How Our Genetic Maps Are Being Sold to the Highest Bidder
Who owns our bodies? One of the weirder cases exploring this bioethical question involved South Carolinian John Wood, whose leg was amputated after an airplane crash in 2004. Wanting to be buried “whole” eventually, he had the leg embalmed and placed it in a storage unit with other belongings. But he fell behind on the rental fees, and the contents of the unit were sold to one Shannon Whisnant, who found the leg carefully wrapped and nestled inside a barbecue smoker. Whisnant called the police, who traced it back to Wood. Wood insisted the leg be returned given his sincere belief that, detached or not, it was part of him. Whisnant, however, claimed that he was the purchaser-for-value and hoped to put the leg on display and charge a hefty price for the viewing. “Halloween’s just around the corner,” he explained.
The ghoulishness of this situation should not obscure the legal issues at stake: should a commodity interest in the contents of the storage unit trump the sacrosanctity of corporeal integrity? Are discarded body parts “alienable”? Or do they fall in the realm of what we deem constitutionally “inalienable”? A devastating disease.
What about DNA? Suppose we assumed that Wood’s genetic makeup included cells that were resistant to AIDS. Do Wood or Whisnant have any proprietary claim to profits to be derived from the extraction, culture and sale of those cells? Could Whisnant not only display the leg but also publish Woods’s entire genome as part of his Halloween show? Could the police officer to whom Whisnant brought the leg do a DNA test, retain the sample, patent a method of assaying the extracted data and ultimately market a pharmaceutical byproduct to patients at $5,000 a dose? We all leave a trail of hair and hangnails wherever we go—under what circumstances should that material be regarded as discarded and thus open for exploitation by finders-as-keepers?
At the end of May the personal genetics company 23andMe announced that it had procured its first patent, for “Polymorphisms Associated With Parkinson’s Disease.” Patents create exclusionary rights in knowledge; they prohibit non–patent holders from using that knowledge without permission or the payment of royalties. 23andMe’s patent stems from massive aggregations of data culled from customers who have paid considerable money for information about their genetic predispositions for various health risks. While 23andMe’s consumer contract says that no “research” on submitted spit samples shall be done without consent, many customers seem not to realize that “research” is defined as purely “academic”—which is to say, work published in “peer-reviewed scientific journals.” The contract then distinguishes “research” from “research and development (R&D)” of commercial products—for which no consent is needed.
When announcing news of the patent, CEO Anne Wojcicki declared that she wants “discoveries to move from the realm of academic publishing to the world of impacting lives by preventing, treating or curing disease.” But it is precisely in academic publishing that new ideas are most apt to be freely shared and tested; Wojcicki seemingly wants to dislodge discoveries “from” academia “to” the gated community of patent law—simultaneously designating patent law as the exclusive geography of disease prevention, treatment and cure. As she explains, “Often the only way a company will even think about pursuing a drug lead is if they have assurance that they can recoup their investment.”
Wojcicki frequently expresses her desire to heal and to broadly share the knowledge gained through data mining. Readers may know that she is married to Google co-founder Sergey Brin, whose family history of Parkinson’s disease places him at risk. But that backstory, compelling though it may be, is not reflected in the business model either of them pursues—nor should anyone expect it to be. As with any for-profit corporate head, their fiduciary duty is to make money. The realization of any wider, or public, interest in healthcare will not come from the private corporate sphere by itself.
The patent system, as well as our corporatized system of R&D, assures that the real wealth of data-aggregating businesses will come not from analyzing individual spit samples but from the far greater asset of bundling customers’ genetic, lifestyle and family history for commercial exploitation. In 2010, when classes at Stanford and Berkeley held “spit parties” to analyze students’ genetic material, I wrote in these pages that “we should be more thoughtful about the ends for which our bodies are being mined. The redemptive thrill of being co-creators of some medical miracle must be measured against the possibility that we are rendering fungible that which most profoundly distinguishes us and…enabling a commodity exchange in which important aspects of our identities will be sold to the highest bidder.”
I hope 23andMe will consider how better to channel its discoveries into nonprofit, low-cost treatment for all—or for its “direct consumers,” at the very least. It’s hardly a new ethical challenge. Consider The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot. Lacks was a poor black woman who suffered from a unique form of cervical cancer, to which she succumbed in 1951. While she was at Johns Hopkins, her doctor removed some of her cancer cells, cultured them in a petri dish and distributed them for research purposes. It was the first “immortal” human cell line, and it has been the foundation for billions of dollars’ worth of medical and pharmaceutical discoveries. Neither Lacks nor her family was informed of the removal of her cells or the profit derived from them. When Skloot located Lacks’s children and grandchildren, she found a family still poor and without healthcare. Skloot’s response was to set up a nonprofit foundation that provides emergency healthcare and medical scholarships to those in need. Donations may be made by visiting henriettalacksfoundation.org [1].
Links:
[1] http://henriettalacksfoundation.org


Marvels, Madness, Medicine
In the January 2011 issue of the Journal of Policy History, Susan Reverby, a historian at Wellesley College, will publish a paper detailing a particularly sordid moment in American history. From 1946 to ’48, the Public Health Service, with the assent of some Guatemalan officials, engaged in medical experiments on 700 Guatemalan soldiers, prisoners, mental patients and children. The documents Reverby discovered show that doctors intentionally sickened many of their subjects with syphilis, either by injecting infected fluids into their spines and under their skin or by supplying them with afflicted prostitutes.
Of course, this horrendous project arose from “the best of intentions” — to improve serological testing for the disease and to measure the degree to which penicillin and other medicines could act prophylactically. The US military was also interested in finding STD protections for soldiers that might be simpler and less painful than those available at the time. Ultimately, the observations in Guatemala were inconclusive because it proved harder than anticipated to infect sufficient numbers to constitute an adequate data set.
The doctor in charge of the two-year project was John Cutler, an assistant surgeon general who, in his later years, was a “beloved” professor at the University of Pittsburgh School of Public Health. It was in his archives that Reverby found notes and photographs documenting the existence of the project. Even before this revelation, however, Dr. Cutler’s long-term legacy was one of infamy: He was one of the main researchers in the Public Health Service’s Tuskegee Syphilis Study, in which black sharecroppers went purposely untreated from the 1930s to 1972, when the project finally was exposed. In 1944, moreover, Dr. Cutler directed a study in which gonorrhea was injected into prison “volunteers” at the state penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana. And in 1953, after returning from Guatemala, he resumed his experiments with syphilis injections, this time with prisoners in Sing Sing prison in New York.
Dr. Cutler’s experiments, while horrific, were not unique. Nonconsensual medical experiments were a prominent feature of South Africa’s apartheid regime. In America, we know about the military’s experimentation with atomic radiation on unwitting soldiers and patients from the 1950s to the ’70s and experiments with LSD in the ’70s. In the ’90s New York City foster children were used to test the effects of certain unlicensed drugs for AIDS. And let’s not forget all the “tests” done at Guantánamo Bay.
It’s important to understand how we repeatedly deceive ourselves into appalling forms of corruption by wrapping ourselves in the language of high standards. Reverby cites a telling quote from the 1967 autobiography of virologist Thomas Rivers: “I tested out live yellow fever vaccine right on my ward in the Rockefeller Hospital. It was no secret, and I assure you that the people in the New York City Department of Health knew it was being done…. Unless the law winks occasionally, you have no progress in medicine.” Rationalization has ever been thus: It’s humanitarian in the long run. We confuse, in other words, motives and means.
The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum posits three contexts in which nonconsensual medical experimentation took place in Nazi Germany: first, in military organizations, premised on rationalizations of security, exigency and defense; second, in the hunt for new pharmaceuticals and treatment methods; third, in conjunction with ideologies of racial, ethnic or religious superiority in which “common sense” dictates that some humans are less valuable than others and can be sacrificed for the “greater good.” The moral lesson of the Guatemalan experiment ought to spur public conversation and review of all these areas. My list of topics would include:
1. Despite more encompassing interpretations of the Biologic and Toxin Weapons Convention, we are increasingly converting academic research facilities into biodefense containment labs. A 2004 American Journal of Public Health article points to “inadequately characterized risks,” as well as concern that the program is informed by a “political rather than health agenda.”
2. The weakened condition of the FDA means that many drugs have been inadequately vetted before coming to market. The scandals involving Vioxx and Avandia are great failed experiments inflicted on a trusting, unsuspecting public.
3. Pharmaceutical companies and venture capitalists are investing in miracle drugs and testing by seeking out very poor people as “volunteers” in exchange for “medical treatment” or for token amounts of money that are dwarfed by the health risks involved.
4. Our consent procedures must be scrupulously overseen and updated, particularly where “volunteers” are used in places like prisons, mental health institutions, foster care or orphanage settings or on populations living under oppressive regimes. (As Reverby points out, Guatemala in the ’40s was essentially run by the United Fruit Company.)
5. Germ line therapy and genetic manipulation will increasingly implicate future generations. We must ask ourselves if our present zeal for “transhuman,” “gen-rich,” “enhanced” versions of ourselves is but a vast experiment in narcissism.
Scientific revolution always tempts us with blinding hubris. How else could Dr. Cutler engage in experimentation at the same time as and of the very sort for which the United States was prosecuting Germans in Nuremberg? So while President Obama and Secretary of State Hilary Clinton issue formal apologies to the people of Guatemala, we must interrogate our own freighted contemporary moment — of economic desperation, of rising nativism, of promises of hellfire to come, of soaring incarceration rates. These are divisions that have never been exploited to any good or decent end.
Patricia J. Williams, a professor of law at Columbia University and a member of the State Bar of California, writes The Nation column “Diary of a Mad Law Professor.” Her books includeThe Rooster’s Egg (1995) and Seeing a Color-Blind Future: The Paradox of Race (1997).
Copyright © 2010 The Nation — distributed by Agence Global
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Released: 07 October 2010
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