Even
mentioning the name Peter Duesberg inflames strong feelings, both pro
and con. After gaining fame in 1970 as the virologist who first
identified a cancer-causing gene, in the 1980s he became the leading
scientific torchbearer for the so-called AIDS dissidents who dispute
that HIV causes the immunodeficiency disorder. To the dissidents,
Duesberg is Galileo, oppressed for proclaiming scientific truth against
biomedical dogma. A far larger number of AIDS activists, physicians and
researchers, however, think Duesberg has become a crank who refuses to
accept abundant proof that he is wrong. To them, he is at best a
nuisance and at worst a source of dangerous disinformation on public
health.
Readers may therefore be shocked to see Duesberg as an author in
this month's issue. He is not here because we have misgivings about the
HIV-AIDS link. Rather Duesberg has also developed a novel theory about
the origins of cancer, one that supposes a derangement of the
chromosomes, rather than of individual genes, is the spark that ignites
malignant changes in cells. That concept is still on the fringe of
cancer research, but laboratories are investigating it seriously. Thus,
as wrong as Duesberg surely is about HIV, there is at least a chance
that he is significantly right about cancer. We consider the case
worthy of bringing to your attention, with the article beginning on
page 52.
Thousands of scientific papers appear in technical journals
every month; why do some rate more fame and journalistic attention? It
helps for science news to have dramatic relevance to human affairs: Is
there strong new hope for curing a disease, transforming the economy,
building a better mousetrap? Alternatively, reporters and editors may
gravitate toward new science that easily inspires the public's sense of
wonder, as so many astronomy stories do. And reports that appear in
certain major scientific journals tend to get more play because those
publications have a self-fulfilling reputation for releasing the most
noteworthy papers. (It doesn't hurt that those journals have
particularly strong public relations departments, too.)
When we look at submitted manuscripts from scientists, we
consider it a reassuring sign when the authors forthrightly acknowledge
both their collaborators and their competitors and note potential
conflicts of interest before we ask. If we see that they are describing
the science of their rivals fairly, we can have more confidence that
they are being similarly candid about their own work. (Still, the old
nuclear disarmament treaty maxim applies: trust, but verify.) We
typically steer away from controversial ideas too new to have much
supporting evidence. Those that have lasted for years and accumulated
some substantiation have earned consideration. Our judgments are
imperfect, but they tend to mirror those of the scientific community.
Blots on a researcher's history often should bear on regard for
his or her new work. Scientists who have intentionally published
fraudulent papers, as the stem cell researcher Woo Suk Hwang so
notoriously did two years ago, may be irredeemably tainted. But to
dismiss a scientist solely for holding some wrong or controversial
views risks sweeping away valuable nuggets of truth. We respect the
opinions of any readers who may criticize our choice to publish
Duesberg in this case but hope they will nonetheless evaluate his ideas
about cancer on their own merits.