martes, 28 de diciembre de 2010

Living and Studying Alopecia

Living and Studying Alopecia

Angela Christiano, 45, an associate professor of dermatology and genetics at Columbia University Medical Center, studies hair. Last summer, she announced the discovery of the genes implicated in alopecia areata, the hair-loss disease that she herself suffers from. We spoke for two hours in her Washington Heights laboratory and then later on the telephone. An edited version of the two conversations follows.
Ruth Fremson/The New York Times
HAND OF FATE Angela Christiano studied alopecia soon after her diagnosis.
     Dr. Angela Christiano on living with hair loss and why treating alopecia is more than just treating a cosmetic issue.
Q. When did you first learn that you had alopecia?
A. In 1995, a time of big transitions in my life. After doing highly successful postdoctoral research on genetic blistering skin diseases at Jefferson Medical College, I’d arrived here at Columbia to start my own laboratory. I had just turned 30. I was getting a divorce. When you start your first lab, a researcher is expected to find something different from their postdoc work. For my first six months here, I sat thinking, “What am I going to do when I grow up?”
In the midst of all this, I went to a beauty parlor and the stylist said: “What’s happened here? You have a big patch of hair missing from the back of your head.” I ignored that. But the next day at the lab, I asked a colleague to take a look. She let out a bloodcurdling scream: “You have a huge bald spot!”
I immediately went over to the clinic here. They said: “Oh, you have alopecia. There’s not much we can do to treat it.”
Q. Alopecia is genetic. Do you have relatives with it?
A. My mom and her mother had hair loss from a young age. I have a cousin also who lost all of her hair. Ironically, hair is a big part of my family’s life. My grandfather was a barber in Italy and then later in New Jersey. And my mother was a hairdresser before retiring. I’m the first person in my family to go to college and graduate school: Rutgers. My mother now says, “You’re just another hair person — you just do it differently.”
Q. How did this history lead to your research?
A. In the months after my diagnosis, I went through panic and shock. Every morning, I’d wake up wondering if it was all going to fall out. And new spots did show up. I’d cover them with the most careful combing. Then there’d be a new one. It was like plugging holes in a dam. It finally stopped after two years.
I began reading all the papers on alopecia. In my training, nobody had talked much about hair. I thought maybe the reason was because it had all been figured out. When I started digging, I saw the opposite was true. I thought, “Maybe this is the hand of fate directing me to a topic? This is a wide-open field.” If I could identify the genes involved in alopecia, then maybe we could figure out what they did, and that might be the way to a treatment.
Having the chance to work it through in the lab was one of the things that kept me sane in this period of my life. The disease was very destabilizing.
Q. Why had hair loss been so minimally researched?
A. I suspect it’s because it’s seen as a “cosmetic” problem. It’s the life-threatening diseases that get priority — and money. The other problem was that in 1996, the tools weren’t ready. The Human Genome Project hadn’t finished its work. There were no road maps. Nobody had yet solved a complex disease where multiple genes are involved, which is what alopecia is.
Q. So how’d you overcome that?
A. You could see the tools were on their way. Every year, you’d go to conventions and there was excitement about what was coming. My plan was to get all the ducks in a row for when the genome was mapped. While we waited, we tried to lay some groundwork by trying to find single genes that control the normal hair growth cycle. By looking for rare hair-loss diseases where only one gene was the factor, we learned some of that. My lab found six such genes.
The other thing we did was to line up a patient registry for alopecia. That way, when the time was right, we could compare the genomes of people with the disease to those of people without it. An advocacy group, National Alopecia Areata Foundation, N.A.A.F., helped us connect with patients.
Q. When were you able to actually do the study?
A. In 2008. We published our findings this past July. Ours was the first study of alopecia to use a genome-wide approach. By checking the DNA of 1,000 alopecia patients against a control group of 1,000 without it, we identified 139 markers for the disease across the genome.
We also found a big surprise. For years, people thought that alopecia was probably the stepchild of autoimmune skin diseases like psoriasis and vitiligo. The astonishing news is that it shares virtually no genes with those. It’s actually linked to rheumatoid arthritis,diabetes 1 and celiac disease.
Q. What will this new information mean for patients?
A. It should have amazing benefits. There are existing drugs on the market for several of these diseases. Based on the overlapping genetics, we have a chance of pushing forward with clinical trials for potentially effective drugs much sooner than we’d thought. One approach would be as a new indication for an already approved drug.
Going the other way, our research opens up possibilities for the three related diseases. With them, till now it’s been hard to study aspects of how the immune response goes wrong because it is difficult to biopsy the pancreas or a joint. But now researchers might be able to use a patient’s skin, a much more accessible organ.
Already, the finding has helped with diagnosis. At Columbia, we have large clinics for diabetes and celiac disease. Since we’ve published our paper, those clinics are asking patients, “Have you experienced hair loss?” About 10 percent say, “Oh, yes, I lose hair in clumps.”
Q. What does it feel like to have accomplished this?
A. It’s wonderful, of course. This summer, I spoke at the patient conference of N.A.A.F. and told the young people there, for the first time, about their genes. Before I could finish my talk, they gave me a standing ovation. I was in tears. Many of them later said, “We wouldn’t wish this on you, but we’re glad you got this disease.”
I understood what they meant. Without it, a serious geneticist might never have given their attention to what was thought of as a cosmetic disease.

A Battle Over Uranium Bodes Ill for U.S. Debate

A Battle Over Uranium Bodes Ill for U.S. Debate

Matthew Staver for The New York Times
Craig Pirazzi, an opponent of plans for the mill in Colorado, said, “Our health, our air, our water is going to be affected by it.”
NATURITA, Colo. — The future of nuclear power in America is back on the table, with all its vast implications, as global warming revives the search for energy sources that produce less greenhouse gas.
Green
A blog about energy and the environment.
Matthew Staver for The New York Times
Reminders of the perils of uranium are evident in Colorado.
But in this depressed corner of western Colorado — one of the first places in the world that uranium, nuclear energy’s primary fuel, was ever dug from the ground in industrial scale — the debate is both simpler and more complicated. A proposal for a new mill to process uranium ore, which would lead to the opening of long-shuttered mines in Colorado and Utah, has brought global and local concerns into collision — jobs, health, class-consciousness and historical memory among them — in ways that suggest, if the pattern here holds, a bitter national debate to come.
Telluride, the rich ski town an hour away by car and a universe apart in terms of money and clout, has emerged as a main base of opposition to the proposed mill, called Piñon Ridge, which would be the first new uranium-processing facility in the United States in more than 25 years if it is approved by Colorado regulators next month.
To residents here like Michelle Mathews, the fact that many opponents of the mill hail from Telluride is a crucial strike against their arguments.
“People from Telluride don’t have any business around here,” said Ms. Mathews, 31, who works as a school janitor and ardently supports the idea of bringing back uranium jobs. “Not everyone wants to drive to Telluride to clean hotel rooms.”
Here in Naturita and the cluster of tiny communities in and around the Paradox Valley, where the mill could be built (cumulative population about 2,000), people disagree not just about the wisdom of the mill, but about whether uranium, laid down here in tufts of volcanic ash more than 100 million years ago, was a blessing or a curse. Minerals found in association with uranium, especially vanadium, which is used in hardening steel, sparked the first real rush in the 1930s; uranium for bombs and energy then followed in a stuttering pattern of boom and bust into the 1980s, when the nation’s nuclear energy program mostly went into mothballs.
Opponents say that the nostalgia many residents here cherish about the boom years is the product of willful forgetfulness about the well-documented cancer deaths and environmental destruction the uranium mines produced. They also say that the mill company is cynically exploiting the idea of a return to simpler times.
“They say it’s going to be different this time around,” said Craig Pirazzi, a carpenter who moved to the Naturita area from Telluride a few years ago and is now a member of the Paradox Valley Sustainability Association, which opposes the mill. “But our opposition to this proposal is based on the performance of historic uranium mining, because that’s all we have to go on — and that record is not good.”
Supporters, meanwhile, say that the opponents of Piñon Ridge are guilty of promulgating ignorant fears about something they do not understand.
Even the question of who has a right to speak up has become a point of contention. Is the mill purely a local concern in a sparsely populated area, or a broader regional issue that would affect people much farther away, through, say, radioactive dust particles that might be thrown aloft?
“They’re saying not in my backyard — now how big is their backyard?” said George Glasier, a local rancher and investor who founded Energy Fuels, the company proposing the mill, and is now a stockholder and consultant. Energy Fuels is a publicly traded company based in Canada; a United States subsidiary would operate the mill.
A study commissioned by Sheep Mountain Alliance, the main opposition group, of which Mr. Pirazzi is also a member, concludes that the backyard for Piñon Ridge would in fact be huge — far bigger than proponents suggest. The now-closed uranium mines that would supply the $175 million mill, company officials have said, extend out 100 miles or so, which means that delivery trucks would travel on narrow country roads, stirring up dust that the study said could end up in the snowpack and water supply all over the region.
“In one aspect we’re being nimby’s by saying we will be affected by the negative aspects of this,” Mr. Pirazzi said. “But that is a valid concern — our health, our air, our water is going to be affected by it, and we have every right to protect our property values and our health.”
A key underlying dynamic of the discussion is that this area has often been out of sync with the national economy.
When much of the rest of the nation was suffering in the Great Depression in the 1930s, for example, miners and their families here prospered as the military bought vanadium.
Another boom came in the 1950s, during the cold war, in uranium for bombs. The economy surged again in the 1970s as the energy crisis renewed enthusiasm for nuclear power — a period that ended in tears with reactor disasters at Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania in 1979 and Chernobyl in Ukraine in 1986.
The crash after that was utter and profound, as plans for reactor plants all over the country were canceled. Mines and mills across the West, seeing demand for nuclear fuel dry up, closed down as well. Today only one uranium mill in the United States is fully operational, in Blanding, Utah.


Matthew Staver for The New York Times
Nucla, Colo. is among the towns affected by the boom-and-bust cycle of the uranium economy.

Bust times, in turn, put the local economy even more in thrall to Telluride, which began building out as a ski town in the 1980s.
“There were probably 300 men going to Telluride to do carpentry,” said David Helkey, 50, a mechanic who commuted to Telluride for years.
Postrecession, Telluride’s construction-driven second-home market is not what it was either, and for many residents, that has made the mill and the idea of reopened mines all the more attractive.
“Our economy just totally tanked,” Mr. Helkey said.
Other residents here are fatalistic. Hazards or no, they say, uranium is the hand that geology dealt this area. Most supporters of the mill also say they believe officials from Energy Fuels who say that tighter regulation would make everything different.
“It’s safer now,” said Sherri Ross, who works the front desk at the Ray Motel in Naturita, and spent her early childhood in Uravan, a mill town about 15 miles from here that was so contaminated with radiation by the 1980s, when the mill closed, that the whole town was razed and mostly entombed. Ms. Ross, 51, said her father died of cancer that she attributes partly to radioactive dust exposure — and also to his smoking — but wholeheartedly supports uranium’s return.
The roughly 300 new jobs that Energy Fuels officials project, mostly in reopened mines, would give the region an economic lease on life, she said.
Other veterans of uranium’s past are wary, by dint of experience.
Reed Hayes, 73, said he is still haunted by the night in July 1967, when he was working at a mill in Moab, Utah, and fell off a catwalk into a caustic vat of refined uranium pellets, called yellowcake, and acid. He quit a month later, but has suffered ever since, he said, with rashes on various parts of his body, including sometimes even inside his mouth.
“We were told that the uranium would never hurt us,” said Mr. Hayes, who has struggled for years to get compensation. “But I’ve learned a whole lot about it — that it’s hurt a lot of people and killed a lot of people.”
And it also changed every community it touched. Moab was once prime peach-growing country, for example — about 40,000 trees, including 2,000 owned by Mr. Hayes’s father, graced the town. It all went in the early 1950s as the orchards were chopped down to house uranium workers.
Gesturing to the three stately peach trees growing behind his house in the Paradox Valley, Mr. Hayes said, “We raised Elbertas. That’s what I have here, too.

African Huts Far From the Grid Glow With Renewable Power

BEYOND FOSSIL FUELS

African Huts Far From the Grid Glow With Renewable Power

Ed Ou/The New York Times
Thanks to this solar panel, Sara Ruto no longer takes a three-hour taxi ride to a town with electricity to recharge her cellphone. More Photos »
KIPTUSURI, Kenya — For Sara Ruto, the desperate yearning for electricity began last year with the purchase of her first cellphone, a lifeline for receiving small money transfers, contacting relatives in the city or checking chicken prices at the nearest market.

although that business may soon evaporate: 63 families in Kiptusuri have recently installed their own solar power systems.
“You leapfrog over the need for fixed lines,” said Adam Kendall, head of the sub-Saharan Africa power practice for McKinsey & Company, the global consulting firm. “Renewable energy becomes more and more important in less and less developed markets.”
The United Nations estimates that 1.5 billion people across the globe still live without electricity, including 85 percent of Kenyans, and that three billion still cook and heat with primitive fuels like wood or charcoal.
There is no reliable data on the spread of off-grid renewable energy on a small scale, in part because the projects are often installed by individuals or tiny nongovernmental organizations.
But Dana Younger, senior renewable energy adviser at the International Finance Corporation, the World Bank Group’s private lending arm, said there was no question that the trend was accelerating. “It’s a phenomenon that’s sweeping the world; a huge number of these systems are being installed,” Mr. Younger said.
With the advent of cheap solar panels and high-efficiency LED lights, which can light a room with just 4 watts of power instead of 60, these small solar systems now deliver useful electricity at a price that even the poor can afford, he noted. “You’re seeing herders in Inner Mongolia with solar cells on top of their yurts,” Mr. Younger said.
In Africa, nascent markets for the systems have sprung up in Ethiopia, Uganda, Malawi and Ghana as well as in Kenya, said Francis Hillman, an energy entrepreneur who recently shifted his Eritrea-based business, Phaesun Asmara, from large solar projects financed by nongovernmental organizations to a greater emphasis on tiny rooftop systems.
In addition to these small solar projects, renewable energy technologies designed for the poor include simple subterranean biogas chambers that make fuel and electricity from the manure of a few cows, and “mini” hydroelectric dams that can harness the power of a local river for an entire village.
Yet while these off-grid systems have proved their worth, the lack of an effective distribution network or a reliable way of financing the start-up costs has prevented them from becoming more widespread.
“The big problem for us now is there is no business model yet,” said John Maina, executive coordinator of Sustainable Community Development Services, or Scode, a nongovernmental organization based in Nakuru, Kenya, that is devoted to bringing power to rural areas.
Just a few years ago, Mr. Maina said, “solar lights” were merely basic lanterns, dim and unreliable.
“Finally, these products exist, people are asking for them and are willing to pay,” he said. “But we can’t get supply.” He said small African organizations like his do not have the purchasing power or connections to place bulk orders themselves from distant manufacturers, forcing them to scramble for items each time a shipment happens to come into the country.
Part of the problem is that the new systems buck the traditional mold, in which power is generated by a very small number of huge government-owned companies that gradually extend the grid into rural areas. Investors are reluctant to pour money into products that serve a dispersed market of poor rural consumers because they see the risk as too high.

Beyond Fossil Fuels

Starting Small
Articles in this series examine innovative attempts to reduce the world’s dependence on coal, oil and other carbon-intensive fuels, and the challenges faced.
Green
A blog about energy and the environment.
“There are many small islands of success, but they need to go to scale,” said Minoru Takada, chief of the United Nations Development Program’s sustainable energy program. “Off-grid is the answer for the poor. But people who control funding need to see this as a viable option.”
Even United Nations programs and United States government funds that promote climate-friendly energy in developing countries hew to large projects like giant wind farms or industrial-scale solar plants that feed into the grid. A $300 million solar project is much easier to finance and monitor than 10 million home-scale solar systems in mud huts spread across a continent.
As a result, money does not flow to the poorest areas. Of the $162 billion invested in renewable energy last year,according to the United Nations, experts estimate that $44 billion was spent in China, India and Brazil collectively, and $7.5 billion in the many poorer countries.
Only 6 to 7 percent of solar panels are manufactured to produce electricity that does not feed into the grid; that includes systems like Ms. Ruto’s and solar panels that light American parking lots and football stadiums.
Still, some new models are emerging. Husk Power Systems, a young company supported by a mix of private investment and nonprofit funds, has built 60 village power plants in rural India that make electricity from rice husks for 250 hamlets since 2007.
In Nepal and Indonesia, the United Nations Development Program has helped finance the construction of very small hydroelectric plants that have brought electricity to remote mountain communities. Morocco provides subsidized solar home systems at a cost of $100 each to remote rural areas where expanding the national grid is not cost-effective.
What has most surprised some experts in the field is the recent emergence of a true market in Africa for home-scale renewable energy and for appliances that consume less energy. As the cost of reliable equipment decreases, families have proved ever more willing to buy it by selling a goat or borrowing money from a relative overseas, for example.
The explosion of cellphone use in rural Africa has been an enormous motivating factor. Because rural regions of many African countries lack banks, the cellphone has been embraced as a tool for commercial transactions as well as personal communications, adding an incentive to electrify for the sake of recharging.
M-Pesa, Kenya’s largest mobile phone money transfer service, handles an annual cash flow equivalent to more than 10 percent of the country’s gross domestic product, most in tiny transactions that rarely exceed $20.
The cheap renewable energy systems also allow the rural poor to save money on candles, charcoal, batteries, wood and kerosene. “So there is an ability to pay and a willingness to pay,” said Mr. Younger of the International Finance Corporation.
In another Kenyan village, Lochorai, Alice Wangui, 45, and Agnes Mwaforo, 35, formerly subsistence farmers, now operate a booming business selling and installing energy-efficient wood-burning cooking stoves made of clay and metal for a cost of $5. Wearing matching bright orange tops and skirts, they walk down rutted dirt paths with cellphones ever at their ears, edging past goats and dogs to visit customers and to calm those on the waiting list.
Hunched over her new stove as she stirred a stew of potatoes and beans, Naomi Muriuki, 58, volunteered that the appliance had more than halved her use of firewood. Wood has become harder to find and expensive to buy as the government tries to limit deforestation, she added.
In Tumsifu, a slightly more prosperous village of dairy farmers, Virginia Wairimu, 35, is benefiting from an underground tank in which the manure from her three cows is converted to biogas, which is then pumped through a rubber tube to a gas burner.
“I can just get up and make breakfast," Ms. Wairimu said. The system was financed with a $400 loan from a demonstration project that has since expired.
In Kiptusuri, the Firefly LED system purchased by Ms. Ruto is this year’s must-have item. The smallest one, which costs $12, consists of a solar panel that can be placed in a window or on a roof and is connected to a desk lamp and a phone charger. Slightly larger units can run radios and black-and-white television sets.
Of course, such systems cannot compare with a grid connection in the industrialized world. A week of rain can mean no lights. And items like refrigerators need more, and more consistent, power than a panel provides.
Still, in Kenya, even grid-based electricity is intermittent and expensive: families must pay more than $350 just to have their homes hooked up.
“With this system, you get a real light for what you spend on kerosene in a few months,” said Mr. Maina, of Sustainable Community Development Services. “When you can light your home and charge your phone, that is very valuable.”

lunes, 27 de diciembre de 2010

POR AMOR AL ARTE

POR AMOR AL ARTE

POR AMOR AL ARTE

REVISTA ATTICUS

POR AMOR AL ARTE

Hace ya bastante tiempo, recibí en el correo electrónico deENSEÑ-ARTE un mensaje del editor de una revista electrónica vallisoletana dedicada a temas culturales y, de manera preferente, al Arte. El mensaje contenía una doble invitación: de un lado, para la la descarga  del último número de la revista; de otro, para colaborar en ella si me parecía interesante la propuesta. Fue así, de esta manera virtual, como tomé contacto con Luis José Cuadrado (Luisjo, como a él le gusta que le llamen) y con la revista ATTICUS.

Siempre que recibo propuestas de este tipo las acojo con cordialidad: una de las mejores cosas que tiene la Red es precisamente la posibilidad de que gente muy diversa pueda hacer cosas interesantes sin necesidad de invertir más que una parte de su tiempo libre y sin que necesariamente se busquen en todo ello beneficios económicos. Por lo demás, el contenido de ATTICUS merecía especial atención: la revista estaba excelentemente maquetada, las ilustraciones cuidadosamente seleccionadas y, en fin, los textos eran amenos e interesantes. En definitiva se notaba que detrás de aquella propuesta electrónica había un editor que ponía en ella no sólo tiempo, cariño e interés, sino suficientes conocimientos.


Fue de esa manera como comenzó mi colaboración habitual con ATTICUS, que ha llegado hasta los momentos actuales. Siempre que me ha sido posible he enviado a la revista algún texto, reelaborado de otros ya publicados en este blog o expresamente escritos para las páginas deATTICUS. Poco a poco fuimos tratando, entre otras cuestiones, acerca de la obra de Mark Rothko, de la peripecia vital de los cuadros de Theodoros Stamos, de la Casa Farnsworth de Mies van der Rohe, de las alucinantes fotografías de la naturaleza que realiza Antonio Camoyán o de la nueva perspectiva expresionista que encontramos en los cuadros de Alejandro Schmitt.

Pues bien, hoy mismo la revista ATTICUS da un inesperado e interesante giro en su habitual trayectoria, refrendada ya por doce números, amén de algunos otros monográficos: en estos tiempos que parecen consagrar, en cierta medida al menos, el triunfo de las publicaciones electrónicas, nuestra revista vallisoletana se pasamomentáneamente al papel y saca a la calle un primer número con una cuidadísima  edición, que será presentado esta misma tarde en el Museo Patio Herreriano de Valladolid. Hasta allí llega la felicitación más cordial de ENSEÑ-ARTE.

Sabe Luisjo que todos los que de alguna manera hemos colaborado con él en este fascinante proyecto que ahora cobra aspectos de multiaventura estaremos allí esta tarde, de una u otra forma, de persona o de corazón. Por que él nos ha contagiado su entusiasmo. Por amor al Arte.

Esta es la dirección Web de Revista ATTICUS, donde podréis encargaros un ejemplar de ese número 1 en papel, así como descargaros gratuitamente los doce números anteriores en formato electrónico. Además, leed esta entrevista al editor de la revista en El Cultural.es.