The Best and The Worst

Early in my first year of college, the chemistry faculty described their research in a series of short talks to the potential chem majors. I best remember Prof. JS. He fit the stereotype: dumpy, balding, thick glasses, and a short sleeve white polyester shirt half in and half out of his trousers. JS talked about his work on alveolar surfactants; the proteins that coat the tiny air sacs in our lungs and reduce the effort required to draw each breath. All of us, in 1971, remembered well Patrick Bouvier Kennedy's short life. He was born premature in the summer of 1963 to First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy. The baby lived only three days. Preemies are born before those air sac proteins develop. The babies struggle for each breath. In 1963, many, including Patrick Kennedy, died. And, there was JS, rumpled and completely uncool, telling us about his work to save those babies. The professor was a hero. Of all the descriptors, it was the most appropriate adjective. The one to endure.

I thought again of that day in 1971 when reading the latest New Yorker. An article by Jerome Groopman  covers oncology researchers who are trying with some success to drive cancer into remission by activating our human immune systems. A few pages further back Jill Lepore reports on America's gun fetishism. The two articles contrast the best and worst of humanity.

The cancer researchers are now making progress with methods once abandoned as ineffective. Cancer grows and spreads because mutant cells are too much like their healthy progenitors to trigger immune response. The new therapies super-charge patients' T-cells to induce that extra bit of activity that allows the T-cells to target cancer cells. The approach is not perfect. Supercharged T-cells, like more conventional chemotherapy, may also destroy healthy tissue. But, the research as explained seems like true progress. And the researchers? We don't get much insight about their psyches other than overriding perseverance. These men and women work hard. Are they motivated by ego? Probably. Do they view their research as a competition with other scientists? Certainly. Does it matter? No. Successful research will save many lives. It is hard, slow, grinding, frustrating work toward a heroic cause. The best side of humanity

Jill Lepore's gunnies, in constrast, are immature, diminished people. Their stories are all about emotional (and intellectual) defects without redemption. Gun fetishists use the 2^nd amendment as post-hoc justification for preset conclusion. The Bill of Rights is a cloth remnant. One-half of one tenth was carefully cut out and sewn by the NRA into a drum major's tunic. The rest was tossed on the ground; ignored, forgotten, unseen. Think of mafiosi pleading the 5^th, then cheering themselves as constitutional stalwarts and noble souls motivated exclusively by their love of the Bill of Rights and the Nation.  

Lepore interviews David Keene, the NRA's new president, whose son is doing time for shooting at a driver during a road rage incident. 

He was sentenced to ten years in prison for “using, brandishing, and discharging a firearm in a crime of violence.” I asked Keene if this private tragedy had left him uncertain about what the N.R.A. had wrought. He said no: “You break the law, you pay the price.” 

I asked Keene if any public atrocity had given him pause. He explained that it is the N.R.A.’s policy never to comment on a shooting. 

I asked him how he would answer critics who charge that no single organization has done more to weaken Americans’ faith in government, or in one another, than the N.R.A. 

“We live in a society now that’s Balkanized,” Keene said. “But that has nothing to do with guns.”

Gunnies exist in tiny rooms without mirrors or doors.  No chance for self-reflection or path forward.  They are the unwanted opposites of Groopman's scientists.