Plague of Corruption

Restoring Faith in the Promise of Science

Judy Mikovits, Kent Heckenlively

• Publisher: Skyhorse
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781510752252
• Topic: Scienze biologiche
• Subtopic: Microbiologia e biologia molecolare

#1 on Amazon Charts, New York Times Bestseller, USA Today Bestseller — Over 100, 000 Copies in Print! "Kent Heckenlively and Judy Mikovits are the new dynamic duo fighting corruption in science." —Ben Garrison, America's #1 political satirist Dr. Judy Mikovits is a modern-day Rosalind Franklin, a brilliant researcher shaking up the old boys' club of science with her groundbreaking discoveries. And like many women who have trespassed into the world of men, she uncovered decades-old secrets that many would prefer to stay buried. From her doctoral thesis, which changed the treatment of HIV-AIDS, saving the lives of millions, including basketball greatMagic Johnson, to her spectacular discovery of a new family of human retroviruses, and her latest research which points to a new golden age of health, Dr. Mikovits has always been on the leading edge of science. With the brilliant wit one might expect if Erin Brockovich had a doctorate in molecular biology, Dr. Mikovits has seen the best and worst of science. When she was part of the research community that turned HIV-AIDS from a fatal disease into a manageable one, she saw science at its best. But when her investigations questioned whether the use of animal tissue in medical research were unleashing devastating plagues of chronic diseases, such as autism and chronic fatigue syndrome, she saw science at its worst. If her suspicions are correct, we are looking at a complete realignment of scientific practices, including how we study and treat human disease. Recounting her nearly four decades in science, including her collaboration of more than thirty-five years with Dr. Frank Ruscetti, one of the founders of the field of human retrovirology, this is a behind the scenes look at the issues and egos which will determine the future health of humanity.

CHAPTER ONE

A Scientist at Sea

It was late October of 2011, halfway between getting fired from the neuroimmune institute I cofounded and finding myself in jail, when I was riding my bike down Harbor Boulevard through the sand dunes of McGrath State Park in Oxnard, California.

Think of every fantasy you have of Southern California—the blue Pacific Ocean with whitecaps, a late fall breeze, the beach, parks where parents with their children were flying kites—and you have a pretty good picture of why I liked to take this route. That day I was biking from our boat-dock home located on a small canal to the PBYC where I was part of a group planning an annual sailing competition to benefit Caregivers, an organization that helps the elderly remain in their homes.

And what did I look like as I rode through some of the less-traveled areas near McGrath State Park? I was in my midfifties, stood five foot four, weighed around one hundred and forty pounds. I imagined I was probably indistinguishable from a great number of people as I pedaled along on my blue bike wearing an orange helmet and bright biking clothes.

Although I’d recently lost my job and was in the middle of a heated scientific controversy, I wasn’t unduly worried. I was the principal investigator on federal grants worth approximately 1.5 to 2 million dollars a year for any university that hired me. I had interviews lined up at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), the University of California, Santa Barbara, California State University, Channel Islands, as well as an opportunity in New York City at Mount Sinai Medical Center with Dr. Derek Enlander. We owned three homes, several cars, and a boat, had money in the bank, and my husband had a generous pension from the years he worked as the human resources manager for a major hospital.

The research institute I’d cofounded was housed at the University of Nevada, Reno. The man who’d hired me, Harvey Whittemore, was generally considered the most powerful person in the state. He would eventually spend eighteen months in federal prison for campaign finance violations involving Senator Harry Reid, at that time the majority leader of the United States Senate. These people who had once been my close friends had betrayed me and millions of others. I had refused their directive to be part of what I considered to be unethical and illegal actions. And I had not gone quietly into that good night. I had raged against the dying light of hope that had been so briefly kindled by our work, on behalf of a forgotten group of terribly sick people.

A white pickup truck with Nevada plates pulled ahead of me, parking in the bike lane. As I pedaled by the parked vehicle, I saw the driver holding up his cell phone, as if he were taking pictures of me. He was a large man with a beard, brown hair underneath a baseball cap, sunglasses, a tan, and he gave off an unmistakably creepy vibe. I couldn’t help but notice he had a rifle mounted in his back window. This dance of following behind me, pulling ahead and parking to let me pass, then pulling out again happened several times before I crossed the street and rode opposite traffic and he drove off.

When I made it to the yacht club, I told the story to a friend. “It was really pretty strange,” I said. “He just kept following me.”

“You fool,” said my friend. “You could disappear. All he has to do is make sure it’s you, grab you, throw your bike in the dunes, throw your cell phone in the water, then when they find your body someday, people will say you killed yourself because things weren’t working out in the XMRV study. So help me, God, if you ever ride that bike again, I will personally kill you. I’m driving you home. And from now on, you are never in a place alone where people like that can find you.”

She was adamant, and I complied, realizing that one of my blind spots is not being able to see when people intend me harm. I was often referred to as a “lab rat,” the designation given to those scientists who prefer to spend their time at the bench doing experiments rather than glad-handing politicians and donors or haranguing graduate students on the work for which the senior scientist will take credit. I preferred to be in the lab, hands-on, shoulder to shoulder with Frank, research assistants, and students, guiding them and challenging them, as they do the same, making sure the explanations I gave them and the conclusions we made were sound.

This is where I have spent most of my professional life with Frank, challenging the reigning dogma when the lens of a microscope tells a different story.

However, I was about to get an education in the dark arts of humanity, the landscape of fear and lies. I did not fully appreciate the power of those who wield these skills. I am not sure I have found my way back to the light.

I think more of us are under this spell than we realize.

How do you commit the perfect crime in science?

We’re handicapped from the start because it’s a question we never ask. For more than thirty years, Frank taught me and many others to record our data accurately, compare them with collaborators around the world, discard the outliers, and come to a consensus. We understand there are variations, but if the bulk of the evidence goes in a certain direction, we are confident we have a better understanding of human biological processes.

If only that were what happened in the real world.

In the real world there are corporations, be they pharmaceutical, agricultural, petroleum, or chemical companies, that have billions of dollars at stake in the work of scientists. If one has billions of dollars, he can use the dark arts of persuasion to hire public relations firms to tout your products, sow the seeds of doubt about those who question your products, buy advertising on news networks so they don’t publicize negative stories unless they have no other choice, and donate to politicians of all ideologies. Then, once those politicians have been elected, they can write laws for the benefit of their generous donors. As it was put so eloquently in the seventeenth century by a prominent member of Queen Elizabeth’s court, “If it prospers, none dare call it treason.”

Against this financial and corporate juggernaut is the naive and inquisitive scientist. We are not taught to be fierce. We take no graduate courses in courage. We are encouraged to believe the raw data as long as all the experimental controls are used, and we report ALL of the data, even if we do not understand them.

I’ve often thought we in science would do well to follow the example of lawyers. In my conversations with attorneys, it’s clear they relish intellectual combat. They will stand and defend the most hated individual in society, because they believe that person is genuinely innocent, or that a certain process must be followed before we can pronounce judgment. Frank taught me a love of such intellectual combat. In Frank’s eyes, if you’d followed the scientific method, you had a duty to fiercely defend those data. And with Frank, you checked, rechecked, and triple-checked your data before he’d let you show them.

Once a colleague told us, “the most important data in a scientific paper is those data you don’t show.” That statement enraged Frank. He’d often say, “the best papers leave the readers asking more questions than they answer.” We left in all the data in our October 8, 2009, Science paper, even those parts we did not understand at the time. Even though that paper ended my career, it speaks the truth to this day.

Those in the legal profession are taught to be fierce. I am thankful that Frank taught me to be as fierce as any lawyer.

The best scientists in history have been those who have similarly gone against the grain of traditional thought. Think of Galileo claiming the Sun did not revolve around the Earth, or Darwin challenging the Biblical idea that all creation, plants and animals, land and sea, were created in six days, and God rested on the seventh.

One day, as I was whining about the negative papers being published supposedly refuting the XMRV association with ME/CFS, Frank took me into his office and pointed to a file cabinet in the corner. He opened the drawers containing published papers saying he was wrong about T-cell growth factor (interleukin-2), or HTLV-1, causing Adult T-Cell Leukemia. One paper was published that very month! He said, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Now, let’s get back to work.”

I encourage you to consider the scientific questions raised in this book the same way you would follow one of the high-profile criminal cases that from time to time consume so much of our national attention. You understand a claim will be made. This person is accused of killing another person. You will hear the evidence presented, watch it be challenged by the other side, then come to your own determination as to which pieces of evidence are credible and which are not. It is a methodical process. After each side has introduced their evidence and dealt with the challenges to its credibility by the opposing side, you arrive at your conclusion.

Let me make the claim that underlies everything that follows.

Science is being corrupted by the influence of corporate money. This corruption is leading directly to our poor health, whether it be the epidemic of obesity; neurological diseases like autism, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and multiple sclerosis; the explosion of cancers; or mental problems among the young, including school shooters. There are some who claim this is leading to a culling, if not the mass extinction, of humanity.

Based upon all we have experienced, I find it difficult to counter this troubling narrative.

I entered all of this as naive as a first-year graduate student.

I did not believe science to be as fundamentally corrupt regarding our health as I have now come to believe. I want you to consider me as the young boy in Hans Christian Anderson’s tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes. In the story, the Emperor is told by the crooks that they were creating a set of clothes for him that could be seen by only the finest people. All the people around the Emperor claimed they saw the beautiful clothes because they wanted everybody to believe they were the finest people. Only a young boy, unconcerned by what others thought of him, pointed out that the Emperor was naked.

If you are continuing to read this book, you are effectively impaneled as the jury on a claim that science has chosen a misguided path. You’ve taken an implicit pledge to listen to what we and others say with an open mind. We did not come to our conclusions easily.

I do not expect you to, either.

But let us begin this journey together.

I did not know if I could write this book. Many of the incidents are so troubling to recount that I worry about suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, the condition so often found in soldiers, police, or firefighters, who serve on the very front lines of conflict. This is the story of a battle being fought by a few brave scientists against an enemy with almost limitless resources.

Science may be agnostic in this struggle, but I am not.

I’m a person of faith and believe God wants humanity to enjoy good health, not suffer.

Sometimes people ask me how I’m still alive, and I reply, “God has a sense of humor.” I do not know my ultimate fate or how I will be judged by this world. It doesn’t matter.

However, I know one day I will stand before God, who will ask if I was obedient and served as He requires. What I share in the pages that follow is the account I would give the Almighty on Judgment Day.

The pounding on the door of our boat-dock home located on Jamestown Way in Oxnard began at about 5:00 a.m. on November 9, 2011.

I was in the shower, and my husband, David, waking and finding me not next to him, figured I was already on my way to work, as I was most mornings. I like to get an early start.

Always have. Even though David wears hearing aids, he does not wear them at night, and he stumbled out of bed to walk downstairs, not realizing I was in the bathroom.

A man was at the door, wearing a badge and claiming he had a legal document to serve to Judy Mikovits.

“She’s not here,” David replied, wearily, wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt. “She’s long gone. She’ll be back here at about eight o’clock. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow or wait.”

The man declined the offer to return and waited out in front of his car.

That morning I was supposed to have a meeting at UCLA, accompanied by my good friend, Ken, with whom I had previously worked at EpiGenX Pharmaceuticals in Santa Barbara. UCLA was sixty miles away, and that distance in Los Angeles rush hour traffic is not a treat. There was also the possibility that Ken and I would meet up later in the day with Patrick Soon-Shiong, the Chinese billionaire who would eventually purchase the Los Angeles Times, to discuss a potential job working for one of his companies. Prior to amassing great wealth, Soon-Shiong had been a transplant surgeon and founded a successful biotechnology company. Ken thought the three of us would speak a similar language.

David walked up the stairs as I came out of the bathroom, just about ready to leave. I asked, “What was that about?”

David nearly jumped out of his skin. I’d like to say these things happen because my husband is twenty years older than I, but I’ve known enough couples to realize this is a relatively common experience for many.

After he calmed down, he explained to me what had happened.

“That’s odd,” I said, recalling I’d been threatened with a lawsuit by my former employers on November 2. The letter had given me only forty-eight hours to re...