Fort Worth Star-Telegram

Horn Of Plenty Or 'Frankenfoods'?

GM crops debate pits promise of science vs. fear of unknown

Depending on who's doing the talking, genetic engineering is either:

A. The wave of the future, yielding bountiful harvests and health benefits to an ever-demanding world, or

B. The curse of "Frankenfoods" bearing unknown threats to humankind and nature in general.

Across the country, bioengineers are trying to produce eggs with low cholesterol, genetically decaffeinated coffee, corn and peas that keep their natural sweetness, soybeans for healthier cooking oil, red onions that reduce cancerous tumors, raspberries and melons that won't spoil quickly and plants that better withstand drought.

"Some people don't want scientists disturbing their food chain, yet they already are buying fruits and vegetables that have been engineered with traits consumers like," says Ellen Peffley, a Texas Tech University professor of plant and soil sciences.

Already on the market - and consumed by most of us, unwittingly or not - are genetically modified canola, soybeans, corn, cheese, papayas, peppers, peanuts, potatoes, sugar beets, sunflowers and tomatoes. Soon apples, lettuce, bananas, rice, strawberries, wheat, salmon, tilapia, trout and flounder will join the list.

If you sip Coke or a juice drink sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup, chances are that it contains genetically modified corn. An estimated 70 percent of the foods on supermarket shelves have some genetically modified content, according to the Grocery Manufacturers of America. The new crops are gaining wide acceptance among producers. Less than 10 percent of soybeans and corn planted in the United States during 1996 were genetically engineered varieties. Within two years, a third of corn and 40 percent of soybeans were genetically modified types, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

The reason for the biotech surge is economic.

A USDA study valued the increased harvests and reduced spending on chemical pesticides genetically modified crops made possible at $830 million in 1997. Monsanto says farmers in areas where the European corn borer, a common corn pest, is a problem can earn $16.46 more per acre in an average year using its genetically modified seed. That translates to $5,000 on a 300-acre farm. In a typical year, cotton farmers using genetically modified seed designed to protect against the bollworm realize a net advantage of $33 per acre, Monsanto spokesman Loren Wassell says.

Biotech companies such as ProdiGene, near Texas A&M University in College Station, foresee a universe of genetically modified crops unimaginable only a few years ago.

How about edible vaccines?

ProdiGene researchers are hoping to genetically modify corn to produce a human vaccine for hepatitis B, and then one for HIV. It has harnessed a new variety to churn out a swine vaccine.

Cornell University researchers have manipulated bananas to "manufacture" a vaccine that may some day protect people against cholera. Swiss scientists have developed a beta carotene-producing rice that it says could improve lives for millions of vitamin A- deficient children in the Third World. The easily delivered, edible vaccines could mean health for families in remote areas of Africa and Asia where neither refrigeration, needed to store drugs, nor trained medical personnel exist.

But despite what supporters tout as the genetically modified foods' benefits, critics contend that they could trigger allergies, create new toxins, spread diseases, cause resistance to antibiotics and make weeds unstoppable. Some warn of possible ecological consequences. They also complain of genetically modified crops with a "terminator" gene, which prevents farmers from growing their own seed, thereby keeping them dependent on agribusiness giants.

Many cite the case of a soybean with an inserted Brazil nut gene, which proved to be an allergen. But the biotech industry uses the same example to demonstrate corporate responsibility, noting that the product was not placed on the market by Du Pont-owned Pioneer Hi-Breed International after the allergen was discovered. And experts such as Norman Borlaug, the 1970 Nobel Peace Prize winner known as the father of the Green Revolution and now a Texas A&M professor, point out that traditional breeding techniques also carry risks, including the creation of new allergens.

Daphne Preuss, a University of Chicago biologist, says critics often overlook the fact that conventional breeding techniques mix 25,000 genes at a go.

"When you shuffle thousands of genes, we just don't have the technology to follow them," she says.

But genetic engineering means working with just one gene at a time, she says.

Tom Lovejoy, a biologist with the Smithsonian Institution, acknowledges that genetically modified plants could introduce unusual genes that might cause problems in the wilderness, such as a herbicide-resistant kudzu or some other "superweed."

But he notes that unmodified organisms, such as introduced species of fish, have also caused problems when they've escaped into the wild. Lovejoy contends that much of the uproar against genetic engineering is based on social issues rather than scientific grounds.

Overall, the risks from genetically modified plants pale in comparison with their potential for turning green those wastelands that are too hot, too cold, too dry or too wet, Lovejoy told a September seminar at the Carnegie Institution of Washington. By designing crops for such marginal areas, forests and wilderness areas could be conserved, he says.

But critics say biotechnology isn't a panacea for the world's ills.

"In America, we have this whole idea that 'science is the savior,' " says Mark Helm, 38, a spokesman for Friends of the Earth, a Washington-based nonprofit environmental group founded in 1969. It has 20,000 members in the United States and raises its money through donations and foundation grants. "Groups like ours are putting heat on the biotech industry for sloppy science," Helm says. "The facts are plain: Genetically engineered foods have not been sufficiently safety-tested over the long term and have not been adequately labeled on our grocery shelves.

"There's not a reputable doctor or scientist on the face of the earth who will absolutely guarantee that no one will get sick or develop health problems from a range of genetically engineered foods."

John Morrow, 62, a Texas Tech cell biology and biochemistry professor, acknowledges, "I can't really guarantee 100 percent that some adverse consequences won't come out of plant biotechnology.

"But if we don't do these things, don't improve crop production, 20 years from now, there will be cataclysmic consequences around the world. We need a 2-3 percent gain every year to improve people's life and keep up with population growth."

Despite such warnings, "biotechnology is at a crossroads in terms of public acceptance," says Thomas Hoban, a professor of sociology and food science at North Carolina State University.

Radical fringe saboteurs - calling themselves Bolt Weevils, the Cropatistas, the Anarchist Golfing Association and the Earth Liberation Front - have damaged laboratories and test fields in Britain, Germany, India, South Korea, France, Australia, Canada, Belgium and the United States.

Opponents of genetically modified foods have had far greater impact, however, by trumpeting the failure of U.S. regulatory agencies to prevent StarLink, an altered corn not approved for human consumption, from being commingled with conventional varieties and processed into taco shells. Aware of the difficulty in segregating grain types after harvest, Friends of the Earth official Larry Bohlen bought 23 corn products at a suburban Washington supermarket last summer and had them tested for StarLink.

"The clerk's eyes popped when she saw I had a cart filled with corn items at midnight," said Bohlen, 33, a NASA engineer-turned- environmental activist. "She probably thought I needed therapy."

Three of the products were tainted with the genetically modified corn, Bohlen announced at his group's most heavily attended news conferences. Bohlen's findings prompted tens of millions of dollars in product recalls and bolstered skeptics' doubts about biogenetics and government oversight. The corn's maker, the U.S. subsidiary of the Franco-German firm Aventis, concedes that it should not have applied for "split registration," which allowed StarLink to be sold as animal feed while awaiting approval for human consumption. It has announced that it will not plant the corn this year and will spin off its bioagriculture subsidiary by the end of the year.

The issue, a publicity bonanza for Bohlen's relatively small environmental group and the anti-genetic engineering movement in general, was brought to the kitchen table of millions in the form Taco Bell taco shells. Other brands, like those produced by Irving- based Mission Foods, were also affected.

Scientists predict that nothing harmful to humans will be found in StarLink. They says approval by the Environmental Protection Agency has dragged because the new corn isn't digested as easily as other genetically modified varieties.

But there's no denying that the incident has hurt consumer confidence and given genetic engineering opponents new ammunition.

"StarLink has really been a tragedy," says Kent Bradford, 47, a Panhandle-reared plant scientist at the University of California at Davis. "But it has pointed out that we need procedures in place to segregate certain crops.

"The key problem is that we have never had to maintain crop varieties as pure as it's being asked now."

While such things as hairballs and even rat feces are permitted at low levels, the government has set a zero tolerance threshold for StarLink. "Channeling systems [for grain] have not been designed to be so precise," says Bradford, director of the UC Davis Seed Biotechnology Center.

Analysts such as Sano Shimoda of BioScience Securities say StarLink has had a global ripple effect, slowing down the introduction of new transgenic products, undermining investor support and prompting new regulations.

Consumer concerns prompted the Food and Drug Administration on Jan. 17 to propose that developers of genetically modified crops give 120 days' notice to the agency before putting an item on the market. The new item, which must be as safe as its conventional counterpart, would have its scientific description, including possible allergic reactions, posted on the Internet while the FDA carried out its review.

Currently, genetically modified product developers consult the agency only on a voluntary basis.

In addition, the FDA proposed voluntary guidelines for companies wishing to state whether their products were made with, or without, ingredients developed through biotechnology. Not allowed would be vague descriptions such as "modified" or "GM free," but "bioengineered" would be acceptable, it said.

In Europe, concern about genetically modified foods is even higher, spurred by distrust of regulatory agencies after dioxin contamination of food in Belgium and the failure to prevent the spread of mad cow disease in Britain, Germany, France, Spain and Portugal's Azores Islands. Italy and Austria reported its first two suspected cases this month. Two German Cabinet members, including the agriculture minister who had assured his nation that German beef was safe, resigned Jan. 9, a day before mad cow disease was detected. A member of the Green Party, which vehemently opposes genetic engineering, replaced him.

In effect, Europeans ask, how can you trust authorities who approve genetically modified foods when they've bungled mad cow disease?

Their apprehensions are fueled by news reports using emotional terms such as "Frankenfoods" in headlines and repeating allegations from an "aggressive fear campaign" even when scientific consensus rebuts them, says North Carolina State's Hoban, who has compared U.S. and European attitudes toward genetically modified crops.

The Church of Scotland has taken a stand, urging caution, and even Britain's royal family has weighed in, fractiously, with Princess Anne favoring genetically modified crops, and her organically inclined brother, Prince Charles, opposing them.

Protesters have formed strategic alliances with organic food promoters, opponents of commercial globalization and a range of environmentalists. In Mexico, Greenpeace protests what it calls "genetic imperialism."

Europe's campaign against genetic engineering has several victories. Very few genetically modified crops are grown on the Continent, and major supermarket chains in Britain and France refuse to buy products made with imported - though approved - genetically modified ingredients.

American fast-food giants McDonald's, KFC and Burger King buckled under public pressure and announced that genetically modified ingredients would be stricken from their British menus.

In December, a joint U.S.-European Community group urged mandatory labeling of genetically modified products, which many food processors oppose because it might scare off consumers.

The president of St. Louis-based Monsanto, one of the leading developers of genetically modified crops, promised in November not to market new varieties until the United States and Japan have given full approval.

"We hope also to extend this intention to Europe as soon as it has established a working regulatory system," according to the Nov. 27 "New Monsanto Pledge" by CEO Hendrik Verfaillie..

Monsanto also promised not to harm wildlife with genetically engineered products or produce "sterile" crops, which force farmers to buy seed every year. (A reason for making them with a terminator gene, aside from the profit motive, was to keep the inserted trait from spreading to other plants.)

The self-imposed curbs so far have resulted in no withdrawal of products or loss of sales, Monsanto spokesman Wassell said Jan. 8. With the problem of commingling in mind, a chief competitor, Pioneer Hi-Breed International, said it would not sell six of its corn varieties to American farmers because they lack European approval and could wind up mixed with other varieties, as in the StarLink case. Monsanto would follow suit if Europe had a functioning, science- based regulatory system, Wassell said.

Verfaillie's pledge was praised by some environmentalists. But not everyone was pleased.

"Monsanto was brought to its knees by the environmental lobby," says Texas Tech's Morrow. "Its CEO was humiliated in Europe and didn't really stand up for Monsanto."

But Monsanto was responding to market realities.

A genetically modified tomato's 30-day shelf life might help the farmer, the grocery distributor and the supermarket chain, but it means little to consumers used to seeing bins stacked with ripe vegetables.

The shopper rarely sees any direct advantage from genetically modified foods, says David Wheat, a biotech industry analyst with the Boston-based Bowditch Group.

"There may be risks with no benefit" at the checkout counter, Wheat told a science newsletter of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. "So the consumer says, 'Why should I put up with it?' "

With the public seldom grasping the benefits, opponents of genetic engineering, make inroads by exploiting fear of the unknown, scientists say. One group, Genetically Engineered Food Alert, warns on its Web site: "Every time you put that spoonful of cereal in your mouth, you're taking a big gamble, one that could adversely affect your health."

Researchers such as Texas Tech's Peffley respond by warning:

"If the opponents of genetically engineered foods want produce that is truly organic - grown with no pesticides or engineering - they must be willing to accept worms in their apples and corn, soft and rotting tomatoes and pitted cucumbers, and to pay higher prices at the grocers."

What has been lost in the debate is the irony that many researchers seek the same ends as their critics, she says.

"A benefit of genetically engineered crops with resistance to insects is exactly that - an organic product grown without extra pesticides," Peffley says. "The public cannot have pristine food without the benefits of science."

And while the short-term outlook for genetically modified foods might appear bleak, Shimoda predicts an eventual turnaround.

"This is a technology that will not be defined in the first or second quarter of the Super Bowl," he says. "Rather, this a marathon race, 26.2 miles, and we've just passed the 10th milepost."

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