The World’s Most Reviled Genius

Peter Duesberg has grown accustomed to all of the slights that come with a life in intellectual exile. The 72-year-old molecular biologist no longer expects an invitation to present his research at the big conferences in his field or to meet with any of the scientists who visit the University of California, Berkeley, where he works. Nor is he surprised when his manuscripts are inexplicably rejected. But in an open lecture this past May, when a visiting scientist claimed that practically no one had investigated the role chromosome damage plays in cancer, it was a step too far. Duesberg himself has been hammering away at that very question for years. He's published peer-reviewed papers on the topic, given a recent talk at the National Cancer Institute (his first there in 15 years), even hosted two small conferences of his own. So when the speaker solicited audience feedback, he jumped up immediately. "Excuse me," he said into the microphone. "But I am nobody." (Article continued below...)

He wasn't always. In the past three decades, Duesberg has been described as a genius, a martyr, and a genocidal lunatic—often by the same person, usually amid the fierce debates and international headlines that come with major scientific breakthroughs. In 1971, at the age of 33, he became the first scientist to identify a cancer-causing gene—a biological holy grail that secured his place among an elite group of the country's top researchers. Tenure at Berkeley and a coveted spot in the National Academy of Sciences followed. So did rumors of a Nobel and millions in grant money from the National Cancer Institute.

Then in 1988, Duesberg broke ranks with his colleagues and postulated that the newly discovered human immuno-deficiency virus (HIV) was not the cause of AIDS. Rather, he declared, it was a harmless passenger virus, found by coincidence in patients whose illnesses stemmed from a constellation of other factors including malnutrition and substance abuse. For this, he was summarily cast out of Eden: Grant money evaporated. Graduate students disappeared. Nobel laureates stopped inviting him to dinner. Of course, he might have been forgiven—or at least forgotten—were it not for his consultation with Thabo Mbeki in 2000. When Duesberg advised the South African president not to bother with antiretroviral medication programs (he still believes the drugs are more toxic than the virus), his adversaries say he condemned hundreds of thousands of the world's most vulnerable people to death. Consorting with Mbeki to such disastrous ends fixed Duesberg as more than a mere pariah. From then on, he was Duesberg the mass murderer.

Since then, the fallen hero has toiled in what amounts to scientific purgatory—a smaller lab with private funding where he continues his cancer research. The shadows have proved both a refuge and a prison for Duesberg—freeing him to pursue less conventional ideas, but preventing his colleagues from taking those ideas seriously. His stubbornness has made him one of science's most disturbing paradoxes—a self-avowed outsider searching desperately for a way back in. While he implores his colleagues to open their minds about cancer, he continues to keep his own closed about HIV, insisting still that the virus does not cause AIDS. To honestly evaluate his latest work, we will have to separate science from scientist.

For decades now, researchers have been operating (to the tune of billions of dollars) under the assumption that cancer is the work of oncogenes: human genes that have mutated or viral genes that insert themselves into the host's DNA. According to current dogma, oncogenes cause cells to divide uncontrollably, spurring a cascade of additional mutations that eventually results in a tumor. So far, this hypothesis has led to a number of apparent cul-de-sacs: some faltering attempts at gene-replacement therapy, a growing roster of targeted drugs that work only for some patients (and usually not for very long), and, more recently, the Cancer Genome Atlas—a concerted effort by the National Cancer Institute to sequence the genomes of 10,000 tumor samples, described by more than a few insiders as a colossal waste of time and money.

Duesberg has a different hypothesis. According to him, tumors are created not by the accumulation of individual mutations, but by wholesale changes in the structure and arrangement of a cell's chromosomes. "It's the difference between changing a couple of words in a sentence and ripping the entire set of encyclopedias apart," he says. The upheaval is so great that a tumor effectively constitutes a new species—one that grows like a parasite inside its host. Duesberg says that characterizing these upheavals is the best way to understand how cancer begins. Two decades into his scientific exile, some scientists think he might actually be on to something. Something big enough to change the way we look at cancer.