2 UC chancellors, 2 police assaults, no coincidence

I teach at UC Berkeley and my brother teaches at UC Davis, so I’ve been a bit preoccupied trying to figure out why our two campuses have all of a sudden become ground zero in the institutional repression of student speech. Is it some kind of accident that both Berkeley’s Chancellor Birgeneau and Davis’s Chancellor Katehi decided to insist on a zero tolerance policy against students putting up tents and give police carte blanche to enforce it? I don’t think so.

The UC administration – the chancellors who preside over individual campuses, the President who governs over the whole system, and the Regents who rule them all – have been frustratingly obsequious when it comes to the brutal budget cuts that continue to be handed down from the legislature and governor. Yes, they complain about the effects, and continue to lobby for more money. But there’s been a surprising lack of outrage as the greatest public university in the world has been dismantled. Instead, they’ve more or less sucked it up, and turned to students and workers to make up the difference while they stray further and further from the university’s great public mission.

They (and many others) have argued that they have no choice – that forces far larger than UC, or even Sacramento, have forced this issue on the system and that they are only doing what is necessary to survive. But it’s hard to escape the feeling that the Chancellors are striking out violently at the students precisely because they are showing them up – for having the temerity to do what they lack the courage to do themselves.

And this is why Birgeneau and Katehi must go. It’s not just because they allowed their students to be beaten/pepper sprayed when all they were trying to do was defend the university and its ideals. It’s because they have become bullies, taking out the frustrations of their jobs (of which there must be many) on those less powerful than them. And bullies rarely, if ever, strike only once.

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Channeling George Wallace: Berkeley Chancellor Birgeneau’s Disgraceful Doublespeak

One of the surest signs that someone is up to no good is when they take something in plain sight and try to tell you that it is something else.

Take, for example, this video from this weeks Occupy Cal protest:

I’ve watched this over and over. And every time I watch it, I see the same thing: a bunch of students standing peacefully trying to prevent the police from crossing their line. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine anyone seeing anything else in this video.

That is why it was so shocking to receive this “letter to campus”  from UC Berkeley Chancellor Robert Birgeneau, in which he made the following astonishing statement:

It is unfortunate that some protesters chose to obstruct the police by linking arms and forming a human chain to prevent the police from gaining access to the tents. This is not non-violent civil disobedience.

That isn’t non-violent civil disobedience???? What????

This is mind-blowing example of doublespeak worthy of the most disingenuous and deceitful politicians. In both form and function the students were following what is inarguably the freaking apotheosis of non-violent civil disobedience – Martin Luther King in the march from Selma to Montgomery.

Look familiar?

In putting forth the ridiculous argument that the university’s actions on Wednesday were warranted because, in locking arms, the protesters had become violent, Birgeneau is saying that MLK was also not engaging in non-violent civil disobedience.

It is frightening and disgraceful how similar his stance is to that put forth in 1965 by infamous Alabama governor George Wallace, who used police to beat marchers in an effort to “protect public safety”. Let’s hope sanity is restored and that Berkeley does not end up with its own Bloody Sunday.

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Berkeley’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Response to #occupycal

Yesterday, a group of UC Berkeley students, working under the banner of “Occupy Cal”, sought to set up an encampment in the middle of UC Berkeley’s campus to highlight the connection between the banking industry, the global financial crisis, and the financial plight of our public universities.

I didn’t participate in the protests (it’s not my kind of thing), but I wandered by a few times during the day on my way across campus. When I went by in the early afternoon, there was a small group operating under the eye of a few police – it was boisterous but peaceful. At some point later in the afternoon, the university sent in the police (the footage I saw was of Alameda County Sheriffs) who inexplicably began beating students with batons and throwing several to the ground and arresting them.

It was an unbelievable scene representing a moral breakdown on the part of the university. Predictably, word of the beatings and arrests spread quickly, leading to a significant increase in the size of the protest, which led to further confrontations and more arrests as the night went on.

I am truly dumbfounded by the way the university responded. It’s not like the whole thing caught them by surprise. The protest was well advertised. The organizers made their intentions clear, and the university was sending out “warnings” to faculty and staff all week about the impending “disruptions”.  Which means that they decided in advance to do whatever they had to to prevent the students from setting up camp.

But why? Anyone who has ever seen student protests (and the UCB administration has seen many) would surely have known that the students wouldn’t take down their tents or leave Sproul Plaza just because they were asked – or even threatened with arrest. It’s not the nature of these things. And so the administrations decision to to keep the plaza clear at all costs had no other possible outcome than this kind of violent confrontation.  This means they either showed a complete lack of judgment and foresight, or, as is more likely, they knew that this would happen and decided to proceed with this course of action anyway.

I have to admit that I am often somewhat sympathetic to the universities position in these kind of things – I don’t particularly like this kind of protest, both aesthetically and tactically – and I think the protesters often are targeting the wrong people (it’s really not the universities fault that the state has been cutting the funds it receives). But no matter what one feels about the wisdom of protests, there is no way to view the universities response as anything but an inexcusable lapse in judgment and a complete moral failure.

And, in this case, I think the protesters have actually gotten it right. There IS a direct connection between the financial crisis and the state of public education – both in the obvious sense that there is less money to go around, but also because the related choice we have made to cut taxes at the expense of public education will have devastating consequences on our competitiveness and quality of life in the future.

The university should have allowed this protest to proceed unobstructed not only because it would have avoided the ugly scenes we saw yesterday, but also because the protesters are on the university’s side – or at least on the side where the university should be. The way forward for public institutions like UC is not to privatize – it’s not to suppress opposition to dreary state of politics and the economy in this country – but rather to see the frustration that is manifest in things like this protest come to some fruition that leads to a rethinking of our priorities as a state and a nation. How the university thinks that pictures of police acting on its behalf beating unarmed and peaceful students helps this cause is beyond me.

 

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My pumpkins

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Peer review is f***ed up – let’s fix it

Peer review is ostensibly one of the central pillars of modern science. A paper is not taken seriously by other scientists unless it is published in a “peer reviewed” journal. Jobs, grants and tenure are parceled out, in no small part, on the basis of lists of “peer reviewed” papers. The public has been trained to accept as established truth any science that has gone through the gauntlet of “peer review”. And any attempt to upend, reform or even tinker with it is regarded as an apostasy.

But the truth is that peer review as practiced in the 21st century biomedical research poisons science. It is conservative, cumbersome, capricious and intrusive. It slows down the communication of new ideas and discoveries, while failing to accomplish most of what it purports to do. And, worst of all, the mythical veneer of peer review has created the perception that a handful of journals stand as gatekeepers of success in science, ceding undue power to them, and thereby stifling innovation in scientific communication.

This has to stop. In honor of Open Access Week, I am going to lay out what is wrong with peer review, how its persistence in its current form harms science, scientists and the public, and how we can restructure peer review to everyone’s benefit. [These ideas have emerged from over a decades worth of conspiring on this topic with Pat Brown, as well as myriad discussions with Harold Varmus, David Lipman, Vitek Tracz, my brother Jonathan, Gerry Rubin, Sean Eddy, other board members and staff at PLoS, and various and sundry people at meeting bars].

Peer review and its problems

To understand what’s wrong with peer review, you have to understand at least the basics of how it works. When a scientist has a result they want to share with their colleagues they write a paper and submit it to one of nearly 10,000 biomedical research journals.

The choice of journal is governed by many factors, but most scientists try to get their papers into the highest profile journal that covers their field and will accept it. Authors with the highest aspirations for their work send it to one of the wide circulation general science journals Science and Nature, or to a handful of high impact field-specific journals. In my field, molecular genetics/genomics, this would be Cell and PLoS Biology (a journal we started in 2003 to provide an open access alterative to these other three). In more clinical fields this would be something like the New England Journal of Medicine. [I want to make it clear that I am not endorsing these choices, just describing what people do].

When any of these top-tier journals receive a paper, it is evaluated by a professional editor (usually a Ph.D. scientist) who makes an initial judgment as to its suitability for their journal. They’re not trying to determine if the paper is technically sound – they are trying to figure out if the work described represents a sufficiently significant advance to warrant one of the coveted spots in their journal. If they think it might, they send the paper to 3 or 4 scientists – usually, but not always lab heads – who are knowledgeable about the subject at hand, and ask them to read and comment on the manuscript.

The reviewers are asked to comment on several things:

  • The technical merits of the paper: are the methods sounds, the experiments reproducible, the data believable, the proper controls included, the conclusions justified – that is, is it a valid work of science.
  • The presentation: is the writing understandable, are the figures clear, is relevant earlier work properly cited.
  • Are the results and conclusions of the paper sufficiently important for the journal for which it is being reviewed.

For most journals, the reviewers address these questions in a freeform review, which they send to the editor, who weighs their various comments to arrive at a decision. Reviews come in essentially three flavors: Outright acceptance (rare), outright rejection (common for high tier journals), and rejection with the option to address the reviewers’ objections and resubmit. Often the editors and reviewers demand a series of additional experiments that might lead them to accept an otherwise unacceptable paper. Papers that are rejected have to go through the process over again at another journal.

There are too many things that are wrong with this process, but I want to focus on two here:

1) The process takes a really long time. In my experience, the first round of reviews rarely takes less than a month, and often take a lot longer, with papers sitting on reviewers’ desks the primary rate-limiting step. But even more time consuming is what happens after the initial round of review, when papers have to be rewritten, often with new data collected and analyses done. For typical papers from my lab it takes 6 to 9 months from initial submission to publication.

The scientific enterprise is all about building on the results of others – but this can’t be done if the results of others are languishing in the hands of reviewers, or suffering through multiple rounds of peer review. There can be little doubt that this delay slows down scientific discovery and the introduction to the public of new ways to diagnose and treat disease [this is something Pat Brown and I have talked about trying to quantify, but I don’t have anything yet].

Of course this might be worth it if this manifestation of peer review were an essential part of the scientific enterprise that somehow made the ultimate product better, in spite of – of even because of – the delays. But this leads to:

2) The system is not very good at what it purports to do. The values that people primarily ascribe to peer review are maintaining the integrity of the scientific literature by preventing the publication of flawed science; filtering of the mass of papers into to identify those one should read; and providing a system for evaluating the contribution of individual scientists for hiring, funding and promotion. But it doesn’t actually do any of these things effectively.

The kind of flawed science that people are most worried about are deceptive or fraudulent papers, especially those dealing with clinical topics. And while I am sure that some egregious papers are prevented from being published by peer review, the reality is that with 10,000 or so journals out there, most papers that are not obviously flawed will ultimately get published if the authors are sufficiently persistent. The peer reviewed literature is filled with all manner of crappy papers – especially in more clinical fields. And even the supposedly more rigorous standards of the elite journals fail to prevent flawed papers from being published (witness the recent Arsenic paper published by Science). So, while it might be a nice idea to imagine peer review as some kind of defender of scientific integrity – it isn’t.

And even if you believed that peer review could do this – several aspects of the current system make it more difficult. First, the focus on the importance of a paper in the publishing decision often deemphasizes technical issues. And, more importantly, the current system relies on three reviewers judging the technical merits of a paper under a fairly strict time constraint – conditions that are not ideally suited to recognize anything but the most obvious flaws. In my experience the most important technical flaws are uncovered after papers are published. And yet, because we have a system that places so much emphasis on where a paper is published, we have no effective way to annotate previously published papers that turn out to be wrong: once a Nature paper, always a Nature paper.

And as for classification, does anyone really think that assigning every paper to one journal, organized in a loose and chaotic hierarchy of topics and importance, is really the best way to help people browse the literature? It made some sense when journals had to be printed and mailed – but with virtually all dissemination of the literature now done electronically, this system no longer makes any sense whatsoever. While some people still read journals cover to cover – most people now find papers by searching for them in PubMed, Google Scholar or the equivalent. While the classification into journals has some value, it certainly doesn’t justify the delays in publication that it currently requires.

I could go on about the problems with our current peer review system, but I’m 1,500 words into this thing and I want to stop kvetching about the problem and get to the solution.

The way forward: decoupling publication and assessment

Despite the impression I may have left in the previous section, I am not opposed to the entire concept of peer review. I think there is tremendous value generated when scientists read their colleagues papers, and I think science needs efficient and effective ways to capture and utilize this information. We could do this without the absurd time-wasting and frivolity of the current system, by decoupling publication from assessment.

The outlines of the system are simple. Papers are submitted to a journal and assigned to an editor. They make an initial judgment of the suitability of the paper – rejecting things that manifestly do not belong in the scientific literature. If it passes this initial screen, the paper is sent out to peer reviewers (with the authors given the option of having their paper published immediately in a preliminary form).

Reviewers are given two separate tasks. First, to assess the technical validity of the paper, commenting on any areas where it falls short. Second, and completely independently, they are asked to judge the importance of the paper in several dimensions (methodological innovation, conceptual advance, significant discovery, etc…) and to determine who should be interested in the paper (all biologists; geneticists; Drosophila developmental biologists, etc….). This assessment of importance and audience would be recorded in a highly structured (and therefore searchable and computable) way – and would, in its simplest manifestation, amount to reviewers saying “this paper is good enough to have been published in Nature” or “this is a typical Genetics paper”.

The reviews would go back to the editor (whose main job would be to resolve any disagreement among the reviewers about the technical merits of the paper, and perhaps lead a discussion of its importance), who would pass on the decision to or not to publish (here based entirely on the technical merits) on to the authors along with the reviewers structured assessment of importance and any comments they may have. If the technical review was positive, and the authors were happy with the assessment of importance and audience, they could have it published immediately. Or they could choose to modify the paper according to the reviewer’s comments and seek a different verdict.

This system – pieces of which are already implemented in PLoS One and its mimics – has several immediate and obvious advantages.

First, it would be much faster. Most papers would only go through a single round of review after which they would be published. No ping-ponging from one journal to another. And this dramatic increase in speed of publication would not come at the price of assessment – afterall, main result of the existing peer review system, the journal in which a paper is published, is really just an assessment of the likely importance and audience for a paper – which is exactly the decision reviewers would make in the new system.

Second, by replacing the current journal hierarchy with a structured classification of research areas and levels of interest, this new system would undermine the generally poisonous “winner take all” attitude associated with publication in Science, Nature and their ilk. This new system for encoding the likely impact of a paper at the time of publication could easily replace the existing system (journal titles).

Third, by devaluing assessment made at the time of publication, this new system might facilitate the development of a robust system of post publication in peer review in which individuals or groups would submit their own assessments of papers at any point after they were published. These assessments could be reviewed by an editor or not, depending on what type of validation readers and other users of this assessments want. One could imagine editorial boards that select editors with good judgment and select their own readers to assess papers in the field, the results of which would bear the board’s imprimateur.

Finally, this system would be extremely easy to create. We already have journals (PLoS One is the biggest)  that make publication decisions purely on their technical merits. We need to put some more thought into exactly what the structured review form would look like, what types of questions it would ask, and how we would record and transmit it. But once we do this, such a system would be relatively easy to build. We are moving towards such a system at PLoS One and PLoS Currents, and I’m optimistic that it will be built at PLoS. And with your ideas and support, we can – with remarkably little pain – fix peer review.

[Update] This is not just a problem with elite journals

In the comments Drug Monkey suggests that this problem is restricted to “Glamour Mags” like Science and Nature. While they are particularly bad practicer of the dark art, virtually all existing journals impose a significance standard on their submissions and end up rejecting a large number of technically sound papers because they are not deemed by the reviewers and editors to be important enough for their journals. All of the statistics that I’ve seen show that most of the mainstream society journals reject a majority of the papers submitted to them – most, I would bet, because they do not meet the journal’s standards for significance. In my experience as an author of almost a hundred papers and reviewer and editor for many more, reviewers view their primary job to determine the significance of a paper, and often prioritize this over assessing its technical merits. One of the funny (i.e. tragic) things I’ve noticed is that reviewers don’t actually modify their behavior very much when they review for different journals – they have one way of reviewing papers, and they do basically the same thing for every journal. Indeed, I’ve had the absurd experience of getting reviews from PLoS One – a journal that explicitly tells reviewers only to assess technical merits – that said that the paper was technically sound, but did not rise to the significance of PLoS One.



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PLoS Won

When Pat Brown, Harold Varmus and I started the Public Library of Science (PLoS) 10 years ago with the goal of making the scientific and medical literature a universally freely available resource, most people in the science publishing industry dismissed us as naive idealists who didn’t understand that publishing is a business that has to make money, or derided us as dangerous radicals hellbent on destroying them.

So it has given me considerable pleasure to watch, over the past year or so, as one traditional publisher after another has responded to the smashing success of PLoS One by launching direct ripoffs that seek to capitalize on the business model we have established.

For those of you who don’t know, PLoS One, launched in 2006, does things a bit differently than most scientific journals. Every paper submitted to the journal is peer reviewed, but the reviewers and editors consider only the technical merits of the paper in deciding whether or not it should be published – they do not attempt (as virtually all other journals do) to gauge the potential significance or sexiness of the paper. The result is a simple and objective peer review process that gets papers published quickly and, because it is an open access journal, in a place where it is accessible for anyone to find and read. To cover the costs of running the journal and handling the paper, authors of accepted papers pay a fee (currently $1,350 – he money comes from their research grants or institutions, not from their own pockets, and any authors who say they can not pay are granted waivers).

And apparently authors love PLoS One, because they are sending us lots of paper. The journal published 6,700 articles in 2010 and will publish around 12,000 in 2011. This has clearly caught the attention of lots of established publishers, as the past year has seen the launch of a series of PLoS One clones, including:

joining already existing offerings from open access publishers BioMed Central, Hindawi and others.

This is, in many ways, exactly what we hoped would happen. In 2001 most publishers lacked both the foresight to see how publishing could better serve the research community, and the incentive to bother figuring it out. Now, PLoS One’s volume, and the threat it poses to their existing journals, provides the motivation, and PLoS One’s financial success (it is profitable) serves as an inspiration. Our goal was always to see that papers were published in open access journals. If they were PLoS journals – great. But if they were from other publishers – that’s great too.

And here, there is a bit of a rub. PLoS and BMC established the standard for open access publishing by adopting the Creative Commons Attribution License (CC-BY), which allows for unrestricted reuse and redistribution subject only to the constraint that the original authors and source be cited. Several of the new journals follow our lead and use CC-BY, including G3, Open Biology and SAGE Open. I fully endorse what these publishers are doing, and have already published one paper in G3.

The others have not been so enlightened, using exclusively (or in one case optionally) licenses that restrict commercial reuse or the generation of derivitive works.

CC-BY-NC – BMJ Open

CC-NC-SA – mBio, Biology Open

CC-BY-NC-ND – Scientific Reports

CC-BY or CC-BY-NC-ND – Cell Reports

This is a very misguided decision on the part of these publishers. The rules governing reuse of content matter a lot if we are ever going to start making more effective use of the published scientific literature. The non-commercial licenses employed by BMJ, Nature, ASM, Company of Biologists, Cell Press and Nature all – rather absurdly – prevent PLoS from reusing their content in tools we are developing to help researchers organize literature in their fields and make the contents of papers they care about more useful. I hope this is a short-lived mistake and that, following Netflix, they realize the error of their ways and switch to a CC-BY license (in the meantime, I urge people who care about open access to continue supporting only those journals that use the CC-BY license).

There is, obviously, still a long way to go before we achieve our original goal of making every paper immediately freely available. Buit it’s hard not to see events of the last year as anything but a major victory for PLoS and open access.

Happy Open Access Week!

[UPDATE: I want to clarify that Cell Reports does not view itself as a PLoS One clone, as it will be rejecting papers on the basis of impact/importance. I also want to commend them for offering the CC-BY license to authors, although I think that many will naively choose the NC version].

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Zelda (the coolest transcription factor ever) is a master regulator of embryonic adolescence

PLoS Genetics just published a paper from my lab describing our analysis of the binding and activity of a remarkable protein, known as Zelda, that appears to be a master regulator of genome activation in the earliest stages of Drosophila development, and thereby plays a major role in shaping the form and function of the mature animal.

Virtually all animals begin life as a fertilized egg with a single copy of its diploid genome. In the earliest stages of development, the zygotic genome is generally inactive, with the embryo’s molecular processes being driven by proteins, RNAs and other substances packed into the egg by the mother. But at point ranging from a few hours to a few days after fertilization (depending on the species), the zygotic genome is activated, maternal proteins and RNAs are degraded, and the embryo takes control of its own fate (Tadros and Lipshitz , 2009 is an excellent review on the topic). It’s the functional equivalent of embryonic adolescence – at first the mother is in control of everything, the embryo makes some early, halting steps towards independence, and then, as a teenager, it breaks free completely.

Although the transition from maternal to zygotic control of embryonic development (known, aptly, as the maternal-to-zygotic transition or MZT) is a critical developmental milestone an all animals, including humans, relatively little is known about the molecular events that govern the handoff from mother’s influence to an animal’s own genome. Our new paper suggests that Zelda not only plays a major role in triggering this process, but in controlling precisely what happens once it begins.

MZT in different animals (from Tadros and Lipshitz, 2009). Maternal RNAs are red, early-expressed genes in light blue and genes activated during the MZT in dark blue.

First, a little bit of background on this process in Drosophila. When a female fruit fly makes an egg, she packs it full of everything a developing embryo needs for the earliest stages of its life: a yolk to feed it, and proteins and RNAs to drive its vital cellular processes. Fueled by these maternally deposited molecules, development begins with a series of rapid (10-15 minute) cell divisions during which there is little, if any, transcription from the flies own genome (The Interactive Fly has great images, movies and explanations of fly development). At around mitotic cycle 8, low levels of zygotic transcription begin (these early expressed genes are involved in set determining and some aspects of early embryonic patterning), but full-scale activation of the embryonic genome does not occur until mitotic cycle 14, when cell division pauses for around an hour prior to gastrulation.

We started down the path that ultimately let us to be interested in Zelda several years ago while trying to understand how the complex patterns of gene expression that appear during mitotic cycle 14 are generated. Decades of prior work had identified a collection of around 40 transcription factors – proteins that bind to specific short sequences in DNA and alter the expression of nearby genes – that work collectively to turn genes on in specific spatial patterns that lay out the body plan of the developing fly.

To better understand how these factors work, my lab (working closely with Mark Biggin at LBNL) were using a technique known as ChIP-chip to systematically identify where in the genome each of these 40 factors binds in cycle 14 embryos. For most factors, we recovered thousands of such regions, with considerable overlap among the regions bound by each factor (this work is described in Li et al, 2008 and MacArthur et al., 2009).

Binding of 21 transcription factors in the Drosophila blastoderm (from MacArthur et al., 2009)

One of the controls we did to confirm that the regions where we observed a particular factor bound were real (and not some form of artifact) was to look for short sequence motifs enriched in the bound regions. If, for example, the regions we were claiming to be bound by the factor Bicoid were really Bicoid targets, then they should be enriched for the known Bicoid target sequence – GGATTA. And, for Bicoid, and essentially all of the other factors we studied, they were.

But in doing these analyses, we observed something funny. While the appropriate target were always enriched in the bound regions, they were never the most enriched sequence. That distinction belonged to a single 7 basepair long sequence: CAGGTAG.

Enrichment of sequences in bound regions (from Li et al., 2008, Table S4). The numbers are p-values for enrichment.

This was weird, and we initially didn’t know what to make of it (hence this table being effectively buried in the supplement). We ruled out every possible artifact we could think of, and eventually concluded that this sequence must be doing something important.

It turned out that we were not the first people to notice CAGGTAG. John ten Bosch, then a graduate student studying genes involved in sex determination – several of which are turned on very early, around mitotic cycle 8, noticed that these genes shared a specific nucleotide sequence in their promoters, and that when he removed the sequence, the genes did not turn on. This sequence was CAGGTAG. In a beautiful 2006 paper, ten Bosch and Cline showed that CAGGTAG and related sites (which they termed TAG-team sequences) controlled the timing of early zygotic expression.

Intrigued by this result, a group led by Chris Rushlow at NYU (who have an accompanying paper in the October 20th issue of PLoS Genetics) used a technique known as 1-hybrid mapping to identify a Drosophila protein that binds to CAGGTAG, and in their 2008 Nature paper showed that removal of this protein from eggs affects the activation of hundreds of genes and massively disrupts the earliest stages of development. They named the protein Zelda. (The gene was actually originally characterized and named vielfältig by Gerd Vorbrüggen’s group, but the name Zelda has stuck).

The major focus of Cline and Rushlow’s work on Zelda was on its role in activation transcription. But our results suggested that it might play a broader role in controlling the activity of regulatory sequences. So we decided to look at where Zelda was binding in the cycle 14 embryos we usually studies, as well as at early stages when Zelda’s effects on gene activation are first observed.

Our work on Zelda was spearheaded by Xiao-Yong Li, a senior research scientists in my lab, Melissa Harrison, a postdoc with Mike Botchan and Tom Cline, and Tommy Kaplan, a computational postdoc in my lab. We did a few pilot experiments, but quickly ran into a problem.

In a typical ChIP experiment, we collect embryos from large cages filled with thousands of flies (we need lots of embryos) for 30 minutes, and let them age to the appropriate time. However, D. melanogaster females do not always lay eggs immediately following fertilization, meaning that while these bulk embryo collections were timed to target a particular stage, they invariably contained a small number of older embryos. Since, at this stage of development, even moderately older embryos contain substantially more DNA, even a small fraction of contaminating older embryos can represent a substantial fraction of purified chromatin. To get around this, Melissa and Xiao-Yong hand sorted each pool by individually examining every embryo under a light microscope and removing those that did not have the distinguishing morphological characteristics of the stage that sample was targeting.

Embryos before, at the start of, and during the MZT

The results were gorgeous – easily the prettiest ChIP data (in terms of data quality) I’ve seen. We found Zelda bound to thousands of sites across the genome at all three developmental stages, with relatively small changes in binding between stages.

Zelda ChIP-seq data. Top row is cycle 8, middle is cycle 13, bottom is cycle 14.

I won’t rehash every detail of the paper – the first part deals with the relationship between early Zelda binding and transcriptional activation – and largely confirms and expands on the earlier observations of Cline and Rushlow. What excites me most about these data are what they say about Zelda’s role in activating regulatory sequences at the MZT.

What we observed was that Zelda is bound at mitotic cycle 8 to a huge fraction of the transcriptional enhancers that control patterned gene expression at cycle 14. The key data are in our Figure 4A.

Overlap between cycle 8 binding of Zelda and cycle 14 binding of patterning transcription factors

Even more remarkably, knowing where Zelda is bound at cycle 8 allows us to predict with a high degree of accuracy where individual factors will bind at cycle 14. This is something we’ve never been able to do before, even when we have a very good idea of what sequences a factor will bind to. The problem is that factors invariably only bind to a small fraction of their potential binding sites. But Zelda seems to resolve this problem. The relationship between early Zelda binding (or, simply, the presence of CAGGTAG sites) and transcription factor binding at cycle 14 is so strong, that, somewhat counterintuitively, we do a better job of predicting where an individual factor will bind if we use Zelda binding alone that if we use the factors own binding specificity.

Zelda binding at cycle 8 predicts transcription factor binding at cycle 14 better than an individual factor's binding specificity

Work in the last several years has demonstrated that the places that contain binding sites and yet are not bound are generally in so-called “closed” chromatin that is thought to preclude transcription factor binding. But we’ve never understood why some regions are in closed chromatin while others are open. Now Zelda gives us a very good clue.

We find a striking relationship between Zelda binding at stage 8 and chromatin state at cycle 14 (as measured by DNAse hypersensitivity), with early Zelda bound regions strongly enriched for subsequent regions of open chromatin.

Regions bound by Zelda at cycle 8 (red) are dramatically more likely to be in regions of open chromatin than are random regions (blue).

The simplest explanation for our data is that, when Zelda levels peak around cycle 8, it binds strongly to its target sites (we find Zelda bound to around 2/3 of the CAGGTAG sites in the genome), and somehow – what, exactly, we don’t know – ensures that these regions are going to be in open chromatin at cycle 14. This, in turn, allows these regions to be accessed by promoter-specific factors, polymerase, transcription factors, etc… In essence, Zelda determines – to a large extent – which regions of the genome will be active at the MZT.

Of course Zelda is not the only factor acting at this early stage – at least two others have been shown to play a role in early activation: grainy head and STAT. But the number and range of Zelda targets – around 2,000 genes have Zelda bound to their promoters and/or enhancers – demonstrate that it plays a major role in MZT activation.

A few other interesting things about Zelda:

It’s a huge protein – around 1,600 amino acids. It has four Zn-fingers near the C-terminus that are involved in DNA binding. And a Zn-finger JAZ domain that is likely a nuclear localization signal. But there are no other known protein domains anywhere else in the protein. Instead, it is filled with a collection of homopolymeric tracts that suggest a largely disordered mess.

The Zelda (ZLD) protein from Drosophila melanogaster

There are clear Zelda orthologs in all other insect genomes that I’ve examined, and it looks like there’s an ortholog in crustaceans. But not detectable homologs outside of the arthopods. Both the DNA binding and nuclear localization Zn-fingers are highly conserved. And there are two other smaller conserved domains, but I’m not sure what they might be doing. If anyone has any thoughts, please let me know.

Conserved regions of Zelda

References

Harrison MM, Li X-Y, Kaplan T, Botchan MR, Eisen MB (2011) “Zelda Binding in the Early Drosophila melanogaster Embryo Marks Regions Subsequently Activated at the Maternal-to-Zygotic Transition”. PLoS Genet 7(9): e1002266.

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Arsenic, quasicrystals and the myth of the science martyr

The story is straight out of Hollywood: an ambitious scientist makes a startling discovery that runs counter to everything that is supposed to be true in their field. Their initial announcement is met with near universal skepticism that quickly turned to scorn, earning them outright hostility from several prominent scientists. They are even kicked out of their lab for their heresy and the shame it brought to their advisor.

Am I writing about Daniel Shechtman, this year’s winner of the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for his discovery of quasicrystals? I could be, for this is his story, which reached its happy denouement last week. But I am not. I am writing instead about Felisa Wolfe-Simon, whose announcement last year that she had isolated a strain of bacteria that could use arsenic where all other life on earth uses phosphorous followed an almost identical trajectory.

I am not going to retell the story of #arseniclife or why I think FWSs actually IS more or less completely wrong. You can read about it here, and here, and here. What interests me about the parallels between these two stories is not their specifics – but how they highlight the way most tellings of scientific history glorify the ideal of the suffering, unrecognized genius, and how they also reveal the the destructive influence this myth can have on people who fancy themselves this kind of scientific martyr.

Of course we rightly celebrate Schechtman for recognizing the importance of his discovery, for not listening to those who derided him and told him that his claims could not possibly be true, and for stubbornly sticking to his guns even when it threatened his career. We should be disgusted at how often people who have just been awarded a Nobel Prize recount some version of this story.

Scientists – for all the lip-service they pay to the idea of discovery – are remarkably unwilling to accept it when it is amidst them. Perhaps the arsenic story also demonstrates why this is not necessarily always a bad thing. Most would-be world-changing discoveries turn out to be wrong, and a certain reticence in accepting them drives their advocates to seek the kind of compelling evidence that forces people to accept them.

But there’s another, less positive, side to this myth – exemplified by the way FWS responded to criticism of her paper. She almost immediately began portraying herself as the unrecognized genius – a story line she has cemented over time. But rather than taking this as motivation to prove people wrong, she seems to have taken the fact that she is being criticized as sufficient evidence to prove that she is correct. This was certainly the case when I saw her talk in Berkeley last spring, and was the definite impression I got from reading the profile of her in Popular Science.

I won’t try to predict the trajectory of FWS’s career. Maybe she’ll recognize the need to buckle down and do the hard experiments necessary to prove or disprove her ideas (I’m even willing to give her space in my lab to do it if she’s really been sent to the curb by her former advisor as the PopSci article implies). But people also sometimes find the idea of their own iconoclasm so intoxicating that they get stuck this way.

The most obvious example is Lynn Margulis. In the 1960’s she proposed ideas – initially scorned by the community – that mitochondria originated as bacterial symbionts in eukaryotic cells. Like, Schechtman, she stuck to her guns and, nearly two decades later, was vindicated. But Margulis seems to have taken the wrong lesson from her experience, and she now revels in her self-appointed role as scientific contrarian – championing a host of crackpot theories in evolutionary biology.

Another example is my Berkeley colleague Peter Deusberg, a smart and affable virologist who seems to have let the attention he garnered with his insistence that HIV does not cause AIDS (which, unlike Margulis’ more esoteric claims, has caused significant harm in the world) turn him into an all-purpose contrarian.

Schechtman’s response was very different. He stuck to his guns, even after Linus Pauling called him a “quasi-scientist”. He believed that his data was solid and would ultimately win out – which it did. And I’ve never seen anything to suggest he thinks he was right because he was ridiculed, or that his experience in and of itself entitles him to espouse other crazy ideas.

The real lesson we should take from Schechtman is that good ideas backed by compelling data almost always ultimately win – and that there is no lasting glory in being an outcast for outcasts sake. But I think we grossly underestimate just how tempting it is to slot oneself into that role, and how easy it is to succumb to that temptation.

Few of us ever are in Schechtman’s or FWS’s shoes – believing (right or wrong) that we have made an earth-shattering discovery. But many of us probably find ourselves in something akin to the position Deusberg found himself in with HIV and AIDS – as the chief skeptic of an idea that, at the time, wasn’t yet on completely solid ground.

Successful scientists are, for the most part, incredibly good critics of other scientists’ work. We can pick apart our colleagues experiments often better than our own – to see the controls they should have done and the methods they should have used, and we are particularly adept at coming up with alternative ways of explaining data that undermine their conclusions. This is an important, and constructive, part of the scientific process. If we turn out to be right, great. And if additional data erase our concerns, that great too. That’s the way it usually works.

But in the times when I have been that skeptic, I could feel the tug of something else. Of course recognizing the weaknesses in other’s work is nothing like making a new discovery – but it can feel like it. There is a pull – a sense that you are somehow tapping into the exalted realm of the scientific outsider who knows they’re right when everyone else is wrong. And the expectation of the vindication that will come when everyone realizes you were right. It can be hard to give up that taste of glory.

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Notebook S1: Scientific publishing awesomeness

Greg Lang and David Botstein have a paper in PLoS One this week probing the consequences of disrupting the cluster of GAL genes in the yeast genome.

The paper is cool. But the supplemental material is awesome. This description in the text says it all:

Notebook S1. The complete laboratory notebook detailing the strain constructions and experiments presented in this study.

And that’s exactly what you get:

Notebook

It’s really not so amazing that they did this. It’s actually a totally obvious and natural thing to scan and post an entire lab notebook as supplemental material – in principle allowing anyone to answer virtually any question they have about the actual work conducted. What is amazing is that – as far as I know – this is the first time anyone’s actually done it. And (members of my lab take note) this will not be the last.

Way to go Greg and David!

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The destructive myopia of the NIH study on grant funding and race

Last week Science published a paper describing the results of an NIH-sponsored investigation into the impact of a scientist’s race on the probability of that their grants will be funded.

The findings were striking:

After controlling for the applicant’s educational background, country of origin, training, previous research awards, publication record, and employer characteristics, we find that black applicants remain 10 percentage points less likely than whites to be awarded NIH research funding.

This result has led to some degree of hand-wringing and pledges to act from the NIH, along with calls to stamp out presumed racism in the peer review process from prominent editorial pages and Congress (and here).

I have no reason to doubt the data presented in the paper. But the interpretation by the authors, media and others are alarmist and incomplete. Rather than exposing lingering racism in the NIH peer review process, I think the data paint a fairly accurate picture of the current state of efforts to increase minority representation in the sciences – highlighting remaining challenges, but also noteworthy accomplishments that the paper and discussions about it have completely ignored.

First, let’s look at the data. The key finding is shown below (I’ve plotted data from Table S1 of the paper. For those unfamiliar with the NIH peer review process, all applications are reviewed by 3 scientists who assign a preliminary score – in the case of these grants from 100 to 900, with 100 being the best – grants with a preliminary score above a threshold are “triaged”, the remainder are discussed with the larger panel of reviewers, after which final scores are recorded):

The effect is undeniably strong: 60 percent of R01 (the standard research grants that support most labs) applications from black PIs are triaged, compared to 40% for white applicants, and far fewer black PIs get scores in the coveted 100-150 range where grants are likely to get funded.

But a few things are worth noting. First, of the applications that are discussed in study section (i.e. not triaged), a roughly equal proportion of applications from black and white PIs get scores between 100-150.

This detail should not be ignored. NIH funding is intensely competitive. Fewer than 10% of all applicants get this kind of score. Far more than just a passing grade, a score better than 150 reflects shared enthusiasm amongst the reviewers and other panelists for the project and the investigator – that they think the proposed work is technically outstanding, innovative and important, and that they have a high degree of confidence that the applicant will accomplish what they have set out.

While the total number of black PIs receiving this kind of acclaim for their work remains smaller than ideal, these results highlight the growing number of tremendously talented and accomplished black researchers rising through the ranks of American science, and serves as a testament to these individuals’ intellect, creativity and hard work. We should celebrate the remarkable success in diversifying American science that their accomplishments represent.

This is important to point out because people reading the paper and most of the discussions surrounding will get the incorrect impression that black scientists face an almost hopeless battle to get funded. And if this misconception were to spread unchecked, it could easily become a self-fulfilling prophesy, with the best students and postdocs reluctant to join labs whose prospects for funding – and thus success – they believe to be low.

Of course the success of some black applicants does not mean that NIH peer review do not give worse scores to grants whose PIs are black than they would to the same proposal from a white scientist. The NIH is (appropriately) doing experiments to investigate this possibility, but, in my service on study sections and other review panels I have never seen anything that suggests race is factoring in to people’s decisions in any way. The NIH peer review system has its flaws, but reviewers take the meritocratic ideal seriously and really do try to be fair. Furthermore, most researchers I know share the goal of diversifying the field, and seem unlikely players in the kind of pervasive racism it would take to explain the observed differences in outcome.

I am not arguing that there is no racism in science. I just don’t think it manifests itself in the grant review process. Consider, for comparison, the success of women in the granting process. Much has been written about the challenges women face in building successful scientific careers, and few would doubt that misogyny persists in the biomedical sciences. But, as researchers using the same database of NIH grant applications that led to the race results recently concluded in a far less high-profile recent study, success rates for men and women were not significantly different in most award programs. While obviously gender and race are not equivalent, I think this argues that the the NIH peer review process is actually fairly equitable, at least in the narrow sense of scoring grant applications.

So, if I don’t believe peer review is pervasively racist, but I believe the data in the paper, I have to believe instead that NIH study sections find that grant applications from black scientists are – on average – marginally less impressive than those of their comparably experienced and accomplished white colleagues. But should this really be that surprising? To expect perfect equity, you have to assume that aspiring black and white scientists have – again, on average – had equally good educational and training opportunities, and that the best and the brightest black students are equally likely to pursue careers in science as their white peers – two things no reasonable person would argue are true. Indeed it is precisely because of these problems that the NIH has put extensive resources into encouraging minorities to enter science and to promote their careers. I strongly support these efforts, but the NIH can not magically erase the effects of disparities in education and research opportunities. And unless you think these efforts have been universally successful, the results presented in this paper should not be surprising.

This is why, rather than looking at the data presented by Ginter et al. as a shocking expose about racism in biomedical science, we should instead look at it as a measure of the progress we’ve made towards diversifying American science: revealing clear remaining challenges that must be addressed, but also highlighting the tremendous accomplishments of the growing number of black and other traditionally underrepresented biomedical scientists.

And I hope it’s not too late to change the message we take from this work. The most disheartening statistic in the paper is not the success rate of black grant applicants, but the fact that there are so few of them (only 1.4% of applications were from black PIs). Rather than discouraging aspiring black scientists by portraying a field filled with insurmountable obstacles, we should emphasize that biomedical science offers them the opportunity to be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their R01 application.

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