‘Half Invisible’: Some Thoughts on Writing About Research on Animals
A while back I covered the Nonhuman Rights Project’s lawsuits arguing that chimpanzees — as extremely intelligent, emotional and social beings who remember the past, plan for the future and have free will — have a right not to be arbitrarily imprisoned. Of the four chimp plaintiffs, two were at Stony Brook University, being used for studies of locomotion. Their names are Hercules and Leo.
One day I happened upon a study on the evolution of walking upright. The research subjects were not identified individually, but obviously were the Stony Brook chimps. The findings got a little news coverage, none of which mentioned Hercules and Leo’s personal histories, contested legal status, the science of chimp minds, or the ethical issues of keeping and using them this way.
Obviously the study didn’t mention that, either.
(Here’s the news story I wrote for National Geographic about the whole affair. The screengrab above is from a promotional video accompanying the paper.)
The chimps were central to the work — yet they were, in a sense, invisible. Or at least half-visible. They were portrayed as bodies without brains. Reduced to the status of moving objects with interesting anatomies. The gap between their scientific use and the fullness of their lives was striking; and while this was an especially flagrant example, given their unique personal stories, it’s not unique.
Every animal used in research is an individual, self-aware and able to think and feel. A subject, not an object. (We can argue about this assessment for roundworms, maybe, but not rodents or primates.) Yet almost invariably they’re treated as objects, even though they’d be seen as subjects if encountered as wild animals or pets. Which is wrong.
It’s literally nonsensical. It’s inconsistent with what we know about animals and the value of logical consistency in public discourse. And by saying that, I’m *not* arguing against using animals in medical research. That’s a completely different discussion.
I’m arguing for thinking seriously about the inner lives of the animals we* write about, and finding ways to engage with that — whether it’s by directly acknowledging their subjectivity, paying more attention to housing and treatment, being more aware in a background or foreground way of ethical discussions, examining the value of a particular animal ‘model,’ just saying thank-you.
There’s many possible ways of doing this. What matters is remembering that a story about animal research would be very different if told from the animals’ perspectives, and those perspectives are real.
Consider it a challenge: how should our understanding of animal minds and lives influence our work?
*Meaning “we science journalists and communicators,” as this piece was written with that community in mind following the World Conference on Science Journalism. But the principle applies to anyone.
