Allan Albig, Boise State University

Think back to that basic biology class you took in high school. You probably learned about organelles, those little “organs” inside cells that form compartments with individual functions. For example, mitochondria produce energy, lysosomes recycle waste and the nucleus stores DNA. Although each organelle has a different function, they are similar in that every one is wrapped up in a membrane.

Membrane-bound organelles were the textbook standard of how scientists thought cells were organized until they realized in the mid-2000s that some organelles don’t need to be wrapped in a membrane. Since then, researchers have discovered many additional membraneless organelles that have significantly changed how biologists think about the chemistry and origins of life.

I was introduced to membraneless organelles, formally called biomolecular condensates, a couple years ago when students in my lab observed some unusual blobs in a cell nucleus. Unbeknownst to me, we had actually been studying biomolecular condensates for years. What I finally saw in those blobs opened my eyes to a whole new world of cell biology.

Like a lava lamp

To get a sense of what a biomolecular condensate looks like, imagine a lava lamp as the blobs of wax inside fuse together, break apart and fuse again. Condensates form in much the same way, though they are not made of wax. Instead, a cluster of proteins and genetic material, specifically RNA molecules, in a cell condenses into gel-like droplets.

Some proteins and RNAs do this because they preferentially interact with each other instead of their surrounding environment, very much like how wax blobs in a lava lamp mix with each other but not the surrounding liquid. These condensates create a new microenvironment that attracts additional proteins and RNA molecules, thus forming a unique biochemical compartment within cells.

As of 2022, researchers have found about 30 kinds of these membraneless biomolecular condensates. In comparison, there are around a dozen known traditional membrane-bound organelles.

Although easy to identify once you know what you are looking for, it’s difficult to figure out what biomolecular condensates exactly do. Some have well-defined roles, such as forming reproductive cells, stress granules and protein-making ribosomes. However, many others don’t have clear functions.

Nonmembrane-bound organelles could have more numerous and diverse functions than their membrane-bound counterparts. Learning about these unknown functions is affecting scientists’ fundamental understanding of how cells work.

Protein structure and function

Biomolecular condensates are breaking some long-held beliefs about protein chemistry.

Ever since scientists first got a good look at the structure of the protein myoglobin in the 1950s, it was clear that its structure is important for its ability to shuttle oxygen in muscles. Since then, the mantra for biochemists has been that protein structure equals protein function. Basically, proteins have certain shapes that allow them to perform their jobs.

The proteins that form biomolecular condensates at least partially break this rule since they contain regions that are disordered, meaning they do not have defined shapes. When researchers discovered these so-called intrinsically disordered proteins, or IDPs, in the early 1980s, they were initially confounded by how these proteins could lack a strong structure but still perform specific functions.

Later, they found that IDPs tend to form condensates. As is so often the case in science, this finding solved one mystery about the roles these unstructured rogue proteins play in the cell only to open another deeper question about what biomolecular condensates really are.

Bacterial cells

Researchers have also detected biomolecular condensates in prokaryotic, or bacterial, cells, which traditionally were defined as not containing organelles. This finding could have profound effects on how scientists understand the biology of prokaryotic cells.

Only about 6% of bacterial proteins have disordered regions lacking structure, compared with 30% to 40% of eukaryotic, or nonbacterial, proteins. But scientists have found several biomolecular condensates in prokaryotic cells that are involved a variety of cellular functions, including making and breaking down RNAs.

The presence of biomolecular condensates in bacterial cells means that these microbes aren’t simple bags of proteins and nucleic acids but are actually more complex than previously recognized.

Origins of life

Biomolecular condensates are also changing how scientists think about the origins of life on Earth.

There is ample evidence that nucleotides, the building blocks of RNA and DNA, can very plausibly be made from common chemicals, like hydrogen cyanide and water, in the presence of common energy sources, like ultraviolet light or high temperatures, on universally common minerals, like silica and iron clay.

There is also evidence that individual nucleotides can spontaneously assemble into chains to make RNA. This is a crucial step in the RNA world hypothesis, which postulates that the first “lifeforms” on Earth were strands of RNAs.

A major question is how these RNA molecules might have evolved mechanisms to replicate themselves and organize into a protocell. Because all known life is enclosed in membranes, researchers studying the origin of life have mostly assumed that membranes would also need to encapsulate these RNAs. This would require synthesizing the lipids, or fats, that make up membranes. However, the materials needed to make lipids likely weren’t present on early Earth.

With the discovery that RNAs can spontaneously form biomolecular condensates, lipids wouldn’t be needed to form protocells. If RNAs were able to aggregate into biomolecular condensates on their own, it becomes even more plausible that living molecules arose from nonliving chemicals on Earth.

New treatments

For me and other scientists studying biomolecular condensates, it is exciting to dream of how these rule-breaking entities will change our perspective on how biology works. Condensates are already changing how we think about human diseases like Alzheimer’s, Huntington’s and Lou Gehrig’s.

To this end, researchers are developing several new approaches to manipulate condensates for medical purposes like new drugs that can promote or dissolve condensates. Whether this new approach to treating disease will bear fruit remains to be determined.

In the long term, I wouldn’t be surprised if each biomolecular condensate is eventually assigned a particular function. If this happens, you can bet that high school biology students will have even more to learn – or complain – about in their introductory biology classes.

Allan Albig, Associate Professor of Biological Sciences, Boise State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Zackary Okun Dunivin, University of California, Davis

There’s a certain allure to the notion that some of the world’s brightest stars burn out at the age of 27. The so-called 27 Club has captivated the public imagination for half a century. Its members include legendary musicians Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse. The idea is as seductive as it is tragic: a convergence of talent, fame and untimely death at a singular age.

But is there any truth to this phenomenon, or is it merely a story we tell ourselves and each other about fame and youth?

In our newly published research, my colleague Patrick Kaminski and I explore why the 27 Club persists in culture. We didn’t set out to debunk the myth. After all, there is no reason to think that 27 is an especially dangerous age beyond superstition.

Rather, we wanted to explore the 27 Club to understand how such a myth gains traction and affects people’s perception of reality.

Is the 27 Club real?

The origin of the 27 Club dates back to the early 1970s, following the deaths of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison – all at age 27, within a span of two years.

This uncanny coincidence left its mark on collective memory. It wasn’t just their age. It was the common thread of musical genius, countercultural influence and the tragic allure of lives cut short by a cocktail of fame, drug use and the struggle of being human. The narrative is not just compelling but almost mystical in its synchronicity.

Analyzing data from 344,156 notable deceased individuals listed on Wikipedia, we found that while there’s no increased risk of dying at 27, those who do die at that age receive significantly more public attention. Using Wikipedia page views as a proxy for fame, our study revealed that the legacies of these 27-year-olds are amplified, garnering more visibility than those who die at adjacent ages.

This increased visibility has a strange effect: People are more likely to encounter those who died at 27 than other young ages, even if they are not aware of the myth. This in turn creates the appearance of greater risk of mortality at 27. The myth of the 27 Club is a self-fulfilling prophecy: It became “real” because we believed it.

Why is the 27 Club a thing?

We believe this phenomenon can be understood through three interrelated concepts: path dependence, stigmergy and memetic reification.

Path dependence refers to how random events can set a precedent that influences future outcomes. The initial cluster of high-profile deaths at age 27 was statistically improbable – we estimate that one in 100,000 timelines would have four such famous deaths at age 27 – but it established a narrative pathway that has persisted and shaped collective reality.

Stigmergy describes how traces of an event or action left in the environment can indirectly coordinate future events or actions. In the digital age, platforms such as Wikipedia serve as repositories of collective memory. The existence of a dedicated 27 Club page, with links to its members’ pages, increases the visibility of those who die at 27. This creates a feedback loop: The more we click, the more prominent these figures become, and the more the myth is reinforced.

Finally, what we call memetic reification captures how beliefs can shape reality. We draw from a sociological concept called the Thomas theorem, which states that if you “define a situation as real, they are real in their consequences.” The 27 Club myth has tangible effects on cultural memory and fame. By imbuing significance into the age of 27, society elevates the legacies of those who die at that age, making the myth materially consequential.

Why do myths endure?

Why do such myths endure? At their core, myths are not about factual accuracy but about narratives that resonate with people. They thrive on mystery, tragedy and the human penchant for finding patterns even in randomness. The story of the 27 Club is poetic, encapsulating the fleeting nature of genius and the fragility of life. It’s a story that begs to be told and retold, regardless of its veracity.

This isn’t an isolated phenomenon. Cultural patterns often arise from chance events that, through collective commitment and storytelling, become embedded in our understanding of the world.

Consider the evolution of language – why do we call a dog a “dog”? There is nothing doggy about the word. Philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein observed that nearly all symbols are arbitrary. Some countries drive on the left side of the road while others on the right. While the choice to adopt left- or right-side traffic is influenced by neighboring countries or car producers, ultimately these followed from an arbitrary resolution to the need to pick one side or the other. These conventions began as random occurrences that, over time, became standardized and meaningful through social reinforcement.

The 27 Club serves as a lens through which you can examine the power of mythmaking in shaping perceptions of history and reality. It highlights how collective beliefs can have real-world consequences, influencing who becomes immortalized in cultural memory. It’s a testament to the complex interplay between chance events, storytelling and the mechanisms by which myths are perpetuated.

Though we may appear to dispel the myth of the 27 Club, let’s not abandon the story. We’re myth trusters, not myth busters. In unraveling the myth, we’re acknowledging the profound ways in which narratives influence our collective consciousness. By understanding the processes behind myth formation, we can better appreciate the richness of culture and the stories people choose to tell.

Zackary Okun Dunivin, Postdoctoral Fellow in Communication, University of California, Davis

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Farha Abassi, Michigan State University

My three daughters and I arrived in Michigan from Pakistan in 2000.

Moving here was my choice, and I followed the legal process. Before the move, I had often been to the United States. I was familiar with the culture and spoke fluent English, so I thought I was prepared.

Resuming my career as a physician in the U.S. was arduous, but I finally passed all the qualifying exams and completed a psychiatry residency at Michigan State University in 2006. After finishing my studies, I stayed on as faculty.

Of course, there is nothing new or particularly unique about my family‘s experience. Immigration, whether it is out of choice or forced by conflict, has always been part of the American experience. After all, the U.S. Constitution was signed by seven first-generation immigrants.

Experts will tell you that immigration makes our country stronger economically, culturally and in fields like science and medicine. Since I’m a doctor, I’m well aware that 26% of licensed U.S. physicians and surgeons are immigrants.

But it is also true that immigrants like me face stresses that harm our
psychical and mental health.

I teach cultural psychiatry to medical students and residents, specifically how to provide culturally appropriate care to Muslim patients. After more than 20 years in Michigan, I’m deeply rooted in the Muslim and immigrant community, and I’ve seen firsthand how anxious and uncertain my community is about the 2024 presidential election.

Panic attacks and depression

Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump has called immigrants “bloodthirsty criminals” and the “most violent people on Earth.” He claims that immigrants were “poisoning the blood of our country.” Research shows, and I’ve seen personally, how this kind of talk can cause anxiety and depression in immigrants both undocumented and legal.

Undocumented immigrants and their families, who live in precarious conditions and in fear of being deported, are especially vulnerable to Trump’s calls for mass deportations.

History has taught us that a politician’s hateful words can lead to violence.

In the first half of 2024, the Michigan Chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations documented 239 complaints of discrimination against Muslims, an 81% increase over the same period in 2023. In the report, CAIR-MI Executive Director Dawud Walid attributed the uptick to “policies of elected officials, rhetoric of candidates running for office, along with victim blaming by some political pundits.”

Adding to the situation are the deepening crises in the Gaza Strip and Lebanon, which are making Muslims in Michigan, especially those with relatives in the Middle East, reel with palpable grief.

This rise in Islamophobia and fear of an uncertain future is taking a toll. American Muslims are twice as likely to attempt suicide compared with people from other faiths.

Anxiety in the voting booth

Like 73% of all Americans, immigrants are anxious about the election.

With the politicization of baseless claims of undocumented immigrants voting, the fact is that naturalized citizens – who have every right to take part in the election – are a formidable voting bloc, making up 1 in 10 of the nation’s eligible voters and about 5% in Michigan.

What’s more, naturalized citizens tend to vote at higher rates than native-born citizens.

Still, for many Muslims in Michigan, it is hard to know how to vote this year. I don’t trust either of the major parties.

Michigan’s Muslims are feeling devalued and disenfranchised.

A key Arab American political action committee based in Michigan refused to endorse either candidate this cycle. Although the PAC typically backs Democrats, this year it said “neither candidate represents our hopes and dreams as Arab Americans.”

In late September, a national group of three dozen Muslim American scholars and imams signed an open letter calling on Muslims not to vote for Democratic nominee Kamala Harris.

“We want to be absolutely clear,” the letter reads, “don’t stay home and skip voting. This year, make a statement by voting third party for the presidential ticket.”

A group called Listen to Michigan gained attention during the primaries by attracting more than 100,000 people to vote “uncommitted” as a protest against President Joe Biden’s funding of the war in Gaza. The group has stopped short of endorsing Harris but urged voters “not to cast their ballot for anyone but her.”

Still, some of my neighbors have decided to back Green Party candidate Jill Stein.

I know my vote is my voice, and I fully intend to participate in the electoral process. But I can’t trust any of the candidates to create a safe haven for my family – a place where my daughters and I can thrive and live our American dream.

Farha Abassi, Assistant Professor of Psychiatry, Michigan State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.