A short history of nearly everything

organisms from any realm of biology that are that different and still in the same species,” he says.

With the fossil record so unhelpful, scientists have turned increasingly to genetic studies, in particular the part known as mitochondrial DNA. Mitochondrial DNA was only discovered in 1964, but by the 1980s some ingenious souls at the University of California at Berkeley had realized that it has two features that lend it a particular convenience as a kind of molecular clock: it is passed on only through the female line, so it doesn’t become scrambled with paternal DNA with each new generation, and it mutates about twenty times faster than normal nuclear DNA, making it easier to detect and follow genetic patterns over time. By tracking the rates of mutation they could work out the genetic history and relationships of whole groups of people.

In 1987, the Berkeley team, led by the late Allan Wilson, did an analysis of mitochondrial DNA from 147 individuals and declared that the rise of anatomically modern humans occurred in Africa within the last 140,000 years and that “all present-day humans are descended from that population.” It was a serious blow to the multiregionalists. But then people began to look a little more closely at the data. One of the most extraordinary points-almost too extraordinary to credit really-was that the “Africans” used in the study were actually African- Americans, whose genes had obviously been subjected to considerable mediation in the past few hundred years. Doubts also soon emerged about the assumed rates of mutations.

By 1992, the study was largely discredited. But the techniques of genetic analysis continued to be refined, and in 1997 scientists from the University of Munich managed to extract and analyze some DNA from the arm bone of the original Neandertal man, and this time the evidence stood up. The Munich study found that the Neandertal DNA was unlike any DNA found on Earth now, strongly indicating that there was no genetic connection between Neandertals and modern humans. Now this really was a blow to multiregionalism.

Then in late 2000 Nature and other publications reported on a Swedish study of the mitochondrial DNA of fifty-three people, which suggested that all modern humans emerged from Africa within the past 100,000 years and came from a breeding stock of no more than 10,000 individuals. Soon afterward, Eric Lander, director of the Whitehead Institute/Massachusetts Institute of Technology Center for Genome Research, announced that modern Europeans, and perhaps people farther afield, are descended from “no more than a few hundred Africans who left their homeland as recently as 25,000 years ago.”

As we have noted elsewhere in the book, modern human beings show remarkably little genetic variability-“there’s more diversity in one social group of fifty-five chimps than in the entire human population,” as one authority has put it-and this would explain why. Because we are recently descended from a small founding population, there hasn’t been time enough or people enough to provide a source of great variability. It seemed a pretty severe blow to multiregionalism. “After this,” a Penn State academic told the Washington Post, “people won’t be too concerned about the multiregional theory, which has very little evidence.”

But all of this overlooked the more or less infinite capacity for surprise offered by the ancient Mungo people of western New South Wales. In early 2001, Thorne and his colleagues at the Australian National University reported that they had recovered DNA from the oldest of the Mungo specimens-now dated at 62,000 years-and that this DNA proved to be “genetically distinct.”

The Mungo Man, according to these findings, was anatomically modern-just like you and me-but carried an extinct genetic lineage. His mitochondrial DNA is no longer found in living humans, as it should be if, like all other modern people, he was descended from people who left Africa in the recent past.

“It turned everything upside down again,” says Thorne with undisguised delight.

Then other even more curious anomalies began to turn up. Rosalind Harding, a population geneticist at the Institute of Biological Anthropology in Oxford, while studying betaglobin genes in modern people, found two variants that are common among Asians and the indigenous people of Australia, but hardly exist in Africa. The variant genes, she is certain, arose more than 200,000 years ago not in Africa, but in east Asia-long before modern Homo sapiens reached the region. The only way to account for them is to say that ancestors of people now living in Asia included archaic hominids-Java Man and the like. Interestingly, this same variant gene-the Java Man gene, so to speak-turns up in modern populations in Oxfordshire.

Confused, I went to see Harding at the institute, which inhabits an old brick villa on Banbury Road in Oxford, in more or less the neighborhood where Bill Clinton spent his student days. Harding is a small and chirpy Australian, from Brisbane originally, with the rare knack for being amused and earnest at the same time.

“Don’t know,” she said at once, grinning, when I asked her how people in Oxfordshire harbored sequences of betaglobin that shouldn’t be there. “On the whole,” she went on more somberly, “the genetic record supports the out-of-Africa hypothesis. But then you find these anomalous clusters, which most geneticists prefer not to talk about. There’s huge amounts of information that would be available to us if only we could understand it, but we don’t yet. We’ve barely begun.” She refused to be drawn out on what the existence of Asian- origin genes in Oxfordshire tells us other than that the situation is clearly complicated. “All we can say at this stage is that it is very untidy and we don’t really know why.”

At the time of our meeting, in early 2002, another Oxford scientist named Bryan Sykes had just produced a popular book called The Seven Daughters of Eve in which, using studies of mitochondrial DNA, he had claimed to be able to trace nearly all living Europeans back to a founding population of just seven women-the daughters of Eve of the title-who lived between 10,000 and 45,000 years ago in the time known to science as the Paleolithic. To each of these women Sykes had given a name-Ursula, Xenia, Jasmine, and so on-and even a detailed personal history. (“Ursula was her mother’s second child. The first had been taken by a leopard when he was only two. . . .”)

When I asked Harding about the book, she smiled broadly but carefully, as if not quite certain where to go with her answer. “Well, I suppose you must give him some credit for helping to popularize a difficult subject,” she said and paused thoughtfully. “And there remains the remote possibility that he’s right.” She laughed, then went on more intently: “Data from any single gene cannot really tell you anything so definitive. If you follow the mitochondrial DNA backwards, it will take you to a certain place-to an Ursula or Tara or whatever. But if you take any other bit of DNA, any gene at all, and trace it back, it will take you someplace else altogether.”

It was a little, I gathered, like following a road randomly out of London and finding that eventually it ends at John O’Groats, and concluding from this that anyone in London must therefore have come from the north of Scotland. They might have come from there, of course, but equally they could have arrived from any of hundreds of other places. In this sense, according to Harding, every gene is a different highway, and we have only barely begun to map the routes. “No single gene is ever going to tell you the whole story,” she said.

So genetic studies aren’t to be trusted?

“Oh you can trust the studies well enough, generally speaking. What you can’t trust are the sweeping conclusions that people often attach to them.”

She thinks out-of-Africa is “probably 95 percent correct,” but adds: “I think both sides have done a bit of a disservice to science by insisting that it must be one thing or the other. Things are likely to turn out to be not so straightforward as either camp would have you believe. The evidence is clearly starting to suggest that there were multiple migrations and dispersals in different parts of the world going in all kinds of directions and generally mixing up the gene pool. That’s never going to be easy to sort out.”

Just at this time, there were also a number of reports questioning the reliability of claims concerning the recovery of very ancient DNA. An academic writing in Nature had noted how a paleontologist, asked by a colleague whether he thought an old skull was varnished or not, had licked its top and announced that it was. “In the process,” noted the Nature article, “large amounts of modern human DNA would have been transferred to the skull,” rendering it useless for future study. I asked Harding about this. “Oh, it would almost certainly have been contaminated already,” she said. “Just handling a bone will contaminate it. Breathing on it will contaminate it. Most of the water in our labs will contaminate it. We are all swimming in foreign DNA. In order to get a reliably clean specimen you have to excavate it in sterile conditions and do the tests on it at the site. It is the trickiest thing in the world not to contaminate a specimen.”

So should such claims be treated dubiously? I asked.

Harding nodded solemnly. “Very,” she said.