Harvesters transport a load of wild rooibos tea by donkey cart in the remote mountains of the Cederberg region, about 300km north of Cape Town. The tea is unique to the area
While many of us enjoy a cup of rooibos tea now and again, few will know that the plant which is the source of the distinctive amber-red brew is one of the latest flashpoints in a global row over “biopiracy,” or the misappropriation of genetic resources.
Although drunk all over the world in a fashionable, antioxidant, no-caffeine tea, the rooibos plant is indigenous only to the Western Cape province of South Africa. The native Khoi people have cultivated rooibos for centuries, valuing mainly its taste, but also its medicinal qualities.
So when Nestec, a South African subsidiary of food giant Nestlé (which owns a large stake in cosmetics company L’Oréal) applied earlier this year to patent the use of rooibos to treat hair and skin conditions, alarm bells started ringing. The NGO Natural Justice in Johannesburg and the Berne Declaration, a Zurich-based trade and equality organisation, launched a campaign against the patent, arguing that Nestlé didn’t seek permission to take the samples of rooibos out of the country, and in any case the indigenous people had the idea of using rooibos as a medicine first.
Nestlé denies any wrongdoing and the row goes on. But this is not the first time that poorer nations have complained about the exploitation of their natural resources by “biopirates” from wealthier ones. The Indian Ayurvedic Drug Manufacturers’ Association, representing producers of traditional Indian medicines, cried foul over a patent awarded to Colgate in June for the use of certain herbs in a toothpaste. In Australia, the US cosmetic giant Mary Kay is under the spotlight for applying for an international patent on extracts of the Kakadu plum, a rich source of vitamin C which has long been used by aborigines as a source of food and medicine.
The row over access to potentially profitable genetic material pitches the providers of those resources—typically developing countries—against businesses in industrialised nations, where most of the biggest drugs and biotechnology companies are based. Biopiracy is, say experts, the new frontline between the developed and developing world. In truth, though, the two sides need each other: only big multinationals have the finances and technical know-how to carry out “bioprospecting”; only developing countries—eager to profit from foreign investment—can supply the pool of unexplored genetic diversity.
October’s COP 10 biodiversity summit in Nagoya, Japan, was partly convened to break the standoff. Consensus between over 200 countries was reached on many ambitious environmental targets. But the text on access and benefit sharing of genetic resources (ABS) pushed negotiations right to the limit on the last day.
In one of the key disputes, developing nations wanted the deal to cover not only original genetic material, but any material derived from it; richer countries argued that such a mechanism would be unworkable. Developing nations also demanded checks to ensure companies which wished to carry out bioprospecting had gained permission from the country involved, and if necessary the local indigenous peoples. Negotiators on the other side resisted this. Above all, developing countries feared the fine print of the deal could make it easier to exploit genetic resources.
The final text was put together in secret overnight talks between the Japanese hosts and key negotiators, and the approval of the Nagoya protocol, as it is now known, was greeted with a standing ovation. It states, for the first time in any international binding document, that “benefits arising from the utilisations of genetic resources… shall be shared in a fair and equitable way with the party providing such resources.” Other clauses mean that companies collecting genetic material from abroad will have to undergo a new set of tests. The Swiss government, for example, will have to check that its domestic companies like Nestlé are abiding by the new rules when they engage in bioprospecting. For countries without the resources to chase multinationals, this will come as a great relief. For western drugs and biotechnology companies, it is a clear warning that their operations will be more closely scrutinised. But the text is also dotted with phrases that mitigate the obligations of users of genetic resources, and does not specify what the consequences will be for companies that do not comply.
It was certainly a classic—and in many ways supremely Japanese—compromise: strong on points of consensus, and silent on points of disagreement. Feeling the pressure to succeed where the Copenhagen climate summit failed, negotiators left to a later date critical decisions, like where the money for implementing the new rules will come from. Meanwhile, the US, home to the world’s biggest bioprospectors, can return to business as usual; it did not ratify the convention. On paper, then, the protocol represents a significant shift in the balance between rich and poor countries. The next decade will reveal whether succumbing to negotiation through exhaustion, and accepting frantic closed-door deals, is something owners of the world’s greatest biodiversity will come to regret.
While many of us enjoy a cup of rooibos tea now and again, few will know that the plant which is the source of the distinctive amber-red brew is one of the latest flashpoints in a global row over “biopiracy,” or the misappropriation of genetic resources.
Although drunk all over the world in a fashionable, antioxidant, no-caffeine tea, the rooibos plant is indigenous only to the Western Cape province of South Africa. The native Khoi people have cultivated rooibos for centuries, valuing mainly its taste, but also its medicinal qualities.
So when Nestec, a South African subsidiary of food giant Nestlé (which owns a large stake in cosmetics company L’Oréal) applied earlier this year to patent the use of rooibos to treat hair and skin conditions, alarm bells started ringing. The NGO Natural Justice in Johannesburg and the Berne Declaration, a Zurich-based trade and equality organisation, launched a campaign against the patent, arguing that Nestlé didn’t seek permission to take the samples of rooibos out of the country, and in any case the indigenous people had the idea of using rooibos as a medicine first.
Nestlé denies any wrongdoing and the row goes on. But this is not the first time that poorer nations have complained about the exploitation of their natural resources by “biopirates” from wealthier ones. The Indian Ayurvedic Drug Manufacturers’ Association, representing producers of traditional Indian medicines, cried foul over a patent awarded to Colgate in June for the use of certain herbs in a toothpaste. In Australia, the US cosmetic giant Mary Kay is under the spotlight for applying for an international patent on extracts of the Kakadu plum, a rich source of vitamin C which has long been used by aborigines as a source of food and medicine.
The row over access to potentially profitable genetic material pitches the providers of those resources—typically developing countries—against businesses in industrialised nations, where most of the biggest drugs and biotechnology companies are based. Biopiracy is, say experts, the new frontline between the developed and developing world. In truth, though, the two sides need each other: only big multinationals have the finances and technical know-how to carry out “bioprospecting”; only developing countries—eager to profit from foreign investment—can supply the pool of unexplored genetic diversity.
October’s COP 10 biodiversity summit in Nagoya, Japan, was partly convened to break the standoff. Consensus between over 200 countries was reached on many ambitious environmental targets. But the text on access and benefit sharing of genetic resources (ABS) pushed negotiations right to the limit on the last day.
In one of the key disputes, developing nations wanted the deal to cover not only original genetic material, but any material derived from it; richer countries argued that such a mechanism would be unworkable. Developing nations also demanded checks to ensure companies which wished to carry out bioprospecting had gained permission from the country involved, and if necessary the local indigenous peoples. Negotiators on the other side resisted this. Above all, developing countries feared the fine print of the deal could make it easier to exploit genetic resources.
The final text was put together in secret overnight talks between the Japanese hosts and key negotiators, and the approval of the Nagoya protocol, as it is now known, was greeted with a standing ovation. It states, for the first time in any international binding document, that “benefits arising from the utilisations of genetic resources… shall be shared in a fair and equitable way with the party providing such resources.” Other clauses mean that companies collecting genetic material from abroad will have to undergo a new set of tests. The Swiss government, for example, will have to check that its domestic companies like Nestlé are abiding by the new rules when they engage in bioprospecting. For countries without the resources to chase multinationals, this will come as a great relief. For western drugs and biotechnology companies, it is a clear warning that their operations will be more closely scrutinised. But the text is also dotted with phrases that mitigate the obligations of users of genetic resources, and does not specify what the consequences will be for companies that do not comply.
It was certainly a classic—and in many ways supremely Japanese—compromise: strong on points of consensus, and silent on points of disagreement. Feeling the pressure to succeed where the Copenhagen climate summit failed, negotiators left to a later date critical decisions, like where the money for implementing the new rules will come from. Meanwhile, the US, home to the world’s biggest bioprospectors, can return to business as usual; it did not ratify the convention. On paper, then, the protocol represents a significant shift in the balance between rich and poor countries. The next decade will reveal whether succumbing to negotiation through exhaustion, and accepting frantic closed-door deals, is something owners of the world’s greatest biodiversity will come to regret.
