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IN ROME 1500 years ago, a mysterious plague swept through the city. Of the hundreds of children killed, one was buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of the city. In 2001, her body was exhumed and autopsied using modern genetic techniques. The tests showed she had died of malaria – the case of a disease that has been with us since time immemorial.

Malaria may have killed perhaps half of all the people who have ever lived. For most readers of this magazine, however, it is a distant scourge, perhaps recalled only when ordering medication for an exotic holiday.

Such forgetfulness is neither justified nor wise. In 2018, malaria infected 219 million people, and killed around 435,000. Most of those who die are children under 5, mostly in sub-Saharan Africa. But almost population is at risk. Climate change is likely to increase that number, as conditions change to allow malarial mosquitoes to thrive in new areas.

Over the years we have made many attempts to eradicate malaria, targeting either mosquitoes or Plasmodium, the parasitic microorganisms the insects carry that are ultimately responsible for the disease. Each time, either parasite or insect – or both – have clung on, evolved resistance and bounced back.

One of the most promising methods to defeat malaria looks to be one of the newest. Lab tests of gene-drive technology, which manipulates the DNA of mosquitoes to make them infertile, has seen populations driven to extinction. The technique also seems immune to the evolution of resistance.

But the deployment of such a powerful weapon in the wild brings with it worries of unintended consequences and the potential for misuse that shouldn’t be ignored. Less problematic are practical interventions that quickly get existing medication to the people who need it. If we are able to rapidly target areas where malaria is rife, we will have a greater chance of wiping it out. Let’s give it all we’ve got.