The Scalpel and the Butterfly by Deborah Rudacille, Farrar, Straus &
Giroux, $25, ISBN 0374254206
IN Britain alone last year, 1200 attacks by “animal rights extremists” caused
£2.6 million worth of damage. The British government is seriously
considering the introduction of laws to clamp down on these activities to
protect research laboratories, their staff and families from attack and
intimidation. Recently, firebombs destroyed or badly damaged cars parked outside
the homes of people who work at Huntingdon Life Sciences, a contract research
laboratory near Cambridge.
It would therefore be surprising if scientists were not once again asking
themselves questions that they and others have pondered many times before. What
is it that makes some violently opposed to biomedical research? What is it that
fuels a deep distrust of scientists and causes an uneasiness even among those
members of the public who generally support biomedicine?
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Deborah Rudacille attempts to answer these questions in The Scalpel and
the Butterfly. She begins her story two centuries ago.
In 1816 Mary Shelley was writing feverishly, committing her own nightmare to
paper. Her tale of horror has at its heart a brilliant and obsessed scientist
who imagines that he will find a way to overcome death. He creates a creature
from a patchwork of pieces from corpses, galvanised into life by lightning.
Victor Frankenstein’s name has become a byword for all that’s terrifying about
science.
Today’s scientists will recoil at the suggestion that they have anything in
common with Dr Frankenstein, but Rudacille argues that many of us retain the
primitive sensibilities of our ancestors, and instinctively shrink from
activities we suspect are taboo. Taking a knife to flesh is one of these, so
individuals who cut into bodies, whether of dead humans or live animals, have
traditionally been viewed with both awe and terror. “Frankenstein” thus remains
a compelling metaphor, as we contemplate xenotransplantation, manipulating the
human genome to treat or prevent disease and remaking human and animal bodies
from the inside out.
Rudacille reminds us of the comment by Lee Silver, professor of molecular
biology at Princeton who, during a congress to discuss mammalian cloning, said:
“When the public hears the word `cloning’ they think of Frankenstein. I
recommend that we do not use the word, to reduce public fear. Let’s use `somatic
cell nuclear transfer’ or `somatic cell genetic transfer’. `Organic enhancement’
is even better. People like that. But I’m not sure it’s going to work.”
A science writer at the University of Maryland, Rudacille explores the
conflict between scientists who use animals and the antivivisection movement,
based on the work of scholars in the humanities, sciences and social sciences.
Her aim was not to duplicate their research but to interpret it for a popular
audience, and she has made a success of this. The book is informative, easy to
read and, most importantly when dealing with this subject, balanced.
Rudacille adds recollections of incidents that have now become milestones in
the conflict. I found myself remembering the disgust and anger I felt when I saw
films of the appalling treatment of non-human primates at the Institute for
Behavioural Research in Maryland and the University of Pennsylvania Head Injury
Clinic.
Then there is the other side of the story: the animal liberationists who seek
retribution for the treatment of these creatures. Rudacille relates how letter
bombs sent to researchers or government ministers by the Animal Liberation Front
or splinter groups like the Justice Department blew up the cars of their
intended victims, but thankfully did not harm them.
Out of the closet
Things may be changing. Rudacille reports the increasing willingness of some
activists and organisations to work within the system and become more pragmatic
in their search for change, but she also points out that not everyone agrees
with the “new welfarism”. One such critic, law professor Gary Francione, argues
that true “advocates” of animal rights are not interested in regulating animal
exploitation but rather in abolishing it, and that such notions “are accepted by
virtually everyone—including animal exploiters”.
Within science, the days when researchers were called “closet
antivivisectionists” if they raised questions about the welfare of animals used
in experiments have gone. The belief that “the most humane possible treatment of
experimental animals, far from being an obstacle, is actually a prerequisite” is
now widely recognised, as is the concept of the “three Rs” (refinement,
reduction and replacement). Still, there are critics—the scientists who,
rather than view efforts to improve the well-being of laboratory animals as an
ongoing process, feel that “at a certain point these issues should be considered
DZ”.
Rudacille believes that, like their 19th-century forebears, today’s
animal rights extremists have alienated potential supporters and that this has
greatly diminished the moral legitimacy of their cause in the eyes of the
public. However, she sounds a warning that “a group of new technologies that
necessarily involves extensive use of animals has the potential to reignite the
debate”. These are xenotransplantation, transgenic technology and cloning.
All the ingredients are there, including, like it or not, the dreaded shadow
of Frankenstein. In situations where science surges ahead of public
comprehension, as is clearly the case with these new technologies, a backlash of
public concern is inevitable. Surely, it’s better for science if it kicks off
the debate now.
Anyone hoping that Rudacille will provide the answer to ending the war
between advocates of animal research and of animal protection will be
disappointed. The best she can offer is to encourage scientists to speak openly
about animal research, an effort she hopes might help defuse much of the
hostility and “misunderstanding” surrounding animal experimentation. As she puts
it: “Laboratory workers are front-line soldiers in the ethical battle that
confronts anyone who seriously contemplates the issues raised by animal
protectionists over the past 150 years.”
We love animals—and we eat them. We recognise our kinship with them and
their ability to experience pain and pleasure—and we experiment on them.
How do we balance our own needs and rights to protect ourselves from hunger,
disease and death with the needs and rights of animals? Each of us must decide
where we stand on this moral dilemma, recognising “that our answer to that
question may well conflict with those of other people of good will and
conscience”. This, Rudacille says, “may be the best that we can hope for until
our unquenchable human ingenuity finds a path beyond the conflict and a solution
to which all can, in good conscience, agree”.
Yes, dialogue between those involved in the debate must be encouraged, but
unfortunately, not everyone is prepared to talk. Only when there is no animal
experimentation will the conflict finally be over.
