Medical futurology is no excuse for the UK's organ failures

A mouse with a human liver is extraordinary indeed, but we should do better with what science has provided.

We can create a mouse with a human liver. So, no longer any need to face up to the tricky subject of organ donation, right? Wrong. One of the dangers of such achievements is that we begin to think that a solution to the organ crisis is just around the corner.

The Japanese mouse-human chimera involved taking adult stem cells from human skin and chemically inducing them to return to their “pluripotent” state, where they can become any kind of cell. Further treatment guided them to take the form of liver cells, which were then grafted into the mouse. There, they connected to the blood vessels and formed into a functioning human liver.

The work built on an idea first put forward by the US geneticists Tim Townes and Thomas Ryan in 2000. They spotted that knocking out certain genes and inserting genetic material from an afflicted patient allowed you to rear an animal whose heart, liver, pancreas or blood or skin cells were human – that were genetically matched to the recipient and were in every way perfect for transplantation.

By coincidence, Townes and Ryan submitted their patent application on the day after Sally Slater was discharged from a hospital in Newcastle. Slater, aged six, had undergone an emergency heart transplant after a virus attacked her cardiac tissue. Her donor was a recently deceased, middle-aged woman whose family came forward to help after Slater’s father issued an emotional appeal through the national media.

Every year in the UK, a hundred or so families go the other way and overrule the wishes of a deceased relative who had wanted to donate his or her organs. In the decade that it might take for the Japanese success to make any headway into patient treatment, more than a thousand families could dash the hopes of the desperately ill. That’s in this country alone, where more than 7,000 people are waiting for transplants. A thousand of them will die this year because of a lack of organs. Slater, now a thriving 19-year-old with a 62-year-old heart, has been vocal and active in drawing attention to the shortfall, encouraging more people to sign up for organ donation.

Things might get a little better after the 2 July decision by the Welsh Assembly to adopt “presumed consent” for organ donation. After 2015, people in Wales who don’t want their organs recycled will have to sign the opt-out register. Somewhat perversely, organs from Wales will be available to patients in the rest of the UK, which remains opt-in after a 2008 review concluded that opt-out was unlikely to increase the number of donated organs and risked reducing their availability IN THE FRAME by undermining trust in the medical profession.

Britain has one of the highest refusal rates in Europe, with half of all families denying organs if the deceased’s wishes are not known. In some ways this is understandable. It is only 45 years since the first UK liver transplant and 30 since our first heart-and-lung transplant. That is a very short time, in human terms, in which to contemplate changes to our death rituals.

Nonetheless, we should do better with what science has provided – regardless of what is coming. A mouse with a human liver is extraordinary indeed. But scientists have also made great strides in learning how to perform transplants, how to suppress the immune system’s rejection of foreign tissue and how to care for those who have gone through such traumatic procedures.

It would be a terrible shame if the advances of stem-cell research were to provide any further excuse for refusing to save a life.

Japanese scientists have grown human liver cells in mice. Photograph: Getty Images

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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What it’s like to fall victim to the Mail Online’s aggregation machine

I recently travelled to Iraq at my own expense to write a piece about war graves. Within five hours of the story's publication by the Times, huge chunks of it appeared on Mail Online – under someone else's byline.

I recently returned from a trip to Iraq, and wrote an article for the Times on the desecration of Commonwealth war cemeteries in the southern cities of Amara and Basra. It appeared in Monday’s paper, and began:

“‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the engraving reads, but the words ring hollow. The stone on which they appear lies shattered in a foreign field that should forever be England, but patently is anything but.”

By 6am, less than five hours after the Times put it online, a remarkably similar story had appeared on Mail Online, the world’s biggest and most successful English-language website with 200 million unique visitors a month.

It began: “Despite being etched with the immortal line: ‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the truth could not be further from the sentiment for the memorials in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Amara.”

The article ran under the byline of someone called Euan McLelland, who describes himself on his personal website as a “driven, proactive and reliable multi-media reporter”. Alas, he was not driven or proactive enough to visit Iraq himself. His story was lifted straight from mine – every fact, every quote, every observation, the only significant difference being the introduction of a few errors and some lyrical flights of fancy. McLelland’s journalistic research extended to discovering the name of a Victoria Cross winner buried in one of the cemeteries – then getting it wrong.

Within the trade, lifting quotes and other material without proper acknowledgement is called plagiarism. In the wider world it is called theft. As a freelance, I had financed my trip to Iraq (though I should eventually recoup my expenses of nearly £1,000). I had arranged a guide and transport. I had expended considerable time and energy on the travel and research, and had taken the risk of visiting a notoriously unstable country. Yet McLelland had seen fit not only to filch my work but put his name on it. In doing so, he also precluded the possibility of me selling the story to any other publication.

I’m being unfair, of course. McLelland is merely a lackey. His job is to repackage and regurgitate. He has no time to do what proper journalists do – investigate, find things out, speak to real people, check facts. As the astute media blog SubScribe pointed out, on the same day that he “exposed” the state of Iraq’s cemeteries McLelland also wrote stories about the junior doctors’ strike, British special forces fighting Isis in Iraq, a policeman’s killer enjoying supervised outings from prison, methods of teaching children to read, the development of odourless garlic, a book by Lee Rigby’s mother serialised in the rival Mirror, and Michael Gove’s warning of an immigration free-for-all if Britain brexits. That’s some workload.

Last year James King published a damning insider’s account of working at Mail Online for the website Gawker. “I saw basic journalism standards and ethics casually and routinely ignored. I saw other publications’ work lifted wholesale. I watched editors...publish information they knew to be inaccurate,” he wrote. “The Mail’s editorial model depends on little more than dishonesty, theft of copyrighted material, and sensationalism so absurd that it crosses into fabrication.”

Mail Online strenuously denied the charges, but there is plenty of evidence to support them. In 2014, for example, it was famously forced to apologise to George Clooney for publishing what the actor described as a bogus, baseless and “premeditated lie” about his future mother-in-law opposing his marriage to Amal Alamuddin.

That same year it had to pay a “sizeable amount” to a freelance journalist named Jonathan Krohn for stealing his exclusive account in the Sunday Telegraph of being besieged with the Yazidis on northern Iraq’s Mount Sinjar by Islamic State fighters. It had to compensate another freelance, Ali Kefford, for ripping off her exclusive interview for the Mirror with Sarah West, the first female commander of a Navy warship.

Incensed by the theft of my own story, I emailed Martin Clarke, publisher of Mail Online, attaching an invoice for several hundred pounds. I heard nothing, so emailed McLelland to ask if he intended to pay me for using my work. Again I heard nothing, so I posted both emails on Facebook and Twitter.

I was astonished by the support I received, especially from my fellow journalists, some of them household names, including several victims of Mail Online themselves. They clearly loathed the website and the way it tarnishes and debases their profession. “Keep pestering and shaming them till you get a response,” one urged me. Take legal action, others exhorted me. “Could a groundswell from working journalists develop into a concerted effort to stop the theft?” SubScribe asked hopefully.

Then, as pressure from social media grew, Mail Online capitulated. Scott Langham, its deputy managing editor, emailed to say it would pay my invoice – but “with no admission of liability”. He even asked if it could keep the offending article up online, only with my byline instead of McLelland’s. I declined that generous offer and demanded its removal.

When I announced my little victory on Facebook some journalistic colleagues expressed disappointment, not satisfaction. They had hoped this would be a test case, they said. They wanted Mail Online’s brand of “journalism” exposed for what it is. “I was spoiling for a long war of attrition,” one well-known television correspondent lamented. Instead, they complained, a website widely seen as the model for future online journalism had simply bought off yet another of its victims.