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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of physical injury, graphic violence, and death.
Goodall reflects on all the questions people have asked her throughout her global travels. Most often, people want to know if she believes there is hope. She considers the devastation countless populations are facing around the globe, and the escalating environmental crisis. She considers the scope of human violence, suffering, and destruction. Despite all of this, Goodall holds that there is hope for humankind and the planet because of human intelligence, nature’s resilience, young people fighting for change, and the strength of the human spirit. She goes on to explain her reasoning behind each of these thought processes, remarking on life cycles, kindness, and determination.
Goodall’s work with the Jane Goodall Institute, UNICEF, and people like the forester Merv Wilkonson have sustained her hope. Above all, she believes each individual must strive to be less selfish. If each person could make more concerted lifestyle choices, they might contribute to collective change. She references vegetarianism and recycling by way of example.
For Goodall, change has felt possible through her youth program Roots & Shoots. Roots & Shoots groups are “involved in three kinds of hands-on projects” (243), where they attend to nature, animals, and their communities. She offers anecdotes of her time working with Roots & Shoots youth.
Goodall has also met and worked with numerous world leaders whom she believes are fighting for peace and change. Such leaders include Mikhail Gorbachev, Nelson Mandela, and Chief Leonard George. She also remarks on the many stories of suffering and hope she has encountered in recent years. She describes how one man’s childhood injuries led him to become a surgeon and how another man’s loss of eyesight led him to become a magician. She asserts that if each individual changed their outlook on their suffering they might spur others towards hope.
Goodall muses further on the possibilities of moving “from evil to love” (253). Returning to her childhood, she admits that she was raised to hate Germans because of WWII and the Holocaust. Then, 30 years later, she visited Auschwitz with a friend named Dietmar for the first time. She describes her experience at the concentration camp. Initially she was numbed by shock, but when she saw a child’s shoe she was overcome by emotion. Then, she noticed a small plant growing out of a crack in one of the remaining bunkers. She couldn’t help but see it as a symbol of hope.
Three years after her visit to Auschwitz, Goodall met Henri Landwirth, a Holocaust survivor. He chronicled his experiences in his autobiography Gift of Life. Later, he invested in a new project called Give Kids the World, where children with terminal illnesses could visit Disney World before their deaths. Goodall remarks on Landwirth’s ability to create love out of suffering. Meeting Landwirth and visiting Auschwitz have changed her point of view.
Goodall considers how to end her story. She is writing at the Birches. Studying the view out her window, she reflects on her childhood, her love for the outdoors, her work in Africa, and her spiritual evolution. In retrospect, she understands how all these experiences fit together to make her life. She reflects, too, on all of the lecturing, touring, and traveling she’s done. These experiences have taught her valuable lessons about herself and her version of God, too. Reminiscing on her life, she shares a poem she wrote called “Five Herons.”
Goodall returns to some of the questions she has been asked over the years. She remarks on her capacity for calm, peacefulness, and compassion, which many have marveled at. Goodall isn’t sure what her future holds, but she is thankful for all of the inspirational people she has met throughout her life. She is also grateful for all of the young people she has met who are devoted to creating change.
She reiterates the importance of devoting oneself to others, offering anecdotal examples from her son’s and her own experience. She returns to one final story from her childhood, when she was terrified a dragonfly might sting her. She wonders at the meaning of the memory and decides her account should end at its start.
Six years after her book’s original publication, Goodall pens a reflection on Reason for Hope in light of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. She recounts the events surrounding and following the attacks. She happened to be in New York City on 9/11, a coincidence she was initially desperate to understand. She ultimately used her platform with Roots & Shoots to respond to the attacks, working to educate people on Islam to destigmatize Arabs and Muslim culture, as bigotry had emerged as a backlash to the attacks. She gave several talks on peace and hope in the wake of the attacks, too. Initially she wasn’t sure how to broach these topics, but ultimately reiterated her four main reasons for hope, which she’d outlined in the original Reason for Hope book. These ideas still seemed to hold true to her.
However, Goodall was devastated in March 2003 when she learned that the United Kingdom and the United States had begun to bomb Iraq. Although unable to reconcile with this news, she continued striving for peace. She recalls her time by the Platte River where she attended a Dance of Peace. While here, she witnessed a flock of remarkable cranes, symbols of peace in many cultures. She again asserts that fighting for nature will help humans fight against violence. She believes that peace is possible if more people fight against war and for love.
Throughout Goodall’s account, she has conveyed her lifelong questions about what she believes and what makes her life meaningful, ending her account with a reiteration of her belief in Compassion and Hope as Resistance to Violence. Her willingness to explore her own seemingly dichotomous beliefs creates room for the reader to do the same—and in turn, to seek out new modes of personal exploration, meaning-making, and human connection. Goodall’s profound belief in the power of compassion and hope to create change originates from her work to reconcile her faith and science-based beliefs.
Goodall leans into a cyclical structure to enact how her personal journey mirrors natural life cycles. Goodall refers back to ideas, questions, and anecdotes she described in the earlier sections of the text. Such callbacks to the start of her account capture Goodall’s work to make sense of the life she has lived and to draw lessons out of her personal encounters with goodness and evil alike. In spite of all she has lost and suffered and all the violence and pain she has witnessed, Goodall asserts, “I do have hope for the future—for our future” (232). Looking back at her life, she does not meditate on the evil she has encountered, but instead seeks out evidence of the love she has found amidst suffering.
The image of the plant growing out of the bunker at Auschwitz reifies this notion. The bunker represents the suffering of the past, while the plant symbolizes hope for the future, its “shoots reach[ing] toward the dim light,” “its hopeful buds […] ready to burst open” (257). The plant also conveys how new life always arises out of death. Goodall underscores this notion via anecdotal accounts of people overcoming their suffering by helping others in pain. “We cannot live through a day without impacting the world around us,” Goodall asserts, “and we have a choice: What sort of impact do we want to make?” (242). This rhetorical question invites Goodall’s reader towards self-reflection, challenging her to consider her own life and how her outlook and behaviors influence others.
The stress Goodall places on compassion and hope is also reflective of her spiritual beliefs. For many years, Goodall found that, like Henri Landwirth, she was “abandoning God, as I had felt abandoned” (260). Now later in life, Goodall is opening her heart to the possibility of a divine figure once more. From people like Landwirth, she has learned that the only way to reconcile with “unspeakable cruelties” (260) is through love, and love ultimately is evidence of the divine.
Although Goodall’s closing remarks have markedly religious undertones, Goodall never attempts to convince her reader to adopt her particular belief system. Instead, she uses her lived experiences to explain her faith and her spiritual perspective. Her nonjudgmental, nonconfrontational tone is meant to create possibilities for further reflection. This is also true of Goodall’s remarks on a post-9/11 society: While she denounces terrorism, she writes with compassion and humility, never claiming to be the ultimate spiritual authority on overcoming violence.



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