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Most American families know someone afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease or addiction. This piece follows research on both and the pioneering neuroscientist leading it.
Dr. Ali Rezai is a neuroscience pioneer who developed treatments for Parkinson’s disease and other brain disorders. Over a year, we followed him at the Rockefeller Neuroscience Institute in Morgantown, West Virginia, as he attempted to delay Alzheimer’s progression and treat addiction using focused ultrasound and brain implants.
The target in Alzheimer’s is beta-amyloid, a gummy protein that accumulates in the brain and forms plaques. New antibody drugs can break up beta-amyloid but work slowly because the blood-brain barrier blocks most medications. Rezai adapted focused ultrasound—a technology that can be focused through the skull—to temporarily open the blood-brain barrier and allow drugs in.
Patients lie in an MRI with a helmet that directs hundreds of ultrasound beams to a point the size of a pencil. An IV infusion of microscopic bubbles is given; when hit with ultrasound, the bubbles vibrate and open the blood-brain barrier for 24 to 48 hours. Rezai targeted regions dense with beta-amyloid in three patients and combined ultrasound with an antibody infusion (aducanumab). Scans showed plaque reduction in ultrasound-targeted areas—larger reductions than with infusion alone. Rezai cautions there are no miracle cures; clearing plaque is one step. He received FDA approval to use focused ultrasound to try restoring damaged brain cell function and is studying whether different doses can reverse damage.
Rezai first gained national attention in 2002 for implant surgery to treat Parkinson’s disease; he later used focused ultrasound to treat tremor patients by targeting a pinpoint area in the brain to eliminate tremors without opening the skull. That success encouraged him to adapt focused ultrasound for other brain disorders.
He also applied implant technology to severe addiction. Addiction rewires the brain’s reward circuits; Rezai hypothesized that electrical stimulation or ultrasound could reset those circuits and reduce cravings. The National Institute on Drug Abuse supported his work, and in 2019 the FDA allowed a trial of deep brain stimulation (DBS) for people with “end-stage” addiction who had failed all other treatments.
In that trial, surgeons implanted electrodes in the nucleus accumbens—part of the brain’s reward system—and connected them to a pacemaker-like device under the collarbone. Patients were awake during mapping to find the precise spot. Post-surgery, device settings were adjusted remotely. Some patients reported immediate relief: reduced cravings and anxiety. Of four patients who received implants, two remained drug-free long-term; one had a minor relapse; another dropped out.
Because opening the skull is risky and limits the number of patients who can be treated quickly, Rezai pursued focused ultrasound as a noninvasive alternative to target the same reward-area deep in the brain. In 2023 he used focused ultrasound to treat patients with addiction: while in an MRI, patients were shown images designed to trigger cravings, and the team targeted the most active nucleus accumbens region with ultrasound (a gumdrop-sized focus). Within minutes, anxiety and cravings could melt away; patients could leave the same day. In the three-year trial, 12 of 16 patients remained drug-free. Rezai has expanded trials to more patients and received FDA approval to test ultrasound for obesity as well.
Rezai acknowledges risk accompanies innovation but argues urgency demands moving forward—for people living with addiction and Alzheimer’s, waiting 10 to 20 years for incremental advances isn’t acceptable.
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Sealand: the world’s smallest self-declared state, seven miles off the English coast, sitting on a rusting World War II sea fort called Roughs Tower. Declared independent in 1967 by Roy Bates and his family, Sealand has a constitution, stamps, a flag, currency, and a royal family—Prince Michael Bates now serves as its leader.
Roughs Tower was one of the British anti-aircraft forts built during WWII. In 1967 Roy Bates occupied one such tower and claimed independence, calling it Sealand. The Bate ses established royal trappings and a national mythology. The family endured threats, government pushback, and even a 1978 coup attempt by foreign entrepreneurs who held Prince Michael hostage; his father and Michael later returned and retook the fort. A German diplomat’s involvement following the hostage incident lent Sealand a de facto recognition that the Bates family cites in support of statehood.
Sealand is tiny—roughly the size of two tennis courts—and reportedly has a permanent population of one, Michael Barrington, who serves as immigration and customs and handles engineering and homeland security. Visitors arrive by a backyard swing hoisted 60 feet above the North Sea—a dramatic approach and the only way on. The platform itself feels like a concrete, seven-story treehouse at sea. Facilities are spartan, with scraps of wartime interior, a makeshift cathedral, and a small “jail” floor that once housed would-be invaders.
Over the decades, the Bates family nurtured Sealand’s myth. They tried to turn it into a tax haven and an offshore data hosting site in the 2000s, partnering with entrepreneurs on various internet ventures—some legal, some dubious. The data-haven idea failed, but the family continued selling noble titles and novelty items online to support Sealand: you can buy a lordship or duchy and get a certificate. Prince James Bates has marketed titles and digital citizenship as revenue streams. The family also briefly considered offshore business ventures and even hosted servers for gambling and adult sites; they drew the line at deals like an alleged organ-transplant hosting pitch.
Sealand’s history includes periodic attempts by outsiders to seize control, a diplomatic tussle, and interference from the British government. Declassified British Ministry of Defence plans detailed contingencies to retake such towers by force—evidence, to the Bateses, of the fort’s political significance. Yet the British never fully did.
Today Sealand remains an eccentric micronation. Prince Michael’s sons manage day-to-day operations; Prince James and Prince Liam run small businesses in England; Princess Penny lives nearby and runs a clinic. The royal family maintains mythology and occasional publicity stunts. They now market digital citizenship and limited tourism, hoping to refurbish the tower and generate revenue. Sealand continues to occupy a curious space between romantic defiance, legal ambiguity, and internet-era entrepreneurship.
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I’m Scott Pelley. We’ll be back next week with another edition of 60 Minutes.
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