The Romance of Vivisection

The artist Emile-Edouard Mouchy painted La leçon de physiologie sur un chien in 1832. The picture now lurks somewhere in the Wellcome Collection, that huge archive and museum of medical science assembled by the pharmacist and businessman Henry Wellcome (1853-1936), and visitable at the Wellcome Trust headquarters on the Euston Road in London. There haven’t been many serious Mouchy painting.jpgartistic attempts at the subject of vivisection, for very obvious reasons. Fewer still are those that treat the subject without express distaste, but that is what Mouchy seems to be doing in his leçon. For that reason, no doubt, the picture is sometimes used for illustration in neutral or defensive accounts of animal research, though never, so far as I have seen, with any further comment. Some further comment is therefore what I shall attempt to provide now.

Everything about La leçon shows physiology as a new and as yet un-institutionalized subject. The setting seems to be a private room, perhaps an attic. The furniture is unscientific and inadequate: seats for a lucky few only (which makes for a fine artistic composition). But it’s evidently a rising subject, too: the scientist is a young man, addressing youths. The whole scene looks to the future; even that second dog implies a miserable succession of animals ahead. And those dusty-looking skeletons relegated to a shelf at the back: they hint that physiology is taking over from anatomy as the key biological discipline and new foundation for medical studies (though anatomy remained indispensable, of course). And that was indeed a fact, unhappily illustrated by the recent appointment, to the chair of medicine at the Collège de France, of the notorious pioneer of vivisection François Magendie.

As for Mouchy’s vivisector himself, there in the centre of the picture, he glows with light, patently a luminary. The picture makes a romantic hero of him, much as the artist was about to do more plausibly for his chosen subject in La Mort de Thomas Becket (1834). In fact Mouchy seems to be raising him beyond even that. Surely there’s something familiar about the scene in that upper room, with the young acolytes grouped around their teacher in various postures of earnest attention or whispered comment, six on either side? It’s a version of the last supper, as described in the Christian gospels and in many works of art subsequently – so many as to constitute a genre of its own, and one which was certainly well-known to Mouchy.

The vivisector, then, is to be imagined as investing a great and universal truth in these young students, who will take it out into the future. And something more than that must be implied in this re-casting of the last supper: this new truth, the world as revealed by the uninhibited practise of experimental science, is to supplant the old Christian one as the governing authority in human (Western, at least) minds. Certainly that’s what did happen during the nineteenth century, and vivisection was the crucial setting for the contest of values which it involved. Hence the title which the novelist Ouida (real name Maria Louise Ramé) gave to her brilliant attack of 1893 on vivisection: ‘The New Priesthood’. By then it was a familiar enough idea, and indeed had constituted a deliberate policy for science’s promoters (for Thomas Huxley, for instance, of whom more below). But it took many years of struggle and habituation before this shift of cultural authority could be accepted. To represent that triumph as Mouchy did in 1832 must have seemed a shocking and blasphemous hyperbole. At any rate, the painting was apparently refused exhibition at the Salon des Beaux Arts in Paris expressly because of its subject-matter.

Let’s consider the dogs themselves now, something that the students are plainly not doing. Their eyes follow the master’s knife as it points at the wound and the exposed interior of the subject dog. Their postures and expressions of rapt attention suggest that they hardly hear the dog’s howls, certainly are unmoved by them. The barking of the second dog is the only indication of sympathetic interest anywhere in the picture. In this case, then, the necessary silence of a painting is itself expressive: you can choose to hear that noise or merely to register it. For a modern audience, in fact, the scene may be more reminiscent of Stanley Milgram’s famous 1960s experimental study of obedience to authority than of the last supper (see note below): under the direction of a master, these malleable young men, with their sensitive faces and cultured modishness, are learning indifference to animal suffering, a terrible and portentous lesson.

Does the artist have that moral dimension of the lesson in mind? I feel sure that he doesn’t, however plainly present in the picture it is. He knew his duty as an artist to the animal form, and he represents the distressed movements of the dogs with vivid accuracy. But he seems to draw no conclusion. There is one hint of dissonance just behind the vivisector, where a student puts his hand on another’s arm and points to the door. He might be saying (should be saying) ‘I’m having no part in this!’, but that’s simply imputation. He might even be intended for the one dissonant element present in all representations of the last supper – the uneasy and disloyal Judas – but that seems too literal-minded. It’s true that the making public by dissidents of supposed intra-professional scenes like this one was soon to become a vital part of the moral challenge to vivisection, but for all his foresight the artist was not in tune with that part of the future. Or perhaps I’m missing something obvious.

Anyway, Mouchy does indeed in this picture seem to foresee that physiology would become, as Thomas Huxley called it in 1854, “the experimental science par excellence”, and in becoming so would help in what Huxley called “the destruction of things that have been holy”, and the rise of a new god, “the God of science”. It’s another vulnerable god, however. As the Christian sense of what nature meant gave ground (and one can’t pretend that it had ever served the other animals well), newer ways of understanding and valuing life were prompted into being, notably by the indignation which scenes of the sort pictured by Mouchy aroused. The absolute right of mankind to make the rest of the world its servant was put to critical and creative question.

The Wellcome Collection has no special interest in that ethical dimension, but it has some items which do illustrate it. As a corrective to Mouchy’s romantic humanism, vivisection cartoon.jpgthen, here’s a cartoon from seventy-five or so years later, as published in the Berlin satirical paper Lustige Blätter. “Now, no sentimental nonsense, please!” says this vivisector, mocking the habit of his profession: “The principle of unrestricted research demands the vivisection of this human in the interests of the health of the whole animal kingdom.”

 

 

Notes and references:

The image of Mouchy’s leçon is made publicly available on the Wellcome Collection’s web-site, with a few further details, including the Salon’s rejection of the picture, here: http://search.wellcomelibrary.org/iii/encore/record/C__Rb1202391?lang=eng

The cartoon image is likewise available here, dated c. 1910, artist not named: https://wellcomecollection.org/works/xm8wtpm4?query=vivisection%20cartoon&page=1

The “upper room” is specified in the gospels according to Mark and Luke, though they also say that it’s a large room, which indeed it would have to be to accommodate twelve at table.

Ouida’s ‘New Priesthood’ article was published in The New Review, vol.VII, pp.151-164.

Stanley Milgram was a professor in social psychology. In his classic series of experiments, the human subjects believed that they were assisting in a study of how humans learn. They were required to use incremental electric shocks upon their unseen but clearly heard students as a way of enforcing memory (the ‘students’ were actors). In reality the point of interest was how far these subjects were willing to go with the supposed shocks in their obedience to professional authority. See his book Obedience to Authority (Harper and Row, 1974).

The Huxley quotations appear in Paul White, Thomas Huxley: Making the Man of Science, Cambridge University Press, 2003, pp.56, 104, and 106.

Advertisements

The Mirror Test

An article published in August by Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, New York, in its online journal bioRXiv, is headed ‘Cleaner wrasse pass the mark test’. The story was picked up in various more popular science publications and in the general media, for this is a much-loved line of research with them – the line in question being clearly announced in the heading which the Daily Mail gave its own account: “Tiny fish is the first to pass the self-awareness test by recognizing its reflection in a mirror.” Or to sum up, in a twitter comment, the sudden claims now being made on behalf of this fish, “Cleaner fish are AWESOME! They show self-awareness.”

The research itself was somewhat less conclusive. Ten of these cleaner wrasse fishes (Labroides dimidiatus) were put into a tank which contained a mirror. At XRF-Labroides_dimidiatusfirst they treated their own reflections as intruders into their territory and acted accordingly. Then, becoming used to the mirror, they behaved in a more improvised manner, apparently testing out the mirror with “idiosyncratic postures and actions”. Finally they seemed to use the mirror more as humans might, showing “self-directed behaviour”. This behaviour most specifically included scraping off marks (hence the ‘mark test’) which had been applied to their skin under anaesthetic and were designed to be undetectable to the fishes except in their own reflections.

The conclusion which the authors reach in their report is that the fishes did indeed show responses of the sort recorded for previously ‘successful’ species, notably chimpanzees, elephants, dolphins, and magpies. Therefore, if those former experiments are to be regarded as having demonstrated self-awareness in the animals concerned, so must these be: cleaner wrasse, then, must be “self-conscious and have a true theory of mind” (i.e. awareness of their own mind and motives, and of those which others may have). However, faced with this ambitious imputation, the authors very reasonably prefer to argue that the test itself is unsound, or at least has been over-interpreted in the past. The test shows, they suggest, no more than an animal’s awareness of its own body (surely a necessity for survival) and the ability to learn that a mirror can enhance this awareness. And indeed other research has shown that pigeons and even ants (please accept the ‘even’ for now) can put a mirror to such use. To claim self-awareness for all these creatures would be to make it an ordinary condition of life – which perhaps it is, but nobody so far does assert this; on the other hand, to claim it for apes and dolphins who ‘pass’ the test, but not for these other less prestigious creatures, would be (I’m delighted to find these scientists saying) “taxonomically chauvinistic” – i.e. speciesist.

The authors of the article end by suggesting that “many more species may be able to pass the test when it is applied in a manner that is sympathetic to their natural biology.” This is surely true, and in fact the ethologists Mark Bekoff and Roberto Gatti have adapted the test for dogs by using the scent of the dogs’ own urine as the ‘reflection’. For of course making it a test of vision, the primary sense for humans but not for every animal, inevitably ties it to what humans do, makes it in fact a set of comparisons with ourselves.

And indeed that is just what it always has been. The hidden or (in more popular versions) expressed question has always been not just ‘How like us is this animal?’ but ‘How nearly as clever as us is this animal?’ Hence the strangely unscientific terminology which has been characteristic of this line of research, and which we’ve already seen instances of. Thus, elephants who seemed to recognize themselves in a mirror, as we were told in the leading professional journal Science a few years ago, “have joined the elite group”. The same journal more recently reported on a similar capacity in some magpies: only two out of the group of birds “passed the test”, but this is apparently “similar to the success rate in chimpanzees.” To sum up: passing the mirror test, so this article says,

is regarded as evidence of knowing who you are – a higher neural skill underlying human abilities such as self-consciousness and self-reflection. Researchers have given the test to a wide variety of species. Most fail.

Fail! It’s a wonder (I know the point has already been made elsewhere in this blog) that these second-string animals manage at all. You’d have to feel sorry for them.

This new research with cleaner wrasse, and its revision of the standard interpretation of such research, ought to help correct the absurd anthropocentrism of the mirror-test tradition, and is accordingly welcome. Even so, it’s sad to see these strange and fascinating animals (already demeaned and abused as decorative fishes for aquaria) emerge into the light of intellectual attention for this irrelevant reason, that they may ‘know who they are’ or at any rate be able to learn how to use a mirror. The beauty and complexity of their niche in coral reefs, where they eat the parasites and other unwanted material off ‘client’ fish, and indeed help to keep the whole coral system clean, makes this mirror test crude and reductive. It’s really a part of the ‘smarter than we thought’ genre of research, which itself has some relation to the amusement of dressing animals in human clothes. It all amounts to preening ourselves in the rest of nature: in short, making a mirror of it, for of course we are, as a species, mirror-addicts.

As to the ethics, the testing of the cleaner wrasse had the blessing of the Animal Care and Use Committee of Osaka City University, where the research was done, and we must suppose that the Committee meant what it said. But these mirror experiments are necessarily tainted with the cruelty of the behavioural psychology tradition, and their earlier versions, at least, show as much. The originator of the MSR test (mirror self-recognition) was Gordon Gallup, from Tulane University’s Psychology Department – always an ominous location for research animals. Gallup published his first report on the subject in 1970. His subjects were four “pre-adolescent” chimpanzees, born in the wild (a happily mirror-free environment, ensuring that they’d had no practice). Here’s what happened to them:

Each animal [the report goes] was placed by itself in a small cage situated in the corner of an otherwise empty room. [Remember that a sense of self is what’s being looked for in the animals who are being treated thus.] After two days of isolation in this situation a full-length mirror was positioned 3.5 metres in front of the cage to provide enforced self-confrontation. Observations of the animal’s behaviour were made by watching his reflection in the mirror through a small hole in an adjacent wall. After 2 days (8 hours each) of exposure to the reflected image, the mirror was moved to within 0.6 m of the cage and left in that position for 8 days … etc.

It’s a miserable performance, with its bleak and meaningless setting, cruel isolation of the juvenile animals, and “enforced self-confrontation”, all tending to rule out natural behaviour, and then the scientists squinting at it all through a hole, like Peeping Toms. (For more on this last particularly unpleasant dimension in animal research, see the petition set up earlier this month by Peta under the heading ‘Sex, Violence, and Vivisection; Are Some Animal Experimenters Psychopaths?’, noted below. I’m not, of course, suggesting that Gallup or his assistants were of this kind.) And although these unpleasant proceedings were offered as “the first experimental demonstration of a self-concept in a sub-human form”, the experiments with cleaner wrasse, to say nothing of pigeons and ants, have since suggested that very little was really being discovered.

Reports on MSR in the more popular science press and other media (which, as I say, love all this kind of ‘smarter than we thought’ research) are frequently headed ‘Mirror, Mirror’, to give the science a brightening connection to a familiar saying, the wicked stepmother’s refrain in the folk story of Snow mirror, mirrorWhite. Evidently it’s not done with any serious thought, because that story, so far from representing as an evolutionary boon the sort of self-awareness dramatized by correct use of the mirror, shows it as a source of neurotic restlessness and self-doubt. And that indeed is the mirror’s habitual character in the fictions where it appears. Here’s a trio of the finest of these, with the dominant sentiment in each case: Thomas Hardy’s poem ‘I look into my glass’ (self-pity), Sylvia Plath’s ‘Mirror’ (helpless protest against ageing), Shakespeare’s Richard II  (the king calls for a mirror, trying unsuccessfully to authenticate himself). These instances, with their sadly alienated mirror-gazers, don’t prove anything of course, but they represent a tradition of intelligent distrust of the kind of self-awareness that the mirror represents, and the “self-directed” mind and life which go with it.

No doubt this capacity to see and think we know ourselves, as individuals, groups, nations, and even species, has been essential to the rise of humanity, for good or ill. But we should admire the talent cautiously, cease to regard it as one of nature’s top prizes, and cease to teach it (or think we’re teaching it) to other animals. It’s not, after all, what is most needed by us now, or by them at all. The animal-activist son of a professor of psychology in Karen Joy Fowler’s brilliant novel We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves puts it thus:

We need a sort of reverse mirror test. Some way to identify those species smart enough to see themselves when they look at someone else. Bonus points for how far out the chain you can go. Double bonus for those who get all the way to insects. [my italics]

Or as Albert Schweitzer said in one of his Sermons on Reverence for Life, “Wherever you see life – that is you!”

 

Notes and references:

The full article from bioRXiv, posted 21 August 2018, is linked here: https://www.biorxiv.org/content/early/2018/08/21/397067.full.pdf+html  The twitter comment was posted alongside the short version of that article.

The Daily Mail online reported the research on 31 August.

An article on self-awareness in dogs, as tested with urine samples, can be seen at https://www.sciencenewsforstudents.org/article/do-dogs-have-sense-self

The Science article about elephants (‘Jumbo Reflections’) appeared in the issue for 30 October 2006, and about magpies (‘The Magpie in the Mirror’) on 19 August 2008. The report by Gordon G. Gallup Jr on his chimpanzee experiments (‘Chimpanzees: Self-Recognition’) appeared in Science on 2 January 1970.

The Peta report and petition can be found at https://headlines.peta.org/sex-violence-vivisection/?utm_source=PETA

The quotation from We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is at pp.201-2 of the edition published by Profile Books, 2014. Albert Schweitzer is quoted from A Place for Revelation: Sermons on Reverence for Life (Macmillan, 1998), p.10, translation by David Larrimore Holland. The sermons were originally preached in 1919, in the Church of St Nicolai, Günsbach. The saying is not Schweitzer’s own, of course, but is at least as old as the Hindu Upanishad from which he borrows it.

The sketch of Labroides dimidiatus is by Xavier Romero-Frias, and the illustration of the Snow White story comes from a 1916 re-telling in Europa’s Fairy Book.

 

Out and About with Anthrozoology

John Bradshaw’s book The Animals Among Us (2017) ends with a scene at his five-year-old grand-daughter’s school, where the children are delighted to find that what they had left the previous day as a clutch of hen’s eggs has turned into eight live chicks. The author says “a fascination with animals was kindled in Beatrice’s mind that day”, and goes on to draw the moral, which is implicitly the moral of the whole book:

Her generation will have to stabilize the ecology of the planet for their own survival. Why would they want to do this without knowing the reality of animals, both pets and wild?”

Actually the chicks have been hatched in the school’s incubator, so perhaps “reality” isn’t the right word. But then the book is mainly a history and anthropology of pet-keeping, and although the title of this last chapter is ‘Animals Maketh Man’, the story it finishes has been mainly about what humans have made of animals, for good and ill (predominantly good, so Bradshaw believes, and one review of the book quite accurately calls it a “celebration of pets”). Anthro.JPG

You can see that it’s a book with a personal touch to it, a popular book then, but popular science: in fact its sub-title is The New Science of Anthrozoology. As the book (and its cover) make obvious, Bradshaw regards this new science as essentially about our “personal relationships” with animals, therefore about why and how we keep pets. And he ought to know, because he was one of the coiners of the name and founders of the International Society for Anthrozoology (ISAZ) in 1991. However, even ISAZ doesn’t quite agree with him, defining the science more broadly as “the interactions between human and non-human animals”. And it’s a version of that definition which the Oxford English Dictionary prefers: “The multidisciplinary study of the interaction between humans and other animals”. By way of illustration, the Dictionary quotes another popular introduction to the subject, Hal Herzog’s Some We Love, Some we Hate, Some We Eat (2010): “Anthrozoology is a big tent. It includes the study of nearly all aspects of our interactions with other species.”

The wider the scope of this new academic discipline, if that’s what it is, the more its attitudes matter. Herzog not only gives it a very large scope, but goes some way to fix its attitudes, for his book has been a notable success, enthusiastically reviewed (“Read this book, read it again, and share it widely. It is that important.” – Mark Bekoff), and also much cited. Steven Pinker’s discussion on animal welfare in The Better Angels of Our Nature (reviewed in this blog on 25 May) has Herzog in 14 of its 64 footnotes. John Bradshaw himself calls the book “seminal”, and his own has clearly been influenced by it.

Herzog is an academic psychologist, but he writes his book as a genial guide and roving interviewer. The book is full of journeys to meet people, of drinks, meals, and chats, but yes, people: Carolyn, Staci (“forty-one but looks ten years younger”), Sam, Becky (“she loves animals. She really does.”), Bobo, Pam, Fabe (“a legend among western North Carolina cockfighters”). There are animals too, of course, some of them with names, but mostly too numerous and out of focus for that, and interesting not for themselves but as dramatizing these human personalities. Well, Herzog.JPGit’s there in the title of the book: the animals are the vaguely specified point of reference, but it’s the people, “we” (the key word in the book, perhaps in the science), who govern those intriguingly contradictory verbs: we’re the mystery, then. And the publisher’s summary makes the same point: “this enlightening and provocative book will forever change the way we look at our relationships with other creatures and, ultimately, how we see ourselves.”

So when anthrozoologists have us looking at animals and our treatment of them, we’re really looking into the mirror yet again, getting, as Herzog says, “an unusual glimpse into human nature” [35]. It’s a point likewise implied throughout John Bradshaw’s book (even though he’s a biologist by training), and often enough made explicit: pet-keeping “provides insight into what makes us human”, and “is one way of expressing what it means to be human.”

For Bradshaw it’s really an anthropological point: modern pet-keeping is the latter end of a long history of dealings with animals which have helped to make human communities successful. For Herzog, naturally enough, it’s the human psyche which makes it all so interesting. And not just the variety of attitudes between Carolyn, Bobo, Fabe, and the rest, but the variety within any one person’s attitudes. Hence his sub-title: why it’s so hard to think straight about animals.

It’s true that he occasionally suggests that we’re on our way somewhere: “our beliefs about how we should treat other species are changing.” He even says that anthrozoologists “hope that our research might make the lives of animals better.” [17] But mainly it’s the inconsistency that fascinates him. For instance, there’s “the moral ambiguity of the human-meat relationship”. He finds this ambiguity well identified by Staci, with whom he shares a meal of raw home-raised steak (“I ask for seconds.”). Staci says “It’s amazing how complex our psyches must be in order to nurture creatures every day for seven months, only to have them sent away and then come home in little freezer packages.” [203]

Herzog looks for complexity of this sort wherever he goes – and finds it, of course, or seems to. He sees it, for instance, in a research laboratory, where the mice being used in experiments are “cared for by a competent and fully certified staff” [220] but, if they should escape, at once join the category ‘pest’ and are ruthlessly trapped and killed. (Is there really any contradiction or even paradox here?) And still on the theme of research animals – to whom he devotes a chapter, ‘The Moral Status of Mice’ – Herzog quizzes animal advocates like Jonathan Balcombe and Marc Bekoff on their willingness to use, when making their claims for the sensibilities of animals, evidence derived from the sort of animal research which they would like to prohibit. He concludes that “reason can be elusive in the debate over animal research.” [234]

In fact that’s his conclusion on all the varieties of human/animal relations which he views in the book. His last chapter is titled ‘The Carnivorous Yahoo within Ourselves’. It’s a quotation from J.M.Coetzee’s fiction The Lives of Animals (1999), which describes the experiences of a novelist, Elizabeth Costello, as visiting lecturer at a university, her chosen subject the animal holocaust (her term for it). Shouldn’t we accept ourselves as we are, one questioner asks her: “Is it not more human [there it is again] to accept our own humanity – even if it means embracing the carnivorous yahoo within ourselves?” Implicitly, Herzog’s answer is yes. “What the new science of anthrozoology reveals”, he says on his last page, “is that our attitudes, behaviours, and relationships with the animals in our lives . . . are more complicated than we thought.” But the confusions needn’t be deplored or apologised for: “they are inevitable. And they show we are human.” As you were, then; or rather, as you are, for by the end of Herzog’s book, the habitual present tense (even at such moments as “I ask for seconds”) carries a momentum of acceptance and validation. It’s what humans just are like and how interesting with it!

Hal Herzog is a good-humoured observer, with a sympathetic and knowledgeable interest in non-human animals, though a much greater one in humans. His book is full of information as well as chat, and although it doesn’t ever quite answer that set question, why it’s so hard to think straight about animals, he at least shows clearly enough that most people don’t succeed. Still, he may have been unwise to evoke the ghost of Elizabeth Costello in his last chapter. It’s not just that her answer to the Yahoo question is so much more searching than his own (there isn’t space here to talk about that). As Coetzee presents her, Elizabeth Costello doesn’t just lecture on, she publicly suffers, this subject. She calls it a “wound” and speaks accordingly, without jokes or flourishes, without geniality. She refuses almost discourteously to be made a personality of (a Becky or a Fabe) by the assembled academics, and thereby to turn the problem into an intriguing aspect of herself and take it away with her when she goes. In short, she makes Herzog’s treatment of the subject, and anthrozoology itself, seem jaunty and superficial, a human self-indulgence.

Nevertheless, Anthrozoology lives and grows. In particular it’s a rising subject in universities, where likewise it seems to be essentially anthropocentric. Here are a few of the inducements offered to potential students:

“At its core, the field of anthrozoology is about helping people live better lives.”

 “Welcome to Anthrozoology! Are you interested in learning more about the significance of animals in our lives?”

 “The MA in Anthrozoology will be of interest to anyone who would like to investigate the many and varied ways in which humans perceive, engage, compete and co-exist with non-human animals in a range of cultural contexts.”

It seems that the ISAZ journal Anthrozoös takes the same point of view, habitually concerned with human attitudes or more generally with the human part in the relationship. To celebrate its 30th anniversary, the journal recently made available online its “top 30” articles (ranked by downloads and citations). Of these, sixteen have to do with the therapeutic possibilities of animals; at least six are about human attitudes and ‘perceptions’; only three show interest in the experiences of the animals themselves.

So? Other journals, other academic disciplines, are free to study whatever’s missing from this new ‘science’, and have of course been steadily doing so: philosophy, for instance, women’s studies, literature. But the name ‘anthrozoology’ makes a claim which either misrepresents what it does or misrepresents the subject itself. As promoted and practised, it’s simply a branch of anthropology or perhaps sociology, the study of man by an interested party, and should be called by its right name.

Meanwhile, a study of “human-wildlife interactions”, featured recently in the journal Science, indicates how much there is to learn about the animal part in the relationship. Under the heading ‘Animals feel safer from humans in the dark’, the journal reports that the human presence is obliging other animals not only to give up land, but also to give way temporally and live by night rather than by day: “nocturnality is a universal behavioral adaptation of wildlife in response to humans.” This change in behaviour entails abandoning “natural patterns of activity, with consequences for fitness, population persistence, community interactions, and evolution.” We may miss the affable style of Bradshaw and Herzog, but that’s what I call anthrozoology: not just humans looking at themselves anew in the animals they happen to keep, use or eat, but the whole world of animal life (zoology) and what the human element (‘anthro-‘, or properly ‘anthropo-‘) shunts it into doing.

 

Notes and references:

The Animals Among Us: the New Science of Anthrozoology is published in USA by Basic Books (2017) and in the UK by Allen Lane (2017) and Penguin Books (2018). The quotations come from this latter edition, pp. 310, xii, ix, and 21.

Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat: why it’s so hard to think straight about animals is published by Harper, 2010 (p/b 2011). Page numbers for quotations are given in the text.

Coetzee’s short fiction The Lives of Animals was subsequently incorporated as chapters 3 and 4 of the novel Elizabeth Costello (2003) and the quotation is from pp.100-101 of the edition of that novel published by Vintage in 2004.

The advertised courses in anthrozoology are at Carrol College (Montana), Exeter University (UK), and the University of Windsor in Canada.

The journal Anthrozoös was started in 1987, before ISAZ was founded, but was subsequently taken over by ISAZ. The anniversary issue can be seen here: http://explore.tandfonline.com/page/ah/rfan-30th-anniversary-vsi

The article ‘The Influence of Human Disturbance on Wildlife Nocturnality’ is published in Science, 15 June 2018, vol.360, pp.1232-35. A brief report about it by a staff writer under the quoted title appears on pp.1185-86. Quotations are from both texts.

On the Trail of an Untruth

Oxford University’s online introduction to animal research, headed ‘Research using animals: an overview’, takes the form of a questions and answer session. Your simple requests for guidance (“Why is animal research necessary?”, “Is it morally right to use animals in research?”, “Aren’t animals too different from humans to tell us anything useful?”, etc.) are answered with firm authority (“No.” starts the answer to that last question) but in relaxed, even incorrect, English (“they share a huge amount of similarities with humans.”).

Your fourteenth question (a slight whine imputed to it by this time) is this: “We may have used animals in the past to develop medical treatments, but are they really needed in the 21st century?” It receives the following answer: “Yes. New techniques have dramatically reduced the number of animals needed – the number has almost halved over the last 30 years – but there is overwhelming scientific consensus … etc.” No comparative figures, for the University or for the UK, are supplied to justify that astonishing claim between the dashes. However, it clearly refers to the nation as a whole, and of course the national numbers are readily available. They show that in the 29 years between 1987, when the counting system introduced by the 1986 Act came into use, and 2016, when the national statistics were last published, there has been an increase of about 5%. (If 1986 were taken as the reference date, the increase would be larger, but the two numbers are not properly comparable.) Not a steady increase, it’s true: there was a fall in the numbers till the year 2001, to about 2.6 million, then a steady rise to the 2016 number of 3.94 million. This history needs to be kept in mind during what follows.

Why should the University’s Animal Care and Ethical Review Committee (ACER), whose duty it is among other things to keep the University and the wider public informed on this subject, make such a wild and therefore discreditable claim about numbers? The answer, as I discovered by asking, is that it didn’t. Apparently ACER itself doesn’t compose the official public account of animal research at the University. The account is put together in the University’s Public Affairs Office. Presumably that’s why these animal research pages, which date from about 2011 and hardly alter except when the annual numbers change, nevertheless appear in the category ‘News and Events’. We’re dealing, as it turns out, not with the voice of authority but with PR.

So how did the Public Affairs Office come by this false claim? Unlike ACER, this is a department of the University which doesn’t willingly answer questions (its preference is evidently for what the Concordat on Openness calls “public-facing communication tools”: i.e. one-way traffic). Therefore I had to start with a guess. In its search for tonic material about animal research, where would the Public Affairs Office look? Surely it would go to its fellow-professionals at Understanding Animal Research. The UAR web-site is there for just such a purpose. “Click here to find everything you need to know about animal research”, it says – this particular encouragement specifically but rather puzzlingly directed at “scientists”. To journalists, the appeal is more frankly utilitarian: “the pages below give you quick access to our media centre, where you will find guidelines, quick facts, and links to other good information sources.” Quick facts: just what the Public Affairs Office would have been hoping for. So that’s the trail I followed.

But this is a very large web-site, branching out indeed into subordinate web-sites: one a sort of encyclopaedia of the subject (AnimalResearch.info), another a “global information service about animal rights extremism” (AnimalRightsExtremism.info), a third dealing with the industry’s Concordat on Openness. As the UAR’s name implies, the general premise of the whole site is that not disputation but knowledge is what brings us to a right attitude: that is, to approval of animal research as a necessary resource when other satisfactory means do not exist. This is what UAR habitually refers to as “the middle ground”, though what exactly it’s in the middle of is not clear: certainly there is a more radical position (in favour of abolition), but no position more reactionary than UAR’s (anything goes, for instance) is countenanced by UK law.

In general the tone of the web-site is merely positivistic, rather than defensive or strident. Here is UAR on the subject ‘Goat’, for instance. (That title itself, making the animal sound like a useful material, oil or aluminium perhaps, makes further comment unnecessary.) “Goats”, we’re told,

are gaining acceptance as an established model for biomedical research and surgical training . . . Moreover, a unique advantage to using livestock or companion animal species is that it also allows for ‘dual-purpose’ research: that is, research that not only benefits human health by greater understanding of biological processes, but can also advance animal agriculture so that we have a continued supply of abundant, safe, affordable, and high quality meat and dairy products.

Besides, the “friendly and docile nature of the goat” make it a particularly “desirable animal model for research and teaching programs”. At the end of this survey of the animal – a text whose spelling suggests that it comes from an American source, though none is cited – we’re told that “214 experimental procedures used goat [again] for research in 2016 in the UK.” 214? Wake up, UK: you’re missing opportunities!

Other animal species can be followed in an ‘A-Z of animals’. (I’m still looking for the source of that claim.) Ferrets, for instance: among their points of utility has apparently been the testing of the notorious drug thalidomide, which “induces birth defects in very few species”. That’s odd, because elsewhere we’re told that thalidomide would have shown up as harmful to unborn babies if only testing on animals had then been required, because “it had very similar effects in many species.” This latter version is perhaps the more reliable, since it appears in a section expressly devoted to correcting common misunderstandings, headed ‘Myths and Facts’.

Countering the ignorance and disingenuousness of its opponents is an essential part of UAR’s mission, and a certain amount of acerbity, jeering even, is thought legitimate here. (This is especially so in the pieces written by UAR’s Head of Policy and Media, Chris Magee. His account of Frances Power Cobbe was the subject of a post in VERO’s blog on 1 August 2017.) Accordingly, the ‘myths’ are presented adversarially, as ill-informed assertions, rather than as polite questions (“Research on animals is not relevant to people because animals are different from people”, rather than Oxford University’s “Aren’t animals too different from humans to tell us anything useful?”). But otherwise this feature on the UAR web-site does bear quite a close resemblance to the University page. And sure enough, when we reach myth number 11, “Animals don’t need to be used in research because there are alternatives”, the factual correction includes these sentences: “Scientists have strong ethical, economic and legal obligations to use animals in research only when necessary. Thus the number of research animals used annually in the UK has almost halved in the last 30 years.” Found it!

I don’t doubt that this was the source for the University’s statement, dismaying as it must be to see a university picking up and disseminating knowledge in this amateurish way. It unhappily illustrates, in fact, just how ‘myths’ (in this loose sense) work. As for UAR, their excuse for setting the myth going is that it was material left over from some earlier year, when it was quite properly posted as a fact. The last time such a claim could justly have been made was in the period 2001-4, when numbers were indeed about half what they had been in the UK’s worst vivisection years of the 1970s. 2004: that was well before UAR even existed under its present name. “Click here”, then, “to find everything you only need to think you know about animal research.”

UAR has promptly removed the claim from its web-site, but of course it’s the habit of myths to live on in spite of the evidence or even of express correction. At the time of writing, Oxford University continues to give the claim currency (though VERO first queried it in mid-April), and who can say where else it’s been taken up and promoted? I know that numbers aren’t the essence of what’s wrong with vivisection. They may even – as this blog has often said – help to obfuscate the matter. They certainly will if they’re not even the right ones.

 

Notes and references:

The Oxford University web-page in question is at http://www.ox.ac.uk/news-and-events/animal-research/research-using-animals-an-overview

You can see a chart of Home Office numbers from 1945 onwards on p.13 of the statistical report for 2016: https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/627284/annual-statistics-scientific-procedures-living-animals-2016.pdf

“public-facing communication tools” is quoted from the Annual Report of the Concordat on Openness on Animal Research, 2017, referenced and commented on in this blog last Christmas here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2017/12/18/advent-pr-style/

UAR’s web-site is at http://www.understandinganimalresearch.org.uk/  The account of the goat is on the associated web-site here: http://www.animalresearch.info/en/designing-research/research-animals/goat-capra-aegagrus-hircus/

 

 

An Animal Rights Activist in Prison

This is a guest post by Mel Broughton, describing his experiences of arrest, trial, and imprisonment during the campaign against the new laboratory at Oxford University. Please also read in this connection the post for 15 January, 2016, ‘In Prison and You Visited Me‘: (https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2016/01/15/in-prison-and-you-visited-me/).

 

In December 2007 I was arrested and charged with a number of serious offences which included ‘conspiracy to commit arson’.  A determined and controversial campaign had been waged against the building of a new animal research laboratory in Oxford.  I was spokesperson and co-founder of SPEAK, the group which had taken up the fight to stop the Oxford animal lab.  The campaign had found itself at the centre of a media storm and was fighting a High Court injunction bought by the University of Oxford.  In 2004 work had been stopped at the lab site as contractors withdrew after pressure from animal rights activists.  But after an eighteen month suspension work was resumed by anonymous contractors whose workers wore balaclavas, while building materials were delivered in unmarked lorries escorted by plainclothes security men in cars.  A surreal and at times menacing atmosphere descended over Oxford and its animal lab.

It was during this turbulent period that my home was raided and I was taken away. At 5.50 a.m. on 13th December, 2007, my sleep was disturbed by bright blue flashing lights outside my window. There were lots of voices and car doors being slammed. I sat up in bed and Bella, my dog, jumped up from her sleep. The next noise was an ear-splitting crash as the police battering ram went through the front door of the house. In the half-light I became aware of voices in the corridor, and I got up as the door to my room was opened and police officers in riot gear entered my flat. My first thought was for Bella, who was by now in a state of real fear and panic. In the half-light she passed the officers in my room and the growing number filing into the corridor, none of whom made any effort to stop her running out into the road.

My only concern at this point was my dog, the chaos and confusion of the police’s uninvited entry being secondary. One of the officers (a regular at the weekly Oxford protests) started to read from a charge sheet. In the confusion I heard the words “conspiracy”, “arson” and “blackmail”, but they meant little as I could only think of Bella running around outside in a state of panic. I remember saying to the officers, who were hyped up to the point of hysteria, that they should calm down. I was then instructed to get dressed as I was to be transferred to a police station for questioning. At this point I made it clear that I was going nowhere until they called my parents to come over and wait for my dog to return. This they agreed to, sensing that I meant what I said and that my accusation that they had deliberately let my dog out carried some truth.

My hands were cuffed behind my back and I was led out into the still dark of a winter’s morning. I passed officers as they filed into my small flat ready to take it apart. I was led to a waiting police car and saw the vans that had ferried the search teams parked in a line outside.

After a journey through the countryside in the dawn light I arrived at Banbury police station where I was to spend the next two and a half days being questioned.  It was made clear to me by my legal representative that I would be remanded to prison and any bail application at that time would be futile.  The public perception of anti-vivisection campaigners had been distorted by an alliance of police, media and animal research apologists.  It meant that increasingly the only voices listened to were those of vivisectionists.  That, combined with some high-profile arrests (some of which were filmed by invited media), pointed to a government-backed attack on the animal rights movement.

I made my appearance in court at Banbury, and after a few legal arguments was remanded.  I was taken to Woodhill prison where I was processed and informed I was a “high-risk” Category A prisoner. I was made to strip for a search and then to put on a Cat A boiler suit to be photographed and then fingerprinted. As a Cat A prisoner I would not be entitled to the usual visiting regime, so I would have to make applications for each potential visitor, who would then be subject to a police check and visit to the potential visitor’s home address. This process took up to three months to complete, and even my family visits were conducted under closed conditions behind a glass screen.

At this point I informed the reception staff that I was a strict ethical vegan.  There is always a level of disdain or hostility to those who do not conform to the norm and at this time veganism was still considered ‘extreme’ and, for the prison, troublesome.  Still it’s important that your ethical principles are recognised, and being vegan is far more than just a lifestyle choice.  Many ‘ordinary’ prisoners are curious or even confused why someone would end up in prison for standing up on behalf of nonhumans.  Most are there because of selfish motivations and unfortunately, as you soon learn, they are also largely poorly educated and from the margins of ‘respectable’ society themselves.  With some invaluable help from outside (Vegan Prisoners Support Group) and my own dogged determination I secured vegan food and toiletries.

My stay at Woodhill was to be marked by some unsettling developments when my cat A status was removed and then two weeks later put back on again.  This sense of unease was to be further confounded when I was moved into the Closed Supervision Unit (C.S.U.), a prison within the prison. The unit was small, consisting of just 24 cells, but there were only 9 prisoners there and, as I later learnt, most of them had allegedly committed politically motivated crimes or the most serious non-political crimes. It was claustrophobic, with cameras on the walls and outside the cells. There were six officers to nine prisoners; there was no exercise yard – just a “cage” where you could stand for twenty minutes per day to get some air. I refused to enter the cage, telling the officers that I had spent my life fighting to keep other animals out of cages and I was not prepared to voluntarily walk into one myself. As such, I was not to get any outside exercise for a year. I suspected the move to the CSU was meant to make me look as ‘mad’ and ‘dangerous’ as possible, and my suspicions were confirmed when I was informed that it was at the request of outside agencies that my cat A status had been reinstated.

I still tried to make the best possible use of time by immersing myself in reading and study.  At first it was difficult to gain any material about animal rights because the censors and prison security deemed it a risk.  It is strange that rights for nonhumans had become such a threat to the status quo, but on reflection it doesn’t take an academic to work it out.  The truth is that animal exploitation is big business and most peoples’ lives are connected to it in some way.  The fact that nonhuman animals can and do suffer in the same ways that we can should cause everyone concern, but it has been a recurring fact in human society that we often suspend our rational thought to replace it with stories and agendas that hide the truth.  Add to this the powerful influence of an institution like Oxford University and I could see why my predicament was as it was.

I was asked often by other prisoners why would I think that animals deserved any consideration, let alone basic rights.  I always took time to explain why I held the views I did and often I would earn their respect, even if they didn’t fully understand.  There are human victims in prison, people with obvious mental health problems who should have received help not captivity.  It only served to strengthen my dislike for the principle ‘might is right’.  I could get a proper sense of what it is to be an animal locked in a cage.  The difference is that I still had some rights, something no nonhuman can rely on to alleviate their torment and abuse.  As time passed I managed to secure more vegan items to supplement my diet and on one occasion delivered a talk to some fellow inmates on veganism.  I also had to prepare for my first trial which meant reading a lot of legal papers and trying to understand some of the extremely complex arguments that were to surface in the science of Low Tandem DNA (LTDna) profiling.

My trips from prison to the courthouse in Oxford were long drawn-out affairs.  As a category A prisoner I had to travel in a prison van on my own.  I was required to wear a green and yellow boiler suit with a large A on the back (and, though it was winter, only prison shorts and a T-shirt underneath).  This again, as I learned from a prison officer, was to heighten the sense of menace at the court and put me in as bad a light as possible.  On my arriving at court, other prisoners were told to move back as I was led to a holding cell whilst cuffed to other officers.  I caught the looks on their faces as if I was someone who at any moment was likely to attack them, and I never got used to that. I was to discover that the police had also requested I be shackled in the courtroom and be accompanied by five prison officers.  The judge refused the last request and said, “He is not a dangerous man. I don’t want to see all those officers in the courtroom”.

I was to endure a total of three trials before I was finally sentenced to 10 years.  After a hung jury at the first trial I was re-tried, and after a guilty verdict at the second trial I appealed my conviction.  I was to win my appeal against the verdict but a ruling that it was a misdirection from the judge in the second trial meant the prosecution could call for a third trial – which they did.  The courtroom had a large screen on which to play selected segments of speeches I had made at demonstrations in Oxford and elsewhere.  It is surprising how cleverly-edited pieces of media put together can produce what amounts to unbridled support for direct action.   It would take too much time to recount the details of all three trials but it was clear I was to be ‘dealt’ with and the guilty verdict came almost as a release.  I was returned to prison to continue my sentence.

On my release from prison I was to be subject to five years of ‘bespoke’ licence conditions.  Among these conditions were: “vii, Not to contact or associate with anyone currently or formerly associated with the campaign currently or formerly known as SPEAK without prior approval of your supervising officer.” And “viii, Not to contact directly or indirectly any person whom you know or believe to have been charged or convicted of any offence related to animal liberation/rights, without the prior approval of your supervising officer.”  This amounted to social isolation for someone whose friends and colleagues were drawn from the animal rights movement.  Each visit to see my supervising officer was always prefaced by the question “Have you seen anyone?”  The number of people who attended SPEAK protests or were supporters was in the thousands; how could I possibly know who they all were?  I dealt with the situation by arguing back at every opportunity, but it’s difficult to argue with the faceless agencies who design these conditions.  The point is you are meant to feel helpless, and in such circumstances to become disillusioned.  But for me that was never going to happen; it only served to make me more determined to return to the animal rights movement the moment my conditions lapsed.

The Oxford animal lab had been opened in 2008, and in 2017 a total of 236,429 animals including mice, rats, ferrets, guinea pigs, nonhuman primates, pigs, jungle fowl, and zebra fish suffered and died there.  SPEAK is still there; for fourteen years the weekly protests have been a presence, a reminder to Oxford University that we have not forgotten those nonhuman victims.  The university blandly states that medical progress is not possible without animal experimentation. But this is the 21st century; science, like all human endeavours, moves on or should.  And what of our understanding of the complex nature and cognitive capacities of nonhuman animals?  Oxford University ignores and loftily dismisses the suffering it creates inside its animal lab, but it will not be allowed to silence us.

 

Mel Broughton

 

 

 

 

Dowding and the Animals

Yesterday, 24th April, was World Day for Animals in Laboratories, a day for recalling, in case one had forgotten them, the hundreds of millions of animals put to use every year for science. It’s also a time for remembering again (and it is “again” for this blog) the remarkable man whose birthday was chosen as the proper date for such an occasion when it was first established in 1979, namely Hugh Dowding. This was the man who, in the early years of the Second World War, devised and directed the crucial defence of the U.K. during the Battle of Britain. A military hero, then, and certainly it’s in that character that he is now memorialized, as Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding, outside the Church of St Clement Danes in the Strand, London: a towering uniform, with a text below it quite rightly reminding us that to this man “the people of Britain and of the Free World owe largely the way of life and the liberties they enjoy today.”

gblo082

In fact, like many distinguished soldiers, Dowding had no great admiration for the business of war, or for the sort of nation-state politics which create the conditions for it. And so far from resting content after the war as a British war-hero, he had his vision set on a far wider community even than the United Nations shakily represented, and a far more ambitious conception of what would constitute peace than even the U.N. had in mind. He told the House of Lords in 1952, “we shall never attain to true peace – the peace of love, and not the uneasy equilibrium of fear – until we recognize the place of animals in the scheme of things and treat them accordingly.”

The “scheme of things” which Dowding meant was one he wrote about in several books from 1942 onwards, the one rather loosely termed spiritualism. At the centre of spiritualism is the belief that life and death are not opposites but alternating states, in continuing contact with each other, leading each soul on a path towards perfection, “back to the ultimate source from which it originated”. I can’t speak with confidence about this; I don’t find it convincing or even appealing. But he did, and he was a man who had to hazard the lives of hundreds of young men, and answer for the violent deaths of very many of them, not just as a personal burden but in the literal sense of speaking to their families. One must feel respect and even awe for the conclusions, on the subject of life and death, of such a man.

Anyway, so far from the stealthy dabbling in posthumous domestic relationships which the word ‘spiritualism’ sometimes suggests, Dowding’s “scheme” was panoramically inclusive (as one might expect from an aviator). He felt a “life chain” joining all nature, “from the mineral through the vegetable and the animal to the human”. The animal part of it he became especially aware of under the influence of the woman he married in 1951 (at age 69), Muriel Albini. He became vegetarian, and was actively involved in her pioneering campaigns against the abuse of animals by the fur and cosmetics industries. He helped his wife to found and promote the pioneering charity and business Beauty Without Cruelty. And as a member of the House of Lords he now tried to get the legislature to take more notice of animal suffering.

The speeches which Dowding made during debates in the House of Lords between 1948 and 1965 – on ‘humane’ slaughter, the training of circus animals, the poisoning of ‘pest’ animals, and vivisection – are surely some of the most urgent and radical which that chamber has ever heard on the animal subject. Several of these debates were ones which he himself had initiated, and he was determined that his case should be shown to be, not sentimental (by which he meant uninformed and subjective), but “justified by the facts”. His preparations for the debates on vivisection, in particular, had “compelled me to read of many cases of revolting and sickening cruelty”, and he meant to make his fellow-peers, too, face this “traffic in flesh and blood”.

Therefore, he introduced to them, for instance, the “devilish device known as the Noble-Collip Drum”, then a quite new contrivance (and still used today) in which “the animal is very slowly battered to death”. He described the experiments on cats forced to breathe 100% oxygen at the Royal Naval Laboratory at Alverstoke, another wretched story of protracted execution. He spoke about the ‘siamesing’ of rats at Oxford University. This example of vivisection at Oxford (not the only one he instanced) had been reported to him by a doctor friend who had been allowed access to the laboratories of that university, of which the doctor was an alumnus: “What particularly struck him was the callous attitude of people who were otherwise normal, decent members of society; and also the absolute uselessness of some of the experiments.” Quizzed on this last point, the young scientist doing the siamesing had explained to the doctor what was useful about it: “It’s going to get me my degree.”

For the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1876, which at that time was still regulating all such research in the U.K., Dowding had little respect: “merely a sop to public conscience”, “the vivisectors’ charter”, its machinery of enforcement “futile and delusive”. In 1949 a man convicted under the Protection of Animals Act (1911) of starving his dog had been imprisoned for three months and banned for life from keeping dogs; in that same year the Journal of Physiology reported a long series of nutrition studies during which numbers of puppies had been similarly starved in order to produce diseases of deficiency. “Imprisonment for the amateur in cruelty; honours and rewards for the professional wholesaler,” commented DowdingIt was “a Cruelty to Animals Act in fact as well as in name.”

Of course, other speakers in these debates reassured Dowding that, Act or no Act, scientists could be trusted to do their research humanely, that they were, just like himself, “anxious to spare the animals as much suffering as possible”, and were even “enriched by their work in love and meekness”, whatever that could mean. Dowding took no notice of these complacencies, and he was contemptuous of the larger fiction associated with them, namely that Britain was a nation of animal-lovers: “we are not animal-lovers: we are sentimentalists about our animals”. 

By way of illustration, he spoke of a recent outcry about 300 monkeys suffocated, through carelessness, in a B.O.A.C van at Heathrow. This public indignation, which might well have been taken as good evidence of British concern for animals, Dowding turned inside out. More than 125,000 monkeys, he said, were coming through Heathrow every year: “Those 300 were the lucky monkeys: they experienced only about fifteen minutes of slow suffocation. What happened to the others? Here are some of their experiences …” Dowding then read out to the assembled lords a long list of the vivisection horrors endured by such monkeys. At the end of it he said, “Yet about all this there is no newspaper outcry”.

In fact the concept of the animal-lover, whether person or nation, was and is delusive and irrelevant. Dowding knew that it appealed mainly to people for whom animals have no real status of their own and so are quite properly dependent upon the interest and kindness of their superiors. Hence, of course, the preferential treatment, in the 1876 Act, of the particular human favourites, the dogs, cats, and horses: “pure sentimentality”, Dowding called that; “All warm-blooded animals feel pain and all are equally entitled to protection.”

When Dowding spoke about the spiritualist “scheme of things”, there must have been some comical unease in that 1950s House of Lords; containing as yet no women and no life-peers, it was probably even less of a ‘new age’ scene than it is now. He did admit that his speeches had sometimes sounded “rather like a sermon”. But whether one shares his beliefs or not, it’s an education to see how they raised this apparently conventional Englishman far above his fellow-peers in ethical vision, simply by convincing him of the unity of life. Against their moral job-lot of sentiment, custom, selfishness, and improvised kindness, he brought his serene absolute (“I speak of what I know”) that “all life is one”, and all living creatures “brothers and sisters”. And even when pressing for the modest particular reforms which were all he could hope politically to achieve, he always kept that larger and revolutionary truth in open view, proportioning all those timid mitigations of wrong: thus, when he argued for the captive bolt gun and the casting-pen in slaughterhouses, he nevertheless told the Lords, “sooner or later, the time will come when we shall regard the eating of animal flesh as we now regard cannibalism.”

Of course one does not have to come at this great truth that “all life is one” by the spiritualist way that Dowding followed. There are many other ways to discern and represent what is, after all, at its minimum a worldly fact: from Albert Schweitzer’s existentialist ‘reverence for life’, through Charles Darwin’s science of evolution, down to the single word ‘speciesism’ with which Richard Ryder nailed its delusory opposite. (That Darwin’s way, the most matter-of-fact, the most patently fitted to the understanding of a materialist society, has in practice done so little good for the animals, is sad evidence of the littleness of our scientific culture.) As the arguments about Britain’s relationship with the rest of Europe continue, we need to remind ourselves that there is only one stable and non-arbitrary collective, which did not need arguing into existence and cannot be debated out of it, and to which we unalterably belong, namely the animal kingdom (etymologically ’kin’-dom). This is the one which Hugh Dowding, having rescued the merely provisional and historical kingdom of Britain, went on to serve without reservations for the remainder of his life and, as he hoped and believed, far beyond. Yes, a hero, who deserves our continuing remembrance and gratitude.

 

Notes and references:

The statue of Hugh Dowding, by Faith Winter, was erected in 1988. The photograph is by René and Peter van der Krogt (http://statues.vanderkrogt.net).

All the quotations above are taken from Hansard debates in which Dowding spoke: these took place on the subject of vivisection in October 1952 and July 1957, and on the other subjects in March and May 1948, Feb 49, Nov 50, Oct 53, June 54, Jan 56, Dec 57, May 58, Dec 62, and Feb 65. They can be read online at http://www.parliament.uk/business/publications/hansard/lords/ .

Dowding’s work on behalf of laboratory animals is remembered in the Lord Dowding Fund for Humane Research (established in 1974 by the National Anti-Vivisection Society), as well as on World Day for Animals in Laboratories.

This year’s WDAIL in the U.K. will be marked, among other ways, by a rally in Nottingham on Saturday 28th (meeting in Market Square at 12 noon): for more information, see https://www.facebook.com/events/817860415062877/

This account of Hugh Dowding is a revised version of one posted in the VERO blog on 26 June, 2016.

Policing the Lab

By way of putting its readers into the right mood to read about animals, the London Times heads a news item about misconduct in laboratories with the comic sci-fi title ‘Eek! Errant scientists breed city of rogue mice’ [26 March, p.3]. After a sentence of two in similarly facetious style, however, the item turns into a perfectly serious account (mainly a re-hash of a piece in the Sunday Telegraph the day before) of a research project which was licensed by the Home Office two or more years ago to breed up to 127,600 mice, but which by 2016 had accidentally bred well over twice that number. The unauthorised excess amounted to approximately the population of the City of York: hence the phrase “city of rogue mice”. But ‘rogue’ is hardly the right word, since the extra mice were neither wandering nor solitary; they were put to mass use in experiments just like the others, the difference being that their experiments were unlicensed, a sort of uncovenanted extra.

The Sunday Telegraph calls this “blunder” (if such it was) “the most alarming of dozens of non-compliance cases by labs across Britain, though the punishment for it was relatively slight: “a letter of written reprimand” sent to the establishment licence holder.

All of this information, as well as that last quoted phrase, comes from the Annual Report for 2016 just published by the Home Office’s Animals in Science Regulation Unit (with the admittedly rather sci-fi acronym ASRU). The report shows how British law on animal research has been administered and enforced, as well as other ways in which ASRU has been promoting what it regards as good practice in laboratories. We’re told, for instance, that ASRU “piloted a framework” to reduce waste of life in the breeding of genetically altered mice. That mixed metaphor, with its comical image of trammelled endeavour, is rather well suited to ASRU’s work as a whole. With its steadily shrinking inspectorate (‘full-time equivalent’ numbers of staff were 22.3 in 2009, 14.7 in 2016) having to supervise a rising number of ‘procedures’ (a few hundred thousand more in 2016 than in 2009) and even an increasing number of establishments doing them, ASRU must have a hard job keeping its framework airborne or afloat.

Accordingly it relies heavily on the scientists themselves to police their own scenery, and this upbeat report expresses confidence in their willingness and competence to do that. Their willingness isn’t easily estimated by an outsider. However, I see that a group of research scientists and animal-research institutions in the U.S.A., where regulation is very much slighter than in the U.K., has recently published proposals aimed at cutting down even that ”administrative burden on investigators”, and I suppose that many British scientists, with their greater “burden”, would be in sympathy.

As to competence, the report’s case-studies in non-compliance (45 of them) naturally give quite an unfavourable impression. Many of the cases are instances of absent-mindedness, confused responsibilities, carelessness in record-keeping, hurried work on a Friday evening, duties neglected over the week-end – the sorts of thing which are likely to occur in any office or institution, and are only remarkable in this context because non-human animals have to pay for them in suffering or lives.

Here, for instance, are the experiences of some mice which were being used as ‘models’ of diabetes. This case helpfully concentrates in one place, to an almost farcical degree, many of the characteristic errors and slapdash procedures shown in the others:

Two mice died unexpectedly. Appropriate action was not taken when three other mice showed adverse effects, which exceeded the severity controls specified in the project licence. A drug was also administered to eight mice without the appropriate project licence authority. The same licence holders performed unauthorised surgery on nine mice … They did not keep any contemporaneous records of the regulated procedures performed, and failed to label correctly the cages in which the animals were kept … The project licence holder failed to ensure that the project licence was available and its content made known to those personal licensees working under its authority. The project licence holder also agreed with them that they did not need to monitor the animals at the weekend. [Case 2]

Of course the mice in question have been lucky to receive this much of an inquest. In countries outside the European Union, mice in similarly wretched plight enjoy neither the public attention provided by ASRU’s reports, nor even the protective standards for their exploiters to fall so absurdly short of. It’s not in fact possible to know how much in this kind happens without being noticed or reported even in the U.K., but at least there’s a deterrent. All the licences involved in this particular case were revoked by ASRU, except the one held by the unnamed institution itself. The ‘establishment licence holder’ (referred to with scrupulous anonymity as “they”) received a letter of reprimand, the basic and commonest penalty in these cases.

Note how we’ve moved from thinking of a “city” of erroneous mice to concern for mice numbered in twos and threes. In other cases we read of “three rats”, “a mouse”, “one rat”, “18 chickens” and, in the previous year’s report, “a litter of ten mouse pups” (whom we’ll encounter again below). This very proper concern that ASRU has for individual animals must feel anomalous to the practitioners, when a research project may be counting animals in their tens of thousands, and a slip in record-keeping can let over 100,000 pass unnoticed. In such a setting, the animals must surely be regarded more as products than as individual lives, by the researchers if not by the animal care staff. Something of that is indeed suggested in the ASRU report. We hear of a registered dealer in dogs, who provides “high quality animals to meet their clients’ requirements”, of staff “unpacking a delivery of mice”, of other mice “surgically prepared with cranial windows and then exported to a collaborator in Germany”. “high quality animals” is a particularly miserable phrase.

There’s a comparable incongruity in the way ASRU thinks about death (also known by the sinister euphemism “endpoint”, but ASRU generally and honourably prefers the plain word ‘killing’). The omnipresence of death in the laboratory is clearly enough announced in the annual research statistics, since nearly all those millions of animals must have been killed during the year, to say nothing (and nothing is said) of others not used in ‘procedures’. Oxford University, for instance, must be dispatching over 600 ‘protected’ animals a day. To keep up with this work, more staff than just the licensees themselves have to be active in it, which may be partly why killing is not ordinarily counted as a licensed ‘procedure’. The Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act does, however, specify, in its Schedule 1, how the different animals should be dispatched. And a laboratory has to have a “Schedule 1 killing register” listing the personnel competent to perform executions, rather as offices, schools, etc., have lists of trained first-aid people with exactly the opposite function.

This is where those baby mice had their moment in the public light. An untrained person had

attempted to kill the mouse pups using a rising concentration of carbon dioxide, which is not an appropriate method of Schedule 1 killing … The pups were not properly killed and the following morning a number were found to be still alive in the waste disposal bag.

It’s a familiar enough discovery (“two rats were found alive inside a cosmetic-testing-animal-remainsclinical waste bin”, “a mouse that was supposed to have been killed by Schedule 1 killing … was observed to be breathing while the procedure was taking place”, and so on ), and again it reflects the very large numbers being continually hurried through into oblivion. Those pups, incidentally, will not re-appear in the 2017 statistics, because their breeding was not licensed, nor were they used for any procedure: they were simply another ‘accident’.

But although ASRU is rightly strict about ‘Schedule 1 killing’, it can hardly, in the circumstances, view death itself as a wrong. Suffering is ASRU’s concern; death, putting an end to that, is a sort of therapy, and many an offence is apparently mitigated by the delinquent’s swift resort to it. “After taking the blood samples [this by a Schedule 1 killer, not licensed to take blood], the birds were immediately humanely killed [that’s better].” “The second mouse had lost weight due to lack of feed and was immediately euthanased.” As the German poet Detlev von Liliencron writes at the end of a poem set among the graves in a churchyard, “Genesen” – they’ve made a complete recovery.

No doubt there’s logic and ethics of a sort in this. A mouse that was “at the scientific endpoint of a metastatic bone cancer study and was not immediately killed at the end of the study” would indeed have experienced “unnecessary pain, suffering or distress” [Case 32]. And accordingly, letting an animal die, as opposed to killing it, is one of the most serious of wrongs that ASRU recognises. It’s the theme of the one case in this report regarded as so serious that a separate write-up of it was published on ASRU’s web-pages as soon as the investigation was completed (in October 2017). The case concerned an animal (species for some reason kept anonymous) that had been taken from the wild for research but was subsequently found dead in its captivity. Even though this animal had been “assessed as very old” (for all the anonymities, these case-studies are often poignantly evocative), its death from natural causes, probably failure to eat, must have meant “avoidable suffering”: avoidable in the sense that the animal could have been killed earlier if its deteriorating condition had been noticed.

Nothing in utilitarianism, the ethical system on which British animal-research law is largely based, necessarily makes death a non-interest, as it seems to be viewed in the laboratory. On the contrary, some of utilitarianism’s earliest practical endeavours were aimed at putting a price on loss of life (admittedly human life). Anyway, that’s too big a question to attempt here. I would only insist that premature destruction is indeed a patent wrong against any animal life, even if not the greatest of possible wrongs, and that ASRU ought to recognise this more frankly in the case of the animals whom it oversees. It might make an easy start by ruling that their dead bodies should be described exactly as such, rather than as “carcases” (see, for instance, the Schedule 1 Code of Practice: “carcases should be disposed of on site by incineration or through a macerator.”) It’s a speciesist term which brings a habit of wrong attitude with it, and should be disused everywhere.

The next step would be to classify killing as a ‘procedure’ under the Act. This would probably make no difference to its frequency, but it would raise the acknowledged seriousness of the action. It would also bring into annual notice, if only as numbers, all those unused animals whose only part in the laboratory scene, or indeed in the world, is to be born and killed, like the pathetic ten mouse pups.

Published in the same week as the ASRU report was a research article in the American journal Science which described a study of circadian rhythms in the baboon, “a primate closely related to humans”. Over a 24-hour period, detailed changes of physiology were recorded every 2 hours. The study used 12 baboons (juvenile males imported from Kenya), and killed one at each interval in order to collect and study “64 different tissues and brain regions”. It’s all right, though, because baboons are “listed by the IUCN as a species of Least Concern.

On further thought, let’s not bother with those intermediate steps; let’s simply stop using and killing animals in laboratories. It’s a filthy business, not redeemable by regulations however humanely intended.

 

Notes and references:

The Animals in Science Regulation Unit’s Annual Report 2016 (a 53-page document) was published online by the Home Office on 12 March, and can be read here: https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/animals-in-science-regulation-unit-annual-report-2016  The case-studies appear as Annex 1, pp.36-48. The case of the mouse pups is Case 2 from the previous year’s report, to which there’s a link on the same web-page.

The case of the wild animal (briefly cited as Case 1 in the 2016 report) is described in the 11-page Report of ASRU Investigation into Compliance, published online here: https://www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/654177/asru_investigation_into_compliance_oct_2017.pdf

The proposals to reduce the “burden” of regulation in the U.S.A. were published in October 2017 as Reforming Animal Research Regulations: Workshop Recommendations to Reduce Regulatory Burden, and can be accessed here: http://www.faseb.org/Portals/2/PDFs/opa/2017/FASEB-Animal-Regulatory-Report-October2017.pdf

The Schedule 1 Code of Practice is from 1997, but I notice that it was withdrawn in 2016. It has not been specifically replaced, but the newer advice seems to use the word ‘cadaver’, a half-way improvement, so perhaps there has been a deliberate change here.

The poem by Detlev von Liliencron (1844-1909) is titled ‘Auf dem Kirchhofe’.

The baboon study, by Ludovic S. Mure et al, is titled ‘Diurnal transcriptome atlas of a primate across major neural and peripheral tissues’, and appears in the 16 March issue of Science at p.1232, then with its own pagination 1-9. Quotation is from p.1232 and from the ‘Supplementary Materials’ appendix to the article.

The photograph is by Brian Gunn.