Counting, Culling, and Refraining from Bad Language

Oxford University has now published its animal research statistics for 2020. The total of experimental procedures was 169,511, a drop of 25% from 2019, and the lowest total since 2011. The only other institution to have published its 2020 numbers, King’s College London, records a similar reduction. Neither university has commented publicly on the matter, though you’d think it was dramatic enough to merit explanation. However, one may guess that this fall in animal numbers has been, not success in devising other ways of doing research, but the Covid effect, causing research projects to be postponed or cancelled. Whether the animals marked down for those projects are still waiting or have been destroyed for want of the staff to care for them is something the university has not volunteered, and indeed seems reluctant to divulge (I’ve asked).

The culling of lab animals in the USA, as a consequence of the pandemic, was commented on in the VERO blog for 8 April last year. There’s a bill now before the U.S. Congress which aims to protect animals in research laboratories and in other institutions (zoos, breeding farms, etc.) from “natural and man-made disasters”. Its short name is the PREPARED Act (Providing Responsible Emergency Plans for Animals at Risk of Emerging Disasters), and it would require all such establishments to make detailed contingency plans for the protection and re-homing of their animals. The drafting of this bill preceded the pandemic, but would very adequately have accommodated it, for Covid is of course both kinds of disaster, natural and man-made. However, the Act will have come too late for lab animals this time (itself having been delayed by the pandemic), and the traditional response to all mistakes and mishaps in laboratories – that is, killing the animals involved – has been used instead.

The PREPARED Act is one of a number of measures presently before Congress which are aimed at improving the lives of animals in the USA. One of the most impressive is the Farm System Reform Act, which would shift agriculture away from the huge factory farms (above a certain size would actually be prohibited by 2040), and towards smaller farms with pasture-based livestock or exclusively plant-food production. It’s a change which would, according to its sponsor, Senator Cory Booker, mend America’s “savagely broken food system” to the benefit of all the people and animals presently caught up in it.

If there’s a utopian hopefulness about the Farm System Reform Act (the more admirable for that), the Humane Research and Testing Act seems to have a more realistic chance of success. It proposes to establish a national centre for devising and promoting alternatives to animals in research, and this is a formalization of something that is supposed to be already happening under the finely named National Institutes of Health Revitalization Act 1993 (Section 404C). It also proposes a more inclusive count of the animals being used: all vertebrates – rather than, as at present, all except the vast majority of them (that is, the rodents, birds and fish). Every research institution receiving federal funds would be required to publish its count annually, together with a plan showing how it proposes to reduce the numbers in future.

Much of this would align the USA with practice in the UK, where such demands don’t seem to have lamed science in the way predicted by practitioners beforehand. But of course the Humane Research Act is being vigorously resisted, notably by the National Association for Biomedical Research (NABR), the organisation which many years ago successfully pushed for that exemption of rodents, birds and fish from the provisions of the Animal Welfare Act. In fact the NABR has been lobbying also against various animal-related measures in this year’s federal budget (the Fiscal Year 2021 Omnibus Appropriations Bill). These include the restoring to public view of records of inspections made by the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) which were removed from its web-site in 2017; the mandatory recording by USDA of every instance of non-compliance with the Animal Welfare Act; and, with reference to the Food and Drug Administration, a direction to prefer non-animal testing wherever possible. Viewing these modestly animal-friendly measures, the NABR complains that “The House has filled their bills with bad language”. It’s an arresting phraseology to a British ear, but its meaning is clarified in the heading to their campaign in this case: “Remove Animals Rights Language from FY21 Approps Bills”.

The NABR’s own language is, of course, not “bad” in this sense at all. Like most such professional voices, it prefers inexplicit terminology: devitalized phrases like “animal models”; scarcely visible misrepresentations like “research with animals” (it’s a partnership, you see; in fact we’re told that medical discovery has been one of the most important results of “our partnership with dogs”); or just a helpful verbal fog, as in “the application of newly found knowledge is often proved feasible in non-human primate models”. The message is, ‘Move on; there’s nothing to see here.’

The NABR knows well that language is a hidden persuader. It would no doubt approve of the fashionable euphemism “depopulation” for another of Covid’s consequences, the mass culling of farm flocks and herds which have become untradeable or otherwise uneconomic as a result of the pandemic. Or there’s the term “focussed”, used by USDA for the inspections it makes of what it believes to be the more dependable research establishments: the word is suggestive of close and attentive scrutiny, a patently excellent thing, but it also means, without saying so, that something will be left out. In fact USDA is using the word exactly to mean exclusive. As an animal-law academic at Harvard has said, “An inspector could just look at a sampling of paperwork – and not a single animal.”

“paperwork – and not a single animal”: it could be the motto of the whole euphemism front in animal research. That phrase animal research is indeed the foundational instance, substituting a vague abstraction for the original and highly descriptive term vivisection. Practitioners have commonly argued that vivisection is inaccurate, since it includes the idea of cutting – i.e. some form of surgery – whereas much research using animals is non-invasive. It’s true that the word was coined in the eighteenth century, when nearly all such experimental work did indeed involve surgery, the exposure and study of organic functions by cutting. But just as atomic physics outran the etymology of its root word (a-tom meaning ‘not to be cut’), yet has remained untroubled by the contradiction, so might vivisection have done. Physiologists, however, understood the pictorial force of the word, and abandoned it early on for the opposition to use. It was no small part of the courage of Professor George Rolleston, giving his evidence to the Royal Commission in 1875 (as described in the post previous to this one), to declare that he would use the word inclusively and “not in its etymological sense” (neither the Commission nor the Act which followed it had the word in its title). He was effectively legitimizing the opposition case and advising his colleagues that they had a professional duty to answer it.

They didn’t, of course, follow his example, and the word is now used almost exclusively by outsiders to the profession, as a pejorative. Unused by scientists for so long, it has an antiquarian flavour much to the advantage of practitioners: a great weight of historical scandal and criticism was off-loaded and disclaimed when animal research became the accepted term. But vivisection survived and needs encouraging. It appears in the title of the valuable 1987 essay collection Vivisection in Historical Perspective (a reviewer from the Wellcome Institute called the title “unfortunate” and feared the word might deter his fellow-scientists from reading the book). I note its more recent use also throughout the text of a similarly impartial account of the subject provided at politics.co.uk. But if the word seems out-dated, then at least we can preserve its key element and speak wherever possible of live-animal research and of living animals.

But so much of the public material and even administrative machinery of this business has a euphemizing effect, whether or not by conscious purpose, that escaping the fog seems nearly impossible. We have seen, in the Vivotecnia scandal (discussed in this blog for 15 April), how the fine-sounding agencies supposed to supervise standards at that laboratory were in practice a covert for misconduct. Even the numbers such as this post started with, the annual parades of figures, with their hyper-accuracy asserting a candour which may or may not be really there, seem to daze more than inform. Perhaps they even habituate us to think of animals in the mass, and to forget the “single animal”.

rhesus at OU

I don’t know the solution to this, except in that authenticating phrase which Goya incised into one of his series of fearsome etchings called The Disasters of War: “Yo lo vi” (I saw this). What comes out of laboratories as having been witnessed and recorded in secret, as in the Vivotecnia case, is the only authentic information. Failing that, a strenuously critical reading of what’s officially provided is always and at least required.

Notes and references:

The photograph shows a rhesus macaque monkey in the Biomedical Sciences Building of Oxford University (reproduced by permission of the university’s Public Affairs Office). Fifteen of these non-human primates were used and killed there in 2020, in the severity categories mild (1), moderate (10), and severe (4).

Oxford University’s 2020 statistics, including species of animal used and severity categories, are posted here (the surrounding text is unaltered from previous years): https://www.ox.ac.uk/news-and-events/animal-research/research-using-animals-an-overview.

The text of the proposed PREPARED Act can be read here: https://www.congress.gov/bill/117th-congress/house-bill/1442/text. Senator Booker was interviewed by the Guardian newspaper about his farm reforms: see https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/sep/15/a-savagely-broken-food-system-cory-booker-wants-radical-reform-now

 The NABR is quoted from these two web-pages: https://www.nabr.org/take-action/fy21-approps-activism  and https://www.nabr.org/biomedical-research/importance-biomedical-research. The species excepted from the terms of the Animal Welfare Act do get some legal protections, as described here by another pro-research organisation: https://speakingofresearch.com/2016/05/23/when-are-rats-mice-birds-and-fish-protected-by-us-federal-laws/

USDA’s “focussed” inspections are reported (including the quotation) in Science, ‘USDA now only partially inspects some animal labs’, 7 May 2021, p.558.

The book Vivisection in Historical Perspective, ed. Nicholaas A.Rupke, is published by Croom Helm, 1987. The quoted review of it can be read here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1139874/pdf/medhist00063-0114.pdf. The politics.co.uk page on vivisection, a fair and readable account, is here: https://www.politics.co.uk/reference/vivisection/

The quoted evidence of George Rolleston, professor of physiology and anatomy at Oxford University, is recorded in Report of the Royal Commission on the Practice of Subjecting Live Animals to Experiments for Scientific Purposes, London, HMSO, 1876, p.62.

The photograph shows a rhesus macaque monkey in the Biomedical Sciences Building of Oxford University (by permission of the university’s Public Affairs Office). Fifteen of these non-human primates were used and killed there in 2020, in the severity categories mild (1), moderate (10), and severe (4). 

A Scholar and a Good Man

In January of 1884, just in the middle of the vivisection controversy which was then agitating Oxford University, a portrait bust of George Rolleston, late Linacre Professor of Physiology and Anatomy, was installed in the University Museum. It was made by the sculptor Henry Hope-Pinker – not from the life, because the subject had died in 1881 (aged only 51), but still it was a strong and appealing image, suggestive of an energetic and idealistic personality. And this Rolleston certainly had been. He was appointed a science lecturer in 1857 and then the first Linacre professor in 1860. That was the year the university’s Natural History Museum was opened, and Rolleston had been a vital force in the work of reviving science studies in the university, with the Museum collections as their focus.   

Hope-Pinker, Henry Richard, 1850-1927; George Rolleston (1829-1881)

Although the Museum was not yet completed (and still isn’t quite, as the façade itself shows clearly enough), the annual meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was held there in that year – a sort of benediction for the new Oxford science. Rolleston was present, of course; indeed he was one of its organizers, and was serving as president of the Physiology Section. His friend Thomas Huxley, already known as a combative champion of the scientific outlook in general and of Darwin’s just-published Origin of Species in particular, was one of his vice-presidents. It was in Rolleston’s section that a debate began over the question how much difference in form there was between the human brain and the brains of other primates. So animated and significant was the argument, that a more gladiatorial version of it was appointed for the end of the week, when Thomas Huxley and Bishop Samuel Wilberforce (among others) famously disputed the matter before a packed assembly. Rolleston was already persuaded by the evolution thesis, and in fact craniometry, an aspect of comparative anatomy which formed an important part of Darwin’s argument, became a special interest of his, and a focus of the Museum’s study collection. The photograph reproduced here was taken by Charles Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll), and shows Rolleston at this work.

GR by Dodgson, Museum Collection

Here then was a man right in the swim of contemporary science, at Oxford and nationally, at an exciting time of revival and progress. But he wasn’t quite the stream-lined lab-man that was characterizing the new physiology in Britain (as pictured, for instance, in Conan Doyle’s story ‘The Physiologist’s Wife’, reviewed elsewhere in this blog). He had read Classics at Pembroke College before studying for a medical qualification in London. Then he worked at the British Hospital in Smyrna just at the end of the Crimean War, and after that at the Children’s Hospital in London. During his first Oxford appointment, as Lee’s Reader in Anatomy, he continued to work as a doctor. The Linacre chair disallowed him from continued medical practice, but he was active on the city’s health board, for instance in dealing with Oxford’s share of the national smallpox epidemic of 1871. Then again, his academic interests were very broad, including ethnology, anthropology, and archaeology, as well as physiology and anatomy. Perhaps the Master of Balliol, Benjamin Jowett, had in mind this variety of attention when he wrote that Rolleston did not quite possess “the spirit of a Scientific man” [Desmond, p.134].

At any rate, ‘my profession, right or wrong’ was never Rolleston’s habit of thought. His period as professor of physiology coincided with a national campaign against vivisection, culminating in a Royal Commission and the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1876. Unlike most of his fellow-physiologists, Rolleston did not see the rights and wrongs of vivisection as a matter for professionals only. He believed, on the contrary, that people developed “the moral sense” through “knowledge of the world at large”, and that the narrow focus of research tended to take them in the opposite direction, “every kind of original research being a gratification of self, and liable to develop selfishness, which of course is the root of all unscrupulousness.” Such unscrupulousness had special scope in the practice of vivisection, which was therefore likely to be “more demoralizing than other kinds of devotion to research”. The practice was, in fact, “very liable to abuse”.

Those quotations come from the evidence which Rolleston gave to the Royal Commission in 1875. He was not – again, unlike his fellow-professionals – improvising a morality for the occasion, for he had not been taken by surprise, as they had, when vivisection became a national concern in that way. He had been putting the matter to his colleagues as a moral problem over many years.

It was something he first did formally during the British Association meeting at Newcastle in 1863, when he was serving, again, as president of the Physiology Section. The presidential addresses which prefaced the reading of papers were normally in the collective-congratulatory style, commending the year’s work in the subject. But Rolleston used a portion of his time for what the editor of the published proceedings, perhaps with slight distaste, called “some remarks upon vivisection”. The president put the anti-vivisection case to his fellow-physiologists, and then, more or less impartially, the answers to it which they might be inclined to make. By way of conclusion, he made an appeal to their pride of nation. “In a country like this,” he began, not meaning that imaginary ‘nation of animal-lovers’ still cited today, but rather, and more accurately, a country “where human life is highly prized”: in such a country, he said, all lives would naturally profit from that developed respect, and therefore “brute misery will never be wantonly produced.” It was a clever appeal, that word “will” implying as much a commitment made on his audience’s behalf as a logical deduction. And he finished, rather as a headmaster might finish cautioning his school, “in a British Association I need allude no further to the matter.”

But he did allude to it again, in 1870, when he was president of the whole Biology Section of the BA for its meeting in Liverpool. He seems now to have pressed the BA’s General Committee to take an interest. Among the special committees which it was appointing to examine such matters as luminous meteors, the Gaussian Constants, the fossil elephants of Malta, and ‘lunar objects suspected of change’, there was one deputed to formulate a statement for the British Association on “Physiological Experiments in their various bearings”. This committee was, besides, asked to consider “from time to time” (as a semi-permanent committee, then) what the BA itself might do to minimize animal suffering in “legitimate physiological inquiries” and to discourage the illegitimate kind. Professor Rolleston was to be the secretary. His committee of ten included two of the leading vivisectors of the day, Professors Foster and Burdon Sanderson.

Rolleston’s committee duly reported in 1871 (at Edinburgh now). Its members had come to a majority agreement on four modest principles: no painful experiment, where anaesthetic was possible, should be done without it; no painful experiment to be done for teaching or demonstration purposes; no painful experiment of any kind except at fully equipped laboratories “under proper regulations” (not specified); no operations to be done on animals merely in order to improve the surgical dexterity of vets. Seven members had signed these proposed principles. Ominously, Professor Foster had not. Nor was anything noted about the British Association’s endorsement of them, or about further intentions of any kind.

For most of the committee, and of the larger BA membership, this was probably understood as a convenient finish rather than a start to the theme. At any rate, the committee members showed no further interest in it, until obliged to do so as witnesses before the 1875 Royal Commission. When Burdon Sanderson and Foster, with two other physiologists, composed their Handbook for the Physiological Laboratory, a compilation of methods and experiments published just three years after that Edinburgh meeting, there was no mention in it of any duty of care towards the animals. In particular, there was no advice on the use of anaesthetics. Rolleston must have felt, in 1875, that he was having to start again, and in fact he began his evidence to the Commission by referring back to that presidential address of 1863.

But now, of course, he was addressing an audience far beyond fellow-scientists. Professional solidarity in face of this public attention is a notable feature of the evidence given to that Commission by the scientists – loyalty to each other (“I do not know anywhere a kinder person than Dr Sanderson”, etc.) and to their professional discipline. Moreover, Rolleston’s friend Thomas Huxley, by now the acknowledged voice of British science, was one of the Commissioners. It must have been both painful and hazardous for Rolleston to break ranks in such a situation. He said so: “I know that I am likely to be exceedingly abused.” Still he did it. He said that there were far more animal experiments than necessary (this at a time when they numbered about 500 a year in Britain). He said that they tended to habituate practitioners to animal suffering, so that, for instance, a lecturer might easily disregard the suffering in favour of “showing what he is worth”. He agreed with the suggestion put to him that the Handbook compiled by Professor Foster et al was “a dangerous book to society”. He even suggested that the sight of animal suffering, “of a living, bleeding, and quivering organism”, was likely to awaken the “sleeping devil” of positive cruelty in those present (for the truth of which, supposing there were any doubt about it, see the previous post in this blog). It was an astonishing performance.

When the Cruelty to Animals Act was passed in 1876, Rolleston welcomed it as “a great step in the history of mankind”. Animals would now have “friends to remonstrate for them”. I think also that he saw the Act as a proper recognition of what he called “the secret bond” between all animals, which Darwinism implied. No doubt he over-estimated the Act’s value, even as it stood. And after his death the law was anyway emasculated. The physiologists formed an Association for the Advancement of Medicine by Research, to which the Home Secretary very willingly delegated the day-to-day management of the Act’s various modest regulations. For the next thirty or more years, the profession effectively or ineffectively policed itself.

Nor did Rolleston live to witness the controversy as it re-erupted in Oxford (and there too failed of its possibilities). In fact it was his death that precipitated it, for there was then a division of the Linacre chair subjects, and Burdon Sanderson, whom the local press called “the high priest of vivisection”, was elected to the first Waynflete chair of Physiology. But Rolleston’s brave evidence was there to read, and it was read by the historian Edward Freeman (who that year was himself elected an Oxford professor) when he was debating in his own mind whether to make the journey up to Oxford from his home in Somerset in order to speak against the proposed physiological laboratory. He was feeling the same difficulty Rolleston had faced, of publicly “going against so many friends”. Then he looked again at the “the old Vivisection Blue Book” – that is, the report of the Royal Commission – and exclaimed “how different the evidence of Rolleston, a scholar and a good man, from most of the scientific cock-a-hoops”. And he concluded, “I have settled to be at Oxford tomorrow . . . ‘tis a matter of right and wrong.”

GR by Miller

George Rolleston didn’t think that vivisection ought to be prohibited; he believed that it did have value in selected medical research, and he himself practised it to some small extent for demonstration purposes: about six frogs a year, so he reported, always with anaesthetics (he is credited with ensuring that frogs were included in the Act’s protections). Rolleston belonged, after all, to the profession. But in such a context, his efforts to caution against vivisection as a morally portentous activity, “dangerous . . . to society”, are the more to be admired. When the Museum opens again, next month, I shall go there, as I often have in the past, and pay respect to that fine sculpture and its high-principled subject.

Notes and references:

Some of the material about Rolleston’s life comes from his Scientific Papers and Addresses, 2 vols, ed. William Turner, with a biographical sketch by Edward Tylor, Keeper of the University Museum, Clarendon Press, 1884.

His evidence in 1875 appears in Report of the Royal Commission on the Practice of Subjecting Live Animals to Experiments for Scientific Purposes, London, HMSO, 1876, pp.61-8. The reference to Dr Sanderson’s kindness comes in the evidence given by the surgeon and government health official John Simon, p.75.

The 1863 meeting of the British Association, in which Rolleston’s address appears at p.109 (second part), is published online here: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/93055#page/7/mode/1up. The later meetings can be accessed from that page by changing the year in the headline. The committee’s terms as appointed in 1870 are quoted from p.62 (first section), and its report in 1871 from p.144 (first section). The “secret bond” is a phrase used by Rolleston in his Harveian Oration, as published by Macmillan, 1873, p.29.

The phrase “high priest . . .” for Burdon Sanderson was used in the Oxford University Herald in its issue of 27 October 1883.

Edward Freeman is quoted from a letter written in February 1884, as published in The Life and Letters of Edward Augustus Freeman, ed. W.R.W.Stephens, 2 vols, Macmillan, 1895, vol.2 pp.275-6.

Illustrations: the bust of George Rolleston in the University Museum; Rolleston demonstrating craniometry (from a photograph by Charles Dodgson in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum); pencil and chalk sketch of Rolleston in 1877 by William Edwards Miller, from the collection of Merton College.

Scenes from inside the Cruelty Business

The first of the animal-research proposals granted permission by the Home Office in 2020, and now published in its non-technical summaries for that year, is a standard ADME project: that is, testing various products for their absorption, distribution, metabolism, and excretion by, in, and from the bodies of live animals. In this case the products are mainly agro-chemicals, and the purpose is to assess “the composition of the terminal residue in the animal products (meat, milk and eggs) that will be consumed by humans”. Administration of the chemicals will be “by injection, dermal application, or gavage [direct into the stomach by tube]. The ‘dermal application’ is to provide information for “operator exposure assessments”: after all, when you’re out enjoying the fresh air and tending the fields, you want to be well-informed of “your crop-care product’s toxicological profile”. That last phrase is from among the offers of the company Vivotecnia, one of those which provide these ADME services (more about Vivotecnia later).

Most of this type of animal research is done in order to satisfy regulations in the countries where the products are to be used. Such ‘regulatory testing’ accounts for about one quarter of the experimental procedures conducted each year in UK laboratories, and a much higher proportion of the nastiest of them, the so-called ‘severe’ procedures. The practitioners of it are usually the CRO’s (Contract Research Organisations), which gather their work into great 5-year testing projects for Home Office approval, as in the case above. Some of these CRO’s have been founded by vets, putting their expertise to good use. In fact the UK’s Royal Veterinary College (“The world’s leading vet school”) advertises its own CRO facility, providing “large as well as small animal models” for use in “All stages of pre-clinical and clinical product development . . . within the regulatory and non-regulatory environment.” The illustration to go with this offer of ‘Biotechnical Research and Development’ shows men in suits at a reception; this is business, after all, but, reassuringly, it’s “underpinned by the RVC’s reputation for animal welfare” – a fine thing for a veterinary school to have.

CoeEdenBiotechnologies

But yes, these CRO’s are businesses, and speed and efficiency are what they characteristically promise their clients, rather than the uncertainties and scepticisms of research-science proper or indeed such personal commitment as might go with that. This character of a mass-produced technical service is what the artist Sue Coe suggests with her image of ‘Eden Technologies’ (motto: “Getting it Right from the Start”) in the fiction Pit’s Letter. Eden Technologies! It’s a very well-judged name, being one that’s ever-popular with real biotech businesses or at least their PR agents. In fact only a few weeks ago JHL Biotech (“a global front-runner in biological drug development”) declared itself “excited to announce” a change of name to ‘Eden Biologics’. Sue Coe’s Eden is where Pit, the dog-narrator of the story, has ended up, literally so, along with countless other unfortunate animals. So far from being a Paradise, it’s a hellish place of squalor and cruelty, and indeed Pit says at one point “if we believed in their God, the Devil would look like a human being.” That’s been said before, of course, but some of the more horrifyingly visionary scenes in Pit’s Letter remind us of the many reasons which the twentieth century has provided for saying it yet again (the book was published in 2000). “I walked through past and future, rotten with killing,” says Pit, the ghost who can review it all.

But the grotesque compounding, in Coe’s laboratory scenes, of high technology with filth and slovenly violence, that’s artist’s hyperbole, isn’t it, or at any rate distant history? Apart from anything else, the science would be nearly worthless. Nevertheless, we have to know that it’s both true-to-life and up-to-date. Undercover film, taken between 2018 and 2020 in the Madrid laboratories of Vivotecnia (they of “your crop’s toxicology profile”), has now been published, showing just that same mixture of expensive equipment and physical and moral squalor.

Vivotecnia is a CRO (“researching for you”) that boasts online of its commitment to the “highest standards of animal welfare”. The film shows how little truth there is in that. It’s a sickening thing to watch, rightly classified online as suitable for over-eighteens only. The animals are seen roughly handled, struck, thrown back into their wholly barren cages (“we foster environmental enrichment”, says the Vivotecnia web-site). Individuals are crudely identified with marker pen on forehead or body. Invasive procedures like gavage are conducted with clumsy impatience. Rats are shaken and swung through the air to make them quiescent. There’s blood on the floors. The staff habitually swear at the animals. A background of barking and squealing vocalizes the distress of unseen animals. Worse, there’s deliberate and enjoyed cruelty. Someone draws with marker pen on the genitals of a young monkey being held down for some procedure: “a moustache!” he laughs (the comments of staff are translated in sub-titles). Animals are mocked and taunted, held up for ridicule: “Ha ha ha!” say the sub-titles. It’s scarcely believable, a demonic anarchy.

Vivotecnia is not some rogue company pulled out from the shadows. It was founded in 2000, and is signed up to a whole array of acronymic lab standards and supervisory bodies, both Spanish and international: COSCE, Felasa, OECD, GLP (Good Laboratory Practice!), and of course EU 2010/63. It’s right in the middle of the contract research scene. Therefore Vivotecnia’s disgrace – for even in the few days since the film was released, the public and official response is certain to ruin it – also discredits all those worthy institutional controllers and protectors of this sort of vivisection. It discredits too all those familiar PR phrases about “state of the art facilities”, “paramount” concern for animal well-being, and “highly qualified” management teams (to use more of Vivotecnia’s examples). The whole collective has had a fall and deserved it. For the truth is that forcing animals to take our risks for us like this, in whatever scientific manner, cannot be done ‘humanely’. It necessarily calls out the worst in human beings. It’s incompatible with human decency to do it or to profit from it in any way.

The film has been published online, with an English commentary, by Cruelty Free International, which also sponsors a petition for the closure of Vivotecnia (at present the company’s licence to trade has been suspended). Please sign it! Both film and petition can be seen here: https://crueltyfreeinternational.org/what-we-do/investigations/toxicity-testing-animals-vivotecnia-spain. Please also note that there are other petitions against animal research on the facebook page of World Day for Animals in Laboratories, as well as information about this year’s events, such of them as are possible, on Saturday 24 April.

Notes and references:

Volume 1 of the Home Office’s Non-technical summaries granted in 2020, published in December, has 235 entries, the first being the one described above. The collection can be viewed here: https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/non-technical-summaries-granted-in-2020

The Royal Veterinary College (not to be confused with the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, an organisation which really does promote and pioneer animal interests) is quoted from its web-site, in particular the pages about contract work: https://www.rvc.ac.uk/business/services-and-facilities/contract-research-services

Pit’s Letter, by the artist Sue Coe, was published in 2000 by Four Walls Eight Windows.

The Vivotecnia web-site (https://www.vivotecnia.com/about-us/), from which the quotations were taken, is now unavailable, owing to “maintenance”.

The Guardian has featured the exposure in two articles, this month, both available to read online: on 8 April at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/apr/08/undercover-footage-shows-gratuitous-cruelty-at-spanish-animal-testing-facility-madrid-vivotecnia, and 12 April at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/apr/12/animal-testing-suspended-at-spanish-lab-after-gratuitous-cruelty-footage

Cynics, Hucksters and Frauds: Welcome to Medical Research!

In the course of Otto Preminger’s film Bunny Lake is Missing, released in 1965, a mother seeking her lost child tries to escape from confinement in a big London hospital. Looking for an exit in the brick-walled basements of the building, she strays into a half-dark room which she then discovers to be full of caged monkeys. It’s a research hospital, therefore, a grotesque touch in the film but a common enough institution, then as now. Another British fiction of that period provides a more thorough, though hardly more amiable, account of such places: the novel by Colin Douglas, with the illuminating title The Greatest Breakthrough Since Lunchtime. The novel’s hero – or rather anti-hero, since his leading interests are drinking and having sex with nurses – is a young doctor (as the author had been), recently qualified and now putting in some years of research (“It’s expected behaviour.”). His topic has been selected for him by his supervisor, the keenly ambitious Dr Rosamund Fyvie; it’s ‘faecal vitamins’. Having done a few hours of half-hearted preparatory reading, Campbell provides a colleague with this sarcastic prognosis of his research career:

After a preliminary survey of the literature, I am now in a position from which I may eventually advance to prove conclusively that faecal vitamins have nothing to do with anything. I could start by proving they had nothing to do with a few important things . . . Then get some PhD students to tidy up the odd little corners, like ‘Bantu diet as reflected in faecal vitamins’ and ‘Faecal vitamins in albino coypus’. My epidemiological group would do prospective cohort studies on how faecal vitamin assay is of no use in predicting who’s going to get appendicitis. And my clinical staff would devote themselves to proving that vitamins had nothing to do with any known form of cancer. You’ve got to be in cancer. That’s where the big money is.

But the research is being paid for by a drug company, and Campbell recalls the old aphorism that “Drug companies don’t give money to pessimists” (i.e. they prefer the sort of attitude suggested in the novel’s title: more of this later). He concludes that Dr Fyvie, who secured the funds, has been able to see possibilities in faecal vitamins: “possibilities, that is, of results and hence publications, by Fyvie and somebody and somebody else and Campbell, leading to greater fame for her, and the nearer prospect of the professorial chair she coveted so much.”

Campbell’s absurd research is at least human-centred (he collects his samples from the hospital’s patients), but his reluctant labours are paralleled by the more dedicated work of an animal-research colleague, “a girl who produced endless publications on mouse prostaglandins as though by a strange compulsion”. Such diligent fixations are still a noticeable feature in the bio-science journals.

Bunny Lake is a crime thriller, The Greatest Breakthrough a comedy or farce, and both of them predate the UK’s Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act of 1986. Distorted pictures of the unregenerate old days, then? Unfortunately not: the animals are almost certainly better looked after now, but an up-to-date survey of medical research and hospital life suggests that the human system to which their lives have been made subject is further than ever from justifying that subjection. It comes in a book by a former NHS doctor, Seamus O’Mahony, with the ominous title Can Medicine Be Cured? The Corruption of a Profession.

Much of Can Medicine be Cured? is about medical research and its pathologies. The book doesn’t ever focus on the part force-played by animals in that research, but their involvement is well established early on, when O’Mahony is recalling his own early research stint. The theme of that research – “whole gut lavage” – and its likely value accord well with the fictitious Dr Campbell’s work. As practised on mice, it had been his supervisor’s speciality, and O’Mahony was required to develop the technique for clinical use. His paid helpers at the Edinburgh hospital had been Dougie and Ewan, two “foul-mouthed technicians from the animal unit”, and he knew that unit and its denizens. There were the mice, of course; O’Mahony recalls the laboratory definition of ‘mouse’: “an animal which if killed in sufficient numbers produces a PhD”. There were also monkeys and, by hearsay, goats. “I managed,” says O’Mahony, “to avoid killing any of these innocent animals”, though he does witness one of the mice being “expertly dispatched” against the edge of the lab bench.

medic

In any case, the gut lavage research and its associated publications “produced little of lasting consequence”. O’Mahony attributes his unfitness for academic medical research to the fact that “although cynical, I was not quite cynical enough.” We are on page 19 here, and the author explores the implications of that dismal explanation in the remaining 250 pages of the book.

The most conspicuous thing about the medical scene as O’Mahony presents it is that it suffers from runaway hypertrophy: drug-based medicine in general, and medical research in particular, have grossly outgrown their useful proportions. And just as what used to be called the ‘military-industrial complex’ has engaged the talents, labours, and commercial interests of countless parties, without (fortunately) requiring a war to justify it, so this “medical-industrial complex” (O’Mahony’s habitual term) is a self-sufficient monster, having no necessity to account for itself in healing:

A medical research laboratory is a factory, which produces the raw material of data. From these data, many things may be fashioned: presentations to conferences, publications in journals, doctoral degrees, successful grant applications, even air miles. What went on in the nearby wards seemed of little consequence.

Yes, publications! These are the stairway to success, and their own proliferation (output of scientific papers apparently doubles every nine years) is part of a pathological symbiosis. With a sure market in medical institutions of all kinds, and unpaid contributors (some journals even demand payment from their contributors), they can be highly profitable enterprises. They were in fact the basis of Robert Maxwell’s one-time great wealth. For their part, researchers need to appear in them as often as possible, for frequency is much easier to notice and to record than quality. Not only individual careers but also grants for further research demand this published evidence.

O’Mahony describes some of the techniques for stretching and glamorizing any given amount of work, but of course the most obvious one is fraud. The unhappy case of Dr William Summerlin shows that the temptations (‘incentives’ might be the better word) were already there in the 1970s. He was researching organ transplantation at a New York laboratory, and was found to have fabricated his evidence for the successful grafting of skin and corneas in mice and rabbits. Part of his explanation was this:

Time after time, I was called upon to publicize experimental data and to prepare applications for grants from public and private sources. There came a time in the fall of 1973 when I had no new startling discovery . . .  

O’Mahony doesn’t in fact mention the Summerlin affair, but he doesn’t have to, because fraud of one kind or another has now “become commonplace in medical research.”

Where animals are used, as in Summerlin’s case, fraud is a special kind of abuse, fatally and uselessly involving them in a lie. But there are less actionable kinds of misrepresentation, and one of the natural consequences of over-population in the research scene is what O’Mahony calls “boosterism”. “Real scientists,” he says, “tend to be reticent, self-effacing, publicity-shy and full of doubt and uncertainty, unlike the gurning hucksters [a memorable phrase] who seem to infest medical research.” He reports a calculation that there had been a 25 times increase, between 1974 and 2014, in use of the terms ‘innovative’, ‘ground-breaking’ and ‘novel’ in PubMed abstracts (these abstracts are really as much adverts for the articles as summaries of them). Perhaps even more damaging to good medicine is the sort of collective boosterism which constitutes medical fashion. Here all sorts of interests coincide in pursuit of funds and their own versions of success, including drug companies, “Gadarene researchers” (because “medical research is a conformist activity”), popular paperback writers, patients’ groups lobbying for particular diseases, and professional lobbyists themselves. It’s a matter of chance whether these appropriators of resources will really be of any help in what O’Mahony calls “the mundane business of treating the sick”.

That 25 times increase in boastful phrases (‘ground-breaking’, etc.) is quoted from an article titled ‘The natural selection of bad science’, and the badness of medical science constitutes a sort of refrain in O’Mahony’s book: “the great majority of medical research is a waste of time and money [p.13]. . . Big Science has a Big, Bad Secret: it doesn’t work [53] . . . nearly all papers in medical journals are dross. [92]

But since much of the funding for medical research (about three quarters of it in the case of drug-testing, says O’Mahony) is provided by pharmaceutical companies, wouldn’t they be making sure that most of it was sound and productive? Well yes, productive of medications at any rate. O’Mahony recalls that his own period of research included evaluating a drug to treat coeliac disease, even though there was by then a known effective cure for the condition: a gluten-free diet (which has since developed a profitable hypertrophy of its own). He found no efficacy in the drug, but when he wished to publish his results, the drug company which had financed the trials was unhelpful (remember Dr Campbell’s aphorism about pessimists), and the journal to which he nevertheless submitted his report did not even put it out for peer review.

Nobody wants to be associated with negative results. It’s part of that “natural selection of bad science” that research is sieved in this way, regardless of its quality. When, by contrast, the research behind the anti-inflammatory drug Vioxx (research involving African Green monkeys and five other species of animal) was published in the New England Journal of Medicine, Merck Pharmaceuticals bought one million reprints of the report for distribution to doctors. That was good for Merck (80 million prescriptions were subsequently written out for Vioxx, before it was withdrawn as unsafe in 2004), and good for the NEJM too, but not good for science or for health. How many drugs, of the very few which do translate successfully from animal-testing to clinical trials, really are good for health? Even such lasting commercial successes as statins – the ideal drug for business purposes, since it doesn’t simply put something right and then depart, like an antibiotic, but indefinitely ‘prevents’ – are of doubtful value unless funds are limitless. In fact preventative medicine, where it means medical interventions rather than sensible diet and life-habits, is helping to push forward what O’Mahony calls “healthism”: the trend towards re-classifying the whole healthy population as at-risk.

Meanwhile, the ordinary doctor in clinic or hospital (as opposed to the medical academics and managers) is caught between this vast and pushy production system on one side, and the information-maddened consumerist patient on the other, as a sort of trading agent: “the medical profession”, says O’Mahony, “has become the front-of-house sales team for the industry.” For the point of healthism is to make a sort of self-run hospital out of each one of us, sick or well: hence the rather sinister title of one of the many books that promote this patient ‘awareness’, The Patient Will See You Now. This decline in the authority of the doctor, the devaluation of his experience and expertise, is the saddest part of the whole bad story for Seamus O’Mahony. But he shows, of course, that the decline is equally a loss for the authentic patient in need of that “mundane business of treating the sick”.

And in the shadows of the book, like the monkeys in Bunny Lake is Missing, are the animals which service this medical colossus with their own health and lives. In the European Union and in Britain, the 1986 legislation has kept their numbers more or less steady, so that they form a shrinking proportion of the giant whole. But elsewhere in the world this is not so. It’s very obvious in the journals, for instance, how much of the animal research is now being done in China, which has indeed overtaken the USA as the world’s most rapacious user of animals for scientific purposes. And for the world as a whole, a meticulous estimate of animals killed for science in 2005 was published some while ago in the journal Alternatives to Laboratory Animals: 115.2 million. When the theme was re-visited more recently, the total for 2015 was put at 192.1 million, an increase of about 65% in ten years.

We now have some idea of how worthwhile that enormous and continuing sacrifice has been.

Notes and references:

The Greatest Breakthrough Since Lunchtime was published by Canongate Publishing in 1977. Can Medicine be Cured? The Corruption of a Profession was published by Head of Zeus in 2019.

Much of O’Mahony’s case was anticipated in Ivan Illich’s Medical Nemesis: the Expropriation of Health, published in 1974 and reissued in 1976 as Limits to Medicine: Medical Nemesis. In fact Seamus O’Mahony has written an excellent essay about the book, its origins and relevance, in the Journal of the Royal College of Physicians Edinburgh in 2016 (it can be read online here: https://www.rcpe.ac.uk/sites/default/files/jrcpe_46_2_omahony_0.pdf.). But Illich was almost absolute in his opposition to modern medicine and its ideology, whereas O’Mahony argues that there was a ‘Golden Age’ of medical discovery between the 1930s and 80s. He believes, however, that the challenges and possibilities of medicine are very different now, and that failure to recognize this is what has allowed Big Science and Big Pharma to become the predators on the public health and purse that he shows them to be. 

Robert Maxwell set up the Pergamon Press as a science publisher at Headington Hill Hall, Oxford, in 1951. When it closed in 1991, it owned about 400 different journals.

The Dr Summerlin affair is discussed in Alexander Kohn’s False Prophets: Fraud and Error in Science and Medicine, Basil Blackwell, 1986, pp.76-83.

‘The natural selection of bad science’, an article by Paul Smaldino and Richard McElreath, appeared in Royal Society Open Science 3(9), 2016, online at http://rsos.royalsocietypublishing.org/content/3/9/160384.

The calculation of global animal numbers is published in ATLA, 24 February 2020: the authors are Katy Taylor and Laura Rego Alvarez, and it’s accessible online here: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/0261192919899853. Some of the increase in numbers is attributed by the authors to shortage of information in 2005: i.e. that number was an under-estimate. Many of the countries that practise animal research do not publish numbers, so that calculations cannot be authoritative.

The Grand Old Craft of Gene-Editing: a Consultation

The technique called CRISPR (pronounced ‘crisper’, and standing for ‘clustered regularly inter-spaced short palindromic repeats’) has made genetic interventions suddenly much cheaper, quicker, and more accurate. It’s a very recent research product, the subject of 2020’s Nobel Prize in Chemistry, but already it’s boosting ambitions in the world of genetic engineering. One such ambition is, of course, the re-designing of food-plants and food-animals to fit our supposed preferences as producers and consumers. The UK’s Department of Food, Environment and Rural Affairs (Defra) wishes to enable our prompt enjoyment of these benefits by abolishing some of the restrictions and regulations to which we were formerly bound by membership of the European Community. To this end, Defra is at present inviting comments and opinions through a public consultation titled ‘The regulation of genetic technologies’. That consultation is the subject of this post, first by way of preface to it, then with some advice on how to participate, if there’s still time, or how to respond in other ways.

What Defra is most immediately wanting to de-regulate (it has some longer-term ambitions as well) is ‘gene-editing’, a term which it uses in the restricted sense of favourably altering the genetic make-up of an organism without adding any alien material (as opposed to ‘GM’, meaning genetically modified, though the terms are not officially delimited in this way, as far as I can find). It claims that this sort of alteration has been the goal of “traditional breeding” as practised by “farmers and growers” for “centuries”. You note the reassuring vocabulary. In fact when George Eustice, the Secretary of State at Defra, announced the consultation during an address to the Oxford Farming Conference in January, he used the gnarled old phrase “mother nature”.

Defra must be hoping that this sort of language will help to gain the confidence of those of us who simply shy away Egypt, 1200 bc, ploughing from any attempt to understand the scientific complexities of genetics. It’s nothing to be alarmed about, you see, just a newer way of putting the right boar to the right sows, part of the age-old pattern of man in the landscape (comforting mental picture of man with straw in mouth watching pigs copulate, while an ox-drawn plough goes by).

But if that doesn’t persuade you to let Defra go ahead unchallenged, the consultation itself may well do so. Ostensibly it’s offered to the general public. A two-page introduction to its subject matter is laid out in easy-to-manage panels, with helpful Q&A section, some reassurance about “frankenfoods”, and so on. But the questionnaire itself asks people for “not just their opinions” but also “supporting facts and reasoning”. You’ll be asked, for instance, what criteria you would propose for determining whether a gene-edited organism could indeed have been produced by traditional methods. How many members of the public, even after we’ve spelled our way through the two-page dummies’ introduction, could give a useful answer to that?

However, please don’t be put off. The questionnaire is very short, a total of six questions to deal with, and you can always leave out the “reasoning”. Then, this is a subject of enormous importance to agriculture and the animals and land roped into it. (It’s also important of course to medicine; already it has been involved in a science-scandal, because in 2018 a Chinese geneticist used CRISPR technology to gene-edit human babies. Alarming as that is, I would say that it’s the one area, our own species, where we do have some slight entitlement or at least good reason to wish to make changes.) In short, it’s something that we have to know about sooner or later. Moreover, there are great commercial interests at stake, and the consultation has brought them into sunlit view again: all the agri-business and agri-tech companies that hustle farming into its high-tech future, with their logos and their ‘visions’ (“to search and deliver practical solutions with real payback”, etc.). These will be pressing for an easier, shorter and more profitable route from lab to saleable foodstuff.

As the Soil Association (SA), which promotes organic farming and high animal welfare standards, has said, the more of us that complete this questionnaire “the more chance we have of showing the Government that UK citizens will not running otmoor pigaccept the terms of their proposal, and of preserving the integrity and trust of a farming future built on agro-ecological approaches.” In fact the Soil Association web-site is suggesting sample answers to help the amateur (as are two other organisations: see links in the notes). The SA’s answers are quite long and, rather unhelpfully, are numbered differently from the questions themselves, but of course they have authority. I shall offer some shorter, though less expert, suggestions in a moment.

Defra’s rule is that the ‘safety’ of a genetically engineered organism, plant or animal, should be judged by its resultant characteristics and not by the method of its creation: human safety, that is, which is a concern that Defra is naturally keen to deal with convincingly. So what will be the aimed-at results of gene-editing? The animals and plants, so Defra proposes, will be “stronger and healthier, and more resistant to disease”. The go-ahead farmers’ and technologists’ collective Agri-TechE (I haven’t made the name up) puts things more motivationally, asserting that their members “share a vision of increasing the productivity, profitability and sustainability [that all-purpose merit] of agriculture.” Perennial aims in farming, of course, but over the last hundred or so years, the science input has enabled them to bring into being, forpigs-2 the animals, the nightmare of factory farming, and there is no indication in Defra’s texts of any intention to revise that model as part of its so-called “green Brexit”. On the contrary, it’s clear that gene-editing, by making the animals more “resistant to disease”, will better enable them to survive and be productive (be “healthier”) in the inherently unsanitary conditions of over-crowding and stress which that system imposes upon them. It will help to make ruthless high-tech livestock farming pay.

Defra gives examples of four pioneer countries that have decided to de-regulate gene-editing, and it’s hardly an inspiring list: Australia, Japan, Argentina, and Brazil – all big exporters of animal foods, with little state interest in animal welfare (Japan’s lab-animal numbers are probably second only to the USA’s). I notice that Agri-TechE makes this same unconvincing point, but wisely omits Brazil from the list – presumably judging it to be more of a scare than an encouragement. In the USA, which Defra doesn’t seem to mention, responsibility for gene-edited farm animals was taken away from the Food and Drugs Administration on the last day of President Trump’s tenure and given to the more commercially-minded Department of Agriculture. It was a change which had been, according to the news service Politico, “a long-sought priority for the livestock industry and big businesses”. It seems that things hadn’t been moving fast enough for them under the FDA’s regulations. Even so, one notable advance had already been made: the ‘GalSafe’ pig, gene-edited to remove its ‘alpha-gal sugars’ to which some people are allergic. This advance in food-production, says Forbes magazine online, “will allow the 34,000 AGS sufferers in the nation the ability to finally eat pork.” Science: making the world better!

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Here, anyway, are the questions posed in the consultation (abbreviated by me in places), with my comments and suggested answers, in case you would like to make an assisted submission. Of course you can give different or briefer answers, with minimum or no “reasoning”, and you can do the whole thing usefully in a few minutes. Or you can simply e-mail Defra at consultationreply@defra.gov.uk, putting ‘regulation of genetic technologies: consultation’ in the subject line.

Note that I’ve included in the first answer an absolute objection to genetic engineering of animals on principle, but have had to assume in subsequent answers that the best hope will be to protect them as well as possible, rather than to ban the practice. I’m afraid that the closing date is 17 March, which leaves little time (or none at all, if you’re reading this on a later date). As I mentioned, it’s a very short questionnaire, but if the time is too limited, or if it has already lapsed, an alternative is to write to your MP on this subject. That’s something worth doing anyway.

Part 1. Qu.10 [The first nine questions are about name, etc.]:  Currently, GE organisms are regulated in the same way as other GMOs, even if they could have been produced using traditional breeding methods. Do you agree? Yes. Who is to say with certainty that the particular changes could ever have been produced traditionally? Nor can it be assumed that such changes will be good ones except for those making them; in the case of farm animals, the ‘improvements’ will very likely be aimed at facilitating intensive conditions and higher productivity, at the expense of the animals’ well-being (a much more important consideration than mere ‘health’). I therefore state here that I strongly object to the genetic engineering of animals in principle.

 Qu.11 Do organisms produced by genetic technologies pose a similar or greater risk to human health or the environment than do their traditionally bred counterparts? Greater. Gene technologies are new and relatively untried; the changes they introduce are abrupt and unpredictable. A cautionary analogy is the introduction of alien species into new countries, usually done for simple ‘beneficial’ purposes but often with unexpected destructive results.

 Qu.12 Are there any other non-safety issues to consider, if GE organisms are not regulated in the same way as GMOs? [which they are under present EU law, as transcribed into the UK’s Environmental Protection Act 1990]? Yes. This technology seriously threatens the welfare of the animals affected, whose interests there will be no financial inducement to promote, provided they can be kept viable and made more productive. Given that the EU and the non-English UK nations show no signs of agreeing with Defra’s policy, trade with them may well be lost. Such trade in live animals as there may be will increasingly favour countries that have poor animal welfare rules and standards. Also, there is no mention, in the background material, of the patenting of organisms, and the effect this will presumably have of increasing the corporate grip on food-production.

 Qu.13 What criteria should be used to determine whether an organism produced by gene-editing or other genetic technology could have been produced traditionally? This is a highly technical question, and should surely have been presented as a choice of possibilities. In fact traditional breeding can never reliably produce single alterations such as GE aims at; the ‘tradition’ argument is beside the point.

 Part 2. [The last two questions now refer to “broad reform of legislation governing organisms produced using genetic technologies”. This is the longer-term aim I spoke of: i.e. to loosen regulation of genetic engineering of plants and animals in general.]

 Qu.14 Are the existing pre-GMO regulations that happen to cover gene-engineered organisms sufficient, or are the additional supervisions, specifically of GMO’s, a necessary supplement? [Tick-boxes for particular aspects are provided: I recommend ‘No’ to all of them. A panel for the “evidence” then follows.] Genetic engineering is developing very rapidly, and demands dedicated ethical and other checks which keep up with it. Moreover, innovation does not belong to the scientists or the users; it is a matter affecting all citizens, and their government should represent them vigilantly at every stage.

 Qu.15 If you’ve answered ‘no’ in any of the boxes in qu.14, what additional measures do you consider necessary? [This is an unreasonable question, since one would have to be familiar with all the regulations governing GM and non-GM organisms to answer it wisely, but here goes.] The present supervision provided under the 1990 Act makes a good basis for regulating all genetically engineered organisms. It is impossible to say how these might need adjusting in the light of what the consultation calls “novel organisms” in future. However, in the case of animals, if these are indeed to be genetically engineered at all, there should be a check-list of indicators to ensure that the well-being of the animals (not just their satisfactory ‘health’, which is quite compatible with serious suffering) is protected. Since much of the preparatory research will presumably have been done under the Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act 1986, that legislation might be adapted in order to assess the proposed purposes and experiences of the farm-animals subjected to this sort of genetic alteration.

Notes and references:

The consultation document is here: https://consult.defra.gov.uk/agri-food-chain-directorate/the-regulation-of-genetic-technologies/

There are two related Defra texts: the two-page introduction mentioned above, https://consult.defra.gov.uk/agri-food-chain-directorate/the-regulation-of-genetic-technologies/supporting_documents/Gene%20Editing%20Explainer.pdfand a longer ‘consultation document’ of 14 pages, which provides a preview of the questionnaire and some advice on how to complete it: https://consult.defra.gov.uk/agri-food-chain-directorate/the-regulation-of-genetic-technologies/supporting_documents/20210106%20Gene%20editing%20consultation%20document%20FINAL.pdf

The Soil Association’s advice is here: https://www.soilassociation.org/causes-campaigns/stop-genetic-modification/consultation-on-gene-editing/.  Advice is also given by two campaigning groups: Beyond GM (https://beyond-gm.org/how-to-respond-to-the-uk-consultation/) and GM Freeze (https://www.gmfreeze.org/gene-editing-consultation/).

The subject was quite helpfully discussed on BBC radio 4’s Farming Today programme for 6th March (6 minutes in), here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000sxxd

Other references: Agri-TechE’s web-site, a treasury of modern agri-speak, is here: https://www.agri-tech-e.co.uk/.  The “green Brexit” was promised in Defra’s publication titled Health and Harmony: the Future for Food, Farming and the Environment in a Green Brexit’. The article in Politico about control over gene-editing of farm animals in the USA is here: https://www.politico.com/news/2021/01/19/fda-hhs-genertically-modified-animals-460486. The Forbes piece is here: https://www.forbes.com/sites/jordanstrickler/2021/01/15/fda-and-usda-spar-over-genetically-engineered-animals/.

Helping animals – and people – after we die

Leaving our bodies to medical science is something I’m sure many of us are keen to do in the interests of saving animal lives and helping to promote human-based research, but have somehow never got round to doing. For me at least, the current pandemic has been a spur to action. Not just because it has reminded me of my own mortality, but because, when my turn to get the jab arrives, my gratitude to the NHS will be tempered with guilt over the many animals who will have suffered and perished over the course of its development.

There are many ways to do this, one of which is to register as an organ donor. As of last year, we have an “opt-out” system in England, meaning that all adults agree to become potential organ donors when they die unless they have made a statement to the contrary. Either way, you can still register your decision at https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/, and it is important to do so as you can then elect to donate all your organs (not just those suitable for transplantation) and your tissues as well, all of which helps to reduce reliance on animals, whether as a source of biological material or a tool for research. Brain banks, too, need non-diseased brains for use in the study of neurological conditions such as Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s which – despite the invasive experiments conducted on monkey subjects – are unique to humans. And you can even donate surplus tissue during your lifetime, such as bone tissue during hip replacement surgery or amniotic membrane during an elective caesarean section.

Finally, you can bequeath your whole body, for purposes defined under the Human Tissue Act 2004 as the “anatomical examination, education or training relating to human health and research in connection with disorders, or the functioning of the human body”. Although you can state this in your will, it is not enough on its own: written consent must be given prior to death, so you need to obtain a consent form from your local medical school and keep a copy with your will. To find out where your nearest one is, you can simply visit the Human Tissue Authority website (https://www.hta.gov.uk/donating-your-body) and type in your postcode. This site is a mine of useful information on all the above, and should answer most of the queries you are likely to have.

I should point out here that body donations are not being accepted under current Covid restrictions, but the demand will still be there – perhaps even more so – when they are lifted, so it’s a good idea to start thinking about it now. And, as with organ and tissue donation, it is vital to make sure your next of kin or close friends are aware of your wishes. Even once you have registered as a donor, the bequest office will not act unless instructed to do so by the person with responsibility for your body, so they will need to know who to contact. Talking this through can be a useful exercise in itself, helping those close to you to understand the reasons for your decision and perhaps even consider following your example. I have read several interviews with donors who have found it a comfort to be able to “give something back”, and that this has helped them come to terms with the prospect of death. For their relatives, it is still possible to have the ashes returned to them for burial after cremation, and interdenominational memorial services are held annually to thank donors and their families.

Hopefully we will see attitudes continue to change as more and more of us decide to take this step, and talk openly about a subject that has long suffered from something of a stigma, deriving partly perhaps from grisly tales of body snatchers from the dim and distant past. Covid has brought vividly before our eyes what modern medical science can do for us, and it is surely desirable to do whatever we can to help ensure that it is conducted with as much efficiency and humanity as possible.

Made Wise by More Than Pity

In the last, and some say greatest, of Richard Wagner’s operas, Parsifal, the story is set going by the shooting of a swan. It’s a portentous transgression in much the same way that the shooting of the albatross is in Coleridge’s poem The Ancient Mariner, and it’s done in the same spirit of casual ignorance. When Parsifal is asked, by the indignant keepers of the Holy Grail at Monsalvat (onto whose ground he has strayed with his bow and arrows), whether he is the person responsible, his answer is bumptiously unequal to the situation: “Gewiss! Im fluge treff’ ich, was fliegt!” Roughly translated, ‘Absolutely! If it flies, I shoot it!’ So speaks the jolly hunter.

The leader among the knights of the Grail, Gurnemanz, sets about making Parsifal feel the wrong that he’s done. That swan, he says (or rather, sings), “was dear to us; what is he now to you? Go on, look at him! This is where you struck him . . . etc.” The earnestness of this address, and of course the power of the music which carries it, move Parsifal to acknowledge the “great guilt” that Gurnemanz imputes to him: “Ich wusste sie nicht.” [I didn’t realise]. He breaks his bow and flings the arrows aside. The dead swan is then carried away on a funeral nest of branches – “reverently”, as both the stage directions and the music itself dictate.

And yet it’s this apparent simpleton Parsifal that will rescue Monsalvat and its Grail brotherhood from the disaster intoHerheimParsifal11a545px which it has fallen. Its king, Amfortas, has yielded the sacred spear, the one that wounded Christ, to his enemy and tempter Klingsor, and has himself been wounded with it. That unhealing wound memorializes his fall from the rule of chastity governing his own community, for that is the form that Klingsor’s temptation takes, seduction by beautiful women. Even this, which is dramatized in Act II when Parsifal finds himself in Klingsor’s “Zaubergarten” [magic garden] surrounded by lightly dressed “schöne Mädchen”, is really a synecdoche (a part representing the whole); it stands for any or all yielding to the motives and passions of secular material life. However, Amfortas has been promised in a holy vision that deliverance will come to Monsalvat through just such a simpleton as Parsifal, “durch Mitleid wissend” [that is, ‘once he has been made wise by compassion’]. In fact that promise is being remembered by the company just as the wounded swan makes its startling appearance, followed by Parsifal himself with his bow and arrow.

Can that wounded swan – which, say the stage directions, appears in “laboured flight”, then “falls to the ground exhausted” – ever be staged successfully? If it looks too plainly like a long-serving stage prop, the distress of the Grail knights, crying “Alas! Alas!” over it, can seem dangerously comical. But if it looks too real, that will raise the alienating concern that it may indeed have once or even recently been alive. And Wagner didn’t go in for abstractions on stage: the settings for his operas at Bayreuth were vividly naturalistic under his own direction (and long afterwards). That he was prepared to take this risk with the swan is an indication of how seriously he felt about the particular form in which Parsifal is to be inducted into the ordeal of “Mitleid”: that is, through sympathy with the suffering of an animal.

Richard-Wagner-painting-Franz-von-Lenbach-Germany-1882Wagner did indeed take the sufferings of animals seriously. While he was completing the score for Parsifal, in 1879, he put some of his ideas on the subject into a long essay with the title (as translated a few years later) ‘Against Vivisection’. There too, Mitleid is the key word and experience, as providing the crucial insight into the nature of things. It is “the only true foundation for morality”, for it enacts a fundamental truth about the world, namely that “the same thing breathes in animals that lends us life ourselves”. This, he says, was part of “the teachings of primeval wisdom” (he’s thinking of Hindu and Buddhist teachings, which he knew). But now it had also been evidenced “past all doubt”, and in a form adapted to “our unbelieving century”, by the work of Charles Darwin. Wagner suggests, in fact, that Darwin’s science “may prove our surest guide to a correct estimate of our relation to the animals; and perhaps it is on this road alone, that we may again arrive at a real religion” – at something like Monsalvat, perhaps.

So Mitleid is as important for humans as for other animals. For it’s not just the only “true” but also “the only ennobling reason for kindness toward dumb animals” [my italics here and throughout]. It’s what, accordingly, starts Parsifal on his journey towards his own ‘ennoblement’, fitting him to be the saviour promised to Monsalvat, the man ‘through pity made wise’.

A short digression about words here, because ‘pity’ certainly isn’t the right one, and in fact we have to recognise that there’s no English word adequate to Mitleid (a fact that must have helped to obstruct the coming of a right relation with animals in English-speaking countries). The translator of ‘Against Vivisection’, William Ashton Ellis, sometimes puts ‘pity’, sometimes ‘compassion’, even on one occasion ‘pure humanity’, which fits Wagner’s argument but strays some way from the dictionary (and Ellis has to admit as much in a footnote). ‘Pity’ is a status word; you feel pity, however kindly, for inferiors – hence its corruption in ‘pitiful’ and ‘pitiable’, both of which words can imply contempt (or try the withering put-down ‘I pity you!’). ‘Compassion’ has less of that condescension in it, but is too abstract; ‘sympathy’ feels less abstract (though both of them feel, and are, classics words by etymology), but is too slight. ‘Empathy’, a twentieth-century word taken from psychology and since become fashionable, has always been more about the personality that boasts it, than about the suffering that needs it: accordingly, the Oxford Dictionary’s most recent illustrative example quotes it in the phrase “showing empathy”.

What Wagner had in mind when he made Mitleid the key word in Parsifal, and the source of wisdom in its hero, was not kindness or protective emotion, good things as these are: he meant a sense of one’s identity with all other life, as equally products of one creating source. That’s the “real religion” which he speaks of in ‘Against Vivisection’. So again in his essay ‘Religion and Art’ (written in 1880), he speaks of “the unity of all that lives” as against “the illusion of our physical senses which dress this unity in guise of infinitely complex multitude and absolute diversity”. Of animals he says, “the beasts are only distinguished from man by the grade of their mental faculties . . . what precedes all intellectual equipment, what desires and suffers, is the same Will-to-live in them as in the most reason-gifted man.” Therefore when we ate meat, which Wagner called “a nutriment against nature” (he did his best to practise vegetarianism), we “mangled and devoured ourselves.

Although Wagner traces these ideas to Eastern thought (“how superb are Buddha’s teachings”, he says in a letter), his immediate source was Arthur Schopenhauer. Biographers of Wagner all record the supreme importance of that philosopher to his thought and art, as indeed Wagner himself does in his autobiography (“a radical influence on my whole life”). Since Schopenhauer is discussed elsewhere in this blog, I shall only say here that the “Will-to-live” (understood as the unseen and impersonal force driving the world as we experience it) had for him a wholly tragic character, urging life purposelessly onward at frightful expense in worldly suffering (Wagner called it “the Will’s tumultuous storm”). Escape, as Schopenhauer sees it, is only possible to us for moments in the purely contemplative (and therefore will-free) experience of art, or more lastingly in the rare selfless lives of saints. It was the special pathos of animal life that it permitted no such escapes, nor any consolatory insight into the mystery.

Wagner felt this same pathos acutely: “the beast can only look upon pain, so absolute and useless to it, with dread and agonised rebellion”; for that reason, as he confessed in a letter, he felt “less fellow-suffering for people than for animals.” (‘fellow-suffering’: perhaps that’s the one! No, too cumbersome.) But the opera Parsifal is not a tragedy. When the hero returns toParsifal 3 in 1882 Monsalvat in Act III, we’re reminded by Gurnemanz that this is the man “der einst den Schwan erlegt” [who once killed the swan], but now, taught by his own sufferings, he has become “Mitleidvoll Duldender, heiltatvol Wissender!” [a fellow-sufferer and enlightened healer]. The suffering that has thus ‘ennobled’ Parsifal has, in so far as we’ve witnessed it, consisted in the ordeal of resisting Klingsor’s seductive women (notably the strange half-vamp, half-handmaid, Kundry). But as I’ve said, for all the sensuous passion of that second act, it has been only one part of all the “dangers, battles and conflicts” that Parsifal is now said to have endured since his dismissal from Monsalvat as “nur ein Tor” [just a fool]. And having defeated Klingsor, he has taken back the sacred spear, symbol now of the “redemption” of the Grail community, a point made very plain by the news that this day of Parsifal’s return is also Good Friday.

So the last moments of Parsifal speak of “salvation”, and with the healing of King Amfortas they have the visionary quality of Christian redemption achieved. But Wagner was not conventionally (if at all) a Christian. He was looking for what he called “the inmost essence of the Christian religion”, by which he seems to mean awareness that the world as we know it is permanently in the condition of needing to be saved. The opera expresses mythically, as if satisfied, then, what Wagner calls, in the essay ‘Religion and Art’, “the Need of Redemption”. Our real and persisting condition is that “even in the insect, in the worm we tread upon unheeding, we shall ever feel the awful tragedy of this World-being, and daily have to lift our eyes to the Redeemer on the cross.”

As we’ve seen, he did indeed feel this tragedy on behalf especially of the animals. Writing about vivisection, then, he wistfully viewed that too in the visionary terms of Parsifal’s progress: “might our very indignation at the shocking sufferings inflicted wilfully on animals point out to us the pathway to the kingdom of pity toward all that lives, the Paradise once lost and now to be regained with consciousness?” And Parsifal, being a kind of everyman in his passage from untaught simplicity of mind to enlightenment, shows that humans have a duty beyond just noticing that need of redemption: humanity should become “conscious of its own high office of Redemption for the whole of like-suffering Nature”, and purposefully take that “pathway . . . to the Paradise once lost”. Monsalvat, as redeemed, pictures that Paradise for us. It is, among other things, a place where the animals, so we’re told and shown, are regarded as sacred. We should be making our way there, even if we can never arrive.

*                       *                       *                       *

This brief account of Parsifal, highlighting the zoophile content which most commentaries seem to understate or ignore, has itself left out, among other things, the following two very important aspects. The libretto which I’ve quoted from, which was Wagner’s own composition, is dwarfed in performance by the music, both in quantity and in power of expression: the composer Claude Debussy called Parsifal “one of the finest monuments in sound ever to have been raised to the everlasting glory of music.” Then there’s something which, though it’s not even cryptically present anywhere in the opera (so most Wagner scholars agree), is yet bound to shadow everything Wagner wrote and composed: his anti-Semitism. This is shocking and mystifying enough in his own writings (notably in ‘Judaism in Music’), but horribly aggravated for us since then by the cult of Wagner as promoted by Hitler in the 1930s. It seems especially perverse because music in and after Wagner’s time has so much depended on Jewish brilliance. In fact the first performance of Parsifal itself was conducted by a Jew, Hermann Levi. I’ve referenced a few discussions of the subject below. Here I can only say that the world-view proposed by Schopenhauer, and beautifully dramatized through Wagner’s genius, is wholly at odds with racist (or for that matter speciesist) thinking. I hope therefore that the idea in particular of humanity as having the “office of Redemption” for all the world’s life will be understood and unconditionally prized whenever Parsifal is performed.swam with vet's life

Notes and references:

The libretto to Parsifal can be viewed with parallel translation here: http://www.operafolio.com/libretto.asp?n=Parsifal&translation=UK . I’ve slightly adjusted some of the translations.

Both of the essays ‘Against Vivisection’ (October 1879) and ‘Religion and Art’ (October 1880) appeared first in the monthly Bayreuther Blätter, a journal primarily for those who came to Bayreuth in order to attend Wagner’s operas in the Festspielhaus which he designed for them there. They can be found now in Vol.VI of Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, transl. William Ashton Ellis, Kegan Paul, 1897. Wagner’s exclamation about “Buddha’s teachings” is quoted in Ellis’s preface to this volume, at p.xxx. Other quotations, if not from the libretto, come from the two essays, except that the letter about fellow-suffering with animals is quoted from the online source https://www.monsalvat.no/wagner-schopenhauer-parsifal.htm#Mitleid , and the phrase from Wagner’s autobiography is taken from The Philosophy of Schopenhauer, Bryan Magee, 1987, p.336.

About Wagner’s anti-Semitism, there’s an illuminating chapter in Bryan Magee’s fine study of the composer, Aspects of Wagner, OUP, revised edition 1988. Then there’s an interesting article from the Guardian, ‘Can We forgive Him?’, online here: https://www.theguardian.com/friday_review/story/0,3605,345459,00.html  Finally, the connection with Parsifal is very fully discussed here: https://www.monsalvat.no/banned.htm#Nazism

Coleridge’s poem is discussed in this blog here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2016/07/12/shedding-the-albatross/ . The world-view of Schopenhauer, and the place of animals in it, are discussed here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2016/01/31/schopenhauer-and-the-chained-dog/

The illustrations show a scene from Act I in a 2010 production at Bayreuth, with the wounded Amfortas at the front; a portrait of Wagner in 1882, painted by Franz von Lenbach; a scene from Act III in the first production of Parsifal, Bayreuth 1882, with Kundry, Gurnemanz, and Parsifal; and a rescued swan in the arms of a vet.

Mus Homunculus in the USA

The variety of mouse commonly used in scientific research is Mus musculus, meaning ‘mouse (little mouse)’. A more accurate name would be Mus homunculus, ‘mouse (little man)’, since this has become the preferred model or manikin for almost every aspect of the human condition supposed capable of study in laboratories. The American journal Science, a peer-review publication which also reports on research published elsewhere, shows the mouse ceaselessly passing by in all its myriad human substitutions: to take this past month alone, Mus homunculusMouse in Bosch 'Garden' has been modelling fungal infections, cancers of all kinds, effects of gender on immune responses, Alzheimer’s disease, the role of glutamine in aging, neuro-developmental disorders, obesity, botulism, progeria, dengue fever, and even empathy (that well-known human virtue).

In the USA the numbers of mice being used in these ways cannot be known, since no systematic count is published or even kept. The Animal Welfare Act, which has supervised lab animals (among others) since 1966, amended its “definition of animal” in 2002 expressly to exclude “birds, rats of the genus Rattus, and mice of the genus Mus, bred for use in research”. Some external oversight of the management of these animals there is, when federal funds are involved in the research, or if the laboratory in question has volunteered to be on the lists of the Association for Assessment and Accreditation of Laboratory Animal Care. This latter organisation may even count the rodents used in its accredited laboratories, but it keeps the numbers confidential, and they’re not collected into any national total. Nor is there any national record of the severity of experiments using the excepted animals.

Incidentally, one common method of counting the mice used at any particular laboratory, should a number be required, is to count the cages, and then to apply some sort of occupancy or turnover rate (for which there’s no generally agreed formula) in order to produce a yearly total. This hit-and-miss method pathetically reflects the existential flimsiness of the American mouse, defined by its transience.

That practitioners favour the present state of more or less ignorance is sufficiently evidenced by their National Association for Biomedical Research (NABR), which vigorously lobbied for it when the 2002 amendment was under discussion, and which continues to defend it. Accordingly, there has been some surprise and indignation on their part at the publication this month of a paper, written by a former laboratory vet, that offers a reasoned estimate of the numbers they did in fact get through in 2017-18. The objections have been partly to the idea of advertising the numbers at all: a “narrow, decontextualized focus on counting animals”, says Speaking of Research, another advocacy grouping, “is a disservice to thoughtful consideration of animal welfare, science, and public health.” But the count itself has also been disputed (why is this somehow familiar?). Speaking of Research makes its own estimate, appropriately un-narrow: “11-23 million” (these are numbers for all animals, so deduct about 0.75 million to get at the excepted ones). That illustrates at least the level of uncertainty on the subject, since this is an organisation of professionals with easy access to whatever information there is. The NABR puts the number at “just under 15 million”, convincingly precise, but no evidence is provided to support it.

The author of the paper that has caused this controversy, Dr Larry Carbone, believes the true number to be very much greater. He has aimed at something more serious than what Americans call a ball-park figure, such as the others are evidently content with; he has worked it out and shown his working. Collecting his information from a sample of laboratories, either by direct questioning or by means of Freedom of Information requests, he has used it to establish a standard or at least common relation between the number of animals reported as required under the Animal Welfare Act, and the number of rodents used in the same places. For the sake of clarity, Carbone refers to the former as ‘animals’, in inverted commas, highlighting the absurdity of the AWA’s counter-scientific definition. The rats and mice, he calculates, have normally comprised about 99.3% of the total. The national figure for reportable ‘animals’ in 2017-18 was 780,070. Applying that percentage, he concludes that the number of rats and mice consumed in the USA’s laboratories in that year was 111.5 million.

Of this astonishing quantity of mice and rats, Carbone estimates that 44 million were used in “painful or distressful experiments”: that is, in experiments which the United States Department of Agriculture, responsible for administering the AWA, would put in its class D (“with pain, with drugs” or ‘WPWD’) or class E (“with pain, no drugs” or ‘WPND’). Classes D and E correspond more or less to ‘moderate’ and ‘severe’ in UK terminology. As you’ll notice, however, the USDA classification doesn’t assess the pain or distress itself; it treats that as a simple yes or no matter, and then classifies according to whether anaesthetics or analgesics have been used, something which may have to do with the animal’s pain but may also reflect the requirements of the experiment. It’s not a very informative arrangement.

And that’s the first good reason for regarding Carbone’s “focus on counting animals” as indeed a service to “thoughtful consideration of animal welfare”. This veterinary surgeon with years of experience in the research laboratory summarizes it thus:

Rodents’ capacity to experience significant pain and distress in experiments is no longer contested. With over 100 million of these sentient animals born per year for American science, it is time to revisit the adequacy of their welfare protections.

Another good reason is that a calculation like Dr Carbone’s will in time show whether the use of animals in American science is going up or down. He believes that although the direction for the AWA’s ‘animals’is gradually downwards, the rodent numbers are “likely increasing”. Of course the two areMouse image from space research closely connected. The special protections given by law to ‘animals’ make the unprotected species  commensurately attractive to researchers, as allowing a freer hand. For as the Animal Welfare Institute (based in Washington D.C.) says,

Basic standards for their housing and care are not overseen by USDA veterinary inspectors . . . There is no legal mandate to consider alternatives to the use of these animals, or to devise means to alleviate or reduce pain and distress.

But there has been no way of evidencing the increase in their use until now – or until next year, rather. And even if the 111 million number is inaccurate as charged (and let’s hope that, however carefully arrived at, it is indeed an over-estimate), any series of numbers arrived at by a standardized calculation in successive years should provide reliable comparisons.

They would show, for instance, whether the 3Rs principles, notionally accepted by the profession in the USA, are being taken seriously in practice. The NABR refers to them in a conveniently distancing way as a “philosophy” (like Creationism, perhaps, or Swedenborgianism), and at present is urging its membership to lobby against a proposal to establish a National Center for Alternatives to Animals in Research which would promote them. In fact this proposal is one part of a momentous reform bill presently before Congress (and objected to in toto by the NABR): the Humane Research and Testing Act. This most welcome and promising Act would, among other things, “require NIH [National Institutes of Health] to track and disclose all vertebrate animals used, including rats, mice, birds and fish . . . and demonstrate its progress [i.e. in reducing numbers] through bi-annual reports.”

Dr Carbone’s calculation comes, then, at an apt and critical moment. Perhaps laborious detective mathematics such as he has had to use in order to stir up attention to what’s happening in American laboratories will soon be unnecessary, and researchers will be taking proper public responsibility for all the animals – all the vertebrate animals, at least – which they use and destroy in their work.

Notes and references:

The amendment which in just a few words excised birds, rats and mice from the Animal Welfare Act can be seen here: https://www.nal.usda.gov/awic/public-law-107-171-farm-security-and-rural-investment-act-2002

I haven’t tried to cover all the different ways in which the work of a research laboratory in the USA may be overseen as to animal welfare and ethics. For instance, I haven’t mentioned the important Institutional Animal Care and Use Committees, which all institutions that receive federal funds have to appoint, and which do roughly the work that Animal Welfare and Ethical Review Bodies do in the UK (though in a much more permissive environment, made notably more so during the years of the Trump administration).

Speaking of Research’s unfavourable review of Dr Carbone’s paper, including the quoted statement, can be read here: https://speakingofresearch.com/2021/01/12/factcheckneeded-how-are-mice-and-rats-accounted-for-in-the-balance-of-science-medicine-and-animal-welfare/. Its own estimate of numbers, as part of a comparative table of numbers in various countries, is offered here https://speakingofresearch.com/facts/animal-research-statistics/. NABR’s estimate is quoted in a New York Post article (described as a “best guess”, and I assume elicited by the journalist), dated 18 January 2021, here: https://nypost.com/2021/01/18/more-than-100-million-rats-mice-used-in-us-labs-report/

Dr Carbone’s paper ‘Estimating mouse and rat use in American laboratories by extrapolation from Animal Welfare Act-regulated species’ was published in the journal Scientific Reports, 12 January 2021: see  https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-020-79961-0

 The Animal Welfare Institute is quoted from its good summary of the situation titled ‘Rats, Mice, and Birds’, here: https://awionline.org/content/rats-mice-birds

A brief account of the proposed Humane Research and Testing Act can be read here: https://www.caareusa.org/humane_research_and_testing_act_of_2020_introduced

The first illustration is a detail from the late 15th century painting by Hieronymous Bosch, The Garden of Earthly Delights, in the collection of the Museo del Prado in Madrid. The roundel illustration shows the ‘mission patch’ for Rodent Research-IV, one of many research projects using rodents on the International Space Station. It’s aimed at understanding the effects of prolonged space flight on health, and more largely the processes of aging.

Fun We Had in 2020

Last year was a difficult one for many animal research laboratories (as reported in this blog: see notes below), difficult also for science conferences and other such networking. However, the Concordat on Openness, to which many bio-science institutions subscribe, held its end-of-year awards ceremony and issued its annual report as usual. The ceremony, held online, lacked the familiar prize-day atmosphere, of course, but the report seems as keen and boyish as ever. In fact Covid-19 has had some benefit for the Concordat project of “public engagement”, much of which is an online matter anyway, for as the report says, “One impact of the pandemic has been to increase the perceived relevance of biomedical and health research for the public.”

It’s easily understood. Conversations between grateful patients and the specialists researching their disease have been a common feature of animal research publicity. But now the specialist can address a whole grateful population feeling immediately vulnerable to the disease in question. In fact Understanding Animal Research (UAR), the promotional organisation which runs the Concordat, took early advantage of this “time of national emergency when people are focussed on their health” and commissioned a survey of attitudes to animal research during the first lock-down of 2020. This survey found that 73% of respondents would accept the use even of dogs and monkeys in research towards a Covid vaccine. (The percentage of those accepting their use for medical research in a similar survey two years ago was around 15.) However, since 29% of the same surveyed group (of 1,027 randomized individuals) opposed the use of any species in any research, it’s reasonable to conclude, as UAR admits, that “many people feel conflicted and remain uncomfortable with the idea of animal research.” In fact that percentage of people who object absolutely has changed little over the period of systematic surveys since 2014.

Anyway, the pandemic has meant that something stronger than the ordinary PR term ‘engagement’ was involved during 2020. Accordingly, the key word in the Concordat’s annual report is ‘share’: signatory institutions “share examples of their commonly used species”; they are congratulated for “sharing issues around animal research” or for “sharing stories on this subject”; they have “wonderful web-sites that share their use of animals with the public”. It’s not just a word, either. Three of the four ‘Openness Awards’ for 2020 went to projects which promoted public participation in some version or analogue of animal research.

Edinburgh’s Roslin Institute (the place which gave us Dolly the cloned sheep) had produced a ‘toolkit’ which enables children in school or even at home to carry out experiments using garden worms. The kit is punningly titled ‘Opening a Can of Worms’, because after all this is PR and, besides, animals are fun. But respectful fun, of course, and the judges considered that “this toolkit encouraged sensitivity in working with living animals to study behaviour.” Here, for instance, is the Roslin toolkit’s sensitive account of why it’s important to understand animal behaviour: “Animals give us companionship, help us do work, provide us with food and clothes, and they help us to study diseases and to make new medicines.” It makes you wonder what animals can have found to fill the time with before humans came and put purpose into their lives.

Southampton University likewise won its award for a ‘toolkit’. This one involved creating a mouse from craft materials and devising instructions for its proper care, a rather more appealing scheme, but equally aimed at familiarizing the young to the premise of such care: i.e. the keeping of animals for research. Both of these projects were clearly aimed at children (“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Proverbs, 22). The Mary Lyon Centre’s scheme of participation seems at first to be similarly directed. It’s fronted with a trio of cartoon mice (for the Centre’s business is the generating, archiving and trading of GM mice): they stand on their hind legs, one combing its hair (grooming, you see), the others eating and drinking in human style. We’re invited to “Burrow into the secret lives of mice”. But the purpose is actually a practical one: to get citizen-observers to watch and record the behaviour of mice on film. From their data, an algorithm will be created enabling mice to be supervised and assessed automatically while in their home cages. This is in fact a project for mass participation. The cartoons, puns, etc., are just, I suppose, the ordinary dermatitis of PR.

The fourth award went to Reading University for its publicity about using llamas to research therapies against Covid-19. As recorded in this blog, Reading won an award last year for its llama publicity. At that time, the highlight was an invitation to name a baby llama either ‘Boris’ or ‘Jeremy’. It’s wholly characteristic of the essential disposability of PR that there has been no further mention (or none that I can find) of that animal. The centre of attention this year is called – in much the same facetious spirit – Fifi.

Along with 2020’s emphasis on ‘sharing’, there has been the usual battery of more ex cathedra animal research publicity. The examples provided by signatories include presentations at science fairs, community festivals, schools, clinics, and other public events. Within the institutions, and aimed at staff, students, and any other associates, there have been articles in newsletters, express mentions in interviews and recruitment fairs, citations in reports and policy papers, even “public-facing TV screens across campuses”.

This saturation of publicity is aimed at taking the unpleasant surprise out of the subject, and surely it’s an astute policy and must be to some extent successful. Still, certain aspects of animal research continue to seem, even to practitioners, too unpleasant to advertise, and the Concordat report notes once again (for it candidly does note this every year) that many signatories are showing reluctance to provide “information that might show their research or institution in a negative light.” The report advises them that this is bad policy, and reminds them of “the risks of secrecy”.

The difficulty has very recently been illustrated in the case of Bath University, one of the fourteen ‘Leaders in Openness’ chosen as offering examples of openness to the others (there were 122 Concordat signatories in 2020). For some years scientists in Bath’s Department of Pharmacy and Pharmacology have been researching new chemical compounds for use in the treatment of depression. A news story issued by the university itself in 2017, and up-dated in 2019, spoke of “potential new anti-depressant and anti-anxiety treatment with a unique mechanism of action”, whose “promise” was being excitingly confirmed by its “anti-depressant like effects in mice”. The story ends with a reference to the Concordat and Bath’s own commitment to openness on the subject of animals in its research. So yes, it has been open about the involvement of mice, but much less explicit about how they’re being used – that is, in the so-called ‘forced-swim test’.

Forced-swimming_test

This ‘model’ of depression involves putting mice (or, less commonly, rats) into cylinders half-full of water from which they can’t escape, and leaving them to swim or float as they will for a test period of six minutes. The idea is that they swim when they’re feeling optimistic about finding a way out, but they merely float when they aren’t (they don’t sink). A ‘promising’ medication is something that induces the mice to spend a larger portion of the six minutes swimming hopefully. The protocol for this experimental device, first put forward in the journal Nature in 1977, has been fully described and filmed by researchers at the University of Maryland for the Journal of Visualized Experiments. It’s all posted online, so there’s no secrecy about it. Still, it makes unpleasant viewing (despite the curious good humour of the young presenters: “Good luck with your future experiments!” they cheerfully wish us at the end.)

For that reason, no doubt, Bath University seems to have been disconcerted by a complaint about the test from PETA, which included a request to provide material from its own video recordings. The university’s first official ‘Response to People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’ justified “the research highlighted” without even specifying what it was. After further complaint, it seems that the university must have discussed the matter with UAR and been persuaded to provide a more complete reply, including the requested film clip. There are now, therefore, two ‘fact-sheets’ on the matter offered to public attention: Bath’s own account and, linked from that, a more extended general account, also with illustrative film, provided by UAR.

This is just the sort of defensive flurry that the Concordat report urges its signatories to avoid by arranging for their own material to be “proactively placed in the public domain”. And of course the advantage of being ahead in that way is that the material has a favourable colouring when it first appears; in particular there’s no suggestion of secrecy or embarrassment about it. It’s what the Concordat calls ‘owning the story’. By contrast, the successive responses of Bath University to PETA’s challenge have necessarily seemed defensive and palliative. We’re told, in a video featuring one of the university’s researchers, that those six minutes of struggle or helplessness are “mildly stressful” for the mice (though in fact the procedure is classed by the Home Office’s as having ‘moderate’ not ‘mild’ severity). The pathetic efforts of the mice to escape up the sides of the cylinder are described as “climbing activities”. The intervals of helplessness are called “periods of immobility”, as if a welcome rest is being taken. The inventor of the forced-swim test, R.D. Porsolt, more frankly referred to the immobile phase in 1977 as “a state of despair”.

That’s not a phrase the Concordat managers would recommend these days, I’m sure, but animal research scientists had fewer inhibitions in the 1970s. To publicize the UAR survey in March last year, the organisation’s director, Wendy Jarrett, gave an interview to an online science news service in the course of which she referred to that period as “the bad old days”. She spoke in general with un-strident reasonableness, and claimed that UAR’s aim was (as its name suggests) only to promote understanding of animal research, looking forward to “a time when everyone understands”, not to insist or expect that everyone should “like” it. But by ‘understanding’ she also meant acceptance, and in line with that she quoted the survey in which “some people said ‘just because I accept something doesn’t mean I like it’.” The main thing, then, is to dislike it permissively, or at least quietly. Accordingly, what Wendy Jarrett meant by “the bad old days” of the 1970s was not the uninhibited cruelty and profligacy of the animal research at that time, but the “animal rights extremism”.

That indeed fitted her account of the succeeding decades, which presented the science as a more or less autonomously progressive enterprise: relinquishing the more contentious uses for animals (cosmetics testing, or alcohol research, for instance), commitment to the 3Rs, showing and telling as much as possible to the public. It may be true as a mere narrative, but the plot is missing. What she didn’t make clear was that the explanatory force behind it all has been the dissent. If there hadn’t been active and adversarial ‘dislike’, who can say how little ethical progress would have been made, or what fraction of the UK’s supervising bureaucracy, or of the systematic apparatus of ingratiation such as UAR and its Concordat, would have come into existence? Despite all the tonic publicity now coming out of animal research, it must be remembered that the practitioners do not in fact ‘own’ the subject: it’s in public ownership, and what happens to it will go on depending on how much dislike of it the public feels, and what the public does with that dislike.

Notes and references:

Some of the effects of the pandemic on animal research laboratories were discussed in this blog last April: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2020/04/08/which-crisis/

A fuller account of the Concordat and its influence was given in this blog here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2019/12/13/here-come-the-concordat-folk/.  The 2020 report of the Concordat on Openness on Animal Research is online here: https://www.understandinganimalresearch.org.uk/files/8516/0733/9083/Concordat_on_Openness_Annual_Report_2020.pdf,   and the four awards are reported here: https://www.understandinganimalresearch.org.uk/news/communications-media/2020-openness-awards/

PETA’s account of the Bath University affair, dated 1 December, is reported (with a link to a letter of protest) here: https://www.peta.org.uk/blog/bath-university-swim-test/?utm_source=PETA%20UK::E-Mail&utm_medium=E-News&utm_campaign=1220::viv::PETA%20UK::E-Mail::Bath%20Forced%20Swim%20Test%20Blog::::peta%20e-news

An abstract of Porsolt et al’s original paper in Nature putting forward the forced-swim test, and using the phrase “state of despair”, can be seen here: https://www.nature.com/articles/266730a0

Bath University’s initial response to the PETA complaint is posted here: https://www.bath.ac.uk/publications/open-response-to-peta-enquiry/attachments/response-to-peta-19-july.pdf

UAR’s post about the forced-swim test is here: https://www.understandinganimalresearch.org.uk/news/communications-media/factsheet-on-the-forced-swim-test/.  The University of Maryland account and presentation can be viewed here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3353513/

An Oxford Story

Fifty years ago Oxford, like many other universities, was going through a phase of political restlessness and dissent, at least among its students and younger dons. National and local controversies made themselves felt on Oxford’s walls in graffiti of an anti-establishment kind. ‘F– Franks’ was painted in giant letters on the wall of Keble College, in reference to the recent Franks Report on the University’s governance. Balliol’s west wall was used as a lively social medium for opinions and protests. World peace, socialism, anarchism, and other noble futures were declared imminent with priggish self-confidence in countless rooms and halls: “the revolution’s here”, as the hit song said in the summer of 1969.

In all this, of course, the animal theme had almost no part. There was a University Vegetarian Society, but then there was a society for almost every strange interest. College kitchens would provide an omelette as the all-purpose meat-alternative for the very few who wanted it. As for veganism: the 1969 Oxford Dictionary addenda of new words was recognizing hippy, fuzz, and drop-out, but still not including vegan, though that word had been in use since 1944. Academically too, the theme was invisible. The study of philosophy at Oxford was mainly devoted to linguistic analysis, ‘talk about talk’. Moral Philosophy involved discussion of key concepts such as ‘good’, and ‘duty’ in the abstract, or there was ‘meta-ethics’, which questioned whether our moral judgements had any communicable validity or were merely expressions of personal feeling, the consensus being in favour of the latter interpretation. Of applied ethics, a staple of philosophy departments nowadays, there was no official teaching at all.

As to the life-sciences, this was almost certainly the most profligate period so far in the University’s hundred-year history of vivisection (but no numbers were published, or even perhaps kept). The back parts of the physiology building smelled of distressed animals, and experiments using cats and monkeys in careless quantities were routine. After all, Oxford was a centre of vivisection in a nation which was at this time using about five million animals a year in its laboratories. To supervise all this, the Home Office was providing eleven inspectors.

Then in the Hilary Term of 1970 those same numbers were advertised in a remarkable leaflet composed by Richard Ryder and distributed by him round Oxford’s churches, schools, shops, and colleges. The witty and prodding text introduced the concept and word ‘speciesism’ (Ryder’s invention). Readers were told something about the practice and ethics of vivisection, and urged to contact “MPs, professors, editors about this increasingly important moral issue.” It was a heroic individual effort by someone who, as a psychiatrist working at Oxford’s Warneford Hospital, was taking a professional risk with it. And the University, in the person of Professor of Pharmacology William Paton, did indeed complain to the Warneford authorities about Ryder’s campaigning.

But there was by now a small band of people at Oxford, mostly post-graduate students, who shared Ryder’s concerns. Their thinking and their discussions were genuinely counter-cultural, as opposed to the ubiquitous bolshevism of student fashion, and together with Ryder they would soon produce an even more notable publication, the collection of essays titled Animals, Men and Morals (1971). This daring and momentous book would revive animal rights as a serious public controversy after a long period of disuse, and show also, by example, that the claims of animals deserved the attention of academic philosophers.

This ‘Oxford Group’ (again, Ryder’s coinage) numbered ten people – three married couples and four others – though for their book they had help and contributions from several other people from outside Oxford who were already involved in animal protection. How these ten met, and how they collectively created in that inhospitable Oxford environment (even today it’s not an animal-friendly scene) a corpus of thought which still reads with subversive power, is now the subject of a full-length book, The Oxford Group and the Emergence of Animal Rights: an Intellectual History, by Robert Garner and Yewande Okuleye. This book Ox Group coverrecords, mainly through interviews with former members of the Group, the key relationships and influences, the discussions and the shared meals, through which their moral convictions took considered form. It’s oral history, then, and there is vivid and extensive quotation, with many telling moments recorded: the ethical ‘epiphanies’; the dietary adventures (“Peter and Renata for dinner. Protoveg stroganoff, noodles, peas, olives, white wine. Nice visit.” says a diary entry); the slightly bashful demonstrations outside St Michael’s Church in central Oxford (Richard Ryder was the only natural activist among them at that time); the intellectual walks, including the one that took two of them past the body of a bird, killed by traffic (“If that were a dead person . . . they wouldn’t just leave the body beside the road”).

That last quotation is from the recollections of Peter Singer, but the speaker and acting moral tutor at the time was Stanley Godlovitch, who had been already a convinced vegetarian when he came to Oxford from Canada in 1968, and was accordingly a key persuader. But yes, Singer naturally has a leading part in the book. He arrived slightly later than the others. Animals, Men and Morals was already in the making, and he did not contribute, but his review of it later on for the New York Review of Books led to his own Animal Liberation (1975), a more compelling title and in time a much more successful book. Accordingly Singer rose professionally with the subject more than any of the others, going their own various ways as they did.

However, it’s one of the merits of The Oxford Group that it shows the collectivity of the ideas at that time and re-distributes their ownership (as Singer himself, least arrogant of celebrated thinkers, very willingly does in his interviews for the book). In particular it highlights the importance of Richard Ryder, less famous now than Singer but in fact a hero of the animal rights movement, who in any other sphere of the UK’s public life would surely have been honoured in some way by the state for his services.

Then there was Roslind Godlovitch. Like her husband Stanley, Roslind was a strong persuasive influence on Singer and the others. She had already published a pioneering article in the journal Philosophy, which she adapted for her chapter in Animals, Men and Morals. This is a witty and polemical piece, still illuminating and authoritative now. She contemplates the contemporary ethical notion that, although animals should be protected from suffering when possible, their lives in themselves have no moral value, and she subjects it to a contemptuous reductio ad absurdum, showing that our logical course should therefore be “to exterminate all animal life.” She then suggests, much as Jonathan Swift might have done, how governments and charities could collaborate to achieve this end. But in fact, as she says with moving absoluteness, “there is nothing to indicate that an animal values its life any less than a human being values his” (the ‘his’ is perhaps of its period; the statement itself is surely for all time). Roslind Godlovitch, who discontinued her post-graduate research and wrote nothing further about animal ethics, is one of the five members of the Oxford Group to whom Singer dedicated Animal Liberation.

Richard Garner, the lead author of The Oxford Group, is a notable and well-published proponent of animal rights. In particular he has argued, as a political scientist, for the incorporation of animal interests in the political system. But for this study of ideas he has expressly chosen to be impartial as to the quality of the arguments involved: “agnostic” is the term he uses. That seems wise for a historian and interviewer, and the arguments speak adequately and indeed passionately for themselves, or rather for the personalities who are recorded as proposing them. But Garner has gone further and cast the whole story as a sociological study, illustrating “the social construction of knowledge”, or how humans collaborate to create ideas and give them currency.

It makes for a clear organizing principle, certainly, but I would say also an unfortunate one. It’s not just that the dead hand of sociological jargonizing lies heavily upon some parts of the text, but I shall take that first. It especially affects the opening chapter, which lays out the theoretical machinery and will surely tend to alienate the common reader and doom the book to the shelves of university libraries (though the price may do that anyway). For instance this, by way of providing some theory for the interviews: “The dynamics of an oral history interview is usually centred around the intersubjectivity between the interviewer and interviewee.” I choose this sentence partly as a sample of sociology’s habit of disguising the patently obvious in nebulous abstracts, and partly to illustrate the baleful influence which this habit of abstract diction has on ordinary nearby English: “dynamics is”? “”centred around”?

But perhaps more unfortunate is the incongruity between this study-bound theory and the energy, urgency, and sense of revelation which (as the book clearly shows us) animated the members of the Oxford Group. That encounter with the dead bird, for instance, so immediate and also so emblematic (Albert Schweitzer saw a dead insect as both a lesson and a real presence in just the same way), is part of a section intended to illustrate “the Role of the Gatekeepers”. That’s “in Farrell’s terminology”, Professor Michael Farrell being the chief supplier of sociological theory to the book – and the reader comes to dread his name, academically distinguished as it no doubt is.

I would finally add that, as David Wood argues in his chapter of Animals, Men and Morals, jargon is a notorious enemy of clear moral awareness. He titles the chapter ‘Strategies’ (i.e. strategies to conceal what’s really happening to animals) and shows how “a huge pattern of jargon” has been deployed with great success to obscure the realities of meat and dairy production. Again, therefore, the use of this sort of abstract and distancing language in The Oxford Group is painfully incongruous.

Still, the story easily escapes this theoretical cage, and it’s a fascinating, exciting, and moving story, whose importance is growing all the time. In his ‘Postscript’ to Animals, Men and Morals, Patrick Corbett (of Balliol, but by 1970 a professor at Sussex) says “we want to change the world.” How many of the restless spirits at Oxford in the late 1960s were thinking and saying that! So many of their projects came to nothing, and often enough it’s just as well they did. But here was one that most fortunately did not. Sadness we must feel that it continues to be relevant and urgent fifty years on, but profound gratitude too for the originality and fervour of that band of ten – and of course gratitude also, despite my carping, towards the authors who have now given the Oxford Group its proper history.

Notes and references:

The Oxford Group and the Emergence of Animal Rights: an Intellectual History, by Robert Garner and Yewande Okuleye, is published by Oxford University Press, price £47.99. Please note that the date of publication was 17 December 2020, and this review of it uses a proof copy only. There will have been changes, and accordingly I don’t give page references.

The song quoted is Thunderclap Newman’s ‘Something in the Air’, which was top of the hit parade for a while in July 1969, but Bob Dylan’s ‘Times They Are a-Changin’, with its stern advice to “mothers and fathers . . . don’t criticize what you don’t understand”, would summarize the outlook just as well.

The new words are listed in the ‘Addenda’ to the 4th edition of the Little Oxford Dictionary, OUP, 1969.

The text of Richard Ryder’s 1970 leaflet is provided at pp. 44-5. Professor Paton later wrote a defence of animal research, Man and Mouse: Animals in Medical Research, OUP, 1984.

Animals, Men and Morals, edited by Stanley and Roslind Godlovitch, was published by Victor Gollancz. Quotations are from pp. 168 and 164 (Godlovitch chapter), 199 (David Wood), and 232 (Patrick Corbett). Contributors from outside the Oxford Group included Ruth Harrison, Brigid Brophy (who partly organised the project), Muriel Lady Dowding, and Maureen Duffy.