In laboratories thousands of miles away from forests, deserts, riverbanks, and farmlands, patents are often filed on knowledge that did not originate there. A compound is isolated. A gene is sequenced. A traditional remedy is reformulated. The result carries a registration number and a corporate owner. What rarely appears in the documentation are the generations of farmers, healers, and Indigenous communities whose patient observation and lived experience made that discovery possible in the first place. This is the terrain of biopiracy.
Biopiracy refers to the commercial use of biological resources and traditional knowledge without prior informed consent or fair compensation to the communities who have preserved and developed them over centuries. At its heart lies a simple but unsettling question: Who owns nature’s knowledge?
For generations, Indigenous and local communities have cultivated complex knowledge systems grounded in biodiversity and ecological balance. Their farming methods are shaped by climate, soil, and seasonal rhythms. Their medicinal uses of plants reflect accumulated observation and experimentation. Their food systems protect crop diversity and build resilience against environmental stress. This knowledge is not static. It evolves collectively, carried through stories, rituals, and practice. It sustains both people and ecosystems. Modern intellectual property regimes, however, often treat such communal knowledge as part of the public domain. Because it is longstanding and widely practiced, it is rarely considered ‘new.’ Yet when researchers isolate an active compound from a medicinal plant, sequence a gene associated with drought tolerance, or slightly modify a traditional formula in a laboratory, that refinement may qualify for patent protection. What communities cannot protect as new can become private property once it is reframed through scientific language and legal criteria.
The tension is structural. Patent systems in the West require novelty, non-obviousness, and utility. Traditional knowledge, developed and transmitted across generations, seldom fits these definitions. Indigenous knowledge is collective and intergenerational, while patent law rewards individual and commercial claims. The result is a system where those who have safeguarded knowledge for centuries struggle to claim ownership, while those who repackage it can secure exclusive rights.
The consequences reach far beyond economics. When a plant central to a community’s healing tradition becomes a patented pharmaceutical product, it is detached from its cultural context. What was once shared knowledge becomes regulated and commercialised. Industries may generate substantial revenue from products derived from traditional practices, while the originating communities receive little or nothing. In some cases, patented medicines or seeds become unaffordable to the very people whose knowledge made them possible.
Several high-profile disputes have brought global attention to these dynamics. In the 1990s, patents were granted to the United States Department of Agriculture and W.R. Grace & Co. for a fungicidal method using extracts from the neem tree, long used across South Asia for agriculture and medicine. Critics argued that the patent formalised practices known in India for centuries. After sustained legal challenges, the patent was revoked. The case became a symbolic victory for those resisting the enclosure of traditional knowledge. A similar controversy arose when the University of Mississippi Medical Center received a patent on turmeric’s wound healing properties. Evidence of extensive prior traditional use led to the patent’s cancellation. The dispute demonstrated the importance of documenting traditional knowledge as prior art to prevent inappropriate claims.
International law has attempted to respond. The Convention on Biological Diversity recognised genetic resources as sovereign assets of states. The Nagoya Protocol introduced principles of prior informed consent and equitable benefit sharing. The TRIPS agreement under the World Trade Organisation strengthened global intellectual property protection, though it did not fully reconcile patent law with community rights. In 2024, the World Intellectual Property Organisation adopted new rules requiring disclosure of the origin of genetic resources in patent applications. This marked progress, yet enforcement gaps and legal loopholes remain. The problem is not marginal. Thousands of patent applications have reportedly been filed by foreign entities on biological resources traditionally used in countries such as Peru. Similar patterns appear across Asia, Africa, and Latin America.
Bangladesh, with its rich biodiversity and agrarian heritage, is not insulated from these dynamics. The introduction of Bt brinjal through collaboration between the Bangladesh Agricultural Research Institute and Mahyco sparked debate about intellectual property clauses and farmer autonomy. Although described as a public sector initiative, critics questioned how contractual arrangements might shape long term control over seeds and research outcomes. At the same time, institutions such as the Bangladesh Rice Research Institute have worked to document and preserve indigenous rice varieties in gene banks. Careful documentation strengthens the ability to challenge external patent claims and affirms sovereignty over genetic resources. In this context, record keeping becomes a quiet but significant form of resistance.
It is important to recognise that not all scientific research is exploitative. The term bioprospecting is often used to describe ethical research into biological resources. In principle, it involves informed consent, transparent agreements, and fair distribution of benefits that support conservation and community development. In practice, these standards are unevenly applied. Some researchers now publish genetic data openly to reduce opportunities for monopolisation, reflecting a growing awareness of the stakes involved. As climate change accelerates, biodiversity is increasingly viewed as a source of solutions. Companies are seeking genes linked to drought resistance, salt tolerance, and medicinal potential. Patent claims are rising. The value of traditional knowledge is becoming more visible, and so are the risks of its appropriation.
Biopiracy is not only a technical legal issue. It raises deeper questions about justice, recognition, and power. If biodiversity is a shared inheritance, the communities who have protected it cannot remain invisible in the global economy built upon it. Protecting traditional knowledge does not block innovation. It encourages ethical collaboration, transparency, and mutual respect. Ultimately, the debate forces a reckoning. Whose knowledge counts as science. Who benefits when nature becomes profitable. Who is left out of decisions that shape the future of shared resources.
In a time of ecological crisis and global uncertainty, humanity depends more than ever on Indigenous and local knowledge systems. The real challenge is whether global governance can recognise that dependence not as an opportunity for extraction, but as a basis for partnership and justice.
The author is a writer, researcher, and environmentalist. E-mail: [email protected]
