The Economist

On the whole, Europeans are more sceptical of genetic engineering than Americans. But they are willing to make distinctions. The genetic modification of animals for medical research or drug development is seen as a necessary evil. And so long as such animals are kept inside the laboratory, public concerns are largely contained. Genetically engineered plants are seen as a different matter: does it make sense to meddle with nature for the sake of a sweeter beet or a brighter tomato? Unlike transgenic animals, such plants are designed to live in the open, where they may crossbreed with wild relatives, and products made with them will end up on the dinner table. It is right to be extremely cautious about messing with the food supply. Even so, much of the public fear about genetics comes from poor understanding.

One concern is the idea that genetic modification in the laboratory is more dangerous than genetic modification in the field, which is long-established (see article). Laboratory modification introduces alien and unnatural genes into crops, it is argued, where their eventual effects are unknown. Stories of, say, strawberries engineered to produce the natural anti-freeze that occurs in flounder or beetles add to the sense of strangeness. Yet most plants that have been genetically modified contain genes from related plant species or some of their natural microbial neighbours. And the genes and proteins (especially the ones that scientists are keenest to swap) of bacteria and plants are very similar in any case. Another misunderstanding leads to the fear that antibiotic resistance could be transferred from plants to bacteria in the human gut, creating dangerous pathogens. This risk is no greater for engineered foods than for conventional ones, and no such risk has yet been demonstrated in either instance. Finally, it is untrue that planting seeds modified to resist herbicides will lead to fields being stripped of all other life, as Prince Charles alleged this week in Britain's Daily Telegraph. Micro-organisms and animal life will be no more affected than before.

Although these answers may go some way to placating the public, they fail to address some trickier questions. What happens if a new gene is introduced into the wrong section of the plant's own DNA, leading to subtle changes in its chemistry? What if a new gene moves from a modified plant to an unmodified bystander? If something goes wrong, how can it be put right? The truth is, nobody knows. There have been isolated reports of such "what if" cases arising in practice, but scientists have made no systematic assessment of their frequency or significance. Trials to date have been too short or too small to shed much light. And like some drug complications, ecological side-effects may take years to appear. It proves little that there is no evidence of harm so far.

Those in favour of plant modification often argue that the new techniques are really no different from traditional plant-breeding. Why all the fuss now?, they ask, puzzled. They are right, but they also miss the point, which is the need to win the public's trust. The fiasco of mad-cow disease (BSE) has dented the credibility of scientists and politicians when it comes to food. Although BSE has nothing to do with genetic modification, that sorry tale has added to fears that the same commercial pressures which forced unsafe feed into animals are pushing unproven crops into people. The biotech industry is also vulnerable to the charge that it tried to force-feed the market by flooding Europe with so much modified soya as to make regulating it impossible. That evoked a reaction. Now, no one can blithely ignore the opposition to the new foods.

Scientists and industry must accept that the BSE crisis has put the burden of proof in food safety firmly on to the innovator, where it belonged in the first place. Greater public disclosure (in the form of labelling) and tighter regulation (through more systematic testing both before and after release) are desirable in themselves, and have become politically inescapable. This need not stifle innovation, as some companies may fear. Strict regulation is hardly a novelty for biotechnology firms. If, as seems likely, the greatest benefit of genetic modifications is in their potential as "functional foods" or even as therapeutic drugs, then a new regime will anyway be needed to regulate these novel properties.

And the task of educating the public is not as hopeless as some companies appear to think. Consider the results of Switzerland's recent referendum on genetic engineering. Although voters were divided on the issue just weeks ago, Switzerland's scientists opened their laboratories and expressed their views. The result was a two-thirds majority against a ban on genetic modification of plants and animals and their release into the environment. If other scientists follow the Swiss and open a public conversation, the public must be willing to listen politely. It is profoundly unhelpful to storm off in a huff -- destroying transgenic seeds and pulling up field trials, as has happened in France, Britain and Ireland. The need is for good information: destroying the fields that are the best means of supplying it is simply perverse.