Ethnobotany, Property and Biodiversity:
Ethical Dimensionsof Multi-Institutional Interests
by Jordan E. Erdos

May/Mayo 1998

How should scientists contracted by pharmaceutical industries and government health agencies, operating within the framework of multiple ethical systems stemming from various institutions, approach partnerships with indigenous peoples whose ethos stems from entirely different histories and circumstances? To answer this question, it is imperative to assess the distinct ethical systems in operation.

The ethnobotanist, as a purveyor of Western thought and belief systems, as a scientist and medical practitioner, as a member of an academic community and as a contracted employee, enters research bearing the responsibility of multi-institutional ethical systems. The indigenous person, as a member of a collective society with no written tradition, likewise follows a moral code, although it is often more difficult to determine.

While the motivation and morality of the ethnobotanist may be assessed through an examination of the vast written literature of Western ethics, it is a difficult task to explicitly reveal the indigenous ethical system. For this reason, I will be employing what Lovin and Reynolds have termed "ethical naturalism," in which moral beliefs and practices are identified by assuming "morally correct choices are those which enable persons and communities to flourish within constraints and possibilities set by the general requirements of human nature and the particular condition of their own lives." (Lovin and Reynolds 1985). By providing a picture of indigenous life, as recorded by anthropologists and ethnobotanists themselves, there should emerge a recognizable ethical system.

Through comparison, it will become apparent that certain actions on the part of the ethnobotanist contradict the indigenous ethos. Likewise, suggestions by ethnobotanists as to how to ethically approach their work and relationships with the indigenous may have serious flaws as well.

I. Western and Indigenous Relations

In The Savage Mind, French anthropologist Claude LÈvi-Strauss concludes that Western science and indigenous shamanism stem from two parallel manners of acquiring knowledge about the universe (LÈvi-Strauss 1966). Where western knowledge, utilizing the scientific method, has led to disciplines such as medicine and pharmacology, indigenous knowledge -- rooted in cosmologies which define humankind's relationship with nature -- has provided a complex pharmacopoeia, based on the use of forest products. However, while both knowledges serve the same end-purpose of promoting general health, the ethical systems from which each knowledge arises originate from very different sources.

With promises of possible new cures for deadly diseases, practitioners of Western medicine have taken a renewed interest in the indigenous healers and their products. Pharmaceutical companies and health agencies seeking new medicines turn to the Amazon rainforest and its rich biodiversity hoping to discover new active compounds. Their success often depends upon access to indigenous knowledge passed orally from generation to generation.

While, through most of the 1970s and 1980s, pharmaceutical companies concentrated primarily on drug-synthesis, recent advances in technology have made natural drug prospecting a viable solution to the search for new cures for diseases.

Rather than performing expensive, random testing of plants, many pharmaceutical companies -- as well as universities and government health agencies, such as the National Cancer Institute (NCI) -- have contracted ethnobotanists to conduct research among the indigenous. The results have been positive: in 1992, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration approved taxol, a substance derived from the Pacific yew tree, as a treatment for ovarian cancer (Cox and Balick 1994).

In addition to lower research costs, renewed interest in indigenous plant use is due to concern for the increasing destruction of the world's natural resources. The world is losing vast species of plants daily, some of which may contain potential cures for deadly diseases. There is a rush to learn as much as possible about plant use before the species have disappeared. Ethnobotanists are dedicated to salvaging this endangered knowledge.

Ethnobotany is a multi-disciplinary science, combining knowledge of botany, chemistry and anthropology. Formally, it is the study of the relationship between human beings and plants. Ethnobotanists perform field research in indigenous lands, often spending prolonged periods of time in order to develop relationships with their subjects which allow them to study the tribal culture and, in turn, the traditional use of medicinal plants. Plants located in areas of greater biodiversity, such as the Amazon River basin, have been a part of indigenous pharmacopoeia for centuries.

Because the potential for profit exists upon discovery of an active plant compound, and due to the historical appropriation of indigenous resources, there has been much discussion in recent years relating to "ethical" manners in which ethnobotanical research may be performed. One suggestion which has permeated the discussion, and which is now at the forefront of the debate due to its inclusion in the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), is the introduction of an intellectual property rights (IPR) system. Through the employment of legal protection such as patents and copyrights, an IPR system can protect indigenous intellectual property (i.e. plant knowledge) and assure that those involved in research are appropriately compensated for their knowledge and efforts.

Some have tied the granting of IPR protection to indigenous groups involved in ethnobotanical study as a manner in which to preserve and promote biodiversity. But definitions of "property" vary across cultures. Ethnobotanical research, indigenous property and biodiversity promotion, inextricably linked by the interests of Western scientists, industry and academia, present numerous ethical questions relating to the conflicting cultural values of Scientist and Subject.

Pedagogy and Epistemology

In order to begin to understand the differences between Western and indigenous ethics, it helps to look at the nature of knowledge in each ethical system. How is knowledge conveyed to members of society? What social institutions are responsible for the transfer of knowledge from generation to generation? How do these institutions influence views of morality?

The scientist is, first and foremost, a Westerner. His intellectual heritage and ethics originate in the lycea of ancient Greece and the biblical lessons of the Old and New Testaments. Like all Westerners, the scientist has received his knowledge through the oral and written guidance of the many institutions which form modern society, including the family, school and church. Contained in the scientist's Western heritage is an underlying belief in certain human needs for survival.

Abraham Maslow first described a hierarchy of needs beginning at the base with physiological needs and moving upward to safety needs, belongingness and love needs, esteem needs and finally, at the top level, the need for self-fulfillment (Maslow 1970). Maslow's hierarchy is a first-world paradigm, culminating in the ultimate expression of individuality. The scientist, who has most-likely fulfilled the first two levels of needs, is able to dedicate herself to the pursuit of ascension up the hierarchy, ideally arriving at self-fulfillment in the form of individualistic achievement. This is most-likely a reflection of the monotheistic culture which has borne the Western scientist.

Indigenous cultures, on the other hand, do not operate in the context of individuality and self-expression, but rather in a collective society in which Maslow's hierarchy is irrelevant. The pursuit is not for self-enlightenment, but for collective survival. But this is not merely a survival of the species; indigenous peoples operate within a cultural framework in which the entire natural world is inherently holy. Thus they assign equal value to the protection of themselves and their surroundings.

While the scientist may seek to make a personal contribution to society as a whole, it is Western individualism which compels her to do so. Although many scientists dedicated their lives to quantum theory; it is the names of the outstanding individuals -- Heisenberg, Schroedinger, Bell -- that we remember.

Thus, individuals, in Western society, study the words of notable individuals of the past and present. The principal pedagogy of academic medicine and science is the oral or written transference of the word from teacher to student. In this way, countless generations of knowledge may be accessed by the present generation of scientist, who builds upon the foundations of her predecessors. It is not necessary to study under Linneaus himself because his writings are available to all who wish to pursue his line of thinking.

Indigenous tribes, lacking a written tradition, transfer tribal knowledge through oral communication. The present generation learns from its elders who learned from the tribal elders before them. In this oral tradition, words themselves are more than just a tool for the communication of knowledge. They carry with them a spiritual potency, connected with the cosmic continuum (Suzuki and Knudston 1992).

Indigenous knowledge exists solely in the present. Its only tie to the past is the long chain of instruction from one generation to the next. For this reason, morality is a dynamic concept for indigenous populations, shaped by the particular conditions in which the communities are currently living (Lovin and Reynolds 1992). Current factors -- natural, economic or political -- affect the present state of native knowledge, as they adapt to the new situation.

It is not merely the manner in which knowledge is taught which distinguishes Western and indigenous thought. As Barsh points out, there is an important difference regarding the nature of knowledge itself. Western education is most often concerned with the student learning the content of what is taught. It is as if education were a giant shovel, scooping knowledge from one pile and depositing it into another; there is an emphasis on the end result. Indigenous epistemology, however, stresses the process of learning. Student and teacher together explore the pile of knowledge.

It is crucial to understand this very important difference in the nature of knowledge and its acquisition in order to approach questions of moral systems. Especially in the case of the indigenous, lacking a written code of morality restricts our ability to assess their ethical systems.

Knowledge and Nature

How are these distinct forms of knowledge manifested in relationship to human interaction with nature? The scientist, who has successfully absorbed the content of the discipline, views nature as a detached observer, seeking to rationally reduce the universe to a finite set of natural laws. He is on a quest to reveal the mysteries of human existence and the surrounding world. The indigenous relationship to nature involves a more holistic, interactive approach, in which the entire natural world is an animated life force (Suzuki and Knudston 1992).

Modern science, the dominant paradigm to which we Westerners turn for answers to our postindustrial problems, is frequently less concerned with the nature of the universe than with the use of nature to benefit humankind. The Bible instructs us that everything upon this earth is ours for consumption. And thus we consume, oblivious to nature's limitations in meeting our increasing demand. To the common Westerner, nature exists to be used -- nature's products provide us with food, fuel to fulfill our energy needs, and, as the resurgence in interest in ethnobotany demonstrates, cures for our illnesses. Nature is a commodity, as a glance at coffee prices in the business section of the newspaper demonstrates.

Western society is dependent on nature to sustain its present course. We have tied our industrial processes and economic development to the exploitation of earth's resources. We find ourselves constantly dragged behind the rapidly-increasing juggernaut of "human progress," which pulls us forward, ignoring the destruction left in its wake. Progress has become an end in itself, no longer connected to the commonweal. Nature suffers in the forward-moving process.

Ethnobotany and Tribal Secrets

As a Westerner and scientist, the ethnobotanist responds to the ethical systems described above. This is not to say the individual does not recognize the potential detriment to his research caused by such a system of morality. It must be assumed that the ethnobotanist's intentions of entering such a field of research are noble. Rather, as an individual of certain educational attainment, many social institutions have worked to instill their institutional values in the student.

Many ethnobotanists have substantial anthropological backgrounds. I do not intend to review, at this time, the vast literature related to anthropology and ethics, but rather, to highlight a few points of relevance to the ethnobotanist. A primary dilemma facing the anthropologist is the potential for revealing secret or sacred information upon publication.

Judith Friedman Hansen has described anthropology as a form of voyeurism, in which the anthropologist initiates friendships which lead to research data. She views this as an intrusion upon the subjects right to privacy whereby the subject willingly shares information without realizing what has been revealed. Although the subjects of the research are informed of a project's nature and offer their consent, Hansen nevertheless believes an ethical dilemma arises when someone highly trained in penetrating the quotidian life of other cultures observes others who are, "not equipped, either by training or by expectation, to protect themselves from unwanted exposure . . ." (Hansen 1976). Hansen writes from the perspective of an academic. As a potential profit-seeker, the ethnobotanist, as friend and voyeur of indigenous peoples, faces even greater ethical questions regarding betrayal of trust.

Revealing secrets, in addition to departing from accepted ethical standards of confidence, has practical problems as well. A well-known example is that of an article published in a 1988 National Geographic Magazine in which the author describes the daily life of the Urueu-Wau-Wau tribe of Eco Travels in Brazil. In this article, the writer provides information regarding the tribe's use of tiki uba, an anticoagulant. A photographer on assignment for the magazine recognized its potential applications for Western medicine and sent bark and sap specimens to Merck Pharmaceuticals, which proceeded to perform research leading to the development of a drug for use by Western physicians; the Urueu-Wau-Wau received neither credit nor payments for the drug. (Posey, et. al. 1996).

The pure science of ethnobotany exists to record knowledge of plants and their uses; the ethnobotanist, in her role of scientist, performs research to add to the collective knowledge of humankind. The problem lies in a lack of understanding or respect on the part of the ethnobotanist for the significance of native plants.

Vested Interests

As an anthropologist and scientist, the ethnobotanist is trained to study native cosmology and determine the tribe's relationship with plants. However, as a contracted employee whose purpose is the search for "useful" plants, the direction of the ethnobotanist's research may no longer follow research for research's sake. Addressing a group of his peers, Steve Rubin of Conservation International, a non-profit organization involved in biodiversity protection, helps illustrate the many interests involved in ethnobotanical research (Rubin 1994):

"We . . . are about to receive . . . [a] grant, which is to cover the costs of a collection process . . . We are one partner among several . . . [including] an industrial company, another specialized collection group and an in-country pharmaceutical company . . . The remuneration is going to go to the in-country collaborators, as well as to the university that might be responsible for research and development with respect to a drug."

The ethnobotanist operates under multiple identities: as a scientist she pursues knowledge for its intrinsic value and contribution to humankind; as an academic, she seeks to write articles, present papers at conferences and build a reputation as an expert in the field; as a "medical practitioner," she is charged with utilizing her knowledge to help more people live longer and better lives; as a contracted employee, she is forced to enter agreements which will guarantee her employer a profit.

To continue receiving research funding, the ethnobotanist must produce results which suit the needs of her employer. This creates an ethical conflict in the nature of the research. Both pharmaceutical companies and governmental agencies seek cures for diseases which most often afflict Western societies, such as cancer or AIDS. While ethnobotanists consider the indigenous healers to be peers and collaborators, the results of such research will typically not benefit the tribes themselves. As one anthropologist writes, "In very many cases of funded research, the real question you are faced with is: Is it palatable to the authorities when it's been done?" (Paine 1985). With this in mind, even the most dedicated ethnobotanist is compelled to tailor research projects to meet the demands of his benefactor.

Capitalism, inextricably tied to the Western ethical system, plays a dominant role in the current search for new drugs. In addition to "client" status, the ethnobotanist is a foot solider for the capitalist ventures of daring pharmaceutical companies. While it might be argued that the goal of ethnobotany is to preserve knowledge which may one day be valuable to Western medicine, writings by ethnobotanists portray a different story. In much of the literature treating the field, the return to the search for natural drugs stems not from philanthropy, but from decreasing costs in performing such research. Ten years ago, it would cost $6 million to screen 10,000 plant extracts. It can now be done for $150,000 (Reid 1995).

Likewise, pharmaceutical companies stand to gain, not only from potential profit, but by positive public relations; Shaman Pharmaceuticals, often cited as an exemplary model of conducting ethnobotanical research with indigenous peoples, had an initial public offering of $44 million (Rubin 1994). It is, therefore, with a touch of scepticism that we assess the "Hippocratic" argument defending the ethnobotanist's rainforest forays as being performed in the name of health, or likewise, toward the promotion of biodiversity.

II. Comparing Ethical Systems Related to Ethnobotany, Intellectual Property Rights and Biodiversity

How are ethnobotany, intellectual property and biodiversity interrelated? Many in the field of ethnobotany have suggested manners in which indigenous may be "rewarded" for their knowledge that would also serve to encourage the maintenance of biodiversity (See Section III). Before suggestions for ethical treatment can be made, it is first important to assess the different manners in which Westerners and the indigenous view plants, property and biodiversity.

Plants and the Indigenous

As participants in ethnobotanical research, indigenous healers share the concern for preservation of valuable knowledge, recognizing that, due to acculturation of the present generation, this knowledge will die with them. But for the indigenous, use of plants is often religious in nature and not entirely related to their active properties. The plants are sacred, and with use comes responsibility. Knowledge of the plants' uses is not a commodity, as it is for the Westerner, but rather is a duty to the legacy of remote ancestors who made arrangements with the plant world. The healer must not neglect the knowledge for fear of failing to uphold the bargain. A Mexican Huastec Mayan explains (Alcorn 1984):

The plants know. It's as if they are more intelligent . . . and they are ahead of us and they are pure because they didn't sin. We have sinned, we are impure.

The contracted ethnobotanist enters this world targeting specific plants (those which are bioactive) and in so doing, trods upon the sacred intergenerational compact.

Medical care in an indigenous society is a given, unlike the profit-oriented medical system of the West. It is the responsibility of the shaman, as guardian of tribal medicinal knowledge, to help those in need of curing. "The Navajo healers were appalled when I informed them there might be some commercial return from their products," Paul Alan Cox tells his colleagues, "They said 'We don't sell medicine, do you?'" (Cox 1994). Life, the very essence of the Sacred, is dealt with in such a manner. It is inconceivable to the indigenous shaman to deny healing for any reason. Indigenous health care is intended to heal sickness and thereby reincorporate the unhealthy individual as a productive member of society (Alcorn 1984).

Property, A General Overview

Neither the shaman's knowledge of how to heal nor the plants with which to do so belong to her. They are common property. Indigenous systems do not include mechanisms of ownership. It would be contrary to the reverence in which they hold nature to assume any single individual or group of individuals could actually "own" something; the native land is filled with significance regarding life's beginnings and totality (Suzuki and Knudston 1992).

It is difficult for the Westerner to accept this definition of property. The American legal system places enormous value on the concept of private property, in which an individual owner, an incorporated group of owners, or the state may determine uses of the property and receive all benefits accruing from those uses. The private property system is seen as a way to maintain the integrity of the property by providing incentives through ownership.

Daniel W. Bromley, assessing whether this is in fact certain, has identified four different types of property regimes: state property, private property, common property and nonproperty. To illustrate the differences between these regimes, he has defined each in terms of the "rights" and "duties" of the owners and those excluded from ownership.

Most indigenous property would fall under the common property regime. Here, a group of individuals manages the property in the common interest of all members of a society. Individual members of a management group have both rights and duties with respect to use rates and maintenance of the property (Bromley 1989).

This creates difficulty for the Western scientist who wishes to negotiate for use of that property. It is unclear with whom the ethnobotanist must negotiate and further, who has the authority to approve research.

Intellectual Property

Who is the owner of knowledge? According to American law -- and gradually, through agreements, international law -- an individual can be the owner of intellectual property through a system of patents, copyrights and the like, thereby making the abstract a tangible commodity. Use of the intellectual property by anyone other than its rightful owner is subject to approval of the owner, and typically some form of monetary compensation.

As illustrated above, indigenous societies often do not distinguish personal property. Furthermore, indigenous knowledge has been collected orally over generations, compounding the knowledge of multiple generations so that it would be impossible to determine to whom one particular idea belonged.

Contracted ethnobotany is essentially a manner of appropriating that property. Because the indigenous system fails to include private ownership, it is particularly difficult to make arrangements between the parties. Ethnobotanists, and their benefactors, stand to gain from the research, yet determining how they should award their indigenous collaborators remains difficult.

While private property is virtually nonexistent in indigenous culture, there is a strong social principle of reciprocity, tied to the indigenous belief of expressing gratitude to the natural world in return for the benefits they have received from it (Suzuki and Knudston 1992, FSI and Kothari 1997).

For centuries, Westerners have exploited indigenous resources and knowledge, raping the common property while offering nothing in return. Many practitioners of ethnobotany now suggest guarding against the exploitation of indigenous knowledge through the implementation of an IPR system. But there is little hope for success in the implementation of a legal system created for individual property when the property is not owned by any single individual. Additionally, an IPR system may, in fact, hasten appropriation of indigenous knowledge (Colchester 1996).

Biodiversity Protection

Much of the support for the implementation of an IPR system to protect indigenous knowledge is related to subsequent biodiversity protection resulting as an externality of indigenous resource control. With growing concern for the rapid deforestation of the Amazon and other rainforests throughout the world, promotion of biodiversity is seen as a manner of halting the destruction.

Biological diversity, or biodiversity, is the collective species variety of all life which, through their diversity, help to maintain nature in balance. Some have argued that greater biodiversity leads to greater efficiency of ecosystem productivity and greater resistance to disturbance and resilience to devastation (Tilman 1997).

Indigenous peoples, due to their belief in nature as a totality and human interaction with nature as part of the unity, have been demonstrated to be progenitors of biodiversity (Denevan 1992, e.g.). Indigenous traditional agricultural practices continue to promote biodiversity through sustainable use practices such as the rotation of gathering areas to prevent the decrease or loss of some resources (Casas, et. al. 1996).

Ethnobotanists who are now promoting the use of an IPR system as a measure for promoting greater biodiversity have thus taken on the ethical system of yet another institution: environmentalism.

There is a split in Western environmental thought regarding biodiversity: first there are the "deep ecologists" who believe in the intrinsic value of maintaining biodiversity; then there are those who view biodiversity in terms of sustainable development and resource use, which I will refer to as Brundtlanders.

Ethnobotanists, and their host organizations, of the latter camp, argue for the promotion of biodiversity as a solution to ethical issues regarding benefits to indigenous research participants. As discussed in the previous section, benefits are awarded to property owners.

The indigenous certainly welcome the promotion of biodiversity, given their religious beliefs. Biodiversity, it has been argued, is the natural order of indigenous stewardship (Nietschmann 1993). Yet, for Brundtlanders, biodiversity serves an end-purpose: use of the planet's resources. This creates an ethical conflict which permeates all further discussion of biodiversity, and detracts from its use as an incentive for permitting ethnobotanical studies. Sustainable development permits indigenous resource control only insofaras to ensure continued commercial exploitation.

III. Assessment of Suggestions Offered to Ethically Resolve Conflicts of Ethnobotanical Research

This section looks at a number of suggestions made by practicing ethnobotanists and economic botanists regarding ways to perform their research within accepted ethical boundaries. In many instances, what appears to the Western individual as an "ethical" solution, may in fact conflict with the indigenous view. In analyzing the various suggestions offered by ethnobotanists, whose intentions are often admirable, a number of categories of conflict arise. By highlighting these conflicts between ethical systems, we may then be able to approach solutions to the conflicts within a framework which violates neither the Western nor the indigenous moral system (See Section IV).

Nature of Property As Economic Resource

The very linkage of ethnobotany, intellectual property and biodiversity is one related to economics. The primary driving force behind funded ethnobotanical research is not, so much, the search for new cures as the search for new products. Likewise, biodiversity is less often promoted for its intrinsic value, and more often seen as "ensuring that future generations can enjoy the economic, health . . . and other benefits derived from our planet's rich biological inheritance." (Wirth 1994).

There is wide recognition among practitioners that monetary compensation is inappropriate, given the indigenous common property system. Suggestions have been made to compensate those involved in ethnobotanical research in manners that would promote biodiversity. This is certainly an important issue to the indigenous, who may be able to use biodiversity promotion as a way to gain greater autonomy and control of land.

Here ecologists have embraced ethnobotany as a justification for biodiversity conservation. Numerous demonstrations of the rainforest's value, in terms of sustainable use, have provided a rallying cry to those who fear the consequences of rapid deforestation. With a rapidly globalizing economy, and a neoliberal economic trend in developing countries, economic justifications may be the only way to prevent further destruction. As one ecologist notes, "To remain credible in a market-dominated culture it seems essential to appeal to the cost-benefits offered by conservation." (Cooper and Carling 1996).

Yet, whose interests are really being served? Thomas Eisner writes, "Preserving more than one population of species is prudent to maximize the chance of discovering new chemicals." (Eisner 1992). Steven King of Shaman Pharmaceuticals tells his colleagues, "The emerging partnership between drug development and the conservation of biological and cultural diversity holds great promise for producing new classes of bioactive molecules." (King and Tempesta 1994) Those who advocate biodiversity are often the same who decry deforestation as threatening future medical discoveries. Their interest lies not so much in helping to preserve indigenous culture as to maintain a steady supply of resources for exploitation. This is not a question of placing biodiversity stewardship in the hands of those who have sustainably managed the land for generations, but rather a means of assuring the availability of continued inputs for an economic model foreign to the rainforests.

The Professional Relationship

The manner in which the ethnobotanist perceives his relationship with the indigenous tribe is often a vital determinant of how compensation will be offered. When ethnobotanists approach indigenous populations to perform research, they often consider them as business partners. Richard Evans Schultes, father of modern ethnobotany once wrote, " . . . only Indians are well acquainted with the various properties of the plants . . . Why not enlist that vast, intimate knowledge?" (Schultes 1994). The enlistment the indigenous creates a scenario in which the dominant institutional ethics becomes that of business and in which negotiations for compensation take place in the business arena. Most indigenous societies are unskilled in the finer points of Western capitalist business dealing, and the ethnobotanist, representing experts of the business field (government and industry), is in the dominant position to dictate the rules of research. Thus the indigenous society is at a marked disadvantage in communicating its needs and concerns.

Another form the relationship will take is one of scientist/subject. The ethnobotanist appears in a village with the intention of studying tribal culture. He accompanies the shaman in the forest in order to observe how the healer identifies plants and how the plants are used. In recent years, this form of relationship has increased with ethnobotanists' recognition of the validity of shamanic knowledge and treatment of the indigenous healers as peers.

Nevertheless, it is typically the ethnobotanist's name attached to the final product. "In the absence of their own research and documentation facilities," Darrell Posey writes, "indigenous peoples are most likely to be the 'subject' of other peoples' research." (Posey 1997). More is due than acknowledgment of their contributions to promote those who help in research from 'subject' to 'scholar'.

Ironically, the true nature of such a relationship is closer to a teacher/student orientation, in which the shaman teaches the ethnobotanist how to distinguish and utilize certain plants. Schultes writes: "What Western science does not know about curare preparation indicates how much there is still to learn from the so-called primitive peoples of Amazonia," and later suggests, "Science should intensify its study of these chemicals, because there is little left to learn; when a plant becomes extinct, the opportunity to learn is lost forever." (Schultes 1994). The danger of this sort of relationship lies in the assumption that the Western scientist has a right to learn. Ethnobotanists call for urgent action to prevent the loss of valuable information due to the encroachment of Western medicine and the failure of younger generations to learn from the healers. In the guise of recording this information before it is lost, ethnobotanists may become the owners of indigenous intellectual property.

Assumptions of Mutual Recognition

In the preliminary draft of guidelines for Professional Ethics in Economic Botany, listed under the responsibilities scientists have to those studied is the following (Padoch and Boom 1996):

"They will respect any request for confidence made by those providing data or materials, provided that the maintenance of such confidence does not compromise other ethical considerations."

On the surface, this appears to be an appealing code to follow, based upon past indiscrepancies which have resulted in the publishing of private and sacred tribal information (Posey, et. al. 1996). The problem with this suggestion is the assumption that an indigenous colleague would ask this of a researcher. For such a request to be issued, the party making the request would have to be aware that his confidence might be betrayed. Confidence in this context is equivalent to privacy, which is the social institution of an individualistic society. While some indigenous people involved in ethnobotanical research might be aware of past failures to protect privacy, more common would be the scenario in which research is conducted with a collective society whose individual members have little to no concept of privacy or the right to privacy.

Failure to consider this indigenous perspective is common in suggested ethical approaches to ethnobotanical research, and something I have called the assumptions of mutual recognition. Well-meaning scientists recognize the need for ethical approaches to ethnobotany, but fail to realize that their definition of ethical is non-mutual.

At the Fourth International Congress of Ethnobiology, which included the participation of indigenous persons, Dr. Maurice Iwu, an ethnopharmacologist and traditional healer from Nigeria, addressed one such example of an assumption of mutual recognition: Many ethnobotanical practitioners have suggested that indigenous tribes with which they are working be alerted when research is commercial in nature (seeking new drugs for profits); Dr. Iwu argued that the difference between commercial and non-commercial research is often unclear to the communities (Dutfield 1994). By informing the communities of the commercial nature of research, the ethnobotanist believes she will have fulfilled the requirements for "advise and consent," yet there is an assumption that the concept of commercial has meaning to the indigenous.

Likewise, difficulties often arise when it comes time to determine the nature of benefits that will be returned to tribes involved in ethnobotanical research. "An organization need only ask the people with whom it works what their immediate needs are and pose the solution in advance to a given research project," Steven King writes (1994), assuming there is a self-evident manner of doing so. But whose needs is the organization assessing? Does the ethnobotanist perform extensive surveys of the population to assure that "needs" includes all members of the population, especially the women? Or is King suggesting arrangements be made with a chosen indigenous representative? "Needs" is a loaded term which is open to many different interpretations, depending upon who is consulted. Different sectors of society -- indigenous tribes included -- have different, specific needs. Again, King has targeted a problem of past research and proposed a solution which meets the criteria for Western ethics, but fails to account for alternative moral systems.

Furthermore, communication of those needs may prove difficult for the research collaborators. When an ethnobotanist poses the question of needs, is she operating within the same set of assumptions as the native research participants? That is, could it not be possible that a collective society which believes in nature's provision might not think in terms of needs? Returning benefits in this manner may prove to be an ethical loophole for the ethnobotanist, who can claim to have met the requests of groups with which she has worked.

Use of Language

A related problem in dealing ethically with indigenous populations is the barrier of language. In describing how a group of Colombian natives identify various plant species, Schultes adds a cautionary warning to the ethnobotanist: "Of course, not all this Indian lore is necessarily translatable into the vocabulary of Western science." (Schultes 1994a). Likewise, the same holds true in reverse: the language of Western science is not necessarily translatable into indigenous vocabulary, making negotiations for research a precarious engagement.

As was mentioned earlier, in distinguishing between the Western and indigenous systems of thought, the indigenous spiritual beliefs often encompass not only the natural world, but language as well. "[The Native Mind] tends to view human thought, feelings, and communication as inextricably intertwined with events and processes in the universe rather than as apart from them." (Suzuki and Knudston 1992). This may profoundly affect the communication between ethnobotanist and indigenous peoples.

It becomes necessary for the ethnobotanist to have more than just a working knowledge of the language. The ethnobotanist should be certain the words he chooses to employ in negotiations are appropriate and that the indigenous with whom he is working applies the same significance to them.

King has indicated that Shaman Pharmaceuticals works with local counterparts who "speak the appropriate language." Unfortunately, King's idea of "appropriate" for Latin America is someone who speaks Spanish. (King 1996). This creates a twofold problem: First, there is an immediate bias to work with bilingual participants of indigenous society who, while perhaps in the best position to accurately negotiate terms of an agreement, are nevertheless acculturated individuals who may not have the tribe's best interests in mind. Second, this opens up the possibility for greater misinterpretation in which an additional language barrier has been erected, further obfuscating the original meanings implied behind word choice on the part of both an English-speaking ethnobotanist and indigenous participants.

Legalese Confusion

The basis of the American legal system is the written word. Attempts at ethical provisions through the use of contracts automatically places oral cultures at a disadvantage. However, to award benefits to traditionally-exploited peoples, legal instruments are often necessary.

The difficulty of applying a Western legal apparatus to negotiations with indigenous peoples stems from the often complex skills needed to effectively negotiate terms of an agreement (FSI and Kothari 1997). These are skills in which Western specialists are trained; successful negotiations depend upon a particular process of conceptualizing what it is one wishes to obtain in the end and how much sacrifice one is willing to make to ultimately reach this goal. The science/art of the bargain is not one in which most indigenous are well prepared. The native emphasis on reciprocity is not conceptualized in such a manner in which various abstractions are measured against each other to determine the "fair deal." The cost/benefit analysis approach to dealmaking is strictly Western.

Another danger of applying Western law is the appearance of legitimacy it lends to the research project. In arguing for the use of know-how licenses (a form of IPR) as a means of protecting indigenous interests, one author writes, "By using a know-how license the indigenous peoples have adopted a form of contractual agreement . . . which offers many advantages for the protection of their rights." Yet shortly thereafter, the author adds, "As the Aguaruna organizations negotiating with [Washington University] represented less than 50% of the Aguaruna and Huambisa peoples who are the collective custodians of their collective knowledge, the agreement was from the beginning conceived as a non-exclusive license." (Tobin 1997) Washington University researchers may now access generations of knowledge with the approval of only half of those who may be considered the rightful owners of the knowledge.

Combatting Ethnocentrism

All of the examples above demonstrate unintentional ethical violations. When a Western scientist chooses to collaborate with members of a different culture, it is imperative she recognizes the nature of culture to permeate through all aspects of life. Well-meaning ethnobotanists continue to search for appropriate manners of performing research with indigenous peoples, yet, through their ethnocentric definition of "moral" and "ethical," often fail to accommodate their counterparts, or indeed, counter their intent.

There are many positive results which may come from the unique professional relationship between ethnobotanists and indigenous peoples. Many tribes are in battles with national governments to obtain the land rights which would ultimately allow them self-determination. Indigenous healers, while sharing their unique understanding of medicine, may also learn from the Western scientists, expanding their ability to help members of society remain healthy. As Western culture creeps further into daily life of the world's first peoples, there is a greater risk of losing their valuable knowledge forever. Many indigenous tribes are aware of this risk, and are willing to enter into research agreements with ethnobotanists in order to preserve their knowledge. But it is important to remember that it is a primary right of the indigenous not to participate in research. Before any ethical arrangements for research can be made, it is necessary to acknowledge that many tribes may not want to become involved with Western research, regardless of the potential benefits. A history of exploitation is not easily erased from the collective mind.

IV. Searching for Solutions

Numerous articles, professional conferences and a United Nations focus upon indigenous rights have brought much-needed attention to the tragic living history of Western exploitation and cultural genocide. With the growing recognition that scientists working with native peoples may no longer perform exploitation-as-usual, many efforts are being made to address how they may continue their research in such a way that everyone may benefit.

This paper is an attempt to illustrate the great amount of ethnocentrism which still must be overcome in spite of the vast improvement from the traditional appropriation with neither permission nor compensation. Regardless of the ethnobotanist's dedication to science or medicine or higher ideals, he must recognize that it is the indigenous knowledge which allows for such research, and that the noble cause of "helping people to live better and longer lives" (Paine 1985) does not justify disrupting indigenous society and appropriating generations of knowledge without substantial reciprocation.

If the purpose of research is, indeed, the noble pursuit of adding to humankind's reservoir of knowledge, then it is evident that the capitalist system of funding research -- which places a restraint upon the manner in which research may be conducted -- must be extricated from ethnobotany. It is then necessary to arrange for manners of alternative funding which would encourage a more-suitable manner of performing research.

I suggest the creation of an indigenous-run foundation. Although this would still conflict with problems of legalese confusion and representative authority, the creation of such a foundation would allow those involved in its operation to determine how research should be funded, and what nature the research should take.

If, as some proclaim, the best protection and assistance which can be offered to the indigenous is through the Western legal system, the suggestion of an advocate may be worthwhile (FSI and Kothari 1997). This would allow for someone to teach the intricacies of contractmaking and other legal mechanisms to those indigenous who are interested in working with ethnobotanists. Despite its Western overtones, a legal education is a pragmatic manner in which to empower the indigenous communities. As more native societies educate individuals to represent their interests in negotiations, there will be less dependence upon "good faith" agreements.

These are just two manners in which the issues addressed in this paper can be approached. Unfortunately, the true suggestions underlying this paper are more proscriptive than prescriptive. If earnest ethnobotanists learn to account for these possible traps of conflicting ethos, they may begin to approach acceptable solutions with greater ingenuity. The first step is recognizing the existence of distinct ethical systems.

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