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Contributor: Save the Earth's 'creepy-crawlies.' Some of them just might save us

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Contributor: Save the Earth's 'creepy-crawlies.' Some of them just might save us

When I was a child, I visited the village in India where my father grew up. As we strolled down dirt roads, he reminisced on his barefoot youth. I don’t remember much of what he said — I was too busy looking for reptiles in the shrubs. Later that day, we came upon a gaggle of children surrounding a snake. For a split moment, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world, elated to stumble upon my favorite animal in the wild. But the other kids didn’t share my joy. Instead, one of them beat it to death with a stick while the others celebrated. I broke down into tears.

Three decades later, I’m willing to forgive them. Each year, snakes kill 60,000 people across South Asia, and many more around the world. It’s entirely reasonable, even natural, to fear reptiles, but that fear has curdled into something nefarious. Eradication campaigns, combined with the pressures of habitat loss and climate change, have pushed global reptile populations to the brink; 1 in 5 reptile species now face imminent extinction. This is a moral, ecological and medical calamity. Reptiles and other frightful creatures have saved untold lives, and it would be a huge mistake to hasten their demise.

The world’s “creepy-crawlies” are responsible for some of the most consequential pharmaceutical breakthroughs of the past century. ACE inhibitors, a first-line treatment for high blood pressure, were derived from the venom of the yarara, a 5-foot-long pit viper native to South America. In the ’60s, researchers noticed that workers on local banana plantations would faint when bitten by the snake, a sign of rapid-onset hypotension. By 1981, researchers had isolated the pressure-dropping compound from its venom, created a synthetic formulation, and won regulatory approval for captopril, which became the pharmaceutical company Squibb’s first billion-dollar drug. As an internal medicine doctor, I have administered this exact medicine to countless patients; worldwide, 20 million people rely on this class of drugs, known as ACE inhibitors, to avoid heart attacks and chronic kidney disease. They are a medical miracle.

Federal funding for obscure reptile research can pay big dividends. In the 1990s, the United States Department of Veterans Affairs financed a study of gila monsters, hoping to understand how these venomous lizards go for long periods without food but maintain stable blood sugar levels. The investigation led to a remarkable discovery: Gila monster venom contains a peptide that stimulates insulin production. That’s how scientists eventually synthesized GLP-1 agonists like semaglutide (which are sold under the brand names Ozempic and Wegovy), which have revolutionized diabetes management and weight loss, while demonstrating other positive clinical effects across the body.

The modern pharmaceutical industry has long been powered by nature, and there’s no signs of this changing — even as artificial intelligence transforms drug development. One-third of all small-molecule drugs approved by the Food and Drug Administration from 1981 to 2014 were derived from naturally occurring compounds, forged by the great furnace of evolution. Recombinant hirudins, for example, are a class of medicines used to treat patients with allergies to traditional anti-clotting drugs; they originated in the salivary glands of blood-sucking leeches. Snails may hold the secret to new painkillers that don’t possess the addictive qualities of opiates. Enzymes derived from deep-sea bacteria have been used to make tests for COVID-19. The most undervalued creatures often hold the most miraculous secrets, but we won’t untangle those mysteries without protecting neglected species, preserving research funding and partnering with the communities who live closest to nature.

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We can’t study animals if there are no animals left to study. The planet is in the midst of a mass extinction event, precipitated by human actions. In the last 50 years, nearly 75% of wildlife populations have declined. To save what’s left of nature, governments must follow through on their 2022 commitment to conserve 30% of the world’s land and sea by 2030, an initiative known as “30×30.”

The U.S. government must also reverse its short-sighted policies that are cutting research funds. Scientific inquiry, no matter how strange-sounding or unfamiliar, is rarely “wasteful” or “frivolous.” Federal funding for big, out-there ideas has led to breakthrough discoveries like mRNA vaccines. Often, the most transformational research begins with an unusual grant proposal, probably deemed too risky for private funding. When scientists are empowered to follow their curiosity, everyone benefits — but somebody has to be willing to take a chance on them. If we stop investing in medical research today, we forgo the life-saving discoveries of tomorrow.

Scientists, for their part, must open themselves up to new partnerships and perspectives. In remote corners of the world, communities possess tremendous knowledge of local flora and fauna, but few medical researchers from academia or the healthcare industry have ever bothered to ask them about it. Many of these communities are reasonably skeptical of outside researchers, who have been known to patent traditional remedies without compensating the original source of knowledge, a practice known as “biopiracy.” It’s long past time to bridge that gap — between science and tradition, Global North and Global South — and cooperate in a mutually beneficial way.

We all have something to learn from these communities, not just about healing, but about coexistence. This Earth Day, may we all resolve to admire the exquisite variety of life on this planet; meet the strange and fearsome with curiosity rather than revulsion; and remember that we are one small part of nature, rather than masters of it. All living things on this planet are connected, our fates all intertwined. Saving the world’s reptiles isn’t merely an act of altruism — it’s an act of self-preservation.

Neil M. Vora is a practicing physician, a senior advisor at Conservation International and the executive director of the Preventing Pandemics at the Source Coalition.

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Video: Axiom-4 Mission Takes Off for the I.S.S.

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Video: Axiom-4 Mission Takes Off for the I.S.S.

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Axiom-4 Mission Takes Off for the I.S.S.

Hungary, India and Poland sent astronauts to the International Space Station for the first time by paying Axiom Space for the journey.

3, 2, 1, ignition and liftoff. The three nations, a new chapter in space takes flight. Godspeed Axiom 4.

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Contributor: Those cuts to 'overhead' costs in research? They do real damage

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Contributor: Those cuts to 'overhead' costs in research? They do real damage

As a professor at UC Santa Barbara, I research the effects of and solutions to ocean pollution, including oil seeps, spills and offshore DDT. I began my career by investigating the interaction of bacteria and hydrocarbon gases in the ocean, looking at the unusual propensity of microbes to consume gases that bubbled in from beneath the ocean floor. Needed funding came from the greatest basic scientific enterprise in the world, the National Science Foundation.

My research was esoteric, or so my in-laws (and everyone else) thought, until 2010, when the Deepwater Horizon offshore drilling rig exploded and an uncontrolled flow of hydrocarbon liquid and gas jetted into the deep ocean offshore from Louisiana. It was an unmitigated disaster in the Gulf, and suddenly my esoteric work was in demand. Additional support from the National Science Foundation allowed me to go offshore to help figure out what was happening to that petroleum in the deep ocean. I was able to help explain, contextualize and predict what would happen next for anxious residents of the Gulf states — all made possible by the foresight of Vannevar Bush, the original architect of the National Science Foundation.

Now the great scientific enterprise that has enabled my research and so much more is on the brink of its own disaster, thanks to actions and proposals from the Trump administration. Setting aside the targeted cuts to centers of discovery such as Harvard and Columbia, and rumors that California’s public universities are next, the most obvious threats to research are the draconian budget reductions proposed across virtually all areas of science and medicine, coupled with moves to prevent foreign scientists from conducting research-based study in the U.S. The president’s latest budget calls for around a 55% cut to the National Science Foundation overall, with a 75% reduction to research support in my area. A reduction so severe and sudden will reverberate for years and decimate ocean discovery and study, and much more.

But a more subtle and equally dire cut is already underway — to funding for the indirect costs that enable universities and other institutions to host research. It seems hard to rally for indirect costs, which are sometimes called “overhead” or “facilities and administration.” But at their core, these funds facilitate science.

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For instance, indirect costs don’t pay my salary, but they do pay for small-ticket items like my lab coat and goggles and bigger-ticket items like use of my laboratory space. They don’t pay for the chromatograph I use in my experiments, but they do pay for the electricity to run it. They don’t pay for the sample tubes that feed into my chromatograph, but they do support the purchasing and receiving staff who helped me procure them. They don’t pay for the chemical reagents I put in those sample tubes, but they do support the safe disposal of the used reagents as well as the health and safety staff that facilitates my safe chemical use.

They don’t pay salary for my research assistants, but they do support the human resources unit through which I hire them. They don’t pay for international travel to present my research abroad, but they do cover a federally mandated compliance process to make sure I am not unduly influenced by a foreign entity.

In other words, indirect costs support the deep bench of supporting characters and services that enable me, the scientist, to focus on discovery. Without those services, my research enterprise crumbles, and new discoveries with it.

My indirect cost rate is negotiated every few years between my institution and the federal government. The negotiation is based on hard data showing the actual and acceptable research-related costs incurred by the institution, along with cost projections, often tied to federal mandates. Through this rigorous and iterative mechanism, the overhead rate at my institution — as a percentage of direct research costs — was recently adjusted to 56.5%. I wish it were less, but that is the actual cost of running a research project.

The present model for calculating indirect costs does have flaws and could be improved. But the reduction to 15% — as required by the Trump administration — will be devastating for scientists and institutions. All the functions I rely on to conduct science and train the future workforce will see staggering cuts. Three-quarters of my local research support infrastructure will crumble. The costs are indirect, but the effects will be immediate and direct.

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More concerning is that we will all suffer in the long term because of the discoveries, breakthroughs and life-changing advances that we fail to make.

The scientific greatness of the United States is fragile. Before the inception of the National Science Foundation, my grandfather was required to learn German for his biochemistry PhD at Penn State because Germany was then the world’s scientific leader. Should the president’s efforts to cut direct and indirect costs come to pass, it may be China tomorrow. That’s why today we need to remind our elected officials that the U.S. scientific enterprise pays exceptional dividends and that chaotic and punitive cuts risk irreparable harm to it.

David L. Valentine is a professor of marine microbiology and geochemistry at UC Santa Barbara.

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L.A. Times Insights delivers AI-generated analysis on Voices content to offer all points of view. Insights does not appear on any news articles.

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The following AI-generated content is powered by Perplexity. The Los Angeles Times editorial staff does not create or edit the content.

Ideas expressed in the piece

  • The article contends that indirect costs (overhead) are essential for research infrastructure, covering critical expenses like laboratory maintenance, equipment operation, safety compliance, administrative support, and regulatory processes, without which scientific discovery cannot function[1].
  • It argues that the Trump administration’s policy capping indirect cost reimbursement at 15% would inflict “staggering cuts” to research support systems, collapsing three-quarters of existing infrastructure and crippling scientific progress[2][3].
  • The piece warns that broader proposed NSF budget cuts—57% agency-wide and 75% in ocean research—threaten to “decimate” U.S. scientific leadership, risking a shift in global innovation dominance to nations like China[3].
  • It emphasizes that these cuts ignore the actual negotiated costs of research (e.g., UC Santa Barbara’s 56.5% rate) and would undermine “discoveries, breakthroughs, and life-changing advances”[1].

Different views on the topic

  • The Trump administration frames indirect costs as excessive “overhead” unrelated to core research, justifying the 15% cap as a cost-saving measure to redirect funds toward prioritized fields like AI and biotechnology[1][2].
  • Officials assert that budget cuts focus resources on “national priorities” such as quantum computing, nuclear energy, and semiconductors, arguing that funding “all areas of science” is unsustainable under fiscal constraints[1][3].
  • The administration defends its stance against funding research on “misinformation” or “disinformation,” citing constitutional free speech protections and rejecting studies that could “advance a preferred narrative” on public issues[1].
  • Policymakers contend that reductions compel universities to streamline operations, though federal judges have blocked similar caps at other agencies (e.g., NIH, Energy Department) as “arbitrary and capricious”[2].
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How Bees, Beer Cans and Data Solve the Same Packing Problem

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How Bees, Beer Cans and Data Solve the Same Packing Problem

Animation of the same plastic spheres disappearing one at a time.

A holy grail in pure mathematics is sphere packing in higher dimensions. Almost nothing has been rigorously proven about it, except in dimensions 1, 2 and 3.

That’s why it was such a breakthrough when, in 2016, a young Ukrainian mathematician named Maryna Viazovska solved the sphere-packing problem in eight dimensions, and later, with collaborators, in 24 dimensions.

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