23andme: friend or foe?
April 2, 2023
Author: Skylar Wallison
Editor: Chava Makman Levinson
When I was eight years old, my parents started to look into 23andme, a trendy DNA testing company that was founded in 2006. At that age, DNA testing seemed entirely foreign, a seemingly unnecessary but compelling thing to try. To me, it really meant nothing but spitting into a plastic tube with my sister, laughing as we tried our best to aim correctly. When we got the results back, all I learned was that I was Swedish and Ashkenazi Jewish from Belarus–parts of my identity I was already aware of. To the best of my knowledge, that was the last I would hear from 23andme.
It was not until a couple of weeks ago that I received a call from my mother, telling me to sign into our family’s 23andme portal. When I logged on, everything looked the same to me: the bright green and red color wheels showcasing my family tree and the numbers and percentages that I already knew. But then, I saw that they had discovered something new almost 11 years later. In big letters under the health and genetics tab, I read that I was a carrier for a disease called “Tay-Sachs.” Like any surprised recipient of 23andme’s data, I frantically searched the internet for a definition. The first phrase, “a rare inherited condition,” required the input of my mother. She immediately consoled me, stating that I did not have the disease, but could pass it on to my children. She joked, “as long as you do not marry someone who also has it!” This entire idea of planning my future at nineteen years old, having to ask someone if they carried Tay-Sachs, shook me to my core. I had always accepted the idea that I could not predict my future, and suddenly I realized I could.
The ever-impending “deep talk” question of “do you want to know how and when things will happen to you in life?” loomed large in my mind. To me, events such as marriage, childbirth, or even passing away should remain a surprise. Why would anyone want to know those things? I soon realized that 23andme gave me the answers I did not want to hear. Ultimately, I began to regret ever spitting in the tube at eight years old.
Many swear by the process and reference their 23andme portals daily. While I know I will never reach this level, I recognize the urge to check on one’s future habitually. If there was a portal in high school telling me where I would go to college or revealing what dorm I would get, you can bet that I would have checked said portal daily as well. However, I still feel a personal stigma around genetic testing and have a hard time parting with my fears of the future. The power of knowledge, caused by a data-based platform, feels defeating rather than empowering. In my opinion, 23andme will always be a foe, and never a friend. But for others, removing uncertainty about certain aspects of life may be welcomed with open arms. The question still stands: Is it good to know what will happen in the future? Is ignorance always bliss?
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