I then began to show an interest in what they were doing—not in them, but in their activities. For example, if they were playing with a pail of water, I watched every action with great fascination and looked longingly at the pail as though wishing I could play with it myself. I also showed them that I shared their fears and concerns by expressing similar ones myself, thus identifying with their view of the world. When caretakers came by who were talking and laughing loudly as they shoved food in the cage, I, like the bonobos, grew fearful at this loud and strange noise from the people who wore white suits and sprayed water on you and shot darts at you. I, too, shied away as these strange, boisterous, clanking men approached, not trusting any creature who so carelessly made noise and who always carried objects about with it, as if it were about to become angry and needed something ready to throw. After the first few weeks, I decided to go to the Yerkes kitchen and request permission to give the bonobos their daily rations and, much to my surprise, was granted it. Probably this was only because the caretakers noticed that the bonobos would actually approach me and take food directly from me, something they were all unable to achieve, except for James.
James, already long past retirement age, was the only caretaker still alive to have known Robert and Ada Yerkes. He worked with them in Orange Park, Florida, where the Yerkes center originated as an extension of Yale University.
James, as far as I could discern, was the only caretaker who could walk up and down the long rows of caged apes without being screamed at, spit upon, or plastered with the feces that always lay everywhere in the cages. When James looked at the apes, his eyes were full of care. Somehow the apes recognized this, even the ones that had become crazy from their isolation as infants.
The bonobos, too, had begun to trust James, and soon all of their care fell to James and myself. James began at times to speak to me, something that he rarely did with other scientists there, and told me stories of the “old days” when the Yerkes laboratory had been located at Orange Park, where it had been warm year-round and where the behavior of the chimps had been the focus of everyone’s attention. I could see that James had been happy then, and that he missed those times, for things were now very different at Yerkes. He stayed on, it seemed, for the apes that he had come to love, and to try to show the new caretakers a few things—but most of them then only cared about drinking and carousing and seemed to view the apes as a nuisance.
In the 1970s, to work on the Yerkes great ape wing as a caretaker, you had to be male. I was permitted to be there only because I was a scientist. Had I applied for a job as a caretaker, I would never have been allowed on the wing. I was viewed as “odd” because I saw value in helping to scrub cages and because I was virtually the only female whom the apes ever saw. I was also the only scientist who spent any time with apes other than the minimal amount necessary for the collection of data. Other scientists thought I was eccentric in wanting to feed the animals or help in their care. However, I found it exceedingly practical, since this way their cages stayed clean and they came to trust me. Both factors made being around them a good deal more pleasant. I make these comments, not to set myself apart, but simply to describe how different were the worlds of those whose daily responsibility it was to care for and relate to the ape and those whose goal it was to understand them.
I knew from my experience with chimps at Oklahoma that groups of apes can easily develop an “us against them” attitude. I wanted Lokelema, Matata, and Bosondjo to feel I was part of “us” against the armada of white-suited caretakers and masked and medical scientists, veterinarians, and research technicians with their multiple needles, probes, charts, and rubber gloves. The idea that to approach apes you had to cover your entire body in white, from the top of the head to the feet, including the main medium you have for conveying messages to apes—the face—was appalling to me. Of course, the primary reason to cover up was to avoid the barrage of feces and water that were routinely tossed in your direction as you passed by the row of cages that formed the “wing.” It seemed to me that it was much more appropriate to try to convey to the inhabitants of these cages that you meant no harm and that you wished only to pass, with their permission, of course. So I eschewed the covers and set about earning the right to pass unimpeded in front of the thirty cages of apes that separated the entrance area from the bonobos, who were housed at the very end of the “wing.” This was important, for it was the only way I could reach the bonobos, and if all seventy-five apes between them and me were conveying messages of anger and aggression as I passed them, the bonobos would rightfully want little to do with me by the time I arrived in front of their cages.
Then there was the simple but obvious fact that you make a more appealing target in a white suit. So I also eschewed this accoutrement of science and walked about in shorts and a T-shirt. I was able to do so only because it was 1975, before strict guidelines about clothing that should be worn around apes were in effect. Now I would never be permitted to violate the white suit and mask code. Across months I slowly earned the right of passage and so, like James, I could walk past the cages unmolested. I regarded this as a great victory of sorts, for it signalled at least a modicum of acceptance by a very large number of apes. Almost everyone else at Yerkes regarded it as foolishness. Strange, I thought, that if your presence were accepted by these same creatures in the wild, it would have been regarded as an important achievement, but in captivity it was seen as foolish and bordered on skirting the rules a bit too much. Finally, I knew that at least Bosondjo and Matata, the juvenile bonobos, had accepted me. They sought me with their eyes at every unusual occurrence and began to identify with my reactions. They seemed to understand that I knew more than they about this strange human land they found themselves in. They also recognized that I was using my knowledge both to ease their way and to protect them whenever I was present. Soon it became clear that they trusted me enough that it would be possible to open the door of their cage and slip in, something I could never have done with wild-caught common chimps.
Throughout this time, I was enchanted by the ready ability of the bonobos to interpret body language and facial expressions accurately. I had known common chimpanzees with similar skills, though only those raised by human caretakers. Chimpanzees raised in the wild, or by their mothers in large social groups, seemed to have difficulty recognizing laughter, smiles, frowns, and many other human facial expressions. Bipedal stances were also threatening to them, as was a direct gaze in the eyes. Yet these wild-caught bonobos had no difficulty understanding the expression of these or other more complex emotions such as consternation, puzzlement, or gratitude, nor did I have difficulty seeing these emotions in their attitudes. We shared a language from the very beginning, albeit one that referenced mood and intent rather than specific objects. Had this communicative channel not been available, the tactic of relating my emotions to their concerns simply would not have worked. In the two weeks it had taken from first contact to entering the cage, I had therefore already learned that the nonverbal language of the bonobo was far more humanlike than that of common chimps.
The difference in temperament between the two species also quickly became apparent. The story of the plastic pails is a good illustration. From the very beginning, the bonobos had been given a plastic feeding pail in their cage, but it soon became much more than that. They used it for holding drinking water, inverted it as a seat, used it as a repository for urine, placed it over the head as a blind, carried it on the stomach as if it were an infant, played with it as a toy, and much more. The neighboring common chimps had been able to observe all these activities, and we wondered whether they would imitate the bonobos’ antics if we gave them a pail. They didn’t. Instead, they used the pails as props in aggressive displays, shaking them in the air, slamming them against the cage sides, and kicking them across the floor. Bosondjo was fascinated by these simian pyrotechnics. He picked up his own pail, carried it to a position in his cage from where he had a good view of the common chimps,
and sat on it with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, watching. When the display was over, Bosondjo got up, picked up the pail, shook it, and pushed it noisily across the floor, and then threw it at Matata. Bosondjo was obviously imitating what he had seen, but without the common chimps’ intensity and aggression. He didn’t do it again, and his pail remained intact for a long time. The common chimps quickly destroyed their pails.
I was helped in my study of the bonobos by Beverly Wilkerson and Roger Bakeman, and before long we were able to publish a series of papers that presented the first insights into the behavior of this extraordinary species. By this time, the mid-to late 1970s, biologists were very familiar with the social behavior of common chimpanzees, primarily through the pioneering efforts of Jane Goodall. Chimp society was seen to be very much male dominated, with readily identifiable dominance rankings among both males and females. Each individual’s social interaction was often directed to testing its status in the dominance hierarchy. High-ranking individuals gained preferred access to food and, particularly important for males, to mates.
Common chimpanzee females are receptive to sexual overtures only a few days each month, and during this time they evidence a large pink sexual swelling. Such females often find themselves in the presence of a covey of interested suitors, all of whom may mate with them repeatedly. However, Jane Goodall and Carolyn Tutin have shown that multiple matings are not the only strategy employed by male chimpanzees. They sometimes monopolize a female in estrus by insisting that she accompany them on a “safari” or a journey en deux, during which other males are studiously avoided. This ensures the male singular access at the proper time.
Even with just Lokelema, Matata, and Bosondjo as our small social group of bonobos to observe, it quickly became evident that bonobos in the wild had to have a very different group structure and that sexuality functioned in a distinctly bonobo manner. These early observations were later borne out by the field studies of Takayoshi Kano, Suehisa Kuroda, Takeshi Furuichi, and Nancy Thompson-Handler. Simply put, bonobos are more egalitarian and utilize sexuality for a much wider range of purposes than common chimps. Sex—both heterosexual and homosexual—has expanded far beyond its initial function as a means of reproduction among bonobos. It plays a central role in bonobo society, as a tool for bonding all individuals together.
Bonobo life is centered around the offspring. Unlike what happens among common chimps, all members of the bonobo social group help with infant care and share food with infants. If you are a bonobo infant, you can do no wrong. This high regard for infants gives bonobo females a status that is not shared by common chimpanzee females, who must bear the burden of child care all alone. Bonobo females and their infants form the core of the group, with males invited in to the extent that they are cooperative and helpful. High-status males are those that are accepted by the females, and male aggression directed toward females is rare even though males are considerably stronger.
Among both humans and bonobos, sexuality has evolved as a sort of multifaceted behavioral glue. If we disregard the aspect of genital contact for a moment and think of bonobo sexuality as “full body hugging,” we can get a closer glimpse of the many facets of what we call “sex” in bonobos. Just as humans hug each other because they are happy, sad, or excited, and just as we hug others to comfort and reassure them, to greet them, to say goodbye, to show that we love them or are attracted to them, so do bonobos hug other bonobos in all such situations. Unlike ourselves, however, bonobos do not wear clothes. Consequently, when they engage in a full body hug, it is accompanied by some form of mutual genital contact, which is naturally stimulating.
Sexual arousal, excitation, and release in the bonobo is also a very rapid phenomenon, lasting about as long as most full body hugs in our own species. However, unlike humans, bonobos do not grasp the relationship inherent between sexual activity and reproduction. Therefore, they are freed from understanding anything other than the immediate consequences of their sexual expression. Humankind, on the other hand, has recognized this link and consequently cannot escape the implications of its sexuality. Offspring require extraordinarily long-term resources of time and energy. Activities that lead to offspring production will inherently, among humans, become subject to regulation and limitation of various forms because of the recognition that sexuality is linked to reproduction.
In the case of humans, not only is there a recognition of the link between sexual activity and offspring, but the human female is not physically equipped to provide for offspring without assistance. Human infants are much larger than ape infants and more difficult to carry as they do not cling. Consequently, a human female must be able to feed and defend herself while constantly supporting an infant who cannot manage to hang on while its mother engages in the activities necessary to sustain them both. For this reason, the assistance of human males, at least under natural conditions, is critical to survival of human offspring. Thus human sexuality not only leads to offspring, it also leads to the need to help the female rear those offspring if they are to survive. The realization of the implications of sexuality is a relatively recent product of the human intellect, and has not had time to become ingrained into the human biology. That is to say, we humans do not invent proscriptions upon our sexuality because we are genetically inclined to do so; rather, we invent such proscriptions because our intellect recognizes the need for their existence.
Freed from man’s knowledge and responsibility for totally helpless infants, and equipped with a libido that is rapidly activated and released, bonobos are as free to engage in copulatory activity as a means of social expression as humans are to engage in full body hugging without mutual genital contact. Some primatologists have sought to “explain” bonobo sexuality by saying that it serves to reduce tension and defuse aggression. Such explanations beg the issue because they serve only to “explain” things that are themselves created by the conceptual framework in the mind of the observer. That is, once one assumes that tension exists, it therefore follows that it must be “released.” Such a perspective inadvertently leads to the assumption that many behaviors, such as grooming or sex, exist for the purpose of “tension release.” It is equally plausible to assume that the need to reproduce generates sexual activity and that sexual activity itself generates tension.
Bonobos, like humans, are concerned about who is copulating with whom, and sexual jealousy among and between sexes is present. Likewise, the advances of some individuals are refused, while those of others are accepted. These events produce among group members differences of feeling that require resolution. However, it is not the case that screaming and fighting typically precede sexual activity among bonobos. Bonobo sexuality, like human sexuality, is far too complex a phenomenon to be explained by the concept of “tension reduction.”
Not only do bonobos utilize sexuality as a social glue, but they are keenly aware of their sexuality. Both sexes evidence interest in, and awareness of, the effect of sexual interactions on themselves and on their partners. Unlike common chimps, bonobo females initiate copulation just as frequently as males, and often with other females.
Also unlike common chimps, bonobos frequently copulate face to face, as humans do. Adding to their human aspect, bonobos peer intently into their partner’s face prior to and during copulation, clearly monitoring change of expression. For instance, the intensity and frequency of thrusting is altered by changes in facial expression. Copulating pairs vocalize too, in clear communicative ways. We recorded at least three facial expressions and four vocalizations associated with copulation.
When Beverly Wilkerson and I reported our work in 1978 we said, “These observations strongly suggest that the pygmy chimpanzee is responsive not only to his own internal physiological feedback during copulation, but also to the subjective experiences of the partner.”15 I have no doubt that common chimpanzees are cognitive creatures, experiencing some degree of self-awareness and subjectivity. But this study of socio-sexual behavior was my
first strong realization that subjectivity might be even keener in bonobos.
The existence of face-to-face copulation and prolonged eye contact would be sufficient to label bonobos as unique among nonhuman primates. But their sexual behavior has many other features that also set them apart. Most noticeable is the variability of copulatory partners and positions. Homosexual relationships between females are also a particularly obvious and prevalent aspect of bonobo life. Female-female friendships are cemented in this way and lead to a peaceful sharing of resources among females. Homosexual “copulation” between bonobo females (termed “GG rubbing” by primatologists) contains all of the components of heterosexual activity, except for intromission. Watching this behavior in Lokelema and Matata, I could see that the clitoris of the female became visibly engorged and erect and was rubbed vigorously against the genitalia of her companion. As in heterosexual copulation, the partners in GG rubbing gazed intently at each other and clearly derived pleasure and satisfaction from the activity. They also appeared to achieve climax, as evidenced by the uncontrolled rhythmic contractions that preceded termination of the GG rubbing. “The pygmy chimpanzee is the only one, out of 200 species of primate, to devise this behavior,” said Kano when he later described GG rubbing he observed at Wamba, “and whenever they are delightedly absorbed in this ‘lesbian’ behavior, they seem proud of their splendid invention.”16
Kanzi: The Ape at the Brink of the Human Mind Page 13