Sleeping with the Enemy

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What happened between the Neanderthals and us?

The Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology, in Leipzig, is a large, mostly glass building shaped a bit like a banana. The institute sits at the southern edge of the city, in a neighborhood that still very much bears the stamp of its East German past. If you walk down the street in one direction, you come to a block of Soviet-style apartment buildings; in the other, to a huge hall with a golden steeple, which used to be known as the Soviet Pavilion. (The pavilion is now empty.) In the lobby of the institute there’s a cafeteria and an exhibit on great apes. A TV in the cafeteria plays a live feed of the orangutans at the Leipzig Zoo.

Svante Pääbo heads the institute’s department of evolutionary genetics. He is tall and lanky, with a long face, a narrow chin, and bushy eyebrows, which he often raises to emphasize some sort of irony. Pääbo’s office is dominated by a life-size model of a Neanderthal skeleton, propped up so that its feet dangle over the floor, and by a larger-than-life-size portrait that his graduate students presented to him on his fiftieth birthday. Each of the students painted a piece of the portrait, the over-all effect of which is a surprisingly good likeness of Pääbo, but in mismatched colors that make it look as if he had a skin disease.
At any given moment, Pääbo has at least half a dozen research efforts in progress. When I visited him in May, he had one team analyzing DNA that had been obtained from a forty- or fifty-thousand-year-old finger bone found in Siberia, and another trying to extract DNA from a cache of equally ancient bones from China. A third team was slicing open the brains of mice that had been genetically engineered to produce a human protein.
In Pääbo’s mind, at least, these research efforts all hang together. They are attempts to solve a single problem in evolutionary genetics, which might, rather dizzyingly, be posed as: What made us the sort of animal that could create a transgenic mouse?
The question of what defines the human has, of course, been kicking around since Socrates, and probably a lot longer. If it has yet to be satisfactorily resolved, then this, Pääbo suspects, is because it has never been properly framed. “The challenge is to address the questions that are answerable,” he told me.
Pääbo’s most ambitious project to date, which he has assembled an international consortium to assist him with, is an attempt to sequence the entire genome of the Neanderthal. The project is about halfway complete and has already yielded some unsettling results, including the news, announced by Pääbo last year, that modern humans, before doing in the Neanderthals, must have interbred with them.
Once the Neanderthal genome is complete, scientists will be able to lay it gene by gene—indeed, base by base—against the human, and see where they diverge. At that point, Pääbo believes, an answer to the age-old question will finally be at hand. Neanderthals were very closely related to modern humans—so closely that we shared our prehistoric beds with them—and yet clearly they were not humans. Somewhere among the genetic disparities must lie the mutation or, more probably, mutations that define us. Pääbo already has a team scanning the two genomes, drawing up lists of likely candidates.

“I want to know what changed in fully modern humans, compared with Neanderthals, that made a difference,” he said. “What made it possible for us to build up these enormous societies, and spread around the globe, and develop the technology that I think no one can doubt is unique to humans. There has to be a genetic basis for that, and it is hiding somewhere in these lists.”

Pääbo, who is now fifty-six, grew up in Stockholm. His mother, a chemist, was an Estonian refugee. For a time, she worked in the laboratory of a biochemist named Sune Bergström, who later won a Nobel Prize. Pääbo was the product of a lab affair between the two, and, although he knew who his father was, he wasn’t supposed to discuss it. Bergström had a wife and another son; Pääbo’s mother, meanwhile, never married. Every Saturday, Bergström would visit Pääbo and take him for a walk in the woods, or somewhere else where he didn’t think he’d be recognized.

“Officially, at home, he worked on Saturday,” Pääbo told me. “It was really crazy. His wife knew. But they never talked about it. She never tried to call him at work on Saturdays.” As a child, Pääbo wasn’t particularly bothered by the whole arrangement; later, he occasionally threatened to knock on Bergström’s door. “I would say, ‘You have to tell your son—your other son—because he will find out sometime,’ ” he recalled. Bergström would promise to do this, but never followed through. (As a result, Bergström’s other son did not learn that Pääbo existed until shortly before Bergström’s death, in 2004.)
From an early age, Pääbo was interested in old things. He discovered that around fallen trees it was sometimes possible to find bits of pottery made by prehistoric Swedes, and he filled his room with potsherds. When he was a teen-ager, his mother took him to visit the Pyramids, and he was entranced. He enrolled at Uppsala University, planning to become an Egyptologist.

Lessons from #Syria

There are two parts to this brilliant article by Beesaan el Shaikh in Al Hayat (Arabic) which I believe is an imperative read for anyone interested in the Arab uprising.

The first part of the article uses the tragedies generated by the revolution as a very compelling argument NOT to support it. The second part, near the end, turns the argument around making a simple but slam-dunk case for the revolution.

I want to use the first part to rephrase a position I expressed in the very beginning of this revolution, days before the first Assad speech and the subsequent violent turn of the uprising: I expressed then my hope that Assad would do the wise thing and grab the opportunity to reform the regime by himself, because that was the only transition that would avoid destroying Syria, or handing it to Islamic extremists.

I was naïve in my hopes, obviously. But I believe that hope is a moral imperative. I knew then, like all those who lived through Lebanon's civil war, that no matter where it happens on this earth, or why, or how legitimate, when an uprising turns into an armed rebellion, there is absolutely no controlling of the damage it can make to the structure of society and its ability to recuperate post conflict (think Iraq, Lebanon, but also Salvador, Tchetchnia, or Sri Lanka more globally).

The unspeakable price of civil violence in terms of social dismantling (even more so than the toll on human life and heritage), is why I still believe that any people who has regime change in progress (i.e Tunisia, Egypt) - or in perspective (i.e Jordan, Morocco, or the Gulf in the coming 5 to 15 years) - must bend itself backwards twice, maybe thrice, before engaging in violent struggle, or violent ‘defense of the achieved revolution’ – as opposed to radically peaceful rebellion or political compromise.

One of the reasons I respect Moaz el Khatib so deeply is his awareness of this fact, and his courage to remain constantly open to compromise with the regime for the sake of ending violence – because he knows that no matter how high the price of such compromise is, it will always be lower than the one of sustained violence.

Don’t get me wrong, just like Beesaan el Sheikh says in her article, I believe that there is no choice BUT to support the Syrian revolution because it is the only legitimate and humanly acceptable path forward. But I certainly hope that idealists learn the lesson and understand that wars are, under all circumstances, unwinnable: because even by winning them, we destroy the basic social infrastructure that makes that victory worth anything.

This might sound obvious to some, but the consequence is less so: only a slower transition, or a stubbornly peaceful uprising can come at a lower cost.

I want to end by drawing a relevance to Tunisia and Egypt: compromise is a high price you might need to pay to avoid the higher price of a torn society. And if compromise is impossible (and it should take a lot before you get to this conclusion), than maintain your struggle peaceful at all cost (i.e no military repression of ‘medieval forces’). The alternative is worse than you can ever imagine or calculate.