Have you ever stopped to wonder where your tax dollars really go? Most of us grumble about government spending, but sometimes the examples are so outlandish they almost sound made up. Picture this: hundreds of thousands of dollars handed over to researchers who spent years watching chimpanzees collect their own feces and hurl it at zoo visitors. Yes, you read that right. And the kicker? The study concluded that the better the chimps were at this messy habit, the smarter and more communicative they seemed to be. In my view, it’s the kind of story that makes you question everything about how funding decisions get made.
Back around 2011 and 2012, this particular piece of research bubbled up and caught the attention of watchdog types who track wasteful expenditures. The numbers were eye-watering—close to $600,000 in grants from federal sources, money that, adjusted for today’s dollars, would be even higher. It wasn’t just pocket change; it represented real resources that could have gone elsewhere. Yet here we were, funding detailed observations of primate bathroom habits. I’ve always found it fascinating how something so absurd on the surface can actually tie into deeper questions about evolution and intelligence.
Unpacking the Strange World of Chimpanzee Throwing Behavior
At its core, the research zeroed in on something most zoo-goers have witnessed firsthand: chimpanzees occasionally grabbing feces (or sometimes soaked food) and flinging it with surprising accuracy at people walking by. Researchers didn’t just note the behavior—they dove deep with brain imaging and behavioral tracking. Using scans from dozens of chimps, they looked at brain structure differences between those who threw often and those who didn’t. The results suggested that proficient throwers had more developed connections in certain brain areas, particularly on the left side, which in humans is heavily involved in language.
What struck me most was the idea that this wasn’t random aggression or simple frustration. The chimps appeared to wait patiently for the right moment, almost like they were strategizing. Visitors would try to dodge or negotiate, but the animals often succeeded in getting a reaction. According to the scientists involved, this kind of intentional action pointed to a level of social communication that went beyond basic survival needs. It wasn’t about getting food; it was about eliciting a response from humans. That alone makes you pause and think about how complex even “primitive” behaviors can be.
Throwing in chimpanzees isn’t just a messy tantrum—it’s a form of expression that correlates with advanced cognitive wiring.
— Insights from primate behavior studies
Of course, not everyone sees it that way. Critics pointed out that no caretaker would reward a chimp with treats right after being pelted with waste. So the motivation had to be something else—perhaps the sheer entertainment of seeing people freak out. It’s oddly human-like when you think about it. We laugh at slapstick comedy for similar reasons: the reaction is the reward.
The Science Behind the Scoop: Brain Scans and Behavioral Links
Diving deeper, the study relied on magnetic resonance imaging to compare brain structures. Chimps who regularly engaged in aimed throwing showed stronger connectivity between motor control regions and areas analogous to human speech centers. This isn’t trivial. Evolutionary biologists have long speculated that throwing ability in early hominids may have helped pave the way for language development. Better coordination, planning, and precision—all skills needed for hurling objects—might have overlapped with the neural groundwork for complex communication.
In practice, researchers observed dozens of chimps over time, noting handedness, accuracy, and frequency. The ones who threw more often and hit their marks tended to have asymmetrical brain development favoring the left hemisphere. It’s a compelling parallel to humans, where most of us are right-handed throwers and left-hemisphere dominant for language. Perhaps there’s a thread connecting our ancient ancestors’ hunting or defensive skills to how we eventually started talking to each other. That’s the kind of big-picture insight that basic research sometimes uncovers, even if the subject matter raises eyebrows.
- Throwing requires planning and anticipation
- It demands fine motor control and coordination
- Successful throws elicit predictable social reactions
- These elements mirror aspects of early human tool use and communication
Still, you have to wonder: couldn’t we have learned similar lessons without focusing specifically on feces? Maybe observing rock-throwing or stick-dragging would have sufficed. But the researchers argued that feces-throwing was a unique, naturally occurring behavior in captivity that offered a clear window into intentional social tool use. Fair point, I suppose, but it doesn’t erase the sticker shock of the price tag.
The Bigger Picture: Debating Federal Research Funding
This brings us to the heart of the controversy. When reports highlighted this project as an example of questionable spending, it wasn’t alone. Annual compilations of government expenditures routinely spotlight dozens of projects that sound frivolous at first glance. Shrimp on treadmills, quail sex lives, and video game history preservation have all made similar lists over the years. The argument usually goes like this: in tough economic times, with national debt climbing, why fund niche studies when bridges are crumbling and schools need resources?
On the flip side, defenders of basic science point out that many breakthroughs come from unexpected places. Penicillin was discovered somewhat by accident. X-rays revolutionized medicine after a curious observation. Who knows what tangential discoveries about brain connectivity might eventually inform treatments for speech disorders or neurological conditions? I’ve always leaned toward supporting curiosity-driven research, but even I have limits. When the topic is this bizarre, it’s harder to defend without sounding detached from everyday concerns.
Perhaps the most frustrating part is the lack of transparency in how these decisions get made. Peer review exists, sure, but the public rarely sees the full rationale behind awarding hundreds of thousands for one specific angle. If the goal was understanding throwing’s evolutionary role, why not broaden the scope to include more mundane objects? The focus on feces feels almost sensationalist, like it was chosen to maximize shock value in academic circles.
Communication Lessons From Our Primate Cousins
One angle that rarely gets discussed is what this behavior teaches us about communication itself. Chimps aren’t throwing to nourish or defend territory in these captive scenarios; they’re doing it to provoke a reaction. Sound familiar? In human relationships, sometimes people “throw” harsh words or gestures not for any practical gain but simply to elicit emotion from their partner. It’s crude, yes, but effective. The better chimps at this had stronger brain wiring for planning and social prediction—traits that, in humans, underpin healthy dialogue.
In my experience working with people on interpersonal dynamics, poor communication often looks a lot like chimp-style projectile behavior: reactive, attention-seeking, and ultimately counterproductive. The animals who excelled weren’t just flinging blindly; they waited, aimed, and anticipated responses. That’s a level of emotional intelligence we could all stand to emulate. Maybe that’s the hidden value here—not the poop itself, but the insight into intentional interaction.
Effective communication isn’t about the projectile; it’s about understanding the impact on the receiver.
Of course, drawing parallels between zoo chimps and human couples is a stretch. But it does highlight how fundamental social signaling is across species. When communication breaks down, things get messy—literally in one case, figuratively in the other. Perhaps future studies could explore whether training chimps in alternative signaling reduces feces-throwing. That might offer practical applications for managing captive populations while still advancing knowledge.
Weighing Costs Against Potential Benefits
Let’s talk numbers for a moment. The grants totaled around $592,000 back then. Adjusted for inflation and rising costs, you’re looking at closer to $850,000 today. That’s enough to fund several community health programs or scholarships. Critics rightly ask: why prioritize this? Supporters counter that science isn’t always linear; today’s odd study could seed tomorrow’s medical advance. Both sides have merit, but the balance feels off when the subject is so niche and, frankly, unpalatable to most taxpayers.
| Aspect | Pro-Research View | Critic View |
| Scientific Value | Insights into brain evolution and communication | Too specific and unlikely to yield broad applications |
| Cost Justification | Basic research drives long-term progress | Taxpayers deserve more tangible returns |
| Public Perception | Advances knowledge despite optics | Appears frivolous and disconnected |
I’ve thought a lot about where the line should be drawn. Pure science needs room to explore weird corners, but public funding demands accountability. Maybe a middle ground—more public summaries of why certain projects get greenlit—would help. When people understand the bigger picture (no pun intended), they’re more likely to support even the quirky stuff.
Broader Implications for Animal Research Ethics
Beyond the money, there’s an ethical layer worth considering. These chimps lived in captivity, subject to repeated scans and observations. Was it fair to them? Modern standards for primate research are stricter now, with emphasis on welfare and alternatives to invasive methods. Still, the knowledge gained came at a cost—not just financial, but in animal well-being. It’s a trade-off society continues to debate.
Some argue we should phase out great ape research altogether, given their cognitive similarities to humans. Others insist that controlled studies offer irreplaceable insights into neurology and behavior. Where do you land? For me, it’s case-by-case. If the potential benefit is high and suffering minimized, perhaps it’s justifiable. But a feces-focused project tests that boundary.
Wrapping this up, stories like this remind us that government spending isn’t abstract. It’s our money, funding decisions made by people who may not always see things from the taxpayer’s perspective. The chimpanzee throwing research produced interesting findings about brain development and social behavior—findings that might even inform how we think about communication in our own lives. But at what price? Perhaps the real lesson is balance: support science, demand transparency, and keep asking hard questions about priorities. Because if we’re going to fund monkey business, we ought to make sure it’s worth every penny.
And honestly, next time you’re at the zoo and a chimp eyes you suspiciously, maybe give them a wide berth. They’ve got better aim than most of us realize—and apparently, some pretty sophisticated brains behind it.
