IN an age where artificial intelligence is reshaping our realities, and climate crises threaten the very fabric of our existence, one might expect science to focus its lens on solutions to present-day suffering.
Instead, we find ourselves marveling at the resurrection—almost literal—of long-extinct creatures.
The latest spectacle?
Two genetically engineered wolf pups, Romulus and Remus, created by Colossal Biosciences to resemble dire wolves that vanished more than 10,000 years ago.
A scientific milestone, yes.
But also a moment that invites uncomfortable reflection.
Have we reached such mastery over biology that reversing extinction is the next frontier?
Or are we simply escaping present responsibilities by retreating into the grandeur of what once was?
Colossal Biosciences calls it “de-extinction,” a term that sounds far more romantic than the reality it presents.
While the technology behind these pups—an amalgamation of CRISPR gene editing and ancient DNA analysis—is undeniably impressive, one must ask: At what cost?
Is this truly about conservation, or are we veering into scientific spectacle for headlines and investor buzz?
This isn’t the first time our fascination with cutting-edge technology has strayed from urgent necessity.
Recall the Google Glass project—touted as the future of augmented reality, it fizzled into oblivion, criticized for privacy concerns and lacking practical purpose.
Or the millions poured into AI-generated poetry and robot dogs when actual dogs in disaster zones could be trained to save lives instead.
Let’s not forget Elon Musk’s Neuralink, promising brain-machine symbiosis while stroke victims in underserved regions wait months just for a CT scan.
While technology in itself is not the villain, its misallocation often reveals a troubling hierarchy of needs.
In a world where human suffering is mounting—from famine to war to environmental degradation—can we afford to indulge in these scientific side quests?
Across the globe, communities are battling hunger, war, disease and environmental collapse.
According to the World Food Programme, more than 345 million people are facing acute food insecurity, with famine-like conditions tightening their grip on nations from Yemen to Sudan.
Diseases like cholera and dengue are resurging in areas where sanitation infrastructure is crumbling.
Entire generations in impoverished nations are growing up without access to clean water, education or reliable healthcare.
And yet, here we are, applauding the rebirth of beasts from the Ice Age.
The resources poured into de-extinction projects could instead be harnessed to preserve endangered species, protect fragile ecosystems, or alleviate the suffering of millions who live without food security or basic healthcare.
This is not just a question of science—it is a reflection of global priorities.
We don’t need a saber-toothed tiger prowling a laboratory in Texas when the Bengal tiger is vanishing from forests in India.
We don’t need a mammoth trudging across frozen steppes while polar bears drown due to melting ice caps.
Let’s face it: the dinosaur already had its moment.
Do we really need a Jurassic encore?
Hollywood has given us sequels, spinoffs, even Lego versions.
They are plenty terrifying on screen—let’s leave them there.
Bringing them back in real life sounds less like scientific ambition and more like a pitch for the next summer blockbuster.
Perhaps this is where satire becomes a mirror.
While scientists stitch together fragments of ancient DNA to summon lost giants, millions of children today go to sleep hungry.
It’s as if we’re rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic—except this time, the chairs are animatronic velociraptors.
Romulus and Remus may represent a leap in genetic innovation, but they also reveal a disconnection from the harsh truths of today’s world.
If we can summon life from extinction, why can’t we summon the will to nourish the living?
Because playing God is easier than playing human.
It’s time we flipped that script.
—The writer is contributing columnist, based in Islamabad.(mehr.jan1717@gmail.com)
