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In 2009 I attended the annual meeting of the American Society for Bioethics and Humanities(link is external). The keynote speaker was Carl Elliott(link is external). I knew he was a Professor at the Center for Bioethics at the University of Minnesota(link is external) and I knew he wrote for The New Yorker(link is external). I had assigned his piece on the lives of human research participants, Guinea-Pigging(link is external), to both my science writing and genomics-in-society classes. But none of that prepared me for his speech, which was eloquent, thoughtful, accusatory, profane, and above all, funny as hell. In 25 years of  academic conferences, I can’t recall hearing another talk that made me laugh until I cried.

There were hilarious vignettes from Elliott’s South Carolina childhood and jabs at “bioethicists for hire” (including many in the audience–at times it was almost as though the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association(link is external) had invited a strident and acerbic member of PETA(link is external) to deliver its keynote). But in between was a question: why weren’t more of us doing what he was doing? Why weren’t we investigating egregious, troubling or even benign-but-fascinating...