A New York City biotech startup is quietly making the case that the scientific community should rethink one of the most fiercely guarded prohibitions in modern medicine: the creation of genetically modified human babies. The company, Origin Genomics, is conducting laboratory research it hopes will eventually demonstrate that editing disease-causing genes in human embryos could offer benefits substantial enough to justify the profound ethical risks involved.
The effort remains in its earliest stages and is illegal under current law in the United States and many other countries. But the startup's founder and chief executive, Cathy Tie, believes the technology has matured to the point where a broader public conversation is warranted. She recently invited an NPR reporter, photographer, and videographer to tour the company's laboratories, granting the news organization exclusive access on the condition that the exact location not be disclosed, citing security concerns.
The lab visit offered a rare glimpse into the mechanics of embryo research. Tie, dressed in a white coat emblazoned with her name and the Origin Genomics logo, guided the visitors through the facility before stopping at a gray metal tank resembling an oversized thermos. Inside, she explained, was liquid nitrogen — the cryogenic storage unit where the company keeps its embryos.
Twisting open the black lid, Tie allowed wisps of white vapor to curl out into the room. She then drew out a long metal rod holding frosted glass tubes at its tip. Four tubes were attached, she noted, and each one is capable of holding as many as ten embryos. The frozen embryos she displayed carry mutations responsible for serious genetic diseases.
Those embryos were donated by couples whose families have endured generations of life-threatening inherited disorders, according to the company. The donors include a married couple who later described to NPR their hope of one day having healthy children with the assistance of gene editing — a goal that is currently beyond legal reach.
At the center of Origin's research is a laboratory technique that involves extracting stem cells from donated embryos. Scientists then use those cells to test the company's approach to repairing defective genes, evaluating whether the technology can correct mutations without introducing dangerous unintended consequences. The work is painstaking and preliminary, but Tie argues it represents a necessary step toward proving the concept's viability.
The broader context is a scientific and ethical landscape still shaped by the 2018 revelation that a Chinese researcher, He Jiankui, had created the world's first gene-edited babies using a tool called CRISPR. That experiment was widely condemned by scientists and regulators as reckless, and He was subsequently imprisoned. The episode cemented an international consensus that heritable human genome editing — changes that would be passed down to future generations — should not proceed outside of rigorous oversight, if at all.
Yet the underlying technology has continued to advance. Gene editing tools have become more precise, and researchers have made strides in reducing off-target effects, in which edits are made in the wrong place in the genome. Some scientists now argue that the question is no longer whether heritable editing is technically feasible, but when and under what circumstances it might be defensible. Others remain firmly opposed, warning that the risks of unforeseen harm, the specter of eugenics, and the potential for deepening social inequality outweigh any promised benefits.
For families carrying devastating genetic mutations, the stakes are deeply personal. Conditions such as Huntington's disease, cystic fibrosis, and certain forms of muscular dystrophy can be passed from parent to child with cruel certainty. Couples who know they carry such mutations often face wrenching choices: refrain from having children, use donor gametes, pursue in vitro fertilization with embryo screening, or accept the risk of passing on a life-altering illness. Embryo gene editing, its proponents contend, could offer another path — one that allows both parents to contribute genetically while sparing their child a predetermined fate.
Critics counter that existing alternatives, including preimplantation genetic testing, already allow many couples to avoid passing on known mutations without altering the human germline. They also caution that gene editing is not a perfect fix; embryos can develop from cells in which the edit was only partially successful, leading to a condition known as mosaicism. And because the changes would be inherited, any mistakes could echo through generations.
Origin Genomics appears to be positioning itself as a company willing to test those boundaries. Its stated mission, as described in the tour and accompanying materials, is to gather evidence showing that the potential benefits of editing disease-causing genes in human embryos outweigh the risks. Whether that evidence can be marshaled — and whether regulators, ethicists, and the public would ever accept it — remains an open and contentious question.
Tie's invitation to NPR suggests a deliberate strategy of transparency, or at least of controlled visibility. By allowing journalists into her lab, she may be seeking to normalize the conversation around heritable gene editing and to present her company as a serious scientific enterprise rather than a rogue operation. The choice to withhold the lab's precise location, however, underscores that the work remains sensitive and potentially vulnerable to backlash.
The debate Origin is wading into touches on some of the most fundamental questions humanity faces: What does it mean to be human? Should parents be permitted to shape the genetic makeup of their children? Who decides which traits are defects and which are differences? And if the technology is ever deemed safe enough, would its availability be limited to the wealthy, creating a new divide between the genetically enhanced and everyone else?
For now, making gene-edited babies remains illegal in the United States, where federal law prohibits the use of government funds for research involving the creation or destruction of human embryos, and the Food and Drug Administration is barred from considering applications for heritable genome editing. Many other nations have similar restrictions. But laws can change, and scientific norms can shift. The startup's effort, however tentative, is a reminder that the ethical consensus around human genetic modification is not static — and that the pressure to revisit it is likely to grow.
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