James Watson & the Two Minutes Hate

Contemptibly cruel political correctness catches up with a nonagenarian of eminent scientific achievement.

Sixty-six years ago, James Watson and Francis Crick burst into The Eagle pub in Cambridge, England, with the latter proclaiming that the pair had “discovered the secret of life.” About a decade later, the Nobel committee recognized them with its prize for identifying the double helix as the structure of deoxyribonucleic acid, which, through the mercy of acronyms, we call DNA.

More than a half century later, in times so benighted that their inhabitants imagine them as enlightened, the 2019 People know Watson not as the co-discoverer of “the secret of life” but as a villain who confessed to a woman whom he had earlier allowed to board in his home as a student that he suspected genetic differences account for racial disparities on IQ-test results. And neither Watson’s central role in the popularity of Maury nor his bringing into existence Forensic Files redeems his reputation among the 2019 People.

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