Doris Lessing - The Sirian Experiments

Experiments then in progress at that station included the following:

In order to find out the capacities for endurance and perseverance of their subject animals, they had built a very large tank with slippery sloping sides on which it was not possible to find a purchase. This was filled with water. About a hundred particularly healthy and strong tribesmen had been selected and put into this tank to swim there until they drowned. All around the edge of the tank researchers stood with stopwatches in their hands. Others guarded the instruments with which they were measuring the pulse rate and breathing of the experimentees: from time to time an animal would be selected, pulled out of the water and tested, and then, in spite of cries and pleadings, would be flung back in again.

The teams of researchers, as they tired, were replaced. Astonishing feats of endurance were performed. It was not the most pleasant of sights. Though it was certainly interesting to see the differences between the swimming animals. Some, when thrown in, suspecting the nature of the experiment, at once allowed themselves to drown. This tendency was regarded as a measure of intelligence. Some cried and begged to be taken out. Some panicked and clung to others so that one might see two or three or more at a time, sinking during their struggles. Others were silent and conserved their strength and swam around and around and around, regarding their masters on the edges with a look in their eyes that—I have to record for the sake of truthfulness—I had seen in the eyes of some of our subject races… the Lombis, for instance. Some, seeing others weaken, went to support them knowing that their own ends would be nearer. But a few swam on for several days. And even when they seemed half-conscious, they swam on, and on, until at last they sank. To stand on those high banks, while some of the unfortunate animals scrabbled and clutched at the slippery slopes beneath me, calling out for aid—I soon found this too upsetting, and suggested to Klorathy that we should leave.

There was another experiment to measure strength and endurance. They had a large cauldron under which were piles of wood. The cauldron, from which it was impossible to climb, because the sides sloped inwards, was filled with water. Into this they put, one at a time, males, females, and children, and lit the fires, and heated the water. This was to measure the different rates at which the experimentees succumbed to the heating water. Again the differences were remarkable. A few managed to stay alive until the water was nearly at boiling point. (This part of my account will be more fully appreciated if the reader equips himself with a basic knowledge of Rohandan chemistry.)

In a third experiment they transplanted limbs and organs. It was unpleasant to see all this work being done using techniques that had not only been in use with us for so long but were already becoming superceded—though we did not ( do not yet) appreciate that. Yes, I am making this comparison quite soberly.

The monsters created by their crude techniques were, I suppose, not without interest, when I was able to quell my—by then soaring—indignation. The glands of some females had been grafted on their backs. Others had them on their thighs. The sexual organs of males were transferred to their faces, so that the organs for eating and progeniture were adjacent. This caused psychological maladjustment, which they found, surprisingly, of interest. I saw a child that had had legs grafted on to its hips! We were told that this unfortunate at least would have an adequate future, for it would be used as entertainment for the ruling classes: it was able to revolve itself on these four legs as on the spokes of a wheel. The technicians did seem quite pleased to be able to reassure us when they could—as in the case of this cartwheeling child. They did not enjoy causing pain, they insisted. But they believed that the experimentees, being of an inferior kind, did not feel physical or psychological pain as they themselves did. I have not before encountered this trick of the mental processes—at least not since the very early days of our science, when there were tendencies to assure ourselves of the invulnerability of our experimentees.

At least Sirius can say that not for many long ages have we been hypocrites… I said this then, to Klorathy, who merely repeated that we should wait for the end of our journey to make comments.

Before we left that place we were taken on a tour of the compounds. They housed several hundred tribespeople: males, females, children. Long sheds contained tiers of bunks in which they slept. These were built of concrete because, as was explained to us, the animals were thus more easily protected from vermin and kept clean: the interiors of the sheds, and the animals, hosed down once a with water that had chemicals in it. Some animals took cold and died of this treatment: the hot climate disposed them to respiratory diseases. They were fed from large pots filled with porridge made of a cereal introduced by us long before from our Planet 17. They were made to do exercises twice a day because unfit animals were of no use in research work. There was a prison and punishment block for offenders, and a small hospital for the sick. The compound was surrounded by tall fences, and guarded heavily. As we made our tour, a male tribesman stood forth, holding up his hands palms out—in their gesture for entreaty. As the guards went forward to club him back among his fellows, I asked them to let him speak. He wanted to make a petition. He said that many of the experiments being made on them were unnecessary, because the information needed could be gained by simply asking them—as for instance, as to abilities of endurance compared among individuals. In their native habitat, before their subjection, their own traditions told them that there had been an extensive and rich knowledge of the nature of their physiques, and of their mental processes. They had used a medicine based on plants and on psychological understanding. Also, they had known how to live in and with the terrain in such a way that this was not damaged.

The poor fellow came out with this in a rush, because of his fear of being checked, looking all the time at me, begging for protection. He stood naked there before us, his features marked with the signs of long imprisonment, but he had a self-respect that was impressive. This “inferior” race was obviously, and at the most cursory inspection, superior to their masters—particularly in the honesty and straightforwardness of their understanding and means of expressing themselves.

He said that at no time had the Lelannians asked the natives about what might be known by them, and which could be used generally, to benefit everyone. Never had the Lelannians been prepared to listen, though the natives had continually tried to offer their knowledge, their expertise… but the Lelannians were not prepared to listen then either—clubs and whips descended; soon the poor fellow was lying senseless in his blood, and the group of technicians who were showing us around showed indignation at the “impertinence” and then went on with the self-satisfied stupidity that was their characteristic, to say that “these animals were always up to their tricks.” I was seething with indignation, not only because of the injustice I had witnessed but because of the waste of it all. I was thinking that never had Sirius—at least, not since our civilised time began—gone into a planet and destroyed the precious knowledge of its inhabitants, the irreplaceable knowledge—for only those have been evolved from the earth and air and liquid of a planet can know its real, its innermost, nature.

But Klorathy stood silent by me. I knew him enough to understand that a tightening of his face showed he was suffering. But he made no sign, only turned to go. And we made our way through the packed masses of naked tribespeople, all beseeching us with their eyes and holding up their palms to us, afraid to speak, but taking this opportunity to make their cause known to those who—they could see—were not Lelannians.