Breanne Cyr
Izzle, a retired research rhesus macaque, is now free to do what he wants.
As we enter the building, Amy Kerwin tells me: “The monkeys don’t like direct eye contact, they view that as threatening.” She suggests looking around them. “Lip smacking” — she demonstrates — “is nice, but they don’t like smiling.”
We are wearing scrubs over our clothes. Once inside, we put on shoe coverings, latex gloves and face shields. Inside are three large cages. One houses Izzle, one houses Mars, and one has three monkeys: Batman, Timon and River.
All five monkeys, the current occupants of the sanctuary built by Kerwin’s group, Primates Inc., on a lovely patch of land about 65 miles from Madison in Marquette County, are rhesus macaques. They range in age from 5 to 14; rhesus macaques can live to age 35. All were once used for scientific research.
Kerwin, a former animal researcher at the UW-Madison’s Harlow Center, has spent 15 years willing this sanctuary into being, to give at least a few research monkeys some semblance of a normal monkey life. As Isthmus reported last summer, the first of several planned buildings was mostly complete and Kerwin was expecting the first three monkeys to arrive last October, from an out-of-state research lab.
But the building was not done in time; Kerwin ended up firing the project manager and contractor. The research lab started getting antsy. “We’ve got to get these monkeys here,” Kerwin recalls saying. The work advanced to where the first three monkeys — Izzle, Mars and River — were able to arrive on Jan. 25.
In May, a different out-of-state research lab retired Batman and Timon, who were longtime cagemates. Almost immediately, the sanctuary’s animal care staff (someone is always onsite) noticed that River was signaling affection, like lip smacking, toward the new arrivals. They were gradually allowed to get closer, and ended up being housed together. Mars and Izzle are too dominant to be paired with each other, but may be matched with future arrivals.
As Mars becomes aware of my presence, Kerwin tosses him some figs. He grabs them eagerly. Then he flashes what she calls “an open-mouthed threat.” It’s kind of a jerk move, but Kerwin takes it in stride: “They’re wild animals. They don’t have to be friendly all the time. They get to do what they want here.”
Outside the building are some donated metal cages, tiny enclosures of the kind found in labs. These may be used sparingly to quarantine new arrivals, but Kerwin also wants to put a couple on the trails that run behind the property, as a reminder of what life is like for monkeys who don’t get sanctuary. When one of the cages was briefly brought inside, Kerwin says, the monkeys went into “a depressive slouch. They wouldn’t even look at the cage, no matter how much fruit we put in it.”
The sanctuary, with help from a team of volunteers, has built two large geodesic domes outside the building. The monkeys will soon be connected to these and other outdoor structures, now being built.
Kerwin’s sanctuary is never going to be open to the public, like a zoo, although some visitors will be permitted. Today I am allowed inside because I’ve agreed to help out as a volunteer, trying to unclog a floor drain with an auger, an endeavor that is only a partial success.
As I toil, primate behavioral specialist Breanne Cyr takes photos with the camera I’ve brought. The monkeys know her better than me. The clogged drain is right by the cage that houses Batman, Timon and River. They eye me quizzically, without fear. I don’t smack my lips, but my recording of the experience — you try taking notes while unclogging a drain wearing gloves and a face shield — captures me saying, to no one in particular, “They’re beautiful.”
I remember not to smile.
71,188: Number of non-human primates used for research in the United States in 2016, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.
28,444: Number used that year in ways that involved pain.
8,946: Number of primates used for research in Wisconsin that year, by UW-Madison and Covance Laboratories in Madison.
730: Number of formerly captive primates in facilities, including Primates Inc., that belong to the North American Primate Sanctuary Alliances.
The story of the star thrower (by Loren Eiseley): A man walks the beach, tossing back starfish that have washed up and will otherwise die. A passersby notes that there are thousands of starfish, more than the man can ever get to, asking “What difference does it make?” The star thrower, as he tosses, replies, “It makes a difference to this one.”
