Published: Vancouver Sun, April 19, 2003, Op-ed column

 

Deborah Jones

    After 2 1/2 years of occupying this space in your Saturday newspaper, this is my last editorial column for The Vancouver Sun. I considered bidding you adieu with another rant about the forces now invading the Middle East, and my fear they'll loot it and leave it when political vagaries in Washington and London turn fickle public attention elsewhere. The conquerors of history left too many other of the world's benighted places in shambles, and I passionately believe they should not get away with it in Iraq. But I've said enough on Iraq; may someone else fight that good fight.

 

    Another column possibility was about the marvels of genetics, which, as a naive and enthralled science student in the 1970s, I actually thought I could understand (hubris!). Since then, with each new scientific breakthrough and mounting ethical questions, genetics increasingly confounds me. April 25 is the 50th anniversary of publication by James D. Watson and Francis Crick, in the science journal Nature, of their description of how the basis of most life, deoxyribonucleic nucleic acid, is arranged in a double helix. Their work on DNA, with that of other creative and brilliant scientists, made it possible this month for Vancouver's Michael Smith Genome Sciences Centre, of the B.C. Cancer Agency, to decipher the genetic code of the SARS virus, a marvellous accomplishment.

 

    Watson, Crick and company also paved the way for last Monday's announcement in Bethesda, Md., that the mapping of the human blueprint is now complete, after 13 years of exhaustive effort by a worldwide consortium on what was called the Human Genome Project. Consortium scientists, reports the New York Times, call it "The Book of Life."

As the current science journal Nature notes, "There is little doubt that genetics will continue to benefit society, in particular through improvements in health care and agriculture."

 

    Reading this, my curmudgeonly side wanted to stick a small pin in the hoopla, by noting that genetics can be used for the dark side as well as the light -- sometimes unknowingly -- and pointing out that we mere humans rarely know as much as we think we do. Is this long list of As, Gs, Cs and Ts, this dry technical manual complete with circuitry that dares to call itself The Book of Life, really the explanation for the magical alchemies of life on earth? I think not -- but to explore this well would take a lifetime, not a column.

 

    I toyed with a light-hearted report on my sole New Year's resolution: to get fit and healthy again and cast off my three years of sloth that followed a mild injury. But the topic lacks the gravitas called for by the state of the world and B.C.'s persistent rain and, besides, I'd surely embarrass myself.

 

    And so, instead of expanding on any of the above topics, or expressing my joy at the Quebec election, my dismay at the lobbyist thugs of the Downtown Eastside, my concern that our rising dollar might topple our economy or why we should push forward on space travel, I leave you with a large observation prompted by a small incident.

 

    This week I was inching east along Bridgeport Road in Richmond, which had dwindled to a single lane because of construction, announced by numerous signs. When a few drivers at the very end of the slow single lane grew impatient, they pulled out, gunned their motors and scooted up the right side to the very front, where they encountered a barrier and demanded to be let into the flow of traffic.

 

    I usually save my fights for the worthwhile battles, but this time when an older couple in a blue Chevy started budging, I crept closer to the car in front. The Chevy man became apoplectic, leaning on his horn and sending me dirty looks as, once free, our cars travelled abreast for many blocks. This silly, very common incident, you may think with a frown, is hardly worth writing about these days. Perhaps.

 

    But whether we're in a Baghdad market, a U.S. science lab or on a street in B.C., our daily lives are shaped by small acts of vengeance and kindness, of standing tall or bowing to the bullies. Each and every incident calls for a choice, and when all our little responses are added up, they amount to what we call civility. And when all is said and done, it's civility that determines whether we love our neighbour, make ethical decisions, live consciously, let war result from our failures in economics and diplomacy.

 

    This civility, I believe, is a gossamer-thin veil over the forces of chaos, and it's up to each of us to strengthen its weave and repair its rents.

 

    May civility and may you, dear readers, fare well.