What do you think?
Rate this book


11 pages, Audiobook
First published September 1, 2020
"I'd first heard his name in February 1998, on the occasion of a report, or "paper," he published in a top medical journal, The Lancet. In a five-page, four thousand-word, double-columned text, he claimed to have discovered a terrifying new "syndrome" of brain and bowel damage in children. The "apparent precipitating event," as he called it on page 2, was a vaccine given routinely to hundreds of millions. He later talked of an "epidemic" of injuries.
In time, he'd take aim at pretty much any vaccine, from hepatitis B to human papillomavirus. But, in the beginning, there was one in his crosshairs. This was a three-in-one shot against measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR), which he argued was the cause of a rising tide of "regressive" autism, in which infants lost language and skills. "Sufferers have to live in a silent world of their own unable to communicate," he warned.
But then, five years later, all that changed with a topical feature assignment. By then, the "MMR doctor" was so celebrated in Britain that anything new would get a "good show," as journalists used to say in the golden age of ink on paper. So I interviewed the mother of a developmentally challenged boy whose details were anonymized in that Lancet report. And there began Wakefield's end.
Nothing came easy. He refused to be interviewed, and ran away when I approached him with questions.
But, as I pressed on, asking questions, gathering documents, and resisting lawsuits that he brought to try to gag me, his report was retracted as "utterly false," and his doctoring days were done."
"Beneath the title was a single line, asking if the child's "initial development" was "normal." To claim vaccine damage, this feature was important. And I knew the Lancet paper was clear. In its "Methods" and "Interpretation" sections, it stressed that the twelve were "previously normal" children, with a "history of normal development."
But Child Six's report got off to a rocky start. "Initial development—normal?" it asked, and answered itself bluntly:
No
Promising, I thought. But this didn't detain me, because three inches below that, a six-inch-wide box went to the heart of Wakefield's behavior. It was labeled, in boldface, "Initial diagnosis" and was answered:
Aspergers Syndrome
Down the page was another box, "Current diagnosis":
Aspergers Syndrome (most likely)
I didn't need to check. That twelve-child paper reported no case of Asperger's syndrome. According to Table 2, column 2—"Behavioural diagnosis"—eight of the kids were diagnosed with "Autism," one with "Autism? Disintegrative Disorder?" one with "Autistic spectrum disorder," and two with "encephalitis?"
"A coherent explanation for a link between the gut, persistent measles virus infection, autoimmunity and autism, is embodied in the 'opioid excess' hypothesis," he told the board. "The hypothesis proposes that early in life, opioid peptides—principally in ß-caesomorphine and ß-gliadorphin—derived from dietary casein and gliadin [a gluten component] respectively, enter the circulation through a damaged or leaky gut."
So, here was how MMR was meant to cause autism. Persistent measles virus led to bowel inflammation. Then an "excess" of peptides from food escaped into the bloodstream, traveled to the brain, and caused damage."
"He says he was asked to sign a confidentiality agreement. The data would never be published. "It was almost like it had become a religion. And if you got a result that you didn't like, you ignored that result and carried on."
No surprise there. That was the logic of litigation. The goal wasn't the truth. It was to win—or, at least, maximize billing to legal aid. And, understandably for a lawyer, Barr kept his nerve, even after the unblinding opened eyes. A peptides meeting was promptly convened in Norfolk (flying four academics from the United States to huddle with March), at which "opioid excess" was unsentimentally dumped for a new "opioid suppression hypothesis."
"That was the voice of the doctor who fooled the world. He reveled in his power to terrorize. And he saw in Thompson the opportunity that it was: to mirror the complaints found proven against himself, by accusing the government of fraud. "They say this, I say that." Here was a chance to reclaim familiar territory—and in the months that followed, he did."
“Medicine was for doctors; science for scientists. My responsibility was to question. And if that meant digging till his house fell down, then, corny as it sounds, better journalists than me have lost their lives for untold truths."
"If he believed in something, he would have gone to the ends of the earth to go on believing.
To go on believing. Not to search for solutions. He'd always been making a case. And the case he made—which was rarely not for profit—was that his big ideas must prevail. No matter his betters, no matter the truth, no matter the outbreaks of fear, guilt, and disease, nothing would obstruct his path."