Fallout Over Seaborg

No scientist could have more imposing credentials: Nobel laureate in chemistry, co-discoverer of plutonium and eight other synthetic elements, former chancellor of the University of California at Berkeley and longtime associate director of its famed Lawrence Radiation Laboratory. Yet Glenn Seaborg is currently the center of a bitter controversy that has sharply divided the nation's largest and most powerful private scientific organization. At issue is whether the three-term chairman of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission should also serve as president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, which has 130,000 members. If a scientist works for the U.S. Government, can he honestly speak for science as a whole without a conflict of interest?

32,000 Deaths. The row is no ordinary academic tempest. For many members of the A.A.A.S., Seaborg's recent selection by an inner circle of 530 special electors raises extremely serious questions about the organization's very future. Should it continue its above-the-battle posture? Or should it begin taking strong stands on social and moral issues involving science, such as the use of herbicides by the U.S. in Viet Nam? With Seaborg or any other Government official as president, these activists fear that criticism of Government policies by the A.A.A.S. would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. They may well voice their fears in an impromptu floor debate at the association's annual meeting in Chicago this week.

Seaborg's election is also being attacked for less ideological reasons. Earlier this year, two investigators stunned the scientific community by asserting that there would be an extra 32,000 cancer deaths a year if Americans were exposed to the maximum dosages of radiation permitted under the AEC's existing safety standards for nuclear power plants. Ironically, the scientists, Arthur R. Tamplin and John W. Gofman, who have just amplified their case in a book sardonically titled 'Population Control' Through Nuclear Pollution, did their work at Seaborg's old scientific haunt, the Lawrence Radiation Lab, which is entirely supported by AEC funds. The AEC vigorously denied their charges, but Senator Edmund Muskie, chairman of the Senate's Subcommittee on Air and Water Pollution, found them serious enough to ask for an independent investigation by the A.A.A.S. In particular, Muskie wants to know if the AEC harassed Tamplin and Gofman, as they claim it did.

Oblivious to the furor, the A.A.A.S.'s nominating committee picked Seaborg as one of its presidential candidates last June. The organization's board of directors immediately raised the conflict-of-interest question. At least eleven of the 13 board members--including Environmentalist Barry Commoner (TIME cover, Feb. 2)--questioned the choice of Seaborg, whose election they felt was certain because the other nominee was a relatively unknown acoustical expert, Richard H. Bolt. Furthermore, even though the A.A.A.S. had not yet acted on Muskie's request, the board members pointed out that one of the organization's committees was already planning to study the environmental effects of power plants, a subject that could easily put the group at odds with the AEC--and thus with its own incoming president.

Typical Sangfroid, the board conveyed its misgivings to Seaborg. Under the A.A.A.S.'s archaic rules, it could not do anything more. Nor would Seaborg. He had already turned down an offer of the A.A.A.S. presidential candidacy twice before because of his other obligations, and did not care to bow out this time. In fact, the only casualty of the dispute was a bystander: Dan Greenberg, 38, the news editor of the A.A.A.S. publication Science, and one of the most astute observers of the U.S. scientific establishment. Urged by the board members to bring their doubts about Seaborg's nomination to the attention of the full membership, Greenberg ordered up an account of the backstage maneuvering. Chemist Philip Abelson, Science's editor and Seaborg's contemporary at the University of California, refused to print it; he said that it would be unfair to raise questions about Seaborg's candidacy just before the voting. Infuriated, Greenberg quit.

Seaborg's own reaction was quite different. Unruffled by the criticism, he said simply that as president he would disqualify himself from any A.A.A.S. activities in which his participation might compromise the organization.

The A.A.A.S.'s quaint electoral protocol again was on his side; he would first have to serve out a year as president-elect, he noted, before he actually assumed the presidency in 1972. By that time, the dispute over the radiation standards might be settled. Seaborg's sang-froid was characteristic. A tall (6 ft. 3 in.) and shambling figure, he has become something of a legend in Washington for his ability to duck controversy. During the intense debate over whether the U.S. should build an H-bomb, he managed to retain the friendship of both Robert Oppenheimer and Edward Teller. On the one hand, he agreed with Teller that the bomb should be built; on the other, he so qualified his support that even Oppenheimer, the project's chief opponent, could hardly take offense.

Seaborg has used similar tactics to meet the emotional challenges of Gofman and Tamplin, who contend that the AEC's policies are nothing less than outright genocide. In response, Seaborg acknowledges the dangers of radiation, yet insists that the AEC's precautions have been more than adequate. Such a reply, however, may not be enough. Public anxiety over the real or imagined dangers of the atom was on the rise even before Gofman and Tamplin unleashed their polemic. One evidence of this is the proliferation of conservationist lawsuits attempting to block construction of nuclear plants in the U.S. Similar concern has also nearly turned under the AEC's Project Plowshare, which proposes to use nuclear devices for such peaceful purposes as excavating deep-sea harbors, unlocking mineral and gas deposits and digging a new Panama Canal. Seaborg has championed peaceful uses of the atom for more than two decades, but he is going to need all of his conciliatory skills if he is to prevail without dividing the scientific community still further. The new activists in the A.A.A.S. will severely test his celebrated sangfroid.

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