The Great Transgender-Mouse Debate

In early February, Rep. Nancy Mace, a Republican from South Carolina, claimed the U.S. government was funding “transgender” research in animals. Instantly, academics, scientists, and physicians denounced her claim as a confusion of “transGENIC” with “transGENDER.” As one Harvard microbiology professor tweeted: “Do they… do they think that’s what ‘transgenic’ means?” A Harvard Medical School emeritus professor similarly insisted that Mace “doesn’t know the difference between transgenic and transgender. She is misinterpreting transGENIC mice where mouse genes are manipulated to study human diseases like cancer and diabetes.” A practicing pediatrician labeled Mace “dumb,” since “the study was actually on TRANSGENIC mice.”

When Trump made similar assertions about transgender mice in a March 4 speech to Congress, CNN quickly labeled the claim “false,” sparking fresh ridicule. A prominent academic scientist declared: “No, it was for transgenic mice, a core method in biology & medicine to study human diseases via animals! Please, for the love of God, trust scientists! Let’s also elect more scientists to office.” A Yale-trained physician responded similarly, complete with a “Duh!” meme. These were not isolated comments, but rather representative of an extensive group of experts whose knee-jerk reaction was to mock the politicians for their ignorance.

There was just one problem: The critics themselves were factually wrong. Far from confusing two scientific terms, Mace and Trump were referring to real, government-funded studies on animal models of transgender health.

It’s true that Mace framed this research using some provocative language, calling it an example of “radical gender ideology,” for instance. But her incendiary rhetoric that doesn’t negate the fact that NIH-backed “transgender” animal studies do exist. For academics, the key is to separate fact from rhetoric. Even when a politician chooses provocative wording to push a broader agenda, our job is to confirm whether the underlying claim, however tendentiously packaged, has a basis in reality.

To be clear, this isn’t about endorsing or opposing any politician’s broader policies, nor is it about questioning transgender health care. It’s about verifying facts before chiming in on social-media debate. In their haste to proclaim that Mace and Trump were too dumb to understand basic science, these scientists ended up looking far more clueless themselves — inadvertently revealing a deep lapse in the very expertise they presumably stand for. As academics and other experts lament the public’s lost faith, we must look in the mirror and ask whether, to an extent, we have unnecessarily brought this on ourselves.

If one actually listens to Mace’s remarks, it is clear she was referencing research on animal models of transgender health — not mixing up transgenic and transgender. When Mace first made these claims in February, a quick literature search confirmed that the U.S. government indeed funded research into animal models of human transgender health. Here are some examples:

• A 2024 paper on cross-sex testosterone and GHB in rats, which aimed to develop a “therapeutic intervention for GHB overdose in both cis- and transgender male populations,” received funding from the National Institutes of Health.
• A nonhuman primate model studying feminizing hormone therapy in transgender women received about $180K in funding from the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases in 2021.
• Several recent reviews and experiments focused on pubertal suppression and gender-affirming hormone therapy using animal models received funding from the NIH.

Once the White House released further details on these mice, CNN was forced to retract their original “false” label and update their fact-check. Conversely, very few academics conceded an oversight, retracted their statements, or removed their posts.

Others deflected the inaccuracy of their original statements by insisting that these animals aren’t truly transgender because mice lack a verifiable sense of gender identity. While debate about the theoretical definition of “transgender” in nonhuman species can be important in certain scholarly circles, it feels evasive to the broader public when confronted with NIH-backed studies explicitly describing these animal models in the context of transgender human health. For many observers, that is enough to justify the term “transgender mice” — even if the rodents do not share the subjective sense of identity that humans do.

Public skepticism toward academics, scientists, and doctors is already high, so it is alarming when high-profile academics and clinicians neglect due diligence. If a Harvard professor can’t spare two minutes to verify a supposedly idiotic statement about the existence of transgender mice, why should anyone believe their statements on other pressing topics? Likewise, attempts to deflect rather than admit mistakes only fuel mistrust in academic expertise.

Those who post the original sardonic fact-checks are not the only ones responsible for reputational fallout. Equally concerning is the quick endorsement by other academics, who may repost or add supportive comments without verifying accuracy — particularly when a claim strikes an emotional chord. We often remind our students not to believe everything they read on social media, yet even diligent experts can relax their usual standards when a post resonates emotionally or confirms existing bias. In doing so, we reveal the same lapse in rigor that we admonish publicly — and collectively erode the credibility we rely on to uphold academic and scientific integrity.

Ultimately, openness to correction is at the heart of scholarly integrity. If the very scholars who champion evidence-based inquiry won’t own our own straightforward mistake on social media, how can we be trusted to address more serious scientific missteps in our fields? And how can we demand stricter controls on misinformation if we won’t retract our own unfounded claims? Paradoxically, by refusing to acknowledge our own inaccuracies, we strengthen the very skepticism about higher education that we claim to fear.

Academic faculty are held to a higher standard precisely because they’re presumed to know better. When we skip fundamental fact-checking, perhaps for a quick social-media jab, it only fuels doubts about the integrity of higher education.

Most of those mocking the politicians, including microbiologists and health economists, had no experience in transgender animal-model research — yet quickly explained to the world why Mace and Trump were confused. Such overconfidence is a liability. If experts can’t remain humble about the boundaries of their fields, or at least verify claims before venturing an opinion, it’s no wonder that the public has begun to question how careful we are when pronouncing on topics we should know well. These missteps can tarnish not only the individual scholar’s reputation but also the institutions and disciplines they represent.

When condescending experts get their basic facts wrong, it feeds into the notion that academics put activism ahead of objectivity. That can have real consequences for how voters perceive higher education and, by extension, whether they support public funding for universities. If people lose faith in our collective expertise, why would they endorse using their tax dollars to back our research or our institutions?

But this kind of mockery raises a broader question. Why are we lampooning politicians at all? If we genuinely disagree with politicians like Mace or Trump on such questions as funding priorities and the purpose of animal models, there are more constructive ways to present those points to the public than snarky social-media posting. Smugness rarely wins over people who might otherwise engage thoughtfully. It’s even more counterproductive when the mockery relies on incorrect assumptions.

It’s one thing to challenge a public figure on their stance or track record — healthy debate is essential in a democracy. But if we want to maintain the integrity of our academic communities, we have to be diligent in verifying before vilifying. Otherwise, we risk becoming part of the very misinformation problem we’re trying to combat — and eroding public trust in the process.