Melvin's blog

Nshima & Curry

Melvin's  Blog

Nshima & Curry

IT'S NO FUN BEING A GUINEA PIG

When I read recently that a researcher at Johns Hopkins
University in Baltimore had been censured for using Indians
as guinea pigs, I was reminded of why I never became a
researcher. After my first day of work, I would have had to
turn in my research badge.

"I'm sorry, Melvin, we're going to have to let you go,"
the chief researcher would say. "You got the Indians and
guinea pigs mixed up again. You really should learn how to
tell them apart. The guinea pigs are short, hairy and fat;
the Indians are short, hairy and slim. You have to be
careful how you treat the guinea pigs, because you can
easily upset the animal rights activists."

The Johns Hopkins biologist, Ru Chih C. Huang, had tested
experimental cancer drugs on people in Thiruvananthapuram,
Kerala, without adequate preliminary tests in animals. In
other words, Huang failed to follow the normal progression
of scientific testing: (1) tests on rats; (2) tests on
guinea pigs; (3) tests on primates; and (4) tests on people
in Thiruvananthapuram.

Though nobody appears to have been harmed by the illegal
testing, Huang deserves the sanctions Johns Hopkins imposed
on her. If she had wanted to test her drugs on humans so
badly, she should have given the drugs to her relatives.
Perhaps she could have handed them out at a family reunion.

Huang: "Hey Uncle Pham, don't you have cancer?"

Pham: "Cancer? No, I'm pretty healthy. Healthy as a horse."

Huang: "Well, have you considered taking up smoking? I just
happen to have an extra pack of cigarettes."

If I sound annoyed at Huang's indiscretion, it's partly
because I know what it's like to be a guinea pig. I've been
a guinea pig many times -- not to experimental drugs but
to experimental food.

Back in college, my roommates did most of the experimenting.
Even when they boiled eggs, it was an experiment. "Oh no,
the eggs have turned black. Maybe we should have put some
water in the pot."

These days, my wife does most of the experimenting. She's a
professional researcher. She does animal research at work
and food research at home.

Yes, she loves to experiment in the kitchen. That's usually
a good thing. My wife's very creative and often produces
meals so delicious, I devour everything in an instant. "That
was a great meal," I tell her, licking my lips. "What are
you going to eat?"

But every now and then, my wife cooks something "exotic." By
"exotic," I mean "strange." I know it's strange even before
I set foot in the kitchen, for the smell has drifted to the
living room and all the plants have died. That's when I
start to pray. "Dear God, please turn our parakeet into a
guinea pig. I want to give it some experimental food."

To be fair, I should mention that I do a little experimental
cooking myself, just to show my wife what it's like to be a
guinea pig. "Look Sweetie, I cooked some broccoli curry. I'm
sure you'll like it, because the parakeet absolutely loves
it. I've never seen him squeal so much."

If I've learned anything over the years, it's this: Nobody
wants to be a guinea pig. Even the guinea pigs would rather
be something else. As soon as they're born, they
realize their fate and start whimpering. "Oh no, we're
guinea pigs. We're going to be experimented on. Like those
Indians in Thiruvananthapuram."

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