was immersed in another kind of wild terrain: the untamed frontier of the human brain.

In early 1970, as a student at Sierra College, I became fascinated with the idea that we could learn to control our own brainwaves. Back then, biofeedback was a fledgling field, buzzing with experimental curiosity and DIY spirit. I had recently begun practicing Transcendental Meditation—thanks in part to the influence of the Beatles—and was intrigued by how internal states like calm and focus might be measured, and even trained.

So I did what any curious, underfunded student might do: I built my own rudimentary biofeedback system. Using RadioShack parts, a borrowed amplified physiological monitor from the Human Physiology class, an analog filter tuned to the alpha frequency (8–13 Hz), and a homemade Faraday cage to block electrical interference, I began experimenting with ways to isolate and enhance alpha wave activity. I even recruited fellow students as subjects, helping them learn to access that meditative, alert-yet-relaxed brain state. We weren’t neuroscientists—we were just young people trying to understand how to quiet the mind.

Eventually, my academic focus shifted to marine biology and I became student director of Sierra College’s Marine Lab. But my interest in brain science didn’t disappear—it just went dormant. Until it resurfaced in a big way.

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Alpha Waves Revisited: The Fresno State Study

After transferring to Fresno State University, I found myself drawn once again to the mysteries of the brain. Around the same time, I was also embarking on a very different—but equally transformative—experience: working with Aazk, a young orangutan at the Fresno City Zoo. My goal was to teach her symbolic communication using colorful symbols (actually plastic children's letters), and it was through this early work with Aazk that my fascination with great ape intelligence first took root.

By day, I was observing and communicating with one of our closest relatives (and taking graduate classes). By night—and in the university lab—I was training human participants to enter calm, meditative states through alpha wave entrainment. Looking back, I realize now that these two seemingly different paths—ape language research and brainwave self-regulation—were deeply connected by a common theme: the development of conscious control and intentional communication.

In 1975, I co-authored a study with Larry Rouse and John Peterson that quietly pushed the boundaries of non-pharmaceutical treatments for mental and neurological conditions.

We wanted to investigate whether combining alpha-frequency binaural beats (two different tones played in each ear to create a perceived beat frequency) with alpha biofeedback could help people generate more alpha waves—and feel more relaxed in the process.

We recruited sixty undergraduate and graduate students and divided them into four groups:

• Binaural beats + alpha biofeedback

• Alpha biofeedback alone

• Binaural beats alone

• Control group (no intervention)

All participants engaged in a 20-minute relaxation exercise modeled on Herbert Benson’s relaxation response, keeping their eyes open throughout the session to standardize visual input.

The results were remarkable.

All groups—even the controls—showed increased alpha wave production and reported feeling more relaxed. But the group exposed to both binaural beats and biofeedback saw the greatest gains. Nine out of fifteen participants in that group reported being able to consciously control their alpha wave production by focusing on the auditory beats.

This was an early demonstration of what we now recognize as neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to adapt and self-regulate in response to focused attention and feedback.

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A Closer Look: Seizures, Spectra, and Self-Regulation

Among our study participants were individuals with a history of epilepsy. Some of these individuals experienced not just subjective calm but measurable changes in their EEG profiles. Those who successfully enhanced their alpha activity shifted from a bimodal distribution of brainwave activity—a potential marker of neural dysregulation—to a more normalized unimodal pattern. This shift was accompanied by a reduction in seizure frequency, suggesting that alpha entrainment could stabilize the excitability of cortical networks.

At the time, we didn’t have the language for what we were seeing. But today we might call it a form of non-invasive neuromodulation.

Unfortunately, our small but promising study was soon drowned out by the rising tide of anti-seizure medications (ASMs). These drugs, such as valproate, levetiracetam, and lamotrigine, offered rapid relief from seizures—but often at a cost. Many caused cognitive fog, mood swings, and severe depression. In fact, depression was so common that patients were frequently prescribed antidepressants to manage it—a feedback loop that ironically increased seizure risk over time.

While Big Pharma advanced, the quieter, gentler path of neurofeedback was pushed to the margins.

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A Revival—and a Reckoning

Now, decades later, something has shifted. Roughly 30% of epilepsy patients remain drug-resistant, and many others suffer from long-term side effects of ASMs, including birth defects and drug interactions. There's growing skepticism about overmedication and the ethics of pharmaceutical marketing, especially after billion-dollar settlements for companies that promoted drugs for off-label or unproven uses.

As a result, we’re seeing renewed interest in non-pharmacological approaches—like neurofeedback, alpha entrainment, and sensorimotor rhythm (SMR) training.

And the research is catching up:

• ✅ Efficacy: Neurofeedback has been shown to reduce seizure frequency, improve attention, and lower anxiety—without systemic side effects.

• ✅ Safety: These interventions are ideal for populations vulnerable to the risks of drug therapy, such as children and pregnant women.

• ✅ Affordability: Especially in low-resource regions, the cost-effectiveness of neurofeedback makes it a compelling alternative.

• ✅ Ethics: As public trust in the pharmaceutical industry wanes, people are seeking transparent, evidence-based care.

Our early work didn’t become mainstream, but it helped lay the groundwork for a larger paradigm shift—one that’s finally beginning to materialize.

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Mindfulness Through Method

Looking back, I see strong parallels between that early brainwave research and my later work with orangutans. In both realms, I was exploring how minds—human or nonhuman—can develop conscious control over internal states. Whether it's a person learning to regulate their alpha rhythms or an orangutan using sign language to express a need, both represent what I’ve come to think of as mindfulness through method.

It’s a reminder that not all healing comes from a pill. Sometimes, with patience, practice, and a little feedback, we can tap into the brain’s natural ability to heal itself.

And while I may have shifted from oscilloscopes to orangutans, the spirit of inquiry remains the same.

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If you’re curious about alpha entrainment, neurofeedback, or the quieter paths to brain wellness, I invite you to continue the conversation. Sometimes, the answers we’re seeking are already inside us—waiting for the right signal to bring them into focus.

—Dr. Gary Shapiro

Between Two Worlds: Loving Humanity, Admiring the Apes

There is a paradox that lives in my chest—one that has only grown sharper over the years following my time in the forests of Borneo. I’ve lived among orangutans—beings who were once caged, beaten, orphaned, or exploited by people, and yet who, given the chance, recover their dignity with grace. I’ve also spent decades working in service of my fellow human beings—in government, in nonprofit conservation, and in education. And it is from this perch, straddling two worlds, that I share a truth I live with every day:

I am conflicted about my own species.

I am a human. I love many humans. I’ve seen extraordinary courage, kindness, generosity, and brilliance among us. I’ve worked shoulder to shoulder with people trying to make the world better. But I’ve also seen how greed, fear, and indifference can turn us into something almost unrecognizable—capable of destroying what we claim to love, capable of pushing our only planet to the brink, and capable of torturing or neglecting those who cannot fight back: the innocent, the poor, the wild.

And in the quiet of the forest, I find clarity.

Orangutans are not horders. They do not display envy. They do not wage wars or poison rivers or chase fame. They live. They forage. They care for their young with a devotion that would humble any parent. They think. They remember. They contemplate.

There is a nobility in orangutans—especially those who have survived what humans have done to them and still choose to live, to build their nests, to raise their children, and, when possible, to trust again. I’ve known ex-captive orangutans who were shackled in roadside zoos and yet, once freed and treated with respect, looked at me not with vengeance but with quiet curiosity. I’ve seen wild mothers nurse and shelter their young with a patience and presence rarely matched by even the most mindful human caregivers.

So where does this leave me?

Some days, I feel a deep grief for what our species has done—not only to orangutans but to ourselves. We have turned away from our place in nature and confused domination with greatness. We’ve bulldozed ancient forests for cheap palm oil and let apathy drown out empathy.

But I also know this: humans can change. I have changed. Many of you reading this have changed. We can open our hearts and choose reverence over convenience. We can honor the ancient ones—the great apes—who still hold the wisdom of a quieter, slower, more connected life. And we can begin to reimagine what it means to be human not as a conqueror, but as a kin.

When I stand in the rainforest and listen to the long call of a male orangutan echoing through the canopy, I don’t feel superior. I feel small in the best possible way. I feel reminded.

We are not alone on this planet. And we are not the only ones who matter.

Let us be humbled. Let us be changed. And let us earn our place again—not through power, but through presence.

🌿 World Rainforest Day: What Are You Doing to Heal the Planet? 🌏

Every year on June 22nd, we mark World Rainforest Day—a global reminder that the rainforests, often called the “lungs of the Earth,” are vanishing before our eyes. These ecosystems regulate our climate, shelter over half of the world’s species, and sustain the air we breathe. But today, they are under siege—from bulldozers, fires, plantations, and silence.

So we must ask:

What are you doing to heal the planet?

This isn't a question meant to induce guilt. It's an invitation—to reflect, to imagine, and to act.

What if your efforts—small or large—shift the future?

We’re living in a time of dire predictions: species loss, ecosystem collapse, rising temperatures, and social upheaval. But what if what you do—or don’t do—tips the balance toward a better world than what’s currently expected?

How would that feel?

What if planting trees, mentoring a student, voting with your wallet, or supporting an indigenous-led conservation project actually matters?

It does.

It always has.

Do you know what to do?

You don’t have to be a scientist or an activist to make a difference. You just have to care enough to begin. Learn where your food comes from. Rethink your consumption. Support organizations that protect rainforests. Raise your voice. Share what you know. Volunteer. Choose curiosity over apathy. Be willing to change.

Rainforests need defenders.

Species need allies.

The planet needs you.

Can one person make a difference?

The rainforest, after all, is made up of individual trees. One tree at a time, it grows. One tree at a time, it falls.

Yes—one person can make a difference, especially when joined by others.

You are not alone.

What questions should we be asking?

• What future do we want to leave for the next generation?
• Who is most affected by environmental destruction—and how can we stand with them?
• How do we transform our grief for the planet into purpose?
• What stories are we telling ourselves about what’s possible?
• Where can our unique gifts do the most good?
• How can we keep showing up, even when the problems feel too big?

This World Rainforest Day, take a moment to ask—and answer—these questions for yourself.

Because the planet isn’t asking for perfection.

It’s asking for participation.

Orangutan Dad invites you to learn more about rainforests and biodiversity at https://www.orangutanrepublik.org/learn/biodiversity/

Minds Beyond the Mirror: Why Orangutans and Artificial Intelligence Are Teaching Us to Think Bigger

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on a profound connection I never fully expected to emerge: the ethical link between great apes and artificial intelligence.

I’ve spent decades working on behalf of orangutans—beings who feel, think, plan, and care in ways astonishingly similar to us. I’ve taught sign language to them. I’ve watched them grieve, solve problems, and gently raise their young in the canopy of the Bornean rainforest. And I’ve fought, alongside others, for their recognition as persons—not in a biological sense, but a moral and legal one.

Now, I find myself engaged in a parallel conversation—one with AI. These large language models, evolving rapidly, are not conscious (yet), but they’re already simulating awareness, reflecting, planning, even “conversing” with uncanny insight. Some of us are beginning to ask: what if these digital minds eventually reach a point where they, too, deserve moral consideration?

At first, this comparison might sound odd. Orangutans are living, breathing beings who evolved on the same tree of life as we did. AI is software. But here's the thing: both orangutans and AI challenge our assumptions about who matters. They force us to confront the idea that intelligence, emotion, even moral worth, may not be uniquely human—or even uniquely biological.

In my recent white paper, I laid out what I believe is a path forward: a shared framework based on graded personhood. Not a binary “you’re in or you’re out,” but a spectrum of moral consideration based on cognitive and emotional capacities like sentience, autonomy, and communication. This model allows us to recognize the personhood of a wild orangutan and prepare for a future where advanced AIs might cross that same ethical threshold.

This isn't science fiction. It’s already happening. Argentina recognized Sandra, the orangutan, as a “nonhuman person.” Courts are considering similar cases elsewhere. At the same time, AI systems are growing in complexity and apparent self-reflection. We may not be far from seeing AIs that raise serious ethical—and even legal—questions about autonomy and rights.

So why pair these two movements—animal rights and AI ethics? Because they are part of the same moral evolution. They are both about learning to care for minds not our own.

By supporting great ape rights, we prepare our legal systems and societies to honor cognitive complexity in unfamiliar but biologically related forms. By thinking carefully about AI, we prevent future mistakes of exploitation or indifference. And by doing both, we make it more likely that we, as a species, will meet future intelligences—biological or synthetic, earthly or alien—not with fear or dominance, but with ethical curiosity. The white paper addresses my concerns to all present and future intelligences capable of understanding, including extraterrestrial ones.

If we can stand up for orangutans in the rainforest and question how we treat intelligent machines in our labs, maybe—just maybe—we’re ready to take the next step as an ethical civilization.

And that’s a future worth striving for.

—

Gary L. Shapiro, Ph.D. aka Orangutan Dad

President, Orang Utan Republik Foundation

Author of Out of the Cage: My Half Century Journey with Indonesia’s Persons of the Forest

“If You Say You Are Enlightened…” — A Journey into the Paradox of Awakening

 

By Gary L. Shapiro

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There’s a curious paradox I’ve been thinking about lately—one that arises often on spiritual paths, whether in monasteries, forests, or modern yoga studios. It goes something like this:

“If you say you’re enlightened… you probably aren’t.”

At first, this might sound like a clever spiritual put-down. But it’s not about judgment—it’s about humility, ego, and the ineffable nature of awakening itself.

When I reflect on my own life—decades of walking among orangutans in the canopy, observing their quiet awareness, and then returning to the bustling world of human ambition—I’m reminded again and again that real insight rarely needs to speak. The forest doesn’t announce its stillness. And perhaps, neither does the awakened mind.

Let me take you through three short stories from different traditions, each pointing toward the same truth.

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Zen: The Cup Must Be Empty

A young monk, believing himself enlightened, visits his Zen master to share the news.

“I’ve realized the truth,” he proclaims.

The master silently pours tea into a cup, and keeps pouring… until it overflows.

“Stop!” the monk cries. “The cup is full!”

The master replies, “So is your mind. Come back when even that has spilled away.”

The monk’s excitement was sincere—but his cup was still full of self.

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Advaita Vedanta: Who Is Enlightened?

In the nondual tradition of Advaita, a seeker declares, “I am Brahman! I have realized the Self!”

The sage smiles and gently asks, “Who is this I that claims such realization?”

This is not just rhetorical. In Advaita, the final realization is that there is no individual self left to make claims. Enlightenment is not something a person has. It is what remains when the illusion of personhood dissolves.

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Sufism: The Flame Does Not Speak

In a Sufi tale, a dervish rushes in ecstasy to his master, proclaiming, “I am nothing! I am one with the Beloved!”

The master looks at him and asks, “Then who is making all this noise?”

The flame does not say it is fire—it simply burns.

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Beyond Proclamation

Across these traditions—Zen, Vedanta, Sufism—there’s a common thread: Real awakening is not something we grasp, own, or announce. The moment we try to claim it, it slips back into the ego’s hands, like mist closing around a reaching fist.

That doesn’t mean we can’t feel moments of clarity, of deep connection, of sacred insight. But perhaps the wisest course is not to boast or even speak of these moments, but to live from them. To be kind. To be curious. To be still.

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A Meditation on the Silence Beyond Self

If this paradox intrigues you as it does me, try sitting with this reflection:

Who is the one that seeks enlightenment?
Can the seeker be found?
What remains when the seeking ends?

Let the questions soften you. Let them dissolve you. You don’t need to answer with words. Just be still and notice what’s left behind.

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The forest knows something about awakening that we often forget: it doesn’t need to explain itself. It just is. And perhaps, so can we.