BIG QUESTION OF THE MONTH: Should we use CRISPR, the new technique that enables precise DNA editing, to change the genes of human embryos to eradicate disease – or even to enhance desirable traits? LeapsMag invited three leading experts to weigh in.
Over the last few decades, the international community has issued several bioethical guidelines and legally binding documents, ranging from UN Declarations to regional charters to national legislation, about editing the human germline--the DNA that is passed down to future generations. There was a broad consensus that modifications should be prohibited. But now that CRISPR-cas9 and related methods of gene editing are taking the world by storm, that stance is softening--and so far, no thorough public discussion has emerged.
There is broad agreement in the scientific and ethics community that germline gene editing must not be clinically applied unless safety concerns are resolved. Predicting that safety issues will indeed be minimized, the National Academy of Sciences issued a report this past February that sets up several procedural norms. These may serve as guidelines for future implementation of human embryo editing, among them that there are no "reasonable alternatives," a condition that is left deliberately vague.
I regard the conditional embrace of germline gene editing as a grave mistake: It is a dramatic break with the previous idea of a ban, departing also from the moratorium that the UNESCO International Bioethics Committee had recommended in 2015. But in a startling move, the Academy already set the next post, recommending "that genome editing for purposes other than treatment or prevention of disease and disability should not proceed at this time" (my emphasis). It recommended public discussions, but without spelling out its own role in facilitating them.
"The international community should explicitly ban embryo gene editing as a method of human reproduction."
To proceed ethically, I argue that the international community, through the United Nations and in line with the ban on human reproductive cloning, should explicitly ban embryo gene editing as a method of human reproduction. Together with guidelines adjusted for non-reproductive and non-human applications, a prohibition would ensure two important results: First, that non-reproductive human embryo research could be pursued in a responsible way in those countries that allow for it, and second, that individual scientists, public research institutes, and private companies would know the moral limit of possible research.
Basic human embryo research is required, scientists argue, to better understand genetic diseases and early human development. I do not question this, and I am convinced that existing guidelines can be adjusted to meet the moral requirements in this area. Millions of people may benefit from different non-reproductive pathways of gene editing. Germline gene editing, in contrast, does not offer any resolutions to global or local health problems – and that alone raises many concerns about the current state of scientific research.
I support a ban because germline gene editing for reproductive purposes concerns more than safety. The genetic modification of a human being is irreversible and unpredictable in its epigenetic, personal, and social effects. It concerns the rights of children; it exposes persons with disabilities to social stigmatization; it contradicts the global justice agenda with respect to healthcare; and it infringes upon the rights to freedom and well-being of future persons.
"Reproductive germline gene editing directly violates the rights of individual future person."
Apart from questions of justice, reproductive germline gene editing may well increase the stigmatization of persons with disabilities. I want to emphasize here, however, that it directly violates the rights of individual future persons, namely a future child's right to genetic integrity, to freedom, and potentially to well-being, all guaranteed in different UN Declarations of Human Rights. For all these reasons, it is an unacceptable path forward.
The way the discussion has been framed so far is very different from my perspective that situates germline gene editing in the broader framework of human rights and responsibilities. In short, many others never questioned the goal but instead focused on the unintentional side-effects of an otherwise beneficial technique for human reproduction. Some scientists see germline gene editing as an alternative to embryo selection via Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis (PGD), a procedure in which multiple embryos are tested to find out which ones carry disease-causing mutations. Others see it as the first step to human enhancement.
Some physicians argue that in the field of assisted reproduction, not every couple is comfortable with embryo selection via PGD, because potentially, unchosen embryos are discarded. Germline gene editing offers them an alternative. It is rarely mentioned, however, that germline gene editing would most likely still require PGD as a control of the procedure (though without the purpose of selection), and that prenatal genetic diagnosis would also be highly recommended. In other words, germline gene editing would not replace existing protocols but rather change their purpose, and it would also not necessarily reduce the number of embryos needed for assisted reproduction.
In some (rare) cases, PGD is not an option, because in the couples' condition, all embryos will be affected. One current option to avoid transmitting genetic traits is to use a donor sperm or egg, though the resulting child would not be genetically related to one parent. If these parents had an obligation, as some proponents argue, to secure the health of their offspring (an argument that I do not follow), then procreation with sperm or egg donation would even be morally required, as this is the safest procedure to erase a given genetic trait.
There are no therapeutic scenarios that exclusively require reproductive gene editing even if one accepts the right to reproductive autonomy. The fact is that couples who rightly wish to secure and protect the health of their future children can be offered medical alternatives in all cases. However, this requires considering sperm or egg donation as the safest and most reasonable option – the condition the NAS Report has set.
Scientists in favor of germline gene editing argue against this: the desire for genetic kinship, they say, is a legitimate expression of a couple's reproductive freedom, and germline gene editing offers them an alternative to have a healthy child. In the future, proponents say, these (very few) couples who wish for genetically related offspring will be faced with the dilemma of either accepting the transmission of a genetic health risk to their children or weighing the benefits and risks of gene editing.
But here is a blind spot in the whole discussion.
Many scientists and some bioethicists think that reproductive freedom includes the right to a genetically related child. But even if we were to presuppose such a right, it is not absolute in the context of assisted reproduction. Although sperm or egg donation may be undesirable for some couples, the moral question of responsibility does not disappear with their reproductive rights. At a minimum, the future child's rights must be considered, and these rights go further than their health rights.
It is puzzling that in claiming their own reproductive freedom, couples would need to ignore their children's and possibly grandchildren's future freedom – including the constraints resulting from being monitored over the course of their lives and the indirect constraints of the children's own right to reproductive freedom. From a medical standpoint, it would be highly recommended for them, too, to have children through assisted reproduction. This distinguishes germline gene editing from any other procedure of assisted reproduction: we need the data from the second and third generations to see whether the method is safe and efficacious. Whose reproductive freedom should count, the parents' or the future children's?
But for now, the question of parental rights may well divert the discussion from the question of responsible gene editing research; its conditions and structures require urgent evaluation and adjustment to guide international research groups. I am concerned that we are in the process of developing a new technology that has tremendous potential and ramifications – but without having considered the ethical framework for a responsible path forward.
The white two-seater car that rolls down the street in the Sorrento Valley of San Diego looks like a futuristic batmobile, with its long aerodynamic tail and curved underbelly. Called 'Sol' (Spanish for "sun"), it runs solely on solar and could be the future of green cars. Its maker, the California startup Aptera, has announced the production of Sol, the world's first mass-produced solar vehicle, by the end of this year. Aptera co-founder Chris Anthony points to the sky as he says, "On this sunny California day, there is ample fuel. You never need to charge the car."
If you live in a sunny state like California or Florida, you might never need to plug in the streamlined Sol because the solar panels recharge while driving and parked. Its 60-mile range is more than the average commuter needs. For cloudy weather, battery packs can be recharged electronically for a range of up to 1,000 miles. The ultra-aerodynamic shape made of lightweight materials such as carbon, Kevlar, and hemp makes the Sol four times more energy-efficient than a Tesla, according to Aptera. "The material is seven times stronger than steel and even survives hail or an angry ex-girlfriend," Anthony promises.
Co-founder Steve Fambro opens the Sol's white doors that fly upwards like wings and I get inside for a test drive. Two dozen square solar panels, each the size of a large square coaster, on the roof, front, and tail power the car. The white interior is spartan; monitors have replaced mirrors and the dashboard. An engineer sits in the driver's seat, hits the pedal, and the low-drag two-seater zooms from 0 to 60 in 3.5 seconds.
It feels like sitting in a race car because the two-seater is so low to the ground but the car is built to go no faster than 100 or 110 mph. The finished car will weigh less than 1,800 pounds, about half of the smallest Tesla. The average car, by comparison, weighs more than double that. "We've built it primarily for energy efficiency," Steve Fambro says, explaining why the Sol has only three wheels. It's technically an "auto-cycle," a hybrid between a motorcycle and a car, but Aptera's designers are also working to design a four-seater.
There has never been a lack of grand visions for the future of the automobile, but until these solar cars actually hit the streets, nobody knows how the promises will hold up.
Transportation is currently the biggest source of greenhouse gases. Developing an efficient solar car that does not burden the grid has been the dream of innovators for decades. Every other year, dozens of innovators race their self-built solar cars 2,000 miles through the Australian desert.
More effective solar panels are finally making the dream mass-compatible, but just like other innovative car ideas, Aptera's vision has been plagued with money problems. Anthony and Fambro were part of the original crew that founded Aptera in 2006 and worked on the first prototype around the same time Tesla built its first roadster, but Aptera went bankrupt in 2011. Anthony and Fambro left a year before the bankruptcy and went on to start other companies. Among other projects, Fambro developed the first USDA organic vertical farm in the United Arab Emirates, and Anthony built a lithium battery company, before the two decided to buy Aptera back. Without a billionaire such as Elon Musk bankrolling the risky process of establishing a whole new car production system from scratch, the huge production costs are almost insurmountable.
But Aptera's founders believe they have found solutions for the entire production process as well as the car design. Most parts of the Sol's body can be made by 3D printers and assembled like a Lego kit. If this makes you think of a toy car, Anthony assures potential buyers that the car aced stress tests and claims it's safer than any vehicle on the market, "because the interior is shaped like an egg and if there is an impact, the pressure gets distributed equally." However, Aptera has yet to release crash test safety data so outside experts cannot evaluate their claims.
Instead of building a huge production facility, Anthony and Fambro envision "micro-factories," each less than 10,000 square feet, where a small crew can assemble cars on demand wherever the orders are highest, be it in California, Canada, or China.
If a part of the Sol breaks, Aptera promises to send replacement parts to any corner of the world within 24 hours, with instructions. So a mechanic in a rural corner in Arkansas or China who never worked on a solar car before simply needs to download the instructions and replace the broken part. At least that's the idea. "The material does not rust nor fatigue," Fambro promises. "You can pass the car onto your grandchildren. When more efficient solar panels hit the market, we simply replace them."
More than 11,000 potential buyers have already signed up; the cheapest model costs around $26,000 USD and Aptera expects the first cars to ship by the end of the year.
Two other solar carmakers are vying for the pole position in the race to be the first to market: The German startup Sono has also announced it will also produce its first solar car by the end of this year. The price tag for the basic model is also around $26,000, but its concept is very different. From the outside, the Sion looks like a conservative minivan for a family; only a closer look reveals that the dark exterior is made of solar panels. Sono, too, nearly went bankrupt a few years ago and was saved through a crowdfunding campaign by enthusiastic fans.
Meanwhile, Norwegian company Lightyear wants to produce a sleek solar-powered luxury sedan by the end of the year, but its price of around $180,000 makes it unaffordable for most buyers.
There has never been a lack of grand visions for the future of the automobile, but until these solar cars actually hit the streets, nobody knows how the promises will hold up. How often will the cars need to be repaired? What happens when snow and ice cover the solar panels? Also, you can't park the car in a garage if you need the sun to charge it.
Critics, including students at the Solar Car team at the University of Michigan, say that mounting solar panels on a moving vehicle will never yield the most efficient results compared to static panels. Also, they are quick to point out that no company has managed to overcome the production hurdles yet. Others in the field also wonder how well the solar panels will actually work.
"It's important to realize that the solar mileage claims by these companies are likely the theoretical best case scenario but in the real world, solar range will be significantly less when you factor in shading, parking in garages, and geographies with lower solar irradiance," says Evan Stumpges, the team coordinator for the American Solar Challenge, a competition in which enthusiasts build and race solar-powered cars. "The encouraging thing is that I have seen videos of real working prototypes for each of these vehicles which is a key accomplishment. That said, I believe the biggest hurdle these companies have yet to face is successfully ramping up to volume production and understanding what their profitability point will be for selling the vehicles once production has stabilized."
Professor Daniel M. Kammen, the founding director of the Renewable and Appropriate Energy Laboratory at the University of California, Berkeley, and one of the world's foremost experts on renewable energy, believes that the technical challenges have been solved, and that solar cars have real advantages over electric vehicles.
"This is the right time to be bullish. Cutting out the charging is a natural solution for long rides," he says. "These vehicles are essentially solar panels and batteries on wheels. These are now record low-cost and can be built from sustainable materials." Apart from Aptera's no-charge technology, he appreciates the move toward no-conflict materials. "Not only is the time ripe but the youth movement is pushing toward conflict-free material and reducing resource waste....A low-cost solar fleet could be really interesting in relieving burden on the grid, or you could easily imagine a city buying a bunch of them and connecting them with mass transit." While he has followed all three new solar companies with interest, he has already ordered an Aptera car for himself, "because it's American and it looks the most different."
After taking a spin in the Sol, it is startling to switch back into a regular four-seater. Rolling out of Aptera's parking lot onto the freeway next to all the oversized gas guzzlers that need to stop every couple of hundreds of miles to fill up, one can't help but think: We've just taken a trip into the future.
Last summer, when fast and cheap Covid tests were in high demand and governments were struggling to manufacture and distribute them, a group of independent scientists working together had a bit of a breakthrough.
Working on the Just One Giant Lab platform, an online community that serves as a kind of clearing house for open science researchers to find each other and work together, they managed to create a simple, one-hour Covid test that anyone could take at home with just a cup of hot water. The group tested it across a network of home and professional laboratories before being listed as a semi-finalist team for the XPrize, a competition that rewards innovative solutions-based projects. Then, the group hit a wall: they couldn't commercialize the test.
They wanted to keep their project open source, making it accessible to people around the world, so they decided to forgo traditional means of intellectual property protection and didn't seek patents. (They couldn't afford lawyers anyway). And, as a loose-knit group that was not supported by a traditional scientific institution, working in community labs and homes around the world, they had no access to resources or financial support for manufacturing or distributing their test at scale.
But without ethical and regulatory approval for clinical testing, manufacture, and distribution, they were legally unable to create field tests for real people, leaving their inexpensive, $16-per-test, innovative product languishing behind, while other, more expensive over-the-counter tests made their way onto the market.
Who Are These Radical Scientists?
Independent, decentralized biomedical research has come of age. Also sometimes called DIYbio, biohacking, or community biology, depending on whom you ask, open research is today a global movement with thousands of members, from scientists with advanced degrees to middle-grade students. Their motivations and interests vary across a wide spectrum, but transparency and accessibility are key to the ethos of the movement. Teams are agile, focused on shoestring-budget R&D, and aim to disrupt business as usual in the ivory towers of the scientific establishment.
Ethics oversight is critical to ensuring that research is conducted responsibly, even by biohackers.
Initiatives developed within the community, such as Open Insulin, which hopes to engineer processes for affordable, small-batch insulin production, "Slybera," a provocative attempt to reverse engineer a $1 million dollar gene therapy, and the hundreds of projects posted on the collaboration platform Just One Giant Lab during the pandemic, all have one thing in common: to pursue testing in humans, they need an ethics oversight mechanism.
These groups, most of which operate collaboratively in community labs, homes, and online, recognize that some sort of oversight or guidance is useful—and that it's the right thing to do.
But also, and perhaps more immediately, they need it because federal rules require ethics oversight of any biomedical research that's headed in the direction of the consumer market. In addition, some individuals engaged in this work do want to publish their research in traditional scientific journals, which—you guessed it—also require that research has undergone an ethics evaluation. Ethics oversight is critical to ensuring that research is conducted responsibly, even by biohackers.
Bridging the Ethics Gap
The problem is that traditional oversight mechanisms, such as institutional review boards at government or academic research institutions, as well as the private boards utilized by pharmaceutical companies, are not accessible to most independent researchers. Traditional review boards are either closed to the public, or charge fees that are out of reach for many citizen science initiatives. This has created an "ethics gap" in nontraditional scientific research.
Biohackers are seen in some ways as the direct descendents of "white hat" computer hackers, or those focused on calling out security holes and contributing solutions to technical problems within self-regulating communities. In the case of health and biotechnology, those problems include both the absence of treatments and the availability of only expensive treatments for certain conditions. As the DIYbio community grows, there needs to be a way to provide assurance that, when the work is successful, the public is able to benefit from it eventually. The team that developed the one-hour Covid test found a potential commercial partner and so might well overcome the oversight hurdle, but it's been 14 months since they developed the test--and counting.
In short, without some kind of oversight mechanism for the work of independent biomedical researchers, the solutions they innovate will never have the opportunity to reach consumers.
In a new paper in the journal Citizen Science: Theory & Practice, we consider the issue of the ethics gap and ask whether ethics oversight is something nontraditional researchers want, and if so, what forms it might take. Given that individuals within these communities sometimes vehemently disagree with each other, is consensus on these questions even possible?
We learned that there is no "one size fits all" solution for ethics oversight of nontraditional research. Rather, the appropriateness of any oversight model will depend on each initiative's objectives, needs, risks, and constraints.
We also learned that nontraditional researchers are generally willing (and in some cases eager) to engage with traditional scientific, legal, and bioethics experts on ethics, safety, and related questions.
We suggest that these experts make themselves available to help nontraditional researchers build infrastructure for ethics self-governance and identify when it might be necessary to seek outside assistance.
Independent biomedical research has promise, but like any emerging science, it poses novel ethical questions and challenges. Existing research ethics and oversight frameworks may not be well-suited to answer them in every context, so we need to think outside the box about what we can create for the future. That process should begin by talking to independent biomedical researchers about their activities, priorities, and concerns with an eye to understanding how best to support them.
Christi Guerrini, JD, MPH studies biomedical citizen science and is an Associate Professor at Baylor College of Medicine. Alex Pearlman, MA, is a science journalist and bioethicist who writes about emerging issues in biotechnology. They have recently launched outlawbio.org, a place for discussion about nontraditional research.