Why You Can’t Trust the Monkeys with Bananas

The Perils of the Animal Kingdom

By Plutonix

George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ asks the age-old question: “What happens when farm animals decide to run the show?” This satirical fable answers that with a bang, as the animals stage a revolution, kick out their human oppressor, and set up a new society based on the idea that “all animals are equal.”

Naturally, a group of politically ambitious pigs quickly takes charge, and things get delightfully chaotic. What starts as a noble experiment in animal democracy quickly devolves into a hilarious, yet chilling, tale of power-hungry leaders, ever-changing rules, and a farm where some animals, it turns out, are just “more equal” than others.

Join Socrates (the venerable philosopher, always eager to expose ignorance) and Cephalus (a wealthy elder, fond of comfortable certainties) in a sun-drenched Athenian courtyard as they hilariously dissect a fable of power, corruption, and why you really, truly can’t trust the monkeys with the bananas.

Socrates: Ah, Cephalus, my dear friend! You seem in excellent spirits this fine afternoon. Have you perhaps heard a tale that brightens the soul as much as the sun brightens these stones?

Cephalus: (Chuckles) Socrates, ever the seeker of narratives! As it happens, I was just pondering a most peculiar fable, one that recounts the unfortunate history of an animal kingdom. A cautionary tale, perhaps, for those who dabble in the affairs of governance.

Socrates: Indeed? Do tell, Cephalus. For though I spend my days in the pursuit of truth, I find that even the simplest fable can sometimes illuminate the greatest complexities of human, or indeed, animal nature.

Cephalus: (Settles in) Well, it begins in a time of harmony, Socrates. All the creatures, from the tiniest shrew to the mightiest elephant, lived as one. They built water reserves, stored food, and secured their homes. And, in a stroke of what they believed was genius, they devised a system: each group would rule for exactly twelve moon seasons, then pass the baton. Fairness, they called it.

Socrates: A rotation of power, you say? A most democratic notion, for animals! And who, pray tell, had the auspicious start?

Cephalus: The hyenas, Socrates. Feared, respected, and seemingly strong. But alas, they were cursed with a terrible indolence. After feasting, they’d sleep for days, utterly neglecting the community’s needs. Any creature brave enough to question their slumber risked becoming the hyenas’ next meal.

Socrates: (Nods thoughtfully) So, the first rulers, though chosen for their perceived strength, wielded it not for service, but for their own comfort and, dare I say, gluttony? And they silenced dissent with… a rather direct form of persuasion, wouldn’t you agree?

Cephalus: Precisely! The animals grumbled, of course, as any sensible beast would, but they were powerless. They simply had to endure the full twelve moons. A lesson in patience, if nothing else.

Socrates: Patience, or perhaps a lack of courage to challenge the established order, even when it’s clearly detrimental. But then, the twelve moons must have ended. What fresh hope did the animal kingdom embrace?

Cephalus: Ah, then came the monkeys! The animals rejoiced, Socrates. Cheerful, energetic, they filled the land with laughter and movement. For the first six moons, everything improved! Farms burst with crops, energy abounded.

Socrates: A veritable golden age, then! Or so it seemed. But fables, like life, rarely maintain such a perfectly cheerful trajectory, do they, Cephalus?

Cephalus: (Sighs) You are too shrewd, Socrates. Trouble returned. The farms were overflowing, yes, but the food stores? Mysteriously empty. The animals grew thin, while the monkeys, rather conspicuously, grew quite plump.

Socrates: So, the energetic and cheerful leaders, once celebrated for their vibrancy, became rather adept at, shall we say, redistributing resources? From the community’s belly to their own?

Cephalus: Exactly! Until one clever kangaroo uncovered the truth: the monkey leaders were secretly stealing food. When confronted, they responded not with apologies, but with violence with their Gabelou Special Striking Team. Beatings for anyone who dared question their plumpness! Fear returned, Socrates, just as it had under the hyenas. But again, the animals waited.

Socrates: (Stroking his beard) Fascinating. So, whether through lazy neglect or active theft, the outcome for the common animals remained the same: scarcity and fear. It seems the form of leadership changed, but the essence of self-serving power did not. And these kangaroos, they were the bringers of truth, were they not? Surely, they offered a better path?

Cephalus: Indeed! At last, the monkeys’ rule ended, and the animals, remembering the kangaroos’ honesty, elected them. Hope was restored! The kangaroos set up courts, a system of justice – peace and order returned for a while.

Socrates: Justice! A noble pursuit, Cephalus. One might think they had finally discovered the formula for a harmonious society. But I detect a pause in your voice… a tremor of foreboding, perhaps?

Cephalus: You know me too well, Socrates. Power, it seems, has a peculiar effect on even the most honest. The kangaroos became utterly obsessed with making laws. Laws that restricted movement, laws that silenced voices, laws that taxed even the smallest berry!

Socrates: (Raises an eyebrow) From justice to endless legislation? So, they exchanged overt violence for the subtle, yet equally oppressive, chains of bureaucracy and taxation? One might imagine the animals spending all their waking hours simply trying to understand, let alone obey, the new dictates.

Cephalus: Precisely! And then came the most shocking decree: the twelve-moon rule was abolished. The kangaroos declared themselves rulers for life!

Socrates: (Gasps dramatically) For life! So, the very system of fairness they inherited, designed to prevent stagnation and tyranny, they themselves dismantled? A classic manoeuvre, it seems, in both animal and human realms. What became of this kingdom then, under such benevolent, eternal rule?

Cephalus: Under the crushing weight of penalties and taxes, the animals could no longer care for themselves. The kangaroos grew richer, of course, as the rest grew poorer. And so, one by one, the animals left. Foxes, deer, even birds – seeking new lands, new kingdoms where they could finally be free.

Socrates: An exodus! They abandoned their once-united home, not due to external invaders, but from the internal decay wrought by their own leaders. It sounds remarkably like certain cities, or even entire nations, I have heard of, both ancient and modern. Tell me, Cephalus, what do you conclude from this tragic tale?

Cephalus: Well, Socrates, the kingdom fell. Undone not by enemies, but by leaders who took more than their share. Whether hyenas, monkeys, or kangaroos, each had forgotten their promise: to serve, not rule.

Socrates: (Nods slowly, a wry smile playing on his lips) “To serve, not rule.” A profound truth, Cephalus. It seems these animals, despite their different methods – the hyenas’ lazy neglect, the monkeys’ cunning theft, and the kangaroos’ obsessive legislation and perpetual rule – all converged on the same fundamental error: using power for self-enrichment and control, rather than for the good of the community.

Cephalus: Indeed. It reminds me of certain… political developments in our own time, Socrates. One sees the echoes in places far away, even small island nations like Mauritius, where promises of progress often give way to the consolidation of power, the silent siphoning of resources, and the stifling of dissenting voices. The forms may change – from overt threats to subtle legislative traps – but the outcome for the ordinary citizen, or animal, remains sadly familiar.

Socrates: A keen observation, my friend! It seems the “animal kingdom” is merely a mirror, reflecting the eternal struggle within any society to find true, selfless leadership. For if rulers forget their primary duty is to tend the flock, rather than shear it for their own gain, then indeed, the flock will scatter, seeking greener pastures, or perhaps, simply, freedom from the shears.

Cephalus: So, what’s the solution, Socrates? How can one ensure that leaders remember their promise to serve?

Socrates: Ah, Cephalus, that is the million-drachma question, isn’t it? Perhaps it lies not just in the leaders themselves, but in the vigilance of the led. For if the animals had, perhaps, learned to distinguish between true strength and mere intimidation, between genuine cheerfulness and opportunistic greed, and between just laws and tyrannical decrees, perhaps their kingdom might yet stand. It seems the education of the ruled is as crucial as the virtue of the rulers. What do you think, Cephalus? Does this fable offer us a practical lesson for our own polis?

Ultimately, Animal Farm is a brilliantly cynical warning about the pitfalls of unchecked power and the irresistible charm of charismatic demagogues — whether they stand on two legs or four. It’s a timeless reminder that while the revolutionaries may change, the tyranny often remains the same.

Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 1 August 2025