I was initially drawn to chimpanzees for the same reason that people search for life on other planets: The belief that we could not possibly be alone. How strange would it be if, in this vast and complex web of living things, of a nearly infinite variety, we were the only ones with a consciousness of any significance? If we were the only ones that planned for the future, desired for that which we didn’t have, strategized for power, loved our friends and families, or appreciated beauty? If there was evidence of continuity to be found, surely it would be found in chimpanzees. And in many ways, the study of chimpanzees over the last hundred years has in fact been a century-long lesson in humility, for in nearly every domain of human virtue that we once claimed as uniquely our own, chimpanzees have shown at least some degree of proficiency: Tool use, language, cooperation, problem-solving, empathy, memory, perspective-taking…even politics, if politics could still be considered virtuous. All stand as evidence of a complex mind that, when viewed in light of our shared evolutionary history, must operate something like our own, must feel something like our own. Perhaps we are not alone, after all.
This emphasis on the social, cognitive, and ethical qualities that we value was in many ways a necessary correction to the thousands of years of human chauvinism ingrained in our intellectual and popular culture. We have been, in a sense, working to rescue chimpanzees from ourselves by elevating them, albeit reluctantly.
I must admit, though, that somewhere along the way my own perspective started to change. If we are honestly and openly curious about the intelligence and conscious experience of other animals, why search for only those qualities that we exhibit rarely, if ever? Why hold them to a standard that we can only hope to achieve on our best days? If we truly are not alone, we will certainly find them down in the muck with us, too. Because brains do not contain a one-way valve through which our more advanced capacities operate. Once acquired, these capacities are free to operate in every domain and in every direction, for better or for worse. Put simply, a complex brain can do bad things with greater complexity. A mind with the ability to cooperate can also cheat, and has reason to seek retribution against cheaters. A mind that can empathize can also betray. A mind that can long for something or someone is bound to become jealous and resentful. And a mind that can contemplate the future can be stricken with anxiety about things that do not and may not ever exist. Intelligence is not in and of itself a virtue, but merely a scaffold with which to build ever more elaborate behaviors and emotions of all kinds.
To be fair, authors of popular works of primatology have discussed all of these things in detail, from backstabbing political dramas to mother-daughter serial killers. But these lessons feel lost sometimes. So let me share a couple stories about the minds that inhabit this sanctuary and the ways in which their experience of the world is perhaps even closer to our own than we’d care to admit.
Jamie is an insecure leader. Leader isn’t even the right term, really. Alpha. The Boss. Decider of All Things. A leader inspires trust and support, and exerts power judiciously. A leader seeks stability and order, and strives to protect the less powerful. Jamie, on the other hand…
Jamie’s MO is simple: if she’s not getting what she wants, she either a) throws feces, or b) screams. Throwing feces is reserved for staff, volunteers, and visitors. Some chimps catch on pretty quickly to the fact that most humans would rather have their finger bitten off than be showered in fresh, wet poop. It’s so effective that we are powerless to extinguish the behavior. We encourage people not to react when chimps spit on them, because the reaction only reinforces the behavior. But try not reacting when feces gets in your hair or goes down your ear canal. She’s so aware of her power that sometimes all she has to do is make eye contact, then slowly direct her gaze to a nearby pile, and then once again lock eyes. Step away from the door controls or you and I both know what happens next. Being a sanctuary, our default position is to accommodate the chimps as much as possible, so we follow Jamie’s direction whenever we can. But really, what else are we going to do? On rare occasions, when circumstances required, we have made elaborate ponchos and helmets out of old blankets to withstand the fecal flak coming through the caging as we rushed to operate a door or retrieve an item within her range. But this makes her really mad, because she knows she’s been outmaneuvered. And that makes her feel powerless. And for Jamie, powerlessness is the worst of all feelings.
Screaming, on the other hand, is reserved for her chimpanzee family. Here’s an example: It’s dinnertime, and Jamie has received all of her meal. But Foxie has the gall to also want to eat. When Foxie takes her portion, Jamie summons a scream to wake the dead. Foxie has less than a second to decide whether she should abandon the food and run or take it and risk an aggressive conflict. More often than not, Jamie’s screaming elicits a group-wide melee, with Missy blindly taking Jamie’s side and the others trying in vain to stay out of the fray. Whether Jamie gets the food in the end or not is irrelevant – depriving Foxie was the goal.
Insecurity is a real crap sandwich. First of all, it feels awful. But on top of that it often makes you behave in ways that only feed back into a greater sense of insecurity. It’s the death spiral of emotions. The dynamics of Jamie’s group have changed since Jody’s death. It’s not like it was a fairy tale to begin with, especially back when Burrito was still a testosterone-driven tornado. But they had established a certain order, loose as it was. Jody’s absence should have made Jamie feel more secure, as she seemed to perceive Jody as her greatest rival. Jody was, after all, well-loved and respected by the rest of her group mates. But the vacuum left by Jody’s absence has only resulted in an uptick in Jamie’s, shall we say, darker side, one which our cooperative feeding training struggles to keep up with.
The problem with maintaining power through intimidation, volatility, and capriciousness is that no one is rooting for you to remain in power. What if they’re just waiting for you to slip up? What if they are even silently conspiring against you? All the more reason to remind them who’s in charge.
And down the spiral we go…
I’ve always maintained that if Jamie was a human and was not a member of my immediate family, I wouldn’t want anything to do with her. If any human treated me the way she treats those around her, I’d be out the door. But I love her. More than anything. Maybe more than any other chimp I’ve known, depending on the day you ask. Maybe it’s because she’s been treated so unfairly and remains imprisoned, and this is how she perseveres. Or maybe it’s because, since she’s not human, I’m able to appreciate her as a whole person with less judgment; to admire the directions in which her capacious mind has traveled in its efforts to find meaning and purpose. There’s a richness to Jamie that I can’t help but stand in awe of.
Willy B is a lot of things. He’s big, handsome, intimidating, sometimes playful, sometimes goofy, but mostly…anxious. Anxious and overwhelmed. He’s scared to walk on grass. He’s a wreck in most social situations. He often seeks refuge in quiet, familiar corners where he can just be alone, as if he just needs to press pause on the world for a while so his brain has a moment to settle.
The problem for Willy B is that he is a member of a species for which sociality is everything—for which friendships and alliances are currency. A male like him has to stake out a position in the hierarchy, and that requires one or both of the following: Being tough, or being social.
Willy B is not tough. He looks the part, but in 99% of the conflicts I’ve seen him involved in, he is the one running away screaming. If push comes to shove he can more than hold his own, but he doesn’t want to fight. He just wants you to think he could. And when the tables are turned on him, he usually hides behind someone stronger or braver who is willing to defend him as he prays for the fight to end.
Despite his social difficulties, Willy was fortunate to immediately make the one friend that really mattered: his alpha male, Cy. When they first met, Willy and Cy spent the first couple weeks trying to figure each other out. When they were together during introductions, one-on-one, their relative status was a tossup. But in the greater group, there was no question. Cy had a loyal, established group behind him, and plenty of social skills to boot. Willy had no choice but to submit. But it didn’t seem like something Willy had to work hard to accept. He really admires Cy. And he craves Cy’s attention. Spending time with another male, something he hadn’t been able to do in years, seemed to give Willy new life.
But dyadic relationships, as complicated as they are, are comparatively easy to navigate. There’s me, there’s you, and there’s us. That’s it. Add in a third person and suddenly there’s…them. Add in even more people and you create a dizzying patchwork of coteries, cliques, and communities. Circles within circles. An intelligent mind can’t help but start to ruminate on all the possibilities: What are they doing? Why are they doing it without me? Should I join them? Do they want me to join them? One theory holds that larger brain-body mass ratios evolved to help keep track of these complex social connections. At times this feels like the first frayed thread in the brain’s fabric, and still the most vulnerable to being torn.
Thanks in large part to Cy, Willy has a pretty firm lock on the #2 position in his group. But like Jamie, he can’t seem to leave well enough alone. He appears comfortable in one-on-one interactions with everyone, but as things get more complicated he gets overwhelmed, directing mild but persistent threats to the lower-ranking males in the group, Terry and Gordo. And if Cy isn’t giving him enough attention, or if—God forbid—Cy directs his attention to the other males at the wrong time, Willy launches into a self-defeating fit, seemingly choosing to blow the whole place up rather than attempt the difficult task of finding his own place in the group. In reality, no one has it out for him, and if he could just turn the volume on that big brain down for a second, and literally do nothing, he’d be fine. Instead, he short-circuits, explodes, and then wonders why it’s so damn hard to fit in.
If I ever get frustrated with Willy B, it helps to watch the home movies we have showing him in the laboratory nursery. There he is, in a set of toddler’s overalls designed to keep his diapers in place, looking around nervously for someone to hold him. It’s not that he never stood a chance—somehow, other chimps made it out with far superior social skills—but we each have our unique vulnerabilities. Maybe if Willy had been raised by his mother instead of technicians, if he had lived a life in the wild instead of a cage, he would have an easier time understanding other people. Or maybe not. We’ll never know. That he’s come this far is victory enough.
Twenty-five years ago, I began a life and career with chimpanzees with the hope of seeing what new and exciting thresholds they would cross, whether it be in art or technology, culture or cognition, in their race to join our virtuous circle. These days I am just as curious to discover how their own big brains have saddled them with inescapable bouts of sadness, anxiety, pettiness, jealousy, vengefulness, insecurity, and general confusion about how to exist in a hopelessly messy world. Because these are not qualities to be spoken of in hushed tones or swept under the rug in pursuit of discoveries more noble or virtuous. These, too, are signs of intelligent life.
And today I am even more certain of two things. First, we are most certainly not alone. And second, if big-brained aliens do ever visit us, they are sure to be carrying a lot of psychological and emotional baggage, too.
Karen says
This was a beautiful post about the complexities of intelligence. And the Chimp’s struggles are very reminiscient of my own family. Half the time I want to scream after dealing with them, and the other half, I realize they are dealing with the nature/nurture cards they were dealt.
Amy M says
JB — This is so beautifully written, I feel like you’ve given us a gift. Thank you.
Amy
Linda C says
Thank you, JB.
It doesn’t surprise me that Jamie is your fav; I’d sort of sensed it, ever since you showed us that moment during the pandemic that the two of you shared, one on each side of the loft window. I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite, too. I’ve often wondered if it’s bc she perceives that the two of you are the “leaders” or “bosses” of the hoomans, or if it’s bc she likes your tools and footwear.:smile: There’s no doubt, when you look into those eyes, that she is thinking…oh, she’s thinking…and that she’s a force to be reckoned with. Having worked at a Catholic institution for many years, where most of the nuns wore lay clothes, I remember someone noting that a particular nun had great fashion sense and “didn’t look like a nun”. I pointed out that that nun’s best friend and housemate most definitely *did* look like one, in large part due to the “nun power” that exudes from her eyes. You’re very aware when you look into her eyes that she’s sharp and she knows she’s in charge.
That’s what I see whenever there’s a photo of Jamie where her mouth isn’t softened into a smile (think footbox peering photo): that she knows she’s not human, but she feels more than the average chimp, and that she’s aware of her power. Thankfully, she’s got a group of humans in her family who “get” her, even if they don’t always like it.
Thanks for answering the question about the shift, or lack thereof, in dynamics since losing JoJo. I have indeed been wondering.
That complexity, the fact that they are well-rounded individuals with merits and faults, just like us, is something that I think is hard for us out here in blogland to deal with: we all love our goofy Bubba, but it took a while before we could forgive him for biting off part of Foxie’s ear. We love Jamie for her intelligence, but hate that she steals food from the underdogs, and secretly hope that you somehow sneak them something later (and have you ever considered feeding Jamie separately, the way you did/do with Willy B?)
This morning I saw video of Lope, the gorilla who loves to walk upright, in his new bachelor group in France. The time came when he was too big for his father to want him around any longer. So he’s moved from England to France until they find a mate for him. He’s in with a silverback and another blackback. Watching them all getting along, all I could think was, “wow, how (relatively) easy it was to integrate these guys into new living quarters! Never with chimps!’. Remembering all of the shifting Willy B had to make, first with a new residence, and then with new roommates, made the gorillas’ case look easy peasy.
I’m sure your understanding is helpful to them, even if they don’t seem aware of it.
How are Cy’s “stories” going? Any new fav movies? And does Willy B still get the remote once in a while, to watch “Ice Age”?
Maureen says
J.B., Brilliant and fascinating, as usual. And so heartfelt, with that tiny slice of what Willy’s life was like as a little one. So very sad. As an anxious person myself, I can identify with both these anxious chimps and I’m glad for them that they’re in a safe and healthy environment. What hell they’ve gone through.
Thank you again for opening this wonderful sanctuary to these poor, wonderful survivors.
Lisa Brihagen says
What a beautifully written description! So rich and insightful. Thank you so much. I loved every word!!!!!
Dan Oksiuta says
Brilliant & wonderful post J.B.! Reminded me of the kind of delightful descriptions & insightful anaysis in Frans de Waal’s books. You should write your own book. I bet it would be as good as his, maybe better. Thanks!
Eileen says
JB A very lovely and perceptive post of chimpanzee family life.I wonder if Jamie is grieving in some way for Jody.
I am constantly amazed by the deep commitment of the human caregivers.
Lori says
Such a fascinating post, thank you! It made me think of the skilled and loving caregivers at CSNW as chimpanzee therapists–I’m impressed with your understanding of each individual’s life contex, awareness of how that may motivate her or his behaviors today, and the insight you have with respect to diverting (insofar as you can) escalating problems is remarkable.
Tobin says
“There he is, in a set of toddler’s overalls designed to keep his diapers in place, looking around nervously for someone to hold him. It’s not that he never stood a chance—somehow, other chimps made it out with far superior social skills—but we each have our unique vulnerabilities. Maybe if Willy had been raised by his mother instead of technicians, if he had lived a life in the wild instead of a cage, he would have an easier time understanding other people.”
Enough said, once again. As much as I take an interest in our cousins who reside in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, and know how well they are treated in their refuge, they and their parents should never have been taken from their natural habitat in equatorial Africa. I always hope that there is enough time, scientific knowledge, and willpower to reverse the destruction of the natural environment (in the homeland of great ape species, as elsewhere), but I worry, and grieve. The CSNW, like Chimp Haven, Canada’s Fauna Foundation, and the Save the Chimps refuge in Florida, serve as proverbial Noah’s Arks for such people. Still, who will stop the rain, and when will the waters recede to allow the restoration of Nature?
CarolR says
What a wonderful, insightful post, JB. I commented after the Be Mine series that it made me reflect far more deeply about their ‘early years’ although in some cases it was decades, and how they managed to survive both physically and mentally. I was thinking of how humans learn and respond in their first 30 years. For such highly intelligent animals, maybe this complexity is a manifestation of that? You picked two very different examples, but in the long run, there are many similarities…….coping behaviours and habits formed due to man’s cruel treatment of brains that were denied the ability to grow, and situations that denied them the essential lessons of socializing. I think that’s why I love seeing Jamie playing silly games with Burrito……moments that show how it could and should have been. Thank you for this, as always.
Ryan Morrissey says
Stunning writing, regardless of the topic. Just wow.
Lisa says
Agreed!
J. DeMarco says
What a powerful post! After reading it, I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. Each chimp has its own history that molds who they are. Caregivers can only deal with the personalities of the chimps as they are today, without trying to change or manipulate them. It’s obvious how that can be both difficult and gratifying. I continue to admire the role you play in caring for these sentient beings.
Eli says
Beautifully written post. I often wonder about how much of Jamie’s constant need to be in control stems for being in an environment (first as a performer, then in a lab) where she was afforded none for the most formative years of her life. It’s hard to imagine the mental torture she endured. She never got the chance to learn chimpanzee politics, to test boundaries and figure out what her place is. She was robbed of that. They all were. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Jamie and Burrito are responsible for the bulk of the conflicts in their group. They’re the two that were denied the opportunity to learn even the most basic of chimpanzee social skills.
As for Willy, he’s always struck me as an insecure guy. He might be bigger and stronger, but he’s still that scared little kid desperate for affection and acceptance. I know for males in particular, observing the older members of the group, imitating them, testing boundaries, etc. are all highly important parts of growing up. Trauma manifests in so many different ways and healing is never a neat one way street. I’m glad he’s got Cy to look out for him. Cy really is amazing.
Additionally, I would be really interested in seeing any of the pictures/videos of them when they were younger! I know it’s bittersweet, seeing them in such an awful setting, but I have to admit, I am very curious about their baby pics! For the 7, I know there are likely no baby pictures, what are the oldest photographs you have of them?
Adrienne says
I enjoyed this post a lot, thank you.
Nancy Potter says
This was wonderful to read, I really enjoyed it.. Thank you for what you do……..
Kathleen says
Wow. My heart aches.
I read this last evening and I was so blown away. I had to reread it this morning. My heart aches. Jamie and Willy B are two of my favorite chimpanzees. Perhaps part of my feelings are so strong because of their weaknesses.
“And for Jamie, powerlessness is the worst of all feelings.” Reading the paragraph that ended with this quote stopped me from exhaling. To be so intelligent but also so frustrated and powerless due to things out of your control, to understand your physical surroundings and the limitations they place upon you….I can not begin to think how I would manage such an existence. And I have been very curious to hear how the group dynamics would play out without their Den Mother, Jody. I am sorry to hear how it has helped to reinforce Jamie’s insecurities. At least for now.
I loved Jamie before I read this post. Deeply. I love her all the more afterwards. As you say :
“ There’s a richness to Jamie that I can’t help but stand in awe of.”
Willy B. His story choked me up.
“ Spending time with another male, something he hadn’t been able to do in years, seemed to give Willy new life.” I am so grateful you gave him the opportunity to have someone, a male someone, to admire and form a friendship with. I would love to see Willy B’s home movies as a youngster in the lab. Perhaps if the lab “foster mothers” had been aware of Willy’s sensitivities (like his mother may have), and they held and nurtured him more, Willy would have found some comfort and a better sense of confidence from the experience of feeling loved. It’s heartbreaking.
I can’t help but ask myself what it is like to be in their bodies, their heads and their hearts, because they are so similar to us. Who would I be if I survived decades of deprivation? We most certainly are not the only intelligent, emotional and empathetic beings. Just watch the documentary “My Octopus Teacher”, it proves this point.
I know all your day to day interactions are not just quiet moments or periods full of breathy laughter. I appreciate seeing those moments especially because of their past lives. It is extremely important to know they now experience these beautiful deserving moments. With that said, I truly appreciated this post and would welcome more like it. Especially as time changes the structure of the Seven now that Jody is no longer amongst them… physically.
Rebecca Z. says
Thank you so much for this lovely, thoughtful post. Jamie sounds like some people I’ve known (*cough* Mommie Dearest *cough*), and Willy B: “He often seeks refuge in quiet, familiar corners where he can just be alone, as if he just needs to press pause on the world for a while so his brain has a moment to settle.” Same, Willy B.
I love learning about how we are similar to these chimpanzee people (while also appreciating that we are very different). Thanks again for sharing your insights with us, JB and CSNW crew.