‘Find your family’. ‘Discover your story’. ‘Reveal your ancestry’. Hobbyist genetic genealogy has become a phenomenon. Already in 2014, genealogy research was the second-most popular recreational activity in the US, and the mention of the term ‘genetic genealogy’ in printed publications grew by over 200 per cent between 2000 and 2020.
What may explain this sudden enthusiasm for ancestry research is that technologies for reading genomic information have undergone considerable shifts in the past decades. Developed in the 1990s and still gaining traction, Massive Parallel Sequencing very much lives up to its name: it can reveal different and more sequences much faster than traditional methods, thus providing more genomic information. MPS technologies have now become more affordable and widespread. This gives rise to new cultures of collecting and analysing genomic data, with enterprises seizing the opportunity to commercialise these developments. And here, more is more: the more sequenced information available, the more types of studies can be run to reveal how genomic variations may express as bodily traits, or to discover ancestral relations. And the more people join the project, the bigger the populations and databases for doing such research.
The results of these projects do matter to customers, but also to the police. An individual’s experience of discovering new genetic family relations does not always have to be positive. Big genomic data allows the police to inch in on the identities of potential suspects via their family trees. This can be done via the police’s own databases, but also by accessing data stored by direct-to-consumer genomic services. The latter may either deny law enforcement access to this data or allow their customers to opt in or out of law enforcement use. The lobby to opt into this use and to assist law enforcement, however, grows stronger.
Indeed, many countries have adopted genetic genealogy in their forensic toolkit. Though recreational and forensic genetic genealogies share the same method, both fields differ in how exactly genomic information is made to matter. While direct-to-consumer genomic services present DNA as a key to unlocking new experiences of family and identity, police use meets this imagination with the idea of DNA as a scientifically valid lead in a crime investigation. Genetic information, then, changes in matter and meaning when it is embedded in police data management systems and processed to produce a family member as a potential suspect. The method’s impact on privacy is pertinent. Firstly, genomic information is increasingly subject to commercial and police surveillance. Secondly, the very method of genetic genealogy once and for all disproves the argument that ‘I have nothing to hide’. Genealogy is not just about ourselves. Forensic genetic genealogy widens the population drawn into police investigation by definition, as the method is dependent on family trees. At the same time, it causes relative doubt. As Erin Murphy writes, forensic genetic genealogies point ‘to a list of possible suspects, all but one of whom definitely did not leave the evidence’. Big genome data matters.
In fact, it matters in many more ways. Direct-to-consumer genome services have broadened their product palettes as Massive Parallel Sequencing also enables association studies designed to identify how specific genetic sequences express a bodily or behavioural trait. Here, customers are enticed to learn about the genetic origins of their looks and personality. The same technique has also been rendered into an investigative tool to predict looks from DNA samples of unknown owners. As the name phenotyping (typing appearances) indicates, the technique fuels the production of body types. In order to predict such types, data about the physical appearances of a reference population need to be cleaned. These data are categorised into, for example, computer-readable skin tones. Algorithms then associate the categorised data about appearances with the genetic data of the same population to identify which genetic sequence expresses what type of skin tone. Already these processes can involve racialising decisions, for example when skin colours and facial features are categorised to match particular ethnic ‘templates’. When deployed in the context of police investigation, phenotypic predictions can have further discriminatory effects. They, too, render entire groups suspicious as the police ultimately search for everyone who shares a specific body type. Though critical debates among the forensic, the social sciences and interest groups are ongoing, phenotyping will increasingly matter to different societal domains. Considering that behaviour, too, is subject to phenotyping, it is all the more crucial to discuss the increasing confluence of recreational, medical and forensic genomics.
Big genome data matters. And it is a matter of concern. Considering the rise of genetic surveillance and the prominence of genetic genealogy and phenotyping, our genome may be less considered a token of individuality as it is an indicator of shared traits and relations. While this can be an enriching and uniting experience, it can also lead to exclusion, simplification, essentialisation and the rise of ‘body types’ as tools for crime governance. Trump’s recurring statements on the relevance of genes to superiority, inferiority and criminality illustrate why big genome data should be a matter of concern. As our genome is increasingly collected, stored, analysed and sold, it is also up to us to discuss in what ways it should and should not matter.
Mareile Kaufmann is Professor in the Department of Criminology and Sociology of Law at University of Oslo, and currently works on the role of big genome data in law enforcement.
Making Information Matter by Mareile Kaufmann is available on the Bristol University Press website. Order here for £27.99.
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