Last year marked the 60th anniversary of one of the most influential concepts in lab animal welfare—the three Rs. To promote the humane treatment of laboratory animals, these principles urge scientists to replace animals with new technologies, reduce the number of animals used in experiments, and refine lab protocols to minimize animal suffering. First outlined in the 1959 book, The Principles of Humane Experimental Technique, the three Rs have become a cornerstone of lab animal legislation and oversight throughout the world.
But as millions of animals continue to be used in biomedical research each year, and new legislation calls on federal agencies to reduce and justify their animal use, some have begun to argue that it’s time to replace the three Rs themselves. “It was an important advance in animal research ethics, but it’s no longer enough,” Tom Beauchamp told attendees last week at a lab animal conference.
Beauchamp, an emeritus professor of ethics at Georgetown University, has studied the ethics of animal research for decades. He also co-authored the influential Belmont Report of 1978, which has guided ethical principles for conducting research on human subjects. Beauchamp recently teamed up with David DeGrazia, a bioethicist at George Washington University, to lay out six principles for the ethical use of lab animals, which would replace the three Rs. The pair published both a scientific article and book on the topic late last year.
South Africa, struggling to contain economic fallout from the COVID-19 pandemic, has cut $20 million from its budget for the Square Kilometre Array (SKA). The cut was part of a 24 June budget announcement in which the country, anticipating severely reduced revenues and an increased need for health and social spending, slashed its science budget for the year by 16%. The country’s major research funding agency, the National Research Foundation, also lost 10% of its government allocation, about $5.6 million (96.6 million rand).
South Africa and Australia are hosting the SKA, which when completed in the 2030s will have a total collecting area of 1 square kilometer. In a $1 billion first phase, the project aims to build some 130,000 small antennas in Australia, designed to collect low-frequency signals, while South Africa will host nearly 200 large, midfrequency dishes. Data from the linked arrays will be used to map the flows of hydrogen that fuel star formation and to study where and when the universe’s first stars fired up.
Construction—meant to begin at the end of this year—has now been delayed “well into 2021” because of the pandemic, says SKA Director of Communications William Garnier. Before construction begins, the seven countries intending to join the international treaty organization have to ratify a convention to make their commitments legally binding. So far, only three nations—Italy, the Netherlands, and South Africa—have ratified the treaty, with South Africa signing on 2 June. As a co-host, South Africa expects to pay about 14% of construction and operating costs, says Rob Adam, head of the South African Radio Astronomy Observatory.
As COVID-19 swept across the United States, standardized testing centers closed and the GRE General Test—an exam that’s required for admission to many U.S. graduate programs—went online. The Educational Testing Service (ETS), which offers the GRE, “completely revamped its delivery model so [aspiring graduate students] can test from the safety of home,” it declared in May. Since then, though, scores of academics have raised concerns about the equity of the online version of the test, arguing it disadvantages prospective students from rural and low-income backgrounds. “If I were ... a student trying to take this exam, satisfying [the online testing] criteria would be extremely difficult for me,” says Emily Levesque, an assistant professor of astronomy at the University of Washington, Seattle.
Levesque wrote about ETS’s requirements in a Twitter thread this month, detailing what she sees as “a shopping list of hurdles.” Test takers must have access to a computer with a webcam—“tablets and smartphones won’t cut it,” she wrote—as well as a private room in a home with a stable internet connection. Libraries and other public spaces are out. “We already know from virtual teaching this spring that not all students/prospective grads have access to [computers] in their homes,” she wrote.
On top of that, test takers must have a whiteboard if they want to take notes, sit in a standard—not “overstuffed”—chair, and ensure that no one enters their room for the duration of the 4-hour test. In a statement, Alberto Acereda, executive director of higher education at ETS, wrote that the rules are “necessary to ensure the testing experience is similar to that in a test center, as well as to maintain the security and integrity of the test.”
Natasha Hodges knows about the challenges of the at-home GRE firsthand. She signed up for a slot in June after her in-person appointment to take the GRE was canceled. But she ran into problems when she couldn’t install the proctoring software on her Apple laptop. “No matter how many people I chatted with, or how many times I’ve called or emailed them, no one can explain to me or even address [my problem],” she says.
Other test takers have reported problems on test day. One prospective graduate student who lives in the Philippines and wished to remain anonymous called her experience a “nightmare.” She had connection and technical issues that delayed her start time by 90 minutes. “I was not in the right mindset when I started the actual test,” she says. Another test taker—Madi Mollico—says her test went fine, but that the proctoring experience was “nerve-wracking and anxiety-inducing.” She had expected to see her proctor on the screen, but when she started the test, she was unnerved to discover that he could see her, but she couldn’t see him. “He kept calling me sweetheart, which … definitely felt a little bit condescending,” she says.
For some academic departments—especially those that were already questioning the value of the GRE—the burdensome requirements of the at-home test are a tipping point. Levesque’s department decided to temporarily suspend requiring GRE scores. “It was simply a question of access,” she says. “If we require the exam this year, that puts an excessive burden on folks we want to encourage to apply.”
Other departments have decided to forgo the GRE for good. “We’ve been thinking about [eliminating it] for a long time,” says Chrissy Wiederwohl, assistant department head for engagement and graduate affairs for Texas A&M University, College Station’s oceanography department, which voted to stop requiring GRE scores earlier this month. “COVID is what helped front-burner it.”
Levesque’s and Wiederwohl’s departments join a growing list of U.S. graduate programs that have moved away from the GRE in recent years. In 2018 alone, 44% of the country’s top molecular biology programs dropped the GRE as an application requirement, according to an investigation by Science Careers. Dubbed “GRExit,” the movement has been fueled by concerns that the GRE doesn’t predict student success in graduate school, and that its use in admissions decisions disadvantages applicants from underrepresented groups.
An unusual lawsuit alleges scientific misconduct at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California, one of the United States’s three nuclear weapons labs. Peter Williams, a 50-year-old physicist, worked at Livermore from January 2016 until May 2017, when he says he was fired in retaliation for complaining that his superiors were mishandling a computer program that simulates the detonation of high explosives, undermining their ability to predict how a particular nuclear weapon would perform if used. Williams, who now works at a private research lab, has sued Livermore and seven individuals for reinstatement and $600,000 in damages.
Researchers familiar with the labs say Williams’s allegations should be taken seriously. “If there’s been a cover-up, that’s something that ought to be looked into,” says Raymond Jeanloz, a geophysicist at the University of California, Berkeley, who has been involved with the weapons labs. But he also says the labs implement internal reviews and other measures to ensure the integrity of their work and head off the kind of problem Williams alleges. “This is exactly the kind of thing the people at the lab worry about,” Jeanloz says. Livermore declined to comment on the suit, but in a statement said: “Rigorous debate is a part of the scientific process—the Laboratory does not retaliate against individuals for holding differing opinions.”
The suit, which Williams filed on 22 May, seems quixotic. He is representing himself; to make his case, he needs documents that only the lab can provide; and his complaint centers on a differential equation. Williams spent only a short time at Livermore before he was fired. (In a 12-month performance review Williams included in his suit, his superiors state he wasn’t keeping up with assignments.) Before joining the lab he did two postdocs, taught at City College of San Francisco and Sonoma State University, and worked for 8 years at Agilent Technologies. But Williams is a talented scientist, says Craig Wheeler, an astrophysicist at the University of Texas, Austin, who was his graduate adviser and has subsequently published with him. “He’s a deep, independent thinker,” Wheeler says. “He’s definitely not a crackpot.”
Science’s COVID-19 reporting is supported by the Pulitzer Center.
Early this year, University of Colorado, Denver, cancer researcher Patricia Ernst was thrilled when her postdoc Therese Vu won a grant from the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, a nonprofit that has pumped more than $1.2 billion into blood cancer research since its founding in 1949. The funding would allow the scientists to launch studies using a technique to generate malignant leukemia from immature blood cells—an approach that Ernst had been eager to try for more than a decade. To hit the ground running, they journeyed to Vancouver, Canada, for 1 week to learn the technique, and developed a pipeline for novel reagents through a University of Michigan lab. Then, last month, the pair got bad news: The philanthropy organization canceled the grant, citing “unprecedented” revenue losses caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.
“I did anticipate there would be cutbacks,” Ernst says. “But I didn’t think it would be that serious, and I didn’t think it would happen to us.”
Science’s COVID-19 reporting is supported by the Pulitzer Center.
Now that several big trials have shown disappointing results, hope has faded that chloroquine or hydroxychloroquine might be miracle drugs against COVID-19. But for one group of researchers in Brazil, the story is far from over.
In April, a team led by Marcus Lacerda, a clinical researcher at the Heitor Vieira Dourado Tropical Medicine Foundation in Manaus, Brazil, published a study showing chloroquine can increase mortality in COVID-19 patients. Since then, they have been accused of poisoning their patients with a high dose of chloroquine just to give the drug—praised by U.S. President Donald Trump and his Brazilian counterpart Jair Bolsonaro—a bad name. Social media attacks, defamatory articles, death threats, and even a legal inquiry into the group’s work have left Lacerda and his team stressed and exhausted.
Four years after the National Institutes of Health (NIH) began to investigate grantees who it believed had failed to disclose their ties to foreign governments, officials still don’t know the full extent of the problem.
“We’ve learned of 150 cases in the past 12 months,” says the head of NIH’s extramural research program, Michael Lauer, who oversees an ongoing probe that has swept up 399 scientists since NIH received the first allegation in June 2016. “But has it peaked, and will we have the same number of new cases over the next 12 months? I just don’t know.”
On 12 June, Lauer offered the fullest analysis to date of the pool of scientists NIH has been investigating and the nature of their offenses. But the data left many questions unanswered. Last week, Lauer fleshed out that analysis during an interview with ScienceInsider, offering new details on the scope of NIH’s investigation and how it fits into the larger debate now roiling Congress over how to prevent other countries from acquiring federally funded research in ways that threaten U.S. economic and national security.
Science’s COVID-19 reporting is supported by the Pulitzer Center.
This week’s report that dexamethasone, a commonly used corticosteroid, reduces death rates of COVID-19 by up to one-third was greeted with enthusiasm around the globe.#
It also raised a question: Will there be enough of the medication? So far, doctors are not reporting problems getting dexamethasone for their patients. And as many news stories have pointed out, dexamethasone is off-patent, cheap, and relatively abundant.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a physics laboratory with a world-leading scientific facility must have a plan for an even better machine to succeed it. So it is with the European particle physics laboratory, CERN, near Geneva, which is home to the world’s biggest atom smasher, the 27-kilometer-long Large Hadron Collider (LHC). Today, CERN’s governing council announced it will launch a technical and financial feasibility study to build an even bigger collider 80 to 100 kilometers long (actually two of them in succession) that could ultimately reach an energy seven times higher than the LHC. The first machine wouldn’t be built before 2040.
There is “some pride of the member states of CERN [that it is] the leading particle physics laboratory, and I think there is interest in CERN staying there,” says Ursula Bassler, a physicist and president of the CERN council, the panel of representatives from the 23 nations that support the lab. However, CERN Director-General Fabiola Gianotti emphasizes that no commitment has been made to build a new mammoth collider, which could cost $20 billion. “There is no recommendation for the implementation of any project,” she says. “This is coming in a few years.”
Physicists have been debating what collider to build next since well before the LHC started to take data in 2010. In the early 2000s, discussions centered on a 30-kilometer-long, straight-shot, linear collider that would smash electrons into positrons. Such a machine would complement the circular LHC, which smashes countercirculating beams of protons. The two types of machines have different strengths. A proton collider can generally reach higher energies and discover heavier new particles. But protons are made of other particles called quarks, so they make messy collisions. In contrast, electrons and positrons are indivisible fundamental particles, so they make cleaner collisions. Historically, physicists often have found new particles at proton colliders and studied them in detail at electron-positron colliders.
A bipartisan group of U.S. senators today proposed sweeping—and controversial—changes in how the federal government manages academic research in the face of threats from other countries.
The authors of the legislation, more than 1 year in the making, tout it as a way to stop China and other countries from stealing the fruits of federally funded research and using the information to damage U.S. economic and national security. But research advocates worry that if enacted, the bill could damage the U.S. academic research enterprise by restricting the flow of talent and ideas.
The legislation, which was drafted by Senators Rob Portman (R–OH) and Tom Carper (D–DE) and has eight Republican and five Democratic co-sponsors, is the latest, and most substantive, attempt in Congress to reconcile these competing interests. It would make a number of subtle but potentially significant changes in how the U.S. government keeps tabs on those who receive federal grants, who gets to enter the country to carry out research deemed sensitive to national interests, and how U.S. scientists interact with foreign partners.