Posts Tagged ‘autobiography’
bonobos and me: a personal exploration

Yes, it’s me, why not?
So yes, like everyone, I was born into a patriarchal society, but it’s always complicated. The first society we start with and have to negotiate is family. We were more nuclear than most nuclear families (don’t worry, I’m not talking about radiation and fallout), because we left my native Scotland for Australia when I was five, leaving behind all grandparents, uncles, aunts and so on, never to be seen again, at least by me.
We came via ‘assisted passage’, as skilled migrants. My mother was the skilled one. South Australia was in need of nurses, and my mother heeded the call. She was always the decision-maker. I don’t know how she did it with three young kids, my older brother and sister and myself, but she took up a job as a nursing sister, and then as an assistant matron of a hospital in Gawler, and later still as a nursing teacher/lecturer. My father was an unskilled labourer, often out of work. It wasn’t a happy marriage – my mother did a lot of shouting, and I always worried that my father, who’d been an amateur boxer in his youth and was impressively muscle-bound, would lose it and go for her, but that never happened, though he’d sometimes threaten – ‘I’ll put your head through that wall’ was a favourite line of his. My mother, though, did occasionally throw things at him, including a pot of something, soup I think, from the kitchen. I don’t know if it was hot or cold.
I was always embarrassed and shamed by these noisy rants. People walking by could surely hear them. And as I got older, the thought of running away from home would seem more and more enticing. The transition from primary to high school was another trauma. The school’s headmaster was a rabid authoritarian who chilled the atmosphere whenever he showed up or spoke into the PA systems installed in every classroom. He haunted the school corridors in black ceremonial robes, which earned him the nickname ‘batman’, and I came quickly to despise him for his self-importance and ridiculously fearsome temper. He picked me out for a couple of dressing-downs, because he knew that I had the top IQ score for entry into the school, which was streamed into classes by those scores, and I wasn’t living up to my ‘potential’. By this time, at around fourteen, my anti-authoritarianism was at its height, and my school results were declining, as I took pleasure in reading everything but the prescribed texts.
Of course it was also that time of life when sex was rearing up its enflamed head. I would make a list in my mind of the prettiest kids in my school or elsewhere, male or female. I took pride in thinking in these ambisexual terms. I played with the thought that some girls would be better off as boys, and vice versa. I imagined kissing boys, just because I knew it was ‘wrong’. And once, when attending a wrestling match, of all things, with a friend, I got an erection from watching his handsome profile as he intently watched the muscle-bound ogres in the ring. Again, this didn’t make me feel ashamed or confused, it made me feel somehow superior and aesthetically enlightened. However, as the boys became hairier and less pretty young men, I gave up on bisexuality, rather sadly and wonderingly.
I’ve written in my novel In Elizabeth about my first sex, on my 16th birthday, granted to me by my girlfriend of a few weeks, who was experienced in these matters, so she told me, though a year or so my junior. It was short, furtive and uneventful, and it seemed to me that kissing her beautiful face was much more of a thrill. But what happened shortly after this event had much more to do with our primate cousins.
Due to all the domestic strife I was spending much of my spare time away from home, hanging out with other kids, mostly older, at the parks around the local shopping centre. I wasn’t exactly accepted by these kids, but I hung around the fringes, feeling vaguely despised because I knew nothing about car engines and other esoterica. I was an obsessive reader of Thomas Hardy novels at the time, but somehow I didn’t think…
However, my new girlfriend was very interested in these boys, some of whom she vaguely knew, and she wanted me to introduce her… Of course I agreed, though I knew, I just knew, that this would be disastrous.
So we duly arrived at the park one early evening, and I could see that the sight of Edwina, my putative girlfriend, caused some arousal. One of the lads, gigantically proportioned compared to me, and a solid thick-thighed defender in the local soccer team which I also played for, began to niggle and jab at me, which then led to a kind of long, one-sided wrestling match which, of course, left everyone amused except myself. And so ended the beginning of my sex life.
So alpha maledom was never within my purview. And looking back at that scene, I can’t help but think of chimpanzees – very basic (with apologies to chimps). I would ever be the subordinate male, wishing and hoping but never really expecting. I should also point out that, from age five to fifteen, I was the smallest kid in my class, male or female. Size does matter, they say.
Of course, I’d never heard of bonobos back then. I first heard of them on the ABC radio ‘Science Show’ when I was around thirty years old. The male journalist ended his report saying something like ‘Vive les bonobos! I want to be one!’. They’ve been a kind of leitmotif for me ever since.
I’m rereading Diane Rosenfeld’s The Bonobo Sisterhood, recognising that the book is principally addressed to women, which perhaps disappointed me first time around, as a far-from-alpha male who never made aggressive advances towards a woman (and certainly not towards men!), and whose more or less pathetic advances were likely repudiated due to their pusillanimity. And I can also admit to rejecting advances of women I was attracted to, due to performance anxiety. At least one of those rejections, I felt, was one of the dumbest and costliest of my life. But who knows…
So I don’t know where I’m going with all this, except to say that the battle of the sexes needs to continue, and women need to win. I don’t really believe in equality between the sexes, because I see matriarchy as a far better solution – which of course doesn’t need to disadvantage men, if only they could see what might be in their best interest. The wars going on at present are thoroughly male, as wars tend to be, and feminism seems currently to be struggling, not just in the USA. Female political leadership, spotty though it is, is coming to be taken for granted, as it’s nowhere near commonplace enough to seriously challenge patriarchy. I worry that something truly disastrous may have to happen before we find ourselves taking that positive turn in any big way.
Bonobos managed to take that turn, though, and it doesn’t seem to have been born of disaster. It even may have been born of plenty. We really don’t know quite how, and it’s probably the big question we should be asking. The USA, for example, should be the land of plenty – which it likes to advertise itself to be. For some it is, of course – the rich-poor gap is massive there. Its per capita incarceration rate is the highest in the developed world. Its name for itself – the United States – is a sick joke..
But of course I’m veering off-topic. Bonobos present us with a true society, with no-one left behind unless they’re overly violent, and then they can be forgiven. And they don’t make war with their neighbours, for no good reason. We need to keep focussing on the example they set. I know I’ll keep being inspired.
Reference
Diane L Rosenfeld, The bonobo sisterhood, 2022
reflections on my relations with science & philosophy: photosynthesis next time!

I’m not a scientist of any kind, obviously, and yet…
When I left high school at fifteen, after a contretemps with the sadistic Principal, I was holding my own – just – in the ‘arts’ subjects, but failing in the science subjects. Frankly, I only responded well to the entertaining teachers; authoritarian teachers made me switch off. That, and a kind of natural clumsiness vis-a-vis lab work, and a lack of any scientific background, convinced me early on that science stuff wasn’t for me. And yet…
When, years later, I sat a mature age entry test for tertiary education, it was, I seem to recall, only to do an Arts degree. Not science, not law, not anything that might lead to a lucrative career. Not that I was too worried about this at the time, I knew I was never going to be classed as rich.
Anyway, I received acceptances at Adelaide’s only two universities at the time, Flinders and Adelaide, in that order. On receiving the first acceptance, which I thought would be the only one, I visited the Flinders campus for the first time, and was thrilled by the beauty of the place, and the great views it offered of the city below. Then I received the Adelaide acceptance, and was unsure…. I was living in the heart of the city at the time, a brief walk from the Adelaide campus, which I was already quite familiar with. It was a no-brainer, surely. Yet I felt slightly guilty. Was I choosing the Adelaide campus because it seemed more prestigious? I kind of hated that idea, and yet… In any case, the convenience of Adelaide made it the obvious choice.
But by this time, in my thirtieth year, I had long been ‘switched on’ to science. My conversion, if you can call it that, had come from the novel reading I’d been doing for many years, especially a novel by Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain. Hans Castorp, the main character, was, like me, in his mid twenties, and he was holed up in an alpine sanitarium due to being consumptive. He spent his time there listening to intellectuals and reading, and it seems one of his books was something like What is this thing called science? (Chalmers, 1976), or What is Life? (Schrodinger, 1944), although Mann’s book was published in 1926.
Anyway, something about the book clicked in me, and I decided to learn more about the scientific world. First off, I read Dawkins’ The Selfish Gene, then copious copies of science mags, such as Scientific American and New Scientist, which I semi-absorbed and puzzled over in my usual solitary fashion.
So, on being accepted at uni, I found that one of the subjects I was permitted to enrol in was a kind of ‘biology for arts students’ thing. So, of course, I tried it, but I switched back to an arts/science hybrid of sorts, called anthropology, because a couple of weeks into the science thing I botched up a piece of laboratory work so badly that I felt humiliated. It was as if I’d been told from on high to stop nursing ideas above my station.
The subject that most interested me, otherwise, was philosophy, but my essays on the subject failed to impress my lecturers and tutors. One sentence in one of those essays elicited the comment Wunderbar! – obviously sarcastic since there was no other comment and the essay received a bare pass. Yet the field – especially that of ‘philosophy of mind’, which Adelaide’s philosophy department seemed particularly devoted to – was of great interest to me, if more from a scientific than a philosophical perspective. Is the mind something more than the brain? It is an epiphenomenon of the brain? I very much doubted it, and felt that the mind-body problem was essentially chimerical. It was around this time that I came across a comment by an earlier 20th century philosopher – maybe Moritz Schlick or Max Black – that problems of this type are first taken up by philosophy but then resolved by science.
So there. I don’t think Adelaide University’s philosophy department, or the ‘philosophy of mind’ topic, are doing so well these days. Nya nya ne nya nya.
Philosophy of mind, methinks, has been dealt a death blow by the massive advances made in neurophysiology in the 21st century. As Robert Sapolsky, whose two big books Behave and Determined have thoroughly convinced me on the poverty of the free will argument, has pointed out, more has been discovered and understood, in the first decade and a half of the 21st century, about how our brains work, than in all of the previous centuries combined.
So, all of this is preliminary, I must say, to my attempt, in the next piece or two, to get my head around photosynthesis – the horrendously complex processes by which plants manage to ‘eat the sun’, in Oliver Morton’s clever phrase, used for the title of his brilliant but complex book on the topic. I’m looking forward to it….I think…
Reference
Oliver Morton, Eating the Sun, 2007