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Tag: past spring

  • The COVID-Origins Debate Has Split Into Parallel Worlds

    The COVID-Origins Debate Has Split Into Parallel Worlds

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    The lab-leak theory of COVID’s origin has always been a little squirrelly. If SARS-CoV-2 really did begin infecting humans in a research setting, the evidence that got left behind is mostly of the cloak-and-dagger type: confirmations from anonymous government officials about vague conclusions drawn in classified documents, for example; or leaked materials that lay out hypothetical research projects; or information gleaned from who-knows-where that certain people came down with who-knows-what disease at some crucial moment. In short, it’s all been messy human stuff, the bits and bobs of intelligence analysis. Simple-seeming facts emerge from a dark matter of sources and methods.

    So it goes again. The latest major revelation in this line emerged this week. Taken at face value, it’s extraordinary: Ben Hu, a high-level researcher at the Wuhan Institute of Virology, and two colleagues, Yu Ping and Yan Zhu, could have been the first people on the planet to be infected with SARS-CoV-2, according to anonymous sources cited first in the newsletter Public and then in The Wall Street Journal. These proposed patient SARS-CoV-zeroes aren’t merely employees of the virology institute; they’re central figures in the very sort of research that lab-leak investigators have been scrutinizing since the start of the pandemic. Their names appear on crucial papers related to the discovery of new, SARS-related coronaviruses in bats, and subsequent experimentation on those viruses. (The Journal reached out to the three researchers, but they did not respond.)

    Is this the “smoking gun,” at last, as many now insist? Has the Case of the Missing COVID Origin finally been solved? If it’s true these were the very first infected people, then their professional activities mean they almost certainly caught the virus in the lab, not a market stall full of marmots and raccoon dogs. The origins debate has from the start revolved around a pair of dueling “coincidences.” The fact that the pandemic just happened to take off at a wet market suggests that the virus spilled over into humans from animals for sale there. But the fact that it also just happened to take off not too far away from one of the world’s leading bat-coronavirus labs suggests the opposite. This week’s information seems to tip the balance very heavily toward the latter interpretation.

    The only problem is, we don’t know whether the latest revelations can be trusted, or to what extent. The newly reported facts appear to stem from a single item of intelligence, furnished by a foreign source, that has bounced around inside the U.S. government since sometime in 2020. Over the past two and a half years, the full description of the sickened workers in Wuhan has been revealed with excruciating slowness, in sedimenting clauses, through well-timed leaks. This glacial striptease has finally reached its end, but is the underlying information even true? Until that question can be answered (which could be never), the origins debate will be stuck exactly where it’s been for many months: always moving forward, never quite arriving.

    The story of these sickened workers has been in the public domain, one way or another, since the start of 2021. Officials in the Trump administration’s State Department, reportedly determined to go public with their findings, put out a fact sheet about various events and circumstances at the Wuhan Institute of Virology around the beginning of the pandemic. Included was a quick description of alleged illnesses among the staff. The fact sheet didn’t name the sickened scientists or what they did inside the lab, or when exactly their illnesses occurred. It didn’t specify their symptoms, nor did it say how many scientists had gotten sick. If you boiled it down, the fact sheet’s revelations could be paraphrased like this:

    Several researchers at WIV became ill with respiratory symptoms in autumn 2019.

    That vague stub did little to budge consensus views. The lab-leak theory had been preemptively “debunked” in early 2020, and broad disregard of the idea—contempt of it, really—hadn’t yet abated. The day before the State Department fact sheet was released, a team of 17 international experts dispatched by the World Health Organization arrived in Wuhan to conduct (with the help of Chinese scientists) a comprehensive study of the pandemic’s origins. By the time of their return in February 2021, they’d come out with their conclusions: The lab-leak theory was “extremely unlikely” to be true, they said.

    The next month, while the WHO team was preparing to release its final report, further details of the sick-researchers story began to trickle out. In a panel discussion of COVID origins and then in an interview with the Daily Mail, David Asher, a former State Department investigator who’s now a senior fellow at a conservative think tank, filled in a few more specifics, including that the researchers had been working in a coronavirus laboratory and that the wife of one of them later died. The intel had arrived from a foreign government, he said. Now the facts that were revealed could be summarized like so:

    Three coronavirus researchers at WIV became severely ill with respiratory symptoms in the second week of November 2019.

    Pressure for a more serious appraisal of the lab-leak theory grew throughout that spring. In May 2021, more than a dozen prominent virologists and biosafety experts published a letter in the journal Science calling for “a proper investigation” of the matter. A week later, The Wall Street Journal published a leak from anonymous current and former U.S. officials: According to a “previously undisclosed US intelligence report,” the paper said, the sickened researchers had been treated for their sickness at a hospital. In other words, they probably weren’t suffering from common colds. This new aspect of the narrative was making headlines now, like this:

    Three coronavirus researchers at WIV became severely ill with respiratory symptoms in the second week of November 2019 and sought hospital care.

    After all of this publicity, President Joe Biden ordered the intelligence community to redouble efforts to analyze the evidence. While that work was going on, the leaks kept coming. In a 12,000-word story for Vanity Fair, the investigative journalist Katherine Eban gave some backstory on the sick-research intelligence, claiming that it had been gathered in 2020 and then inexplicably file-drawered until State Department investigators rediscovered it. (One former senior official described this as a “holy shit” moment in an interview with Eban.) Her article contained another seemingly important detail, too: The sickened researchers were doing not simply coronavirus research, her sources told her, but the very sort of research that could produce amped-up versions of a pathogen—an approach known as “gain of function.” Later in the summer, Josh Rogin, a Washington Post columnist, added that, according to his unnamed sources, the sickened researchers had lost their sense of smell and developed ground-glass opacities in their lungs. By this point, in the middle of 2021, the expanded piece of intel amounted to the following:

    Three gain-of-function coronavirus researchers at WIV became severely ill with COVID-like symptoms in the second week of November 2019 and sought hospital care.

    The latest revelations are coming at just the moment when Republicans are lambasting the Biden administration for failing to declassify COVID-origins intelligence in accordance with a law that the president signed. The Sunday Times quoted an anonymous former State Department investigator who said they were “rock-solid confident” that the three sick researchers had been sick with COVID, because people as young as the researchers would rarely be hit so hard by a mere seasonal illness. A few days later, someone spilled the researchers’ names to Public. On Tuesday, The Wall Street Journal matched the scoop, and it seemed that every detail of the once-secret information was now exposed:

    Ben Hu, Yu Ping, and Yan Zhu, three gain-of-function coronavirus researchers at WIV, became severely ill with COVID-like symptoms in the second week of November 2019 and sought hospital care.

    However vivid this may sound, its credibility remains unknown. Did Hu, Ping, and Zhu really get sick, as the intel claims? If so, was it really COVID? Two years ago, the Journal cited two anonymous sources on this question: One, the Journal wrote, called the intelligence “potentially significant but still in need of further investigation and corroboration”; the other said it was “of exquisite quality” and “very precise.” Just this week, anonymous officials in the Biden administration told The New York Times that intelligence analysts had already “dismissed the evidence,” by August 2022, about the sickened workers at WIV for lack of relevance. Which secret source should be trusted to explain the significance of this secret intelligence? Readers are left to sort that out themselves.

    In the meantime, over the past two years, even as the sickened-worker intel was revealed, a very different sort of evidence was mounting, too. A new research paper, published just days after Eban’s feature in Vanity Fair, revealed that live wild animals, including raccoon dogs, had been for sale at the Huanan market in Wuhan shortly before the pandemic started. In early 2022, scientists put out two detailed analyses of early case patterns and viral genome data, which argued in favor of the animal-spillover theory. Another study involving many of the same researchers came out this past spring, noting the presence of genetic material from raccoon dogs in early samples from the market; its authors described their findings as providing strong evidence for an animal origin. But other scientists were quick to challenge the study’s importance. A further study of the same data by Chinese scientists made a point of not ruling out the hypothesis that the pandemic had started with a case of tainted frozen seafood; yet another study, released in May, argued that the original work provided no useful information whatsoever on the question of COVID’s origins.

    So it goes with the animal-spillover theory. The evidence in favor has always been highly esoteric, knotted with data and interpretation. Scientific points are made—a particular run of viral nucleotides is a “smoking gun” for genetic engineering, one famous scholar said in 2021—and then they are re-argued and occasionally walked back. Long-hidden sample data from the market suddenly appear, and their meaning is subjected to vituperative, technical debate. If the evidence for a lab leak tends to come from messy human stuff, the evidence for animal spillover emerges from messy data. Simple-seeming claims are draped across a sprawl of numbers.

    In this way, the origins question has broken down into a pair of rival theories that don’t—and can’t—ever fully interact. They’re based on different sorts of evidence, with different standards for evaluation and debate. Each story may be accruing new details—fresh intelligence about the goings-on at WIV, for example, or fresh genomic data from the market—but these are only filling out a picture that will never be complete. The two narratives have been moving forward on different tracks. Neither one is getting to its destination.

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    Daniel Engber

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  • Consider Armadillo COVID

    Consider Armadillo COVID

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    This past spring, Amanda Goldberg crouched in the leafy undergrowth of a southwestern Virginia forest and attempted to swab a mouse for COVID. No luck; its nose was too tiny for her tools. “You never think about nostrils until you start having to swab an animal,” Goldberg, a conservation biologist at Virginia Tech University, told me. Larger-nosed creatures that she and her team had trapped, such as raccoons and foxes, had no issue with nose swabs—but for mice, throat samples had to do. The swabs fit reasonably well into their mouths, she said, though they endured a fair bit of munching.

    Goldberg’s throat-swabbing endeavors were part of a study she and her colleagues devised to answer an unexplored question: How common is COVID in wildlife? Of the 333 forest animals her team swabbed around Blacksburg, Virginia, spanning 18 species, one—an opossum—tested positive. This was to be expected, Goldberg said; catching a wild animal that happened to have an active infection right when it was swabbed was like finding Waldo. But the researchers also collected blood samples, and those were more telling about whether the animals had experienced previous bouts with COVID. Analysis by the Molecular Diagnostics Lab and the Fralin Biomedical Research Institute at Virginia Tech revealed antibodies across 24 animals spanning six species, including the opossum, the Eastern gray squirrel, and two types of mice. “Our minds were blown,” Goldberg said. “It was basically every species we sent” to the lab.

    That animals can get COVID is one of the earliest things we learned about the virus. Despite the endless debate over its origins, SARS-CoV-2 most likely jumped from an animal through an intermediate host to humans in Wuhan. Since then, it has since spread back to a range of animals. People have passed it to household pets, such as dogs and cats, and to a Disney movie’s worth of beasts, including lions, hippos, hyenas, tigers, mink, and hamsters. Three years into the pandemic, animals are still falling sick with COVID, just as we are. COVID is likely circulating more widely in animals than we are aware of, Edward Holmes, a biologist at the University of Sydney, told me. “In all my 30-plus years of doing work on this subject, I have never seen a virus that can infect so many animal species,” he said. More than 500 other mammal species are predicted to be highly susceptible to infection.

    Given that most people nowadays aren’t fretting too much about human-to-human spread, it makes sense that animal-to-human spread has largely been forgotten. But even when there are so many other pandemic concerns, animal COVID can’t be ignored. The consequences of sustained animal transmission are exactly the same as they are in people: The more COVID spreads, the more opportunities the virus has to evolve into new variants. What’s most alarming is the chance that one of those variants could spill back into humans. As we’ve known since the pandemic started, SARS-CoV-2 is not a human virus, but one that can infect multiple animals, including humans. As long as animals are still getting COVID, we’re not out of the doghouse either.

    Perhaps part of the reason COVID in animals has been overlooked—apart from the fact that they’re not people—is that most species don’t seem to get very sick. Animals that have gotten infected generally exhibit mild symptoms—typically some coughing and sluggishness, as in pumas and lions. But our research has gone only fur-deep. “We certainly can’t ask them, ‘Are you feeling headaches, or sluggish?’” said Goldberg, who worries about long-term or invisible symptoms going undiagnosed in species. And so animal COVID has lingered unchecked, increasing the chances that it could mean something bad for us.

    The good news is that the overall risk of getting COVID from animals is considered low, according to the CDC. This is partly explained by evolutionary theory, which predicts that most variants that emerge in an animal population will have adapted to become better at infecting the host animal—not us. But some of them, strictly by chance, “could be highly transmissible or virulent in humans,” Holmes said. “It’s an unpredictable process.” His concern is not that animals will start infecting people en masse—your neighbors are far likelier to do that than raccoons—but that in animals, SARS-CoV-2 could form new variants that can spill over into people. Some scientists believe that Omicron emerged this way in mice, though evidence remains scant.

    A troubling sign is that there’s already some evidence that COVID has made its way from humans to animals, where it mutated, and then made its way back into humans. Take white-tailed deer, by now a well-known COVID host. Every fall, hunters take to the golden meadows and reddening forests of southwestern Ontario to shoot the deer, giving researchers an opportunity to test some of the hunted animals for COVID. The species has been infected with the same variants circulating widely in humans—a handful of Staten Island deer caught Omicron last winter, for example—which suggests that people are infecting them. How the deer get infected still isn’t clear: Extended face time with humans, nosing around in trash, or slurping up our wastewater are all possibilities.

    The researchers in Canada found not only that some of the animals tested positive, but also that the variant they carried had never before been seen in humans, indicating that the virus had been spreading and mutating within the population for a long time, Brad Pickering, a research scientist for the Canadian government who studied the deer, told me. In fact, the new variant is among the most evolutionarily divergent ones identified so far. But despite its differences, it appeared to have infected at least one person who had interacted with deer the week before falling ill. “We can’t make a direct link between them,” Pickering said, but the fact that such a highly diverged deer variant was detected in a human is very suggestive of how that person got sick.

    This research adds to the small but growing body of evidence that the COVID we spread to animals could come back to bite us. Fortunately, this particular spillback does not appear to have had serious consequences for humans; rogue deer variants don’t seem to be circulating in southern Canada. But this is not the sole documented instance of animal-to-human spread: People have been infected by mink in the Netherlands, hamsters in Hong Kong, and a cat in Thailand. Other spillbacks have probably occurred and gone unnoticed. So far, no data show that the animal variants that have spread to humans are more dangerous for us. Even if a potential animal variant isn’t the next Omicron, it could still be better at dodging our existing treatments and vaccines, Pickering said.

    But there is also, frankly, a lack of data. Local wildlife-surveillance efforts led by researchers like Goldberg and Pickering are ongoing, but they do not exist in most countries, Holmes said. An international database of known animal infections, maintained by Complexity Science Hub Vienna, is a promising start. An interactive map shows the locations of previously infected animals, including large hairy armadillos (Argentina), manatees (Brazil), and cats (everywhere). At the very least, with animal COVID, “we need to know what species it’s in, in what abundance, and genetically, what those variants look like,” Holmes said. “It’s absolutely critical to know where [the virus] is going.” Without this, there is no way of knowing how often spillback occurs and whether it puts humans at risk. And we can’t tell whether new COVID variants are also putting animals in danger, Goldberg said; a devastating Omicron-like variant could emerge in their populations too.

    The steps we need to take to mitigate the animal-COVID problem—and prevent other zoonotic diseases from jumping into humans—are clear, even if they don’t seem to be happening. Eliminating wet markets where wild animals are sold is an obvious preventive measure, but it has been difficult to implement because the livelihoods and diets of many people, especially in the global South, depend on them. As climate change and land development decimate even more habitats, wildlife will be forced into ever-closer quarters with us, fostering an even more efficient exchange of viruses between species. Unlike mask wearing and other straightforward options for curbing the human spread of COVID, preventing its transmission to, from, and among animals will require major upheavals to the way our societies run, likely far greater than we are willing to commit to.

    Humans tend to act like COVID ends up afflicting us after traveling through a long chain of species. But to think so is like living in the Middle Ages, Holmes said, when the Earth was considered the center of the universe. As we learned then, we are not that important: Humans are but a node in an immense network of species that viruses move through in many directions. Just as animal viruses infect us, human viruses can spread to animals (measles, for example, kills a variety of great apes). There are definitely bigger problems than animal COVID—no one needs to hunker down for fear of sneezing deer—but as long as animals keep getting infected, we can’t overlook what that means for us. Paying attention to animal COVID often starts with a single swab—and a snout to stick it in.

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    Yasmin Tayag

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