The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times(47)
Last of all she came to a wooden box with two chimpanzees exquisitely engraved on the lid. “In here,” she said, “I keep most of my symbols of hope. Sometimes I use them in my lectures.”
She returned to her studio, put the laptop back on her precarious desk, and one by one picked up various small items to show me. First was a clumsily made bell that gave off a somewhat unmusical ringing when she shook it. “This was made from metal from one of the many land mines that had remained buried and unexploded after the civil war in Mozambique. Hundreds of women and children lost a foot after treading on one when working in the fields. What makes it even more special is that it was detected by a specially trained African giant pouched rat, like the one I just told you about. They are adorable little creatures—I have watched them being trained in Tanzania and they are still working in different parts of Africa.”
Next came a piece of fabric. While supervising the clearing of land mines for a charity in Mozambique, Chris Moon was blown up. He lost his lower right leg and lower right arm. Not only did he learn to run with his specially designed lightweight prosthetic, but he completed the London Marathon less than a year after leaving the hospital and subsequently entered many other marathons. “And this is the foot of one of the socks that Chris used to pull over his stump to try to prevent chafing,” Jane told me. “A very special one that he used when he was running in the toughest marathon in the world, Marathon des Sables. And he completed the whole of the one hundred thirty-seven miles—across the Sahara Desert.”
One of my symbols of hope, a bell made from metal from a defused land mine. I always ring it at the UN on International Day of Peace. (MARK MAGLIO)
Jane then held up a piece of concrete that had been broken off by a German friend—who only had his penknife—on the night the Berlin Wall came down. She also had a piece of limestone from the quarry Nelson Mandela had been forced to work for while he was in the prison on Robben Island.
“And this is really, really special,” Jane said, picking up a small greeting card. She opened it for me to see—inside were two very tiny black primary feathers that had been sent to her by Don Merton. We have already told the story of how he had saved the Chatham Island black robin from extinction. “These,” said Jane, pointing lovingly at the little feathers, “are from Baby Blue, daughter of Old Blue and Yellow.”
The California condor almost became extinct. Thanks to dedicated biologists, their numbers have increased. I love slowly extracting one of their long primary feathers from its tube during my lectures. It is one of my symbols of hope. (RON HENGGELER)
She told me she also had a primary feather from the wing of a California condor, another bird saved from extinction, but that it was in the JGI office in America. Jane told me it was twenty-six inches long! “I pull it very, very slowly from its cardboard tube when I’m giving a lecture in the United States. It never fails to elicit a gasp of amazement—and I think a sense of reverence.”
Carefully Jane put her treasures back in their box. We resumed our interview, and once more I was looking into those probing eyes. I made some remark about them, and she smiled as a memory jumped into her mind. “When I was a baby—perhaps about one year old, my nanny used to push me around a park in my pram. Apparently, many people would stop to greet us—everyone knew everyone back then. But there was one elderly woman and she refused to look at me. ‘It’s her eyes,’ she told Nanny. ‘She looks as though she can see into my mind. There is an old soul in that child, and I find it disturbing. I don’t want to look anymore.’
“Oh, hang on a moment,” Jane said, suddenly stepping away from the screen. “I forgot to plug my laptop in—I’m about to run out of juice.” As she fetched her power cord many thoughts came to mind. There were so many reasons to worry that our best days as a species were behind us. Political turmoil and the rise of demagogues threatened democracy around the world. Inequality, injustice, and oppression still plagued us. Even our planetary home was in peril. But despite it all, Jane had shown me some profound reasons for hope. In our amazing intellect, in the resilience of nature, in the energy and commitment of today’s youth. And, of course, there is the indomitable human spirit. What was it about Jane that had enabled her to experience and agonize over so much cruelty and suffering of people and animals around the world, and so much destruction of nature, and yet remain a beacon of hope? Had this capacity been in her from the very beginning?
As Jane sat back down, I told her how amazed I was by her ability not only to have hope for the future but to inspire hope in others. “How did the infant in the pram with an old soul looking out of her eyes get to be this messenger of hope?” I asked her.
“Well, I think some of the answers to that question did begin to take shape when I was just a child,” she said. “I’ve already talked about the self-confidence that I was given by my supportive mother. And growing up with such a wonderful family around me. Danny had to cope with her family when my grandfather died of cancer and left her almost penniless. Pity there’s no time to share her story now. Then Olly and Uncle Eric were also wonderful role models. Olly was a physiotherapist who worked with many child victims of polio, clubfoot, rickets, and so on; and my first job when I got home after my secretarial course in London was to take down notes from the orthopedic surgeon who came to examine the children once a week. And there I learned how cruel life can be, inflicting such grievous afflictions on innocent children and their families. And, too, I was again and again impressed by their courage, their stoicism. Hardly a day goes by when I do not give thanks for the gift of good health. I do not take it for granted.”