Just when you thought it was safe to have your photo taken without fear
that the camera would steal your soul, the Murdoch Oz national newspaper
(the same one that runs my science book reviews) publishes a Review cover
story on Icelander genomics. The picture filling the front page of this
arts/fashion weekend supplement shows a white-haired chap with DNA strands
patched on his chest. Bold headline:
"This man's genes are priceless"
subhead:
"In giving their precious DNA to science, have Icelanders sold their souls
as well as their genes?"
This is immediately arresting on several grounds, not least because the
sub-editor apparently hasn't yet mastered the notion that if you *give*
something away, one thing that's fairly certain is that you haven't *sold*
it.
At a deeper level, there's a clear implication that `genes' = `soul'.
(But apparently it's perfectly okay for us to read and listen to their
cultural productions - hi, Bjork - although that's the more obvious,
data-rich place to look for someone's `soul'.)
There's another clear implication, that `science' = `Satan'.
Now, these genes that were simultaneously sold and donated are `priceless'.
Why so? Let's see what the article, by Birna Helgadottir, says about this.
The word actually does appear in the text:
`So far, deCode [the genomic company collating Iceland genetic information
from `tens of thousands' of donations] has trawled a few treasures, but
none as yet have been priceless' (p. 6).
Oh. So the cover lines should have been:
"To date, this man's genes are not priceless"
Not quite the same selling pitch, admittedly.
The standard silly-ass moves are inevitably in play. Cracking the codes of
genetic diseases will lead to `A chance to end human suffering, to play
God.' Say what? Are these two contrary options, or one and the same? How
exactly *does* one `play God'? This used to be said of fierce fathers who
forced their daughters into loveless arranged marriages - that is, took
consequential decisions on behalf of someone else. Here it gets conflated
with the same superstitious undercurrent in `sell their souls'. Meddle
with the secret divine power of the life-force! Oh no!
The writer's not all that much shakes with logic in general. `Bioneers'
such as Craig Venter `claim the cost of genetic research makes the old way
of doing things - applying for research grants, publishing findings in
academic journals - redundant' (p. 5). Excuse me? *Redundant*? Perhaps
`inadequate' or `antiquated' are the words on the journalist's protruding
tongue? Maybe it's a sloppy translation?
There's much made of private funding of such research, and especially
patenting of DNA sequences (concerns I happen to share somewhat), and even
more especially when this is done with funding from outside the country
whose database is being searched. But then we're told: `DeCode also enjoys
public goodwill - increased, say cynics, by the share sale last summer that
gave Icelanders a majority holding' (p. 6). How's that again? The complaint
is that Icelanders are being ruthlessly ripped off; then it turns out that
they're not; but wily cynics see though *that* cunning plan...
And it turns out that `There are disturbing ethical implications, too [in
patenting human genes]. Think of the unhappy oncomouse, bred specifically
to develop cancer and owned by DuPont, which holds the European patent' (p.
6). WHAT? Aargh. The dysfunctional logic here is breathtaking, verging on
criminal misrepresentation. Those poor little shivering mice, mutated by
vile scientists playing God, which are doomed from conception to a hideous
death. (Yes, that worries me, too, a bit. But better mice than men, I
reckon.) If they do that to patented *mice*, the argument appears to run,
nothing will stop them breeding patented humans specifically to develop
ghastly diseases for research purposes. Oh no! Stop the Nazi bastards NOW!
Yet the overall tone of the article is cosy, knowing, in favour of medical
advances and apple pie. The nearly-subliminal thought pollution babbles
away in the background. Does that make it irrelevant, just a patina of mass
media shock-horror to spice up the punters' spirits and get them to read
this otherwise boring and indigestible science (ugh) stuff? I dunno. Makes
me feel sick and dirtied, I can say that much.
Damien
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