Monkey See, Monkey Do

Those of you familiar with India know what I mean when I say the country suffers from too much monkey business. Rhesus macaques menace India’s urban areas, biting people, spreading disease, and causing a general nuisance—so much so that some cities have proposed that the simian miscreants be given oral contraceptives to keep their numbers in check.

This problem poses a challenge for the highest echelons of government: Not only did mango-eating monkeys nearly spoil a recent photo op with American Vice President Joe Biden; the creatures also threaten the country’s very seat of power. While strolling around the Central Secretariat in New Delhi last March, I happened to notice a troop of monkeys swarming the walls of the building in defiance of a security guard’s efforts to shoo them away.

So India has a problem with its primates? Send ‘em our way. Instead of destroying the landscaping around India’s parliament, the monkeys could be put to good use inside the U.S. Capitol.

Many might argue that Washington has enough apes of its own, though at least ours refrain from throwing trash and relieving themselves in public areas. (Or do they? Nature calls even during filibusters.) I assert, however, that India’s monkeys have the potential to eliminate one of the great political annoyances of our time: obstructionism in the Senate.

Now, I’ll concede that some legislation does in fact deserve to be blocked. The monkeys would simply be used to increase the cost of doing so, thereby ensuring that only the most heinous bills and appointees be filibustered. My plan is ruthlessly simple: For every hour of needless hot air expended, one monkey should be released onto the Senate floor.

The first few monkeys might not be so bad—apart from picking at Ted Cruz’s masterfully coiffed hair, they wouldn’t do too much damage. Things would start to get interesting around hour six or seven, when the monkey population would reach critical mass. After half a day in a stuffy room, the creatures would begin to live up to their reputation. Hungry, bored monkeys are vicious monkeys, and the usual staidness of the Senate would degenerate into the law of the jungle.

By my calculations, Congress would have to halt proceedings upon the release of the tenth monkey into the chamber. No sane legislator could tolerate this one-to-ten monkey-Senator ratio for more than five minutes. The current occupant of the storied “candy desk,” Illinois Senator Mark Kirk, would be unlikely to survive for more than this length of time—and death by monkey is an awful way to go. (Just consider the unfortunate case of King Alexander of Greece, who died after an attack by his pet Barbary macaque.)

The Senate would have to appoint an official monkey keeper, much as the Gibraltar Regiment appointed an “Officer-in-Charge of the Apes” to care for the territory’s primate population. This individual would be equal in rank to the Senate Chaplain and would oversee the day-to-day care of his or her charges. The monkeys themselves would reside in the offices of the most junior member of the Senate, except during longer recesses, when they would serve as teaching tools in local civics classes.

While the Senate might lose its aristocratic veneer as a result of this new measure, everyday Americans could take comfort in the fact that their elected representatives would no longer have to contend with frivolous filibustering and other forms of gratuitous obstructionism. It only seems fair to fight fire with fire—monkey business is monkey business, whether the blame lies with Senators or with actual primates.

After all, as H.L. Mencken once wrote, “Democracy is the art and science of running the circus from the monkey-cage.”

Ian R. Van Wye ‘17, a Crimson editorial writer, lives in Thayer Hall.