“Women of the Diamond Industry” focuses on the issue of gender equality along the entire diamond and jewelry supply chain. The series provides a platform for women in the industry to tell their own stories and to describe the particular challenges they have faced in their careers.
The 26th article in the series features Purvi Shah, Executive Director of the Responsible Jewellery Council, the standard-setting and certification organization for the global jewelry and watch industry, advancing ethical, social, human rights, and environmental practices in the jewelry supply chain. Before then she spent more than 17 years at De Beers, where she rose to be Head of Ethical and Sustainable Value Chains.
WHAT EDURES ACROSS GENERATIONS
Reflections on stewardship, legacy and the responsibility we carry
Purvi Shah, Executive Director of the Responsible Jewellery Council (RJC).
SEPTEMBER 10, 2026
My first diamond was a birthday gift. My grandparents gave me a pair of small diamond earrings when I turned one.
It was a fitting gift from my grandmother, with whom I shared not only a birthday but also a lifelong fascination with jewelry. Looking back, I realize those earrings represented something much bigger than a beautiful gift.
They were my first lesson in legacy. Long before I understood anything about diamonds or the industry behind them, I understood that jewelry carried meaning. It marks milestones, preserves memories and unites generations. It also connects us to the places and environments from which its gems were sourced.
The author at the the Ol Pejeta Conservancy in Kenya wth Sudan, the world’s last remaining male Northern White Rhino, of which she writes that such animals are ‘a quiet and sobering reminder of what is at stake when we fail to protect what we inherit, and of how narrow the margin between survival and extinction can be.’
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A commitment to conservation
I was fortunate to grow up in Kenya, where some of my earliest memories were shaped by the natural world. Weekends were often spent in the bush — a testament to my parents’ love of nature. Indeed, the one place I have returned to time and again is the Ol Pejeta Conservancy, a wildlife reserve about 220 kilometers north of Nairobi known for its commitment to conservation.
I still remember standing beside Sudan, the last male northern white rhino in the world, who, until his death in 2018, was under round-the-clock guard to protect him from poachers. Today, only his daughter and granddaughter, Najin and Fatu, remain — the last two of their subspecies on Earth. Seeing them is a quiet and sobering reminder of what is at stake when we fail to protect what we inherit, and of how narrow the margin between survival and extinction can be.
Conservation was not a distant concept discussed in classrooms. For me, it was part of everyday life, and that upbringing, which I was fortunate to have, gave me a deep appreciation for nature, wildlife and the responsibility that comes with protecting extraordinary things.
It also sparked a fascination with the world around me.
Business as a force for positive change
Before joining De Beers, I lived in Cairo and worked for Microsoft Egypt. There, I focused on projects seeking to expand access to technology and opportunity for underserved communities. Through Microsoft’s grant-giving, I worked alongside the U.N. Development Programme team to support small technology cafes that provided training and access to IT skills for people whose access to those resources was very limited.
What motivated me then, and continues to motivate me today, was the belief that business can be a force for positive change.
In 2008, I joined De Beers as a junior responsible-business executive.
It was an interesting time to enter the industry.
Only weeks earlier, Lehman Brothers had collapsed, triggering a global financial crisis that sent shock waves through economies and industries around the world. The diamond sector was facing significant uncertainty, and, as someone at the beginning of her career and still on probation, I certainly had no grand plan for where my journey might lead.
What followed taught me one of the most important lessons of my professional life: Careers are rarely built through a master plan. They are built one opportunity, one challenge and one relationship at a time.
I survived the restructuring at De Beers and was fortunate to be given opportunities to learn, grow and explore different parts of the business. Over the next 17 years, I worked across responsible sourcing, human rights, ethics, social impact, sustainability and governance. I was immensely privileged to have the opportunity to travel throughout the value chain, visiting mines, manufacturing facilities and communities across the world.
The author examining a polished diamond. Before joining RJC was was at De Beers for more than 17 years.
People who shaped me
But more important than the places were the people.
Looking back, I realize that my career has been shaped by countless individuals who invested their time, wisdom and belief in me. Colleagues who challenged me. Leaders who took a chance on me. Mentors who encouraged me to stretch beyond what I thought I was capable of.
One of those people is Feriel Zerouki, now honorary president of the World Diamond Council. We worked together at De Beers for 17 years, and over that time, she became not only a respected colleague but also a mentor, champion and friend.
But she is only one of many people whose generosity and support have helped shape my journey. In fact, the older I get, the more convinced I become that leadership is never an individual achievement.
We are all products of the people who invest in us.
The author and Feriel Zerouki, today Honorary President of the World Diamond Council, during their days working together at the company’s headquarters in London.
Responsibility in everyday practice
Throughout my career, I was also fortunate to witness firsthand the remarkable contribution that our industry makes around the world.
I remember one visit to Gahcho Kué, a diamond mine in Canada’s Northwest Territories, in July. The snow had melted, and the mine’s environmental team was doing something I had not expected to find myself doing: having the privilege of walking off the site, which is usually entirely prohibited. The land around Gahcho Kué is some of the most pristine wilderness I have ever stood in.
I was with the head of environment at Gahcho Kué and a team of volunteers on their break. We were picking up scraps of debris that had blown off the mine during the winter.
It was a small task, but in a way, that is my whole point.
Nobody was watching us. There was no audit scheduled, no camera crew and no report due. The team was doing it because leaving the land as they found it was simply what responsibility looked like there in practice — on a July afternoon, one piece of windblown litter at a time.
The author with other volunteers during the environmental cleanup at the Gahcho Kué mine in Canada’s Northwest Territories .
The legacy we leave behind us
Growing up in Kenya, I learned that extraordinary things do not endure by accident. They endure because people choose to protect them.
Years later, while living in Egypt, another experience reinforced that lesson in a completely different way.
One night, Cairo came to a standstill as the colossal statue of Ramses II was relocated from the city’s central railway station to its future home in the new Grand Egyptian Museum. Roads were closed, crowds gathered and thousands of people lined the streets to watch. More than 3,000 years after his death, people were still paying tribute to one of Egypt’s most famous pharaohs.
What struck me that evening was not the extraordinary engineering involved in moving the statue. Rather, it was the enduring power of legacy.
The ancient Egyptians were obsessed with immortality. They built monuments and temples to preserve their stories and achievements long after they were gone. Standing among the crowds that night, I found myself reflecting on a question that has stayed with me ever since:
What does it mean to leave something behind that lasts?
Over the years, I have come to believe that sustainability is simply legacy viewed through the lens of the future.
When people hear words such as sustainability, responsible sourcing or ESG, they often think about standards, audits and compliance. Those things matter, but they are the record of a commitment, not the commitment itself. The real question is what future generations actually inherit because of the choices we make today: stronger communities, better-protected human rights, carefully managed resources and an industry consumers still trust. Will we, in the end, leave things better than we found them?
In many ways, these are the same questions that face countless family businesses throughout our industry. Generation after generation has built extraordinary companies, relationships, expertise and trust. Each generation inherits something valuable. But each generation also faces new challenges and new expectations.
Our responsibility is not simply to preserve what we inherit. It is to strengthen it for those who come next.
The author alongside a massive ore hauling vehicle at the Gahcho Kué mine in Canada’s Northwest Territories.
Standards and stewardship
Today, as executive director of the Responsible Jewellery Council, I have the privilege of serving an industry that spans natural diamonds, synthetic diamonds, colored gemstones and precious metals, as well as producers, manufacturers, retailers and brands.
What unites this extraordinary community is not just jewelry. It is trust.
That trust has not always been given freely, and our industry has not always deserved it. Issues ranging from conflict diamonds to labor conditions are still being addressed today, and the history behind the work we do is not one about which we can afford to be complacent. But this is also an industry that has spent decades building the systems, standards and accountability needed to earn that trust back — deliberately and imperfectly, one commitment at a time. It is trust that our products are produced responsibly, that our commitments are genuine and that the beauty we sell is matched by the integrity behind it.
Standards play an essential role in that journey, not because certification is an end in itself, but because credible standards help transform ambition into action and commitments into measurable outcomes.
When I look back on the influences that shaped me — from my grandmother’s diamond earrings and childhood adventures in Kenya to a collection of stones gathered from around the world, mentors who opened doors for me, an afternoon spent picking litter off the tundra at Gahcho Kué and that unforgettable night watching Ramses II move through Cairo — I realize they are all connected by a single idea.
Stewardship.
That is the word underneath all of it. We are, in one way or another, temporary custodians of traditions, knowledge, relationships and the natural resources we are privileged to work with, as well as the trust people place in us.
The objects we create and treasure will likely outlast us. The harder question is whether the legacy we leave behind is worthy of them.
And to me, that is what responsible business has always been about.