Harry’s game isn’t all monkey business

IT’S a sentiment which another Harry, the regal male gorilla at Dublin Zoo, would no doubt endorse.

One of the finest primate facilities to be found in any zoo has been provided for his troop in Dublin. You’d think he would be pleased!

The other gorillas were ecstatic when they moved to it but Harry was suspicious and resentful. At the opening ceremony on September 29, the warmest day of the year, he sulked indoors. Was he jealous President McAleese was the focus of attention? Not at all, says zoo director Leo Oosterweghel. Gorillas hate the limelight. Harry was exhibiting ‘conservative bias’, a reaction found among top dogs, animal and humans, everywhere. If you rule the roost, the last thing you want is a change to the status quo; all paths from the top of the pile lead downwards.

In the wild, a silverback guards his domain, demanding allegiance from underlings and keeping a watchful eye out for challengers. Pretenders to the throne may be lurking in the wings and anything which rocks the political apple-cart gives them opportunities for mischief.

Harry, living in the security of the zoo, has nothing to fear but old habits die hard. He refused to explore his newly-landscaped habitat with its 20,000 plants of 250 carefully selected species. The protest lasted several days during which he relied on sycophantic members of the troop to bring him food. Now, of course, this is just a gorilla memory and everything is rosy in the garden.

Harry and ourselves shared a common ancestor eight million years ago; some people don’t like to acknowledge it, but gorillas are still ‘family’.

In 1513, Niccolo Machiavelli published a sort of training manual for politicians. ‘How principalities are won, how they are held and how they are lost’ is its stated theme. According to Machiavelli, a prince should appoint only weaklings to key positions around him. Never promote talented individuals, he advises. A powerful underling will have designs on your throne. Silverbacks, likewise, are suspicious of their growing sons. Anyone getting too big for his boots is sent packing.

A son of Harry’s was moved to London Zoo recently. Other males are not allowed to consort with the females; the offspring born to troop members must be fathered by the boss. Again, according to the worldly-wise Machiavelli, a ruler will perish if he is always good; he must be as cunning as a fox and as fierce as a lion. “It is not important that the Prince be virtuous. It is most important, however, that he have the appearance of virtue.”

Gorillas have huge brains; only ours and those of chimpanzees are bigger. But what great intellectual challenges does a gorilla face that it needs an enormous brain? These vegetarians graze lazily on plants and leaves, travelling less than two kilometres a day. Only hostile encounters with another troop or attacks by poachers will induce a troop to move from its territory. This laidback lifestyle hardly demands great intelligence in a creature so big that few would risk tangling with it.

The solution to the conundrum lies closer to home. We humans could meet our physical needs with smaller brains than the ones we have. The interpersonal and social problems confronting us, however, are of a different order.

Machiavelli’s prince must read the minds of his subjects, identify potential malcontents and predict the likely stratagems of rival potentates. We need big brains for the mammoth task of dealing with each other. Harry, like us, has to be self-aware, able to put himself mentally in his rivals’ shoes to model their likely behaviour. The Dublin troop may have up to 15 members a few years from now and Harry is not getting any younger. He may need all the brain-power he can muster.