Counting the Animals again

The Home Office has now published its Annual Statistics of Scientific Procedures on Living Animals, Great Britain for 2018. Here is VERO’s selective summary of the numbers and species, alongside those of 2017 (which seem to have been slightly revised since they were published last year), with some comments to follow:

 Species  Number used in 2018  Number used in 2017
 Mice   2,568,197    2,781,685
 Fish   454,340    514,059
 Rats   177,904    241,544
 Domestic fowl   141,069    125,280
 Sheep    53,672    47,499
 Guinea Pigs    6,445    22,560
 Horses    10,424    10,600
 Rabbits    11,159    10,362
 Dogs    4,481     3,847
 Non-human primates    3,127     2,962
 Other species    89,099     28,975
 Total:   3,519,917   3,789,373

Direction of travel: You may notice that there has been a fall of about 7% in the numbers since last year. You certainly will notice it if you read the Home Office report itself, since the point is made twice in the first four pages, as is also the fact that this is the lowest number since 2007 (a fact highlighted in attractive purple each time). There has been a fall in each of the last three years, so perhaps it is now possible to detect a real and very welcome downwards trend after years of more or less steady increase. Still, there is a long way to go (to go back), for even this 2018 number is about 34% greater than the number recorded in 2001.

Particular species: There has been a fall in numbers for most species, but you’ll see that two of those which have special protection under the 1986 Act have not enjoyed a share in it: dogs and non-human primates. The sad thing is that these animals are mainly used in so-called ‘regulatory testing’, the most patently unpleasant category of research, and one which has always had the worst severity ratings: this year, 12.5% of the procedures were classified as ‘severe’ (i.e. the top pain rating), compared to about 2% of the procedures for ‘basic’ research. Dogs (which mercifully don’t appear in the ‘severe’ category this year) and primates are used primarily for the testing of human and veterinary ‘medical products’, by the method called ‘repeated dose toxicity’. Other animals in this category of research may be required to test industrial chemicals, biocides, animal feeds (this, we’re told, is “for the safety of target animals, workers and environment”, so God knows what these feeds contain), and an unspecified ‘other’, in which again both dogs and primates feature.

The testing methods used on the less-protected animals still include the notorious LD50 and LC50 tests, as well as unspecified ‘other lethal methods’. That word ‘other’ acquires a sinister character in these records, but “other lethal” is an illogical category anyway, since all or nearly all this laboriously counted work is lethal in the not-so-long run for the animals, even when they are not killed by the product itself.

The 10,000 or so procedures on horses recorded in this Home Office report (up 19% since 2009) appear likewise mainly in this ‘regulatory’ category, although in fact the horses are being used not for testing but for the routine production of blood derivatives. You can see some of the uses to which this blood is put being advertised on the web-site of TCS Biosciences (“your partner: For Life”). In the USA, these uses include the keeping of farmed sows regularly in heat, by means of ‘Pregnant Mare Serum Gonadotropin’. I mention this as one stray and disgusting instance of the way that animal research serves and therefore promotes high-tech animal farming. Scientists often compare the animal costs of their work favourably with the suffering and death-rate in agriculture; it’s a defence they have been using ever since they discovered that vivisection required defending. But the distinction is altogether disingenuous: farming as now practised would not have been possible, let alone profitable, without the steady support of laboratory science.

Democracy at work, or not: The 1986 Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act requires the Home Office to “publish and lay before Parliament” these annual statistics in order that the people, acting through their representatives, can knowingly assent to them. In practice this assent is assumed rather than annually petitioned for. Some challenges there are, of course. ‘Early Day Motions’ may be tabled, in which MPs express their dissent: at present there is one such (EDM 66), signed by 63 MPs and calling for “a thorough, properly moderated public scientific debate on the misleading and costly practice of trying to apply results from animal experiments to human patients.” Or questions may be put to ministers; for instance, on 3 September 2018, the excellent (and vegan) MP Kerry McCarthy asked about the increased use of horses for blood collection, as mentioned above. Much more rarely there are dedicated debates, the most recent of them on 5 February 2013, held in Westminster Hall and simply titled ‘Animal Experiments’.

But the lack of a proper departmental home and a dedicated minister for all animal subjects means that no great momentum is ever created out of these haphazard initiatives. Animal research alone is dealt with in fragments by at least three major departments: the Home Office, the Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy, and the Department of Health and Social Care. It’s a situation tragi-comically reflected in the name of the Home Office agency responsible for putting out these annual statistics: the Fire, Licensing and Public Order Analysis Unit.

In the absence of sustained parliamentary fuss, these statistics and the exploitation of animals which they dimly shadow have come to seem like a sort of natural or at least sociological phenomenon, rather than a deliberate moral choice. The Home Office report itself sets the style for that way of viewing them. Surveying the variations in numbers over the years since 1987, it provides this helpful explanation: “The number of procedures carried out on living animals is determined by several factors, including the focus of scientific and medical endeavours, the economic climate and global trends in new technologies or fields of research.” No one’s really in charge, then; we’re all just bystanders. And it then becomes reasonable to take the view noted in this blog when last year’s statistics were published: that is, that big numbers are actually an indication that all’s well in UK life-science research – or, as one promotional organisation has said this time round, “Year-to-year numbers are thus best seen as a reflection of the current health of UK bioscience investment and will fluctuate year-on-year.”

Fluctuate! We’re a very long way here not just from the pains of the animals whom these statistics are nominally about, but also from the moral purpose clearly though imperfectly put into political effect in the 1986 Act and the 2010 European Directive. For them, downward was the desired and proper direction, not an accident of economics.

Well, it’s true that counting animals is not the essence of animal rights, but falling numbers are emphatically better than rising numbers, and if the present trend in that direction is to be kept going we need to remind our political representatives (even at this least propitious of political times) to keep the subject controversial. Many MPs really do mind about animals, and even more of them know that their constituents do. To illustrate as much, here is an MP speaking about animal research back in 1971, at the high point of vivisection numbers in the UK, just preceding the long fall towards 2001: “I know that the object is to preserve human life; but it does make me wonder whether a human race that can take such morally degrading practices in its stride is really worth preserving.”  OU primate

Yes, that’s the proper context in which to view and debate these annual statistics.

 

 

 

Notes and references:

The Annual Statistics can be found here (the quotation comes from p.5): https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/818578/annual-statistics-scientific-procedures-living-animals-2018.pdf

The tables of data are now published separately, and are linked here: https://www.gov.uk/government/statistics/statistics-of-scientific-procedures-on-living-animals-great-britain-2018

Information about the farming of horses for blood comes from this web-site: https://www.thedodo.com/turning-horse-blood-into-profits-1382177497.html

A transcript of the Westminster Hall debate can be read here: https://hansard.parliament.uk/Commons/2013-02-05/debates/13020535000001/AnimalExperiments

The parliamentary briefing document, titled Animal Experiment Statistics, was published on 25 April: a summary of it is available here, with a link to the full pdf version provided at the end: https://researchbriefings.parliament.uk/ResearchBriefing/Summary/SN02720#fullreport

The quotation about “year-to-year numbers” is from the Speaking of Research web-site here: https://speakingofresearch.com/2019/07/22/great-britain-releases-2018-statistics-on-animals-used-in-research/

Unfortunately I don’t know who the last-mentioned MP was: he or she is quoted without name or reference by Desmond Morris in his book Intimate Behaviour (Jonathan Cape, 1971), p.183.

The photograph of a rhesus macaque monkey in Oxford University’s Biomedical Sciences Building, probably himself long since an annual statistic, is used by courtesy of the university’s Public Affairs Office.

 

More about the Mouse

The unhappy rise of the mouse as an industrialized laboratory animal has already featured in this blog (see ‘Earth-born Companions’, 7 July 2017). Now it seems that the institution described in that post as driving and servicing this development in the UK, the Medical Research Council’s Harwell Institute in Oxfordshire (“ground breaking mammalian genetics”), is likely to close. That would end scientific research there – though not the breeding and supplying of mice to other institutions, which is a separate operation on the same site. The reason for this closure hasn’t been made public. However, there is similar news from another UK centre for research using mice, the Wellcome Sanger Institute in Cambridgeshire, which is about to close down its own mouse-breeding department (though in this case not the research itself), and for this a clear public explanation has been given: “The Sanger Institute is increasingly using alternative technologies to deliver its scientific strategy and this has led to fewer mice being needed.”

We might hope and suppose that these two decisions by notable centres for mouse research indicate a waning of professional enthusiasm for such work. And certainly there has been plenty of criticism of it in recent years. A semi-humourous branch of this criticism appears regularly in the Twitter account @justsaysinmice. Announcements in the press of exciting medical ‘breakthroughs’ (“Scientists make breakthrough with potential new tinnitus cure”, “Scientists discover ‘critical breakthrough’ in cure for baldness”) are re-posted there with the deflationary heading ‘In mice’. The Twitter account is run by a scientist who expressly does not intend it as an attack on the research itself; still, it highlights the truth that most of these ‘breakthroughs’ will remain exclusively mouse-related and not be heard of again in public.

It’s hard to know how far the scientists themselves are to blame when their work is casually bounced into human relevance like this. Some of them seem all too content to be pursuing research on mice as if it’s a goal in itself – which professionally it may well be. But perhaps it’s a point of tactics not to make that too obvious. ‘Social transmission of food safety depends on synaptic plasticity in the prefrontal cortex’ announces a recent report in a professional journal, describing research into the way mice influence each other’s choice of food with involuntary scent signals. This is not offered as a study of mouse behaviour, but as a highly technical and invasive piece of neuroscience, and you may notice the definite article – “the prefrontal cortex” – suggesting the discovery of a general truth. Even so, it soon becomes clear that we’re really just learning a bit more about mice (at their own considerable expense). At no point is any relevance to human diet proposed, and since humans are weak in scent-awareness but do have other more reliable ways of learning from each other what’s good to eat, it’s hard to see how there could be any relevance. The article illustrates the way that mice have become not so much a preliminary in medical research, as something like a surrogate for it.

No wonder, then, that one critical study of neuroscience’s preoccupation with mice has likened it to the situation in Hans Christian Anderson’s story ‘The Emperor’s New Emperor's ClothesClothes’: a kind of shared delusion or conspiracy to admire what isn’t really there. As a result of this delusion, “vast investments of both time and money” have been put into research “rarely translating into successful treatment of major disorders in humans” (aka ‘just in mice’).

We’ll come back later to that article, which is itself not quite what at first it seems. Meanwhile what needs noticing is that none of this criticism from within the profession, valuable as it may be, has any ethical dimension – at least, not one that includes the animals. There was an article in the journal Science recently (31 May issue) complaining of sexism in mouse research, and sub-headed “outdated gender stereotypes are influencing experimental design in laboratory animals.” The charge was that researchers have habitually preferred to use male animals, male mice particularly, because they believe that “circulating ovarian hormones make data from female animals messier and more variable than data from males.” In neuroscience, this preference has encouraged the view that the male brain is the standard, from which the female brain is a more or less unpredictable deviation. It’s an interesting and convincing claim, but the proposed cure for this sexism, which is naturally enough to incorporate female animals in all such studies, will evidently involve using more mice than before. Some studies would simply have to be doubled to accommodate both genders.

So although there’s a strong ethical correction being made here, the mice have no part or profit in it. That becomes especially obvious when the author, Rebecca Shansky of the Department of Psychology at Northeastern University, casually lists some of the ruthless research devices in which these mice, male or female, must participate: “tests such as the elevated plus maze [a device to measure anxiety-responses], forced swim and fear conditioning”. Many more of the like to come, then, because Dr Shansky’s mice may help her and others to break the prerogative of the man, but she won’t be helping them against the prerogative of the human. Ethically, the mice are to remain non-entities.

But then even the Sanger Institute (to return to that piece of good news for mice) doesn’t present its increased use of “alternative technologies” as an ethical advance. Although the Institute’s public statement does refer to the welfare of the mice as being put at risk by reductions in staff, and even cites the 1986 Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act in that connection, it most strangely leaves unmentioned the main long-term objective of that Act, which is exactly to reduce the numbers of animals used in research. Why isn’t the Institute taking any credit for its part in realizing this aim?

I can think of only two reasons. One is that there is no enthusiasm within the profession for the aim, and it would seem tactless therefore to celebrate what the staff and fellow-professionals will see as pure loss. (Conversely, you may recall that the CEO of Understanding Animal Research greeted the Home Office animal count of 3.7 million last year as a healthy sign of “the important contribution that the UK makes to scientific and medical advancement worldwide”: see this blog for 23 July 2018.) The other and closely-related reason is that it simply didn’t occur to the Institute to make the connection: i.e. that reducing numbers has never been a serious objective there.

Back to the emperor’s new clothes. The article in question was written by “a junior professor [Michael Yartsev] trying to learn from the lessons of the past and look into the future”. The ‘emperor’, in Yartsev’s re-telling of the tale, stands for his own chosen field of research, neuroscience; the ‘clothes’ are the research animals which are most commonly used there (what he calls “the standard model organisms”). These he lists as rats, mice, and humans.

Eh? Humans? Are even humans themselves of merely illusory usefulness as test subjects for neuroscience? No, because the Hans Anderson analogy is all wrong. Yartsev is not like the boy who uniquely spots that the emperor has nearly nothing on; quite the contrary, he shares the general confidence in those “standard model organisms” and the “great benefits” they bring. His correction, much like Rebecca Shansky’s, is only that they’re not enough. This is more or less intelligible from his title, once you know: ‘The emperor’s new wardrobe: rebalancing diversity of animal models in neuroscience research’. Not real clothes, then, but more clothes, more species, are what’s needed for progress in that looked-into future, or as he says in his junior-professorial prose, “This necessitates expanding the portfolio of utilized animal models”.

Yartsev’s keen and fresh-minded vision of the future is made all the more dismal to read by its essential conformity. The young scientist scans the whole natural world, noting its rich variety (and making clear whose it is): “Over 8 million species reside on our planet.” And he sees it all as laboratory fodder. Why, he asks, are we leaving so many of these species alone? In the case of “vocal learning”, for instance: true, we’ve branched out into the songbirds here (and how sad and ominous that word is, in this research context!), but what about bats, cetaceans, elephants, non-human primates? We’ve scarcely troubled these mammals on the subject. Nor, for this or any other purpose, do we have to take them merely as they are. It was genetic manipulation which made the mouse so variously useful, but now there are “revolutionary DNA-editing methods that can be applied to any animals”.

This vision of the future was published in the USA, where the legal and moral hindrances to animal research are very much weaker than they are in Europe; mice, after all, do not count as animals at all in the relevant legislation there (nor do “songbirds”). Still, it’s a vision that Europe’s scientists evidently share, as a report from one of their EMBO conferences – which incidentally provides a link to the Yartsev article – makes very plain. One EMBO member is quoted as saying, “For a long time, the good excuse to ignore about 99.9999% of species was that it was technically almost impossible to study them. But this is now changing.” That number is facetiously extended to four decimal points presumably to show how enormous is the variety of life that awaits our exploitation. (By the way, to find out – or to fail to find out – what the initials stand for, go to the EMBO home page; it’s the first and the last information you’re given on the point: “EMBO stands for excellence in the life sciences.” Yes, the true PR touch!)

Remember that the European Directive of 2010 which governs all such studies has, as its “final goal”, the “full replacement of procedures on live animals for scientific and educational purposes”. Why do the people who actually carry out the procedures seem so little aware of this objective that they only qualify their devotion to experimenting on mice to the extent that they can find newer species to try? The explanation is at least partly that the “full replacement” is only to be effected, so the Directive unfortunately stipulates, when “it is scientifically possible to do so”. The date is thus made the scientists’ own property, and they therefore can and do push it steadily into the further distance ahead of them as they move towards Yartsev’s and EMBO’s exciting future. Meanwhile, the rise of such organisations as Understanding Animal Research and its European equivalents, and of in-house PR teams to manage web-sites and other publicity, enables the scientists simply to farm out the ethics and concentrate on their own professional aims.

How strictly professional those aims are becomes disconcertingly clear at the end of the Yartsev article. All that talk of new techniques and new laboratory species, which you might expect to culminate in a vision of world-wide neuroscience-led mental health, turns out, in the last sentence, to be “for the overall benefit of the neuroscience research community”. But then whether the emperor’s clothes were real or not didn’t make any essential difference to his attendant subjects either.

So much for the mouse as viewed, used, and existentially depreciated by practitioners of the life sciences. For the mouse in its true and proper relation to ourselves, I refer you to the Robert Burns poem ‘To a mouse’, which is discussed at the end of the post cited in my first sentence above.

 

Notes and references:

The post ‘Earth born Companions’ can be read here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/earth-born-companions/

The Harwell Institute news is reported in the Guardian newspaper here: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2019/jun/20/uk-mouse-genetics-centre-faces-closure-threatening-research , and the closure of the Sanger Institute breeding programme is announced here: https://www.sanger.ac.uk/news/view/sanger-institute-animal-research-facility-close

The article ‘Social transmission of food safety’ appeared in Science, 7 June 2019.

The ‘emperor’s new wardrobe’ article was published in the issue of Science dated 27 October 2017, and can be read here: https://science.sciencemag.org/content/358/6362/466

EMBO actually stands for European Molecular Biology Organisation. The report cited, with its snappy Americanized title ‘Model organisms: new kids on the block’, can be read here: https://www.embo.org/news/articles/2017/model-organisms-new-kids-on-the-block.

The “final goal” is stated very early in Directive 2010/63/EU, at paragraph 10 of the preamble: see https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=celex%3A32010L0063.

The illustration showing the emperor in his ‘new clothes’, with admiring public, is by Hans Anderson’s contemporary illustrator Vilhelm Pederson.

Apes and Academics

In one of Franz Kafka’s short stories, titled ‘A Report to an Academy’, an ape nick-named Red Peter tells his story to an assembly of intellectual dignitaries: how he was shot and caged in West Africa, then shipped to Europe, and how he managed to find there, if not freedom, at least a “way out” of his captivity by becoming a performing animal, a human impersonator, on the vaudeville circuit. The description of Red Peter’s laborious and finally successful attempts to turn himself into a sort of human make an uncomfortably satiric fable. It’s usually understood as telling the story of Jewish assimilation into Western culture: reasonably enough, since Kafka was himself Jewish, and the story was first published in the journal Die Jude. It might also be read as the sacrifices which an artist may have to make to fit into a society made by Philistines, or more generally as the transformation of the Freudian child into the socialized adult.

But that’s not how Red Peter is understood when he turns up in a more recent address to an academy, the one given by the fictitious novelist Elizabeth Costello to the academics of Appleton College in J.M.Coetzee’s story The Lives of Animals (itself originally delivered as an address to an academy, in the form of the Tanner Lectures at Princeton University, 1997-8). Costello starts her discourse by telling her audience that as she stands in front of them she feels “a little like Red Peter myself”. But in case they should take this for self-deprecating good humour, “a light-hearted remark, meant to set you at ease”, she bleakly insists on its literalism: “It means what it says. I say what I mean.” And likewise she will not be interpreting Red Peter in good academic style as the artist obliged to please in order to live or, say, as the woman making her way in a world fashioned by men. For again she corrects the academic habit of abstraction: “I have a literal cast of mind . . . When Kafka writes about an ape, I take him to be talking in the first place about an ape.”

What then does Red Peter mean strictly as an ape, and an ape who, so far from standing in for a human (for the Jew, for the artist), is himself now apparently being stood in for, at Appleton College, by a distinguished old lady, Elizabeth Costello?

In the same year in which Kafka’s short story appeared, 1917, the psychologist Wolfgang Köhler had published The Mentality of Apes, an account of his work with chimpanzees at a research station on the island of Tenerife. Like Red Peter, so Costello says, Köhler’s apes “underwent a period of training intended to humanize them”, which included the setting of various problems or difficulties for the chimpanzees to solve in order to get at their food. You note that word “training”. Costello speaks of “what the apes on Tenerife learned from their master”, and of the most adept of them, named Sultan, “beginning to see how the man’s mind works”. Köhler’s research was not, then, aimed at understanding the ape-mind as it naturally is; rather the aim was to see how nearly it could be induced to work like a man’s. His title might more accurately have been The Mentality of Humans.

That, at any rate, is how Elizabeth Costello reads the book – a book which she in fact suggests Kafka himself had read before writing ‘Report to an Academy’. She analyzes Köhler’s experiments thus:  “As long as Sultan continues to think wrong thoughts [i.e. not puzzle-solving thoughts], he is starved . . . At every turn Sultan is driven to think the less interesting thought . . . he is relentlessly propelled towards lower, practical, instrumental reason.” And this is indeed how Red Peter has earned his own food, his means to live comfortably: by imitating the behaviour of humans (spitting, drinking, or shaking hands, according to the models available) and deliberately relinquishing his ape heritage. “I can no longer attain,” he says, “the old apish truth.”

So Elizabeth Costello sets the story of Red Peter in the context of animal research, and of the stripped-down version of the animal which is all that is useful or even intelligible to it. (Thus Oxford’s Professor Burdon Sanderson in 1876: “The study of Science is measurementthe life of plants and animals is in a very large measure an affair of measurement.”) For all Red Peter’s rather ghastly self-satisfaction (part of being ‘human’, perhaps), he is no more than anthropological evidence for his attentive academicians, as he is no more than a ‘turn’ for his vaudeville audiences. And for this acceptance into the human circle, “what has he had to give up?” asks Costello. A painful defeat has been involved.

But there is also a much larger context of defeat to the story. That human mentality, in favour of which Red Peter has foregone his own “apish truth”, has in fact overshadowed the whole kingdom of animals. “In the olden days,” says Costello (the fairy-tale phrase suggesting that she’s not proposing to speak the language of “reason” herself),

the voice of man, raised in reason, was confronted by the roar of the lion, the bellow of the bull. Man went to war with the lion and the bull, and after many generations won that war definitively . . . Animals have only their silence left to confront us. Generation after generation, heroically, our captives refuse to speak to us.

Except Red Peter, that is. And in him we can see how humans have indeed made themselves and their “reason” the measure of the world: he can only be understood, only respected and allowed out of captivity, as a quasi-human, a plucky runner-up in life’s race. That’s why in fact he admits, right at the beginning of his address, that he can tell his audience nothing about the life of an ape. All that he now knows of it, they already know: he is, after all, their creation.

So it’s the tragic character of this defeat, this loss of the animal voice and share in the world, that Elizabeth Costello means to represent to her Appleton audience when she tells them that she feels like Red Peter. For all his grotesquely humanoid manners, Red Peter is, she says, “a branded, marked, wounded animal presenting himself as speaking testimony to a gathering of scholars.” And just so is she, “an animal exhibiting, yet not exhibiting, to a gathering of scholars, a wound, which I cover up under my clothes but touch on in every word I speak.” Red Peter’s wound (he sometimes shows it to his audiences) is the one made by the rifle which brought him down and hustled him into the human world: it’s the record or scar of his humanization. Elizabeth Costello’s is the converse of that: it is her heritage as an animal, her share in Red Peter’s wound and in all the wounds which modern life inflicts upon non-human animals.

But she has to remind her audience that it isn’t she alone who has this heritage: “we are all animals”. Accordingly she insists that we all do have (contrary to what the philosopher Thomas Nagel has argued), the capacity to understand other animals as they really are, and the duty therefore to compassionate them: “I can think my way into the existence of a bat or a chimpanzee or an oyster, any being with whom I share the substrate of life.” It is not just a case of imaginative sympathy, although Costello does indeed urge the Appleton scholars to use and trust this faculty: “open your heart and listen to what your heart says.” (The scholars are “nonplussed” by this emotional appeal.) It’s also a matter of fact: there really is that “substrate of life” which we share with all living things. Without it, we could not have come into existence as a species. Red Peter himself impishly reminds his academicians of it, when he refers to “your own apehood, gentlemen, to the extent that there is anything like that in your past”.

And now we can appreciate better the story that Kafka’s Red Peter, understood not as a Jew or an artist but literally as an ape, is telling: it’s the story of human evolution, and of our misuse of it. Red Peter is both the first and the last man: the first as, struggling out of his former species, he becomes human; the latest, as he pulls up the ladder, forgetting his ape-life, speaking scornfully of his former species, keeping a miserable “half-trained chimpanzee” as a sort of concubine but shunning her during the day. Just so has humanity pulled up the ladder connecting it to all that “substrate of life” from which it emerged. What impoverishment has been involved is suggested in the superficial tricks and manners which constitute Red Peter’s humanity. In Coetzee’s story, it is suggested also in the discomfort of the Appleton minds, their awkward inadequacy in facing Elizabeth Costello’s unhappy passion, her “wound”.

But of course there is a worse impoverishment entailed for the animals themselves. Lives of Animals.JPGThat wound, metaphorical in her case, is horribly factual in the case of the real animals whose lives, “all around us as I speak”, are circulating in the modern world’s “enterprise of degradation, cruelty and killing . . . an enterprise without end, self-regenerating, bringing rabbits, rats, poultry, livestock ceaselessly into the world for the purpose of killing them”. Their story, implicit in Kafka’s sardonic fable, is presented to the academy by Coetzee’s Elizabeth Costello in plain light as the human and animal tragedy it is.

 

Notes and references:

Quotations from ‘A Report to an Academy’ are as translated by Stanley Applebaum in The Metamorphosis and Other Stories, Dover Publications 1996, pp.81-88.

J.M.Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals later became ‘Lesson 4’ in the novel Elizabeth Costello: Eight Lessons, which is the text from which the quotations above are taken (Vintage Books 2004, pp.91-115). There’s more about Coetzee and Lives of Animals on the VERO web-site here: http://www.vero.org.uk/matthewsimpson2.pdf

Professor Burdon Sanderson is quoted from a lecture published in the journal Nature, 1876, vol.14, pp.117. The painting Science is Measurement (1879) by Henry Stacy Marks is said (by Terrie Romano in Making Medicine Scientific Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002, p.127) to have been inspired, at least as to its title, by Burdon Sanderson’s lecture. It belongs in the collection of the Royal Academy of Arts, London.

What Are Sixty Warblers Worth?

Most of the animals used in laboratories are of the commonly domesticated species, or at least ones that will submit to domestication. No doubt that has been partly or wholly the reason for selecting them in the first place. There’s a peculiar treachery involved here: lethal advantage is being taken of just that trust which domestication has deliberately created. It’s a treachery poignantly dramatized by Richard Adams in his novel The Plague Dogs (see this blog at 15 January 2017). The case of wild animals in research is different, but has its own special unpleasantness. Against them, mere force is used rather than guile, but reading reports of research using wild animals one has a strong sense of something worse than treachery: an insult against nature, perhaps against life itself.

A current example is the brain research conducted by Dr Sheesh Mysore, using barn owls. Mysore and his coadjutors study, among other things, “the neural mechanisms of selection”: that is, how the mind of an owl chooses what to pay attention to and what to ignore or defer. A journalist from the USA’s National Public Radio recently paid a visit to the “basement laboratory” at Johns Hopkins University where this work is being done. Uncritically impressed by what he has seen, in the familiar way of such science reporters, he describes the “team’s long-term goal” as “to figure out what goes wrong in the brains of people with attention problems, including attention deficit hyperactivity disorder”. In fact Dr Mysore, no doubt intellectually easing off in this complaisant company, tells his visitor that there’s hardly a limit to the mind-ailments likely to be served by his sort of work (“Pretty much name a psychiatric disorder . . .”). He is rather more cautious on his own web-site, where also it is very clear that a large part of what drives this research is pure curiosity about “interesting neuroscientific questions”.

Curiosity is a necessary element in this as in any line of science, but making barn owls suffer for it, or indeed suffer for any other human reason, is not. And suffer they undoubtedly do. These owls are studied by means of “in vivo electrophysiology”: that is, they are immobilized in tubes or clamps (this is the only point at which anaesthesia is briefly used, so that the animals can be easily handled), and then testing probes of some kind are inserted into their heads. Sights and sounds of a challenging kind are then projected at them (“bursts of noise . . . an object approaching quickly”), and their “neural mechanisms”, helplessly confronting these insults, are recorded. When not Bewick's owlbeing thus investigated or subsequently killed and anatomized, these beautiful birds – in nature solitary and shy, with their acute sight and hearing, and their habit of sudden vigorous flight – are lodged in the wretchedly minimalist conditions of Dr Mysore’s laboratory, up to six of them in a cage. If the cages pictured on NPR’s web-site are a fair sample, then these animals, even when off-duty, are being given a pathetic fraction of what they need for an undistressed life, short as that will evidently be.

Owls are so unsuited to captivity that it’s illegal to keep them as pets in the USA without special licence. Yet nothing is said in the NPR broadcast about their welfare, though the journalist notices that the particular owl being handled by Mysore at the time is “distraught” (it can be heard screeching). In the laboratory’s most recent publication on this research – ‘Combinatorial neural inhibition for stimulus selection across space’ (Cell Reports, 25, 1158-70, Oct.30 2018) – information on the ethics and welfare implications of the work takes up less than 100 words in an article of 23 mostly two-column pages. From it we learn that these owls were “shared across several studies” (as one might share equipment), and were treated “in accordance with NIH guidelines”, whatever that implies. The National Institutes of Health is the major provider of funds for animal research in the USA – by no means a dis-interested party.

Crude and unpleasant as is this raid on wild nature, it is at least frankly predatory. There’s no pretence that it will do owls any good. Indeed, the whole tragic point is that such birds are completely free of “attention problems” of any kind: unlike humans, they are beautifully adapted to the way of life which, over countless millennia, they have made for themselves. They don’t need human help, and certainly nobody at Johns Hopkins is pretending to give it, even to the extent of providing decent living conditions for them.

However, there’s a line of research which does claim to be doing nature good by pillaging it in these ways: that is, research which has nature conservation among its aims. One presently controversial instance of this is the work of Christine Lattin at Louisiana State University. Her subject, as reported in the journal Science, is “how stress affects hormones, neurotransmitters, and other indicators in living birds”: “living” while they’re being stressed, that is, but soon afterwards “she euthanizes the birds she works with” (note the disingenuous ‘with’). The birds are mainly “wild caught house-sparrows”, and the stress to which they’re subjected in Dr Lattin’s laboratory has included mixing small amounts of oil into their feed (specifically, ‘Gulf of Mexico Sweet Louisiana crude oil’), confinement in a cloth bag for periods of 30 minutes, injection of adrenocorticotrophic hormone, ‘biopsy punching’ of the legs (under temporary anaesthesia), shaking.

Because all animals, vertebrate animals at least, experience stress, this research is claimed (on Lattin’s web-site) to be of some use in the understanding and treatment of human ills. But the immediate gain expected from it is a better understanding of “stress in wild populations”, populations of the sort the test birds used to belong to. The kinds of stress which Lattin specifies are “habitat destruction, climate change, and species invasions”. Also there are the oil spills. The better understanding of how animals respond to these assaults “may allow us to save some species that might otherwise go extinct.” For, as Science tells us, Dr Lattin is “a self-professed animal-lover”. But it would be more accurate to call her a species-lover. She sacrifices some birds in order to benefit, at some uncertain time in the future, many more of them and their like: ethics by numbers, in short. But note that those environmental stresses which she hopes to teach us to understand better, even the “species invasions”, are caused by humans (the prime invader, after all). Dr Lattin’s research work may reasonably be seen, then, not as a means to putting things right (we already know how to put those stresses right; it’s the willingness to do so that we lack), but simply as one more way in which humans in pursuit of their own interests make other animals suffer and prematurely die.

I’ve said that Dr Lattin’s research is controversial, but within her profession there seems to be no unease about it. The promotional organisation Speaking of Research claims that the publications arising from it have been “cited hundreds of times by other scientists”. This, intended as a thorough justification, is in fact a sad reminder that whenever you encounter what looks like a peculiarly nasty piece of research, it will almost certainly turn out to have a whole dynasty behind it, and very probably ahead of it as well. The research that Dr Mysore is doing on owls, for instance, can be traced at least as far back as 1978, when just the same clamping and brain-rummaging of barn owls was going on at CalTech (he cites that work, and any amount of the like in between). In that same Speaking of Research text, incidentally, the notorious work of Harry Harlow on maternal deprivation in monkeys is held to be likewise vindicated by the fact that it provided “an enduring empirical foundation for decades of subsequent work”. As the poet Philip Larkin wrote, “Man hands on misery to man”: not just his own misery, either.

The house-sparrow research reflects a more general failure of ethics in conservation work and thought. The conservation movement has habitually been simple-mindedly anthropocentric. (The title of one of the UK’s most active countryside lobbying organisations, the British Association of Shooting and Conservation, provides a cartoon version of the outlook.) And although Dr Lattin’s work goes forward primarily in the lab, similarly invasive research of various kinds does take place also in the field. Here there’s even less ethical oversight, but the same general principle of ends justifying means routinely sacrifices the individual to the species, the real life to the notional category. Not just any species, though: some of them, being more rare or more appealingly ‘native’, are preferred over others. (In fact Dr Lattin’s sparrows themselves are regarded as invasive, and are accordingly being used with an easier conscience.) Those who have read in this blog about the fine ethologist Niko Tinbergen (see ‘Eve of Destruction’, 8 March 2019), will recollect his suggestion that scientists should observe themselves as well as the animals, and should do it “as critically and as detachedly as possible”. The confused goodwill and actual arrogance of much conservation work needs just that sort of critical attention.

However, it seems that some progress is being made. Editors who publish laboratory research in life-science journals already have the so-called  ‘ARRIVE’ guidelines (Animal Research: Reporting on In Vivo Experiments) to show them what information they should require of their authors as to the treatment of the animals involved and the quality of the experiment to which those animals have been subjected. Now a similar set of rules has been proposed for the publication of research done in the field. The authors of ‘Publication reform to safeguard wildlife from researcher harm’ (PLOS Biology, 11 April 2019) argue that “employing invasive and lethal research methods in the name of conservation [the old ‘shooting and conservation’ attitude] has raised important considerations about the welfare of individuals.” Yet they find that conservation journals show little or no interest in animal welfare. Some scientists in that line of work even consider that “animal welfare and conservation are incompatible”. No doubt what they really mean is that they’d rather not have to bother about the welfare, but editors may increasingly require their authors to show that they have bothered. The proposed guidelines are titled Animals in Research: Reporting on Wildlife (or ARROW, to match ARRIVE). We can hope that they will at least force academic conservationists to recognize, as laboratory scientists have been gradually forced to do, that high-minded objectives are not a licence to kill.

It’s not much, perhaps, but then the ARROW authors see their proposal as only one part of a wider movement to moralize conservation. That there really is such a movement is well-evidenced in their bibliography, where one can find such expressive titles as ‘Why we need an ecological ethics’ (Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, vol.3, August 2005) and ‘What are 60 warblers worth? Killing in the name of conservation’ (Oikos, vol.116, August 2007). In fact the movement has a name, ‘Compassionate Conservation’. Of course that phrase ought to be simply a tautology, and the fact that it’s not, that it needs arguing, shows the crazed condition of the human mind. No wonder the owl has a reputation for wisdom, if we’re the competition.

 

Notes and references:

PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) provide e-mail templates to use for objecting to both the owl and the sparrow research projects:

https://support.peta.org/page/7677/action/1?locale=en-US

https://support.peta.org/page/1068/action/1?locale=en-US

Quotations about Dr Mysore’s research are from his own pages on the Johns Hopkins web-site at https://mysorelab.johnshopkins.edu/research.html and from the NPR transcript of the relevant broadcast here: https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/09/11/644992109/can-a-barn-owl-s-brain-explain-why-kids-with-adhd-can-t-stay-focused?t=1557825875601 (notice the word “kids” for children, to suggest how down-to-earth and relevant the research is).

The article in Science about the Lattin controversy appeared in the issue for 15 September 2017, at p.1087. Other quotations about Dr Lattin’s research come from her own web-site: https://www.christinelattin.com/. The defence of her research put up by Speaking of Research is here: https://speakingofresearch.com/2017/09/19/the-fact-check-peta-vs-christine-lattin/

The article proposing the ARROW guidelines can be read here: https://journals.plos.org/plosbiology/article?id=10.1371/journal.pbio.3000193

The portrait of a barn owl is from Thomas Bewick’s History of British Birds (1847 edition).

 

WDAIL 2019

On Saturday 27 April, Oxford was the venue for the main gathering in the U.K. to mark World Day for Animals in Laboratories (strictly April 24th). And Oxford certainly is a suitable place in which to remember all those animals. Not only are more animal lives being worked through here than in any other British university; Oxford is, besides (as we find among the various boasts on its web-site), “ranked top in the world for medicine”. It may therefore be regarded as setting an example of big spending in animals to all the rest of the world.

The gathering point for the rally was a fine open field at Oxpens on the western side of the city, adjacent to the railway line and a cut of the River Thames. Oxpens was once a working-class suburb; long since demolished as such, it’s now a miscellaneous and unpretentious area of offices and recreations, including an ice rink. As the place-name suggests, there was until recently a market for the buying and selling of cattle where, WDAIL banneron Saturday, impassioned speeches were being made on behalf of their (and our) fellow-creatures. Then, the march set out from Oxpens to make the case for animals visible and audible through the main streets of Oxford, stopping outside the Biomedical Sciences Building to hear, among other speakers, Mel Broughton, hitherto silenced on this subject for ten years by imprisonment and probation. Those years have evidently done nothing to qualify his thinking or his fervour.

This event, the WDAIL, last came to Oxford in 2013, and it’s natural to wonder what changes there have been since then.

One thing that hasn’t changed is the University’s commitment to animal research. The number of ‘procedures’ recorded at Oxford in 2013 was 189,460; the number for 2018 was 219,551, an increase of about 15%. No doubt there was a general increase in scientific activity over the same period, and I don’t know whether animal research has been growing disproportionately or not. In fact the University is growing in all material directions more rapidly now than at any time in its history. Growing ethically also? The question may arouse laughter, either as comically naïve or as meaningless. It should be asked, all the same, and the animals will certainly be somewhere in the answer.

Still speaking of the University’s expansion: even here at unacademic Oxpens, far from the colleges, the shadow of their ambition has fallen. The whole area, either bought up by Nuffield College or forming part of its original endowment, is to be re-developed. Reading the prospectus for the grandiose scheme, we discover that this modestly useful district is “perhaps the most extraordinary undeveloped area of any historic city in the UK. And those who have noticed that the University’s architectural scruples deteriorate with distance from the collegiate centre of town can happily be reassured. Oxpens is to become “a new vibrant community” (now I remember, the WDAIL rally also was vibrant, but presumably not in the sense, if any, intended here). The design will show “innovation, imagination and vision”, and the result will be one which “adds value . . . to the built environment in our world-class city.”

I quote from this dreary tract of planner’s jargon, ending with that cock-a-doodle brag about Oxford, because it’s signed off by the Warden of Nuffield College, a distinguished academic. I’m sure he didn’t write it; probably he didn’t even like to read it. This sort of publicity is a discipline in itself which does not, we must assume, engage the professional ethics or interest of the academics who commission and pay for it. Its particular relevance here is that publicity like this constitutes one of the most notable changes in the animal-research scene since the WDAIL in 2013. The Concordat on Openness on Animal Research had just been initiated then, and seemed little more than a pompous and clumsy name. Since then a nationwide fog of words has been generated by this PR project, very much in the “world-class city” style, often making it impossible to know whether what one descries through it is real or illusory.

Certainly some increase in real public knowledge has come out of the Concordat. For instance, in 2013 Oxford University was willing to disclose only that there were about 16,000 animals in the new laboratory at any one time, but since there was no indication of the rate at which those animals were used up and replaced by others, that was a nearly meaningless number. The more revealing numbers had to be fished out bit by bit with Freedom of Information requests. Nowadays all the relevant numbers which the University is required by law to submit to the Home Office are also promptly posted on its web-site, together with a great deal of other material of a more or less enlightening kind. Other signatories to the Concordat (121 institutions altogether) are similarly informative.

Such increase in public knowledge must be a good thing. But of course the knowledge is still rationed by those who provide it; even if it’s dependable in itself (and this blog has shown that Oxford’s is not), nothing unpleasant or seriously discreditable is likely to be volunteered. The most notable effect of the new candour is really on the morale of those practising animal research. They may personally prefer to remain as discreet as ever, but their work is continually boosted for them, and a habit of boastfulness and complacency now characterizes the whole scene.

Already in 2015 this can be noticed in a post about that year’s WDAIL published on the web-site of Understanding Animal Research, and titled ‘World Day for Animals in Laboratories – 140 years of animal welfare improvements’. Here we are reminded that we’re “a nation of animal-lovers” (actually the original has “animal lovers” without the hyphen, but I know they didn’t mean that, even though it would have about the same amount of truth in it). Accordingly, we are urged to mark this anniversary (instituted as a focus for anti-vivisection protest) by celebrating “the major milestones which have ensured the UK has some of the best laboratory animal welfare conditions in the world”. These “milestones” are then listed, beginning with the Royal Commission of 1875 and ending with the 2015 ban on testing of household products. Complacently looking backwards, the writer treats all this as a completed history, something for us British, and the animal-research profession in particular, to take pride in. He helpfully forgets that the purpose of milestones (anyway a tellingly obsolete image) was to inform you, not how far you’d got, but how far you yet had to travel to reach your destination. As for the “World” reference, the writer seems to regard that not as a plea for all the animals suffering in laboratories, including the many millions enjoying none of the protections mentioned, but as introducing an element of international competition in which the U.K., satisfyingly, comes at least equal first. It’s a classic piece of PR management.

The listed “milestones” have, it’s quite true, been valuable improvements. However, most of them were the result of strenuous campaigning from outside the profession, against fierce and indignant resistance from within. Nor were the results ever quite what had been hoped and aimed for; they were always partial successes at best, milestones indeed on a still unfinished journey. What we really learn from this UAR retrospect, therefore, is that eloquent and active opposition to animal research is what causes progress, and that WDAIL, as this opposition’s symbolic or representative annual event, should therefore be as noisy, restless, uncompromising, and future-minded as possible.

And that’s indeed what the 2019 WDAIL in Oxford was, just as it had been in 2013. The speeches, having nothing to hide or disguise, were in plain vehement English. Nobody was there to advance a private or professional interest, or to secure their salary. Three of the speakers had, on the contrary, paid heavily for their part in this sort of campaign with time in prison. It was, in fact, just the sort of communal/political event which the much-missed Tony Benn used to speak about and prize (and attend). “Everything comes from underneath”, he used to say: meaning that it was the collective will and sense of justice of the people, the ‘commons’, that effect change, not the formal agencies, authorities and powers. They, indeed, are what suffer the change and therefore resist it, until resistance becomes futile, when they accept, institute, and take credit for it: we’ve seen it happen. So the familiarity of the scene at Oxpens – the unpolished and WDAIL cops and dog.JPGmiscellaneous crowd, the banners and placards, the shouts, chants and whistles, the dogs, all as they were in 2013 – should be reassuring. It means that progress continues.

 

Note and references:

Film of the WDAIL speeches can be seen here:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCb42LS3_n_U7hob9qMVnmDQ

The prospectus for Oxpens redevelopment is online here: https://www.bidwells.co.uk/assets/Uploads/oxpens-brochure.pdf

The UAR post about WDAIL 2015 is here: http://www.understandinganimalresearch.org.uk/news/animal-welfare-alternatives/world-day-for-animals-in-laboratories/

Please read this blog for more about Tony Benn and the “underneath” at https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2016/11/21/tony-benn/

Photographs are by Paul Freestone.

 

 

Oxford’s Annual Numbers, with Added Mistakes

The statistics for Oxford University’s animal research in 2018 have now been made public on the University’s web-site. Here is VERO’s summary, showing the numbers for each species (with 2017 for comparison), and then the severity of the ‘procedures’ involved. A few comments follow the two tables.

Total number of experimental procedures, by species:

 Species  Number in 2017  Number in 2018
 Mice      229,640        208,057
 Fishes          3,852            8002
 Rats          2,599           2,913
 Junglefowl               21              291
 Frogs            155                89
 Guinea Pigs              80                81
 Badgers              39                64
 Pigs                5                20
 Ferrets              29                24
 Non-Human Primates                7                10
 Rabbits                2                  0
 Total:     236,429       219,551

 

Severity of procedures (for those species where moderate or above was recorded):

Species  Severe  Moderate  Mild  Sub-threshold  Non-recovery
 Mice   1,889    35,903   49,730       117,743       2,792
 Fishes      298      1,236    5,127           1,211          130
 Rats        37         622       427           1,150          677
 Ferrets          0             9         0                  0            15
Non-Human Primates          0             9         1                  0              0

 

The total number: 219,551 represents a fall of just over 7% on last year’s total. This is welcome, of course, but unfortunately it can’t be taken as part of a trend. Last year’s number had shown a rise of 8.5% on 2016. Like the value of investments (and one might pursue other similarities), these numbers may go down as well as up, but the clear trend since the completion of the new laboratory has been upward. The number for 2007, which was the last complete year before the laboratory opened for business, was 155,901.

Animals killed without experiments: No number has yet been published for these animals in 2018. Perhaps it won’t ever be given, since a number was provided for 2017 last year, and for some reason the law only requires such animals to be counted in every fifth year. But it’s a very important number, and ought always to be included in the returns. That’s partly because the number is to some extent an index to the efficiency of a laboratory, unpleasant as that word ‘efficiency’ is in this context. But also, the need to do and publish this count is a helpful corrective to the assumption, which the 1986 Act otherwise makes and therefore encourages, that killing an animal is not in itself a significant wrong. That assumption has been frequently noticed in other parts of this blog. It’s not one we humans make for ourselves; I can’t think of any sound reason for making it in the case of other animals.

Science or PR: Last year’s commentary in this blog on the annual Oxford numbers included a critical appreciation of the University’s animal-research web-pages, or at least of the main page, which is titled ‘Research Using Animals: an Overview’. Very little on that page has changed since then, except the just-published numbers. However, the sentence which introduces numbers is new, and here it is:

Figures for 2018 show numbers of animals ‘on procedure’, as declared to the Home Office using their five categories for the severity of the procedure.

This short and functional statement manages to fit in two plain errors. The first error is to speak of numbers of animals rather than numbers of ‘procedures’. The statistics submitted to the Home Office, or separately published as here, are always a count-up of procedures and not of animals. True, this makes very little difference in practice (although the two numbers can differ if, for instance, an animal is re-used in a new research project); it may therefore seem a pedantic distinction, especially since neither way of counting really tells us very much, as this blog has often enough shown. But the point is that nobody who has had anything to do with conducting or reporting the research would make such a mistake. When Cruelty Free International rather carelessly made a similar mistake a few years back, Speaking of Research (a scientists’ pressure-group promoting animal research) called it “a rookie mistake for an organisation which claims to be an authority on the issue”. Oxford University surely is an authority on its own research. How then does it let through a mistake like this?

The second error shows a similar confusion. The animals in the count are said to be “on procedure”, a professional-sounding term perhaps borrowed from lower down on the ‘Overview’ page where it refers to non-human primates undergoing brain research. But the term means ‘research unfinished’, whereas the annual count is precisely of completed research. It used once to be a count of proposed and accepted procedures (the change, a sensible one, came in 2014), but it was never a count of procedures under way at time of counting.

Again, it may not seem to matter much, though in this case it would be a very awkward way of doing things. But the confusion in both cases makes clear that these annual numbers are being introduced by someone who knows only the jargon of the subject, and also that nobody with better knowledge is being asked to check what’s written, or cares to do so on their own initiative. In short, it’s simply a PR job, and not a very good one.

Last year’s commentary showed that the whole ‘Overview’ text evidences the same sort of amateur authorship. Presumably we can treat the annual numbers themselves as reliable, but there’s no reason to accept as true or authoritative anything else said on the animal research web-pages. This isn’t university science speaking (or even bothering to have read). We needn’t spend any more time on it ourselves, then.

 

Notes and references:

Oxford University’s main animal-research web-page, including the annual numbers, is this one: http://www.ox.ac.uk/news-and-events/animal-research/research-using-animals-an-overview

Last year’s Oxford numbers were reviewed in this blog here: https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2018/04/13/a-record-breaking-years-work-in-the-lab/   See also https://voiceforethicalresearchatoxford.wordpress.com/2018/06/08/on-the-trail-of-an-untruth/

The comment made by Speaking of Research appeared as part of a rather bumptious but not inaccurate critique of Cruelty Free International’s own publicity. It was posted in April 2017, and can be read here: https://speakingofresearch.com/2017/04/11/disappointing-lack-of-context-by-cruelty-free-international-as-worst-press-release-on-animal-testing-numbers-is-revealed/

In the Media

A BBC Radio 5 visit to the Francis Crick Institute in London last November was one of the very few recent shows of interest, on the part of the broadcasting and print media, in the ethics of animal research. ‘What actually happens in an animal lab’ was the hard-headed title. However, there were no surprises in it. The research being shown to the journalist was aimed at improving treatments for lung cancer, rather than, for instance, at safety-testing herbicides, and the thesis was that this might be achieved by raising the general mental and physical health of the patient (does that really need evidencing?). Accordingly, the mice on whom the idea was being tried were enjoying even more than the usual ‘enrichment’ in their boxes. They were “extra-happy” mice, suggested the amiable journalist; “luxury mice”, the researcher agreed. True, these mice were also “doomed”, but then, as the researcher shrewdly observed, “we’re all doomed”.

So, a serious disease in question, mice provided with every amenity, and a young woman scientist who claims to “enjoy taking care of the mice”:  no need for the journalist to wonder “why you’ve asked us in” (yes, Radio 5 had been invited to make the visit). This radio piece did not just exemplify the research industry’s new ‘Concordat’ way of pro-actively making the case for vivisection; it indicated also why such journalism is becoming less frequent. The institutions themselves are managing it in advance, and taking out the sting. The Radio 5 series has the exciting title ‘Live Wires’, but there was not much electricity in this edition of it.

Last week a less complacent BBC documentary, in Radio 4’s ‘Analysis’ series, looked at the larger picture of our corrupted relationship with the rest of animal life. In particular it recorded the fatal effect of our human presence in the natural world: the drastic decline across all species except our own, from insect life (estimated biomass down 75% since 1989) to our fellow-mammals (“human activity is wiping them out”). An exception was noticed in the case of rats, whom apparently we’re therefore entitled to make deliberate efforts to purge as part of our schemes to help the others. The question arising from this unhappy conspectus was “Are we heading for a mass extinction?”

Although the evidence supplied a conclusive yes to that question, there was some talk of things being done to prevent the disaster. A very brief reference was made to the idea of setting aside a part of the planet for the exclusive use of non-human animals, but mainly the programme was interested in management schemes of various sorts aimed at allowing other species (and the talk throughout was of species rather than actual beings) to survive our proximity. Knowledgeable and worthwhile schemes they clearly were, but they were very modest in comparison with the problem being addressed. Nor did they put to question our human dominion in the world, won as it has been by arrogance and force, or suggest how we might reform ourselves. The nearest we came to such diffidence was this strangely hedged-about statement of the obvious from an ecologist at the University of York: “perhaps, arguably, wild-life would be very happy to get on without us; I think we probably need it more than they need us, to be quite honest.”

Of course the prospect of mass extinction is not a sudden BBC revelation: scientific reports and news stories charting the process of destruction appear more or less every week. One such, an article by Simon Barnes which appeared in the New Statesman in 2017, was titled ‘We are heading towards a world without animals’, and told very much the same story as the radio programme – told it rather better, in fact. This was partly because it began with an individual animal (a slender-billed curlew), reminding readers that it’s a story of individual struggle and suffering, not just of species and percentages. Partly it treated human sentiment about animals with less of the semi-facetious complicity which radio journalists go in for. As to rats, for instance: the Analysis presenter jocosely conceded that it’s natural to privilege the “cuddlier creatures” in conservation decisions; Simon Barnes more bleakly observes “We have always despised species that make successful adaptations to human life.”

Barnes also made a more serious attempt than did the Analysis programme to picture the world after mass extinction. It would not in fact be a world “without animals”, of course. Travelling into this wretched future alongside humanity would be our cohorts of service-animals – including, presumably, the ones used for research. Indeed, since human distresses both mental and physical would probably (so Barnes argues) increase in this denuded world, supposing that we can survive in it at all, our medical researches would no doubt bear down upon these animals more than ever.

But vivisection has already been playing its part in this tragic story of world-usurpation. It has supported in countless research programmes, for instance, the sort of industrialized farming which the Analysis episode considered one of the leading causes of mass extinction. The leading cause is one to which this sort of farming is closely related, or which at any rate its proponents use for a justification: that is, the bloating human population. Here is a subject both crucial and morally hazardous to talk about; as Simon Barnes says, “it all comes back to population, the problem that dare not speak its name.” One of medical science’s notable achievements over the last sixty years has been to make conception possible to otherwise childless couples. How can one call such a project misguided? Even so, a sort of insanity is bound up in it. In the current edition of the journal Science, two researchers working in this field speak about ‘ICSI’ (intracytoplasmic sperm injection), a treatment for male infertility pioneered in the 1990s: “the technique has developed into a globally accepted therapy and has meanwhile led to the birth of hundreds of thousands of children.” What their parents very understandably want, then; what the globe itself emphatically does not want. It’s a horrible conundrum, and a particularly tragic instance of the way science steadily outdistances our moral and political capacities to control or even make sense of it.

The article in Science is mainly about a very recent development of ICSI, aimed at protecting fertility in pre-pubertal boys who receive chemotherapy against cancer. The research itself is reported at length elsewhere in the journal: a brilliantly skilled technique, a serious therapeutic aim, a most repulsive history of practice on rhesus macaque monkeys (and of course fertility research as a whole has this sort of history writ large), and meanwhile no comment at all on the giant problem which is the larger context of such work. The problem had in fact been considered in the previous week’s Analysis episode, as part of an investigation into the question ‘Will humans survive the century?’ One contributor to that programme said that our survival would necessitate “changing the mentality that we’re all entitled to have children.” Such a radical change of mind may simply not be possible; at any rate, it’s certain that medical science is not helping us to make it.

In the climactic scene of C.S.Lewis’s science-fiction novel That Hideous Strength, the caged animals of the Belbury scientific research institute break out and invade the institute’s annual dinner. It’s a slightly puzzling point that these are not the frogs, rats, domestic animals, or other species most commonly exploited in the contemporary research which Lewis knew about (and angrily deplored). Instead and rather improbably, into the hall burst a tiger, gorilla, wolf, snake, and finally an elephant. Of course this makes the wrecking of the institute dinner a more thrillingly frightful event, but I think that there’s also a thematic point to it. The suggestion in the novel in general, and here in particular, is that modernism, as science has made CoeTheSacrifice.jpgit, embraces all the non-human animals in a fundamental disrespect: as one of the institute’s directors says, “There’s far too much life of every kind about, animal and vegetable. We haven’t really cleared the place yet.”

That’s a caricature, no doubt, but the stripped-down humanism of the Belbury outlook really is there in the practical results of our scientific and technical mastery of the world, even if it has never been anyone’s formulated policy. It makes sense, then, that not just the commonly lab-bound animals but also their wilder and more exotic fellows take that final revenge against the Belbury institute. It makes sense too that these more exotic animals are, if only in some honorary or collegiate sense, victims of vivisection, for in the science schools of universities, animal research has been teaching by example, to generations of science students, the subjugation of other species in pursuit of our own knowledge and advantage. In fact vivisection has been a paradigm of the bad relationship which has brought us to this crisis in life’s history. And the steady continuation of it suggests that we simply aren’t morally or philosophically equal to saving anyone but ourselves – and therefore, the world’s life-forms being as interdependent as they are, probably not even ourselves either.

 

Notes and references:

‘What actually happens in an animal lab’ was broadcast on 26 November 2018. The journalist was Stephen Chittenden. ‘Are we heading for a mass extinction?’ (Radio 4, Analysis) was broadcast on Monday 23 March. The presenter was Neal Razzell.

The article by Simon Barnes appeared in the New Statesman on 5 September 2017. The quotation about ICSL is from Science, 22 March 2019, p.1283. The full report on the new research appears on pp.1314-19.

That Hideous Strength is quoted in the 1955 edition, published by Pan, at p.56.

The picture shown is one of the illustrations to Pit’s Letter by Sue Coe (Four Walls Eight Windows, 1998); its title is ‘The Sacrifice’. Like the scene from That Hideous Strength, it makes vivisection the essential form or paradigm for man’s misused dominion, so that even the bear, elephant, and turtle seem to be sharing in it. The writing underneath says “They all must be sacrificed . . . God gave man dominion over all living things . . . the fear of you, the dread of you, shall be upon every beast of the earth. Genesis.”