Tubers, Berries and Bugs

By Philip Elmer-DeWitt

In a dusty half-acre potato patch near the tiny (pop. 1,000) farming community of Tulelake, Calif., scientists in canary yellow overalls clambered aboard a tractor last week and began what looked like a workaday farmyard chore. They were planting ordinary potatoes, 2,000 tubers in all, that had been treated with an extraordinary additive: a genetically altered bacterium designed to inhibit the formation of frost. This experiment -- and a similar one performed only five days earlier -- marked a turning point in the efforts of scientists to apply the advances of recombinant DNA technology to agriculture: the first authorized release of man-made microbes into the environment.

The routine Tulelake operation stood in marked contrast to the more dramatic previous test, 350 miles away in a Brentwood, Calif., strawberry field. There, technicians wrapped in head-to-foot "space suits" -- required by federal regulations governing airborne use of potentially toxic substances -- sprayed 2,400 strawberry plants with a slightly different strain of the same ice- inhibiting bacterium. The event drew a crowd of reporters and government officials, who arrived with elaborate devices to sniff the air and taste the dirt around the test site. The start of the experiment was delayed for an hour because of an act of sabotage: the night before, vandals, apparently expressing their disapproval of the experiment, cut through a chain-link fence and uprooted some 2,000 plants.

The uninjured berries were quickly replanted, and the project proceeded without further incident, but the protest was symptomatic of the fierce controversy surrounding the open-air trials. They have become the focal point of a bitter debate over the creation of new organisms and the risks involved in releasing them. Most biologists have argued that the outdoor tests are a necessary first step that may help reduce the $1.5 billion lost by U.S. farmers each year to frost and may someday lead to the replacement of chemical fertilizers and pesticides with biodegradable, nonpolluting microbes.

Opponents, captained by Washington-based Activist Jeremy Rifkin, have raised legitimate questions about how well these experiments are regulated and monitored. But Rifkin and his supporters have also played on public fears by painting the specter of a biotech Chernobyl -- an experiment gone haywire, spreading man-made germs that could ruin crops, change rain patterns and render large swatches of California uninhabitable.

The current experiments, almost everyone agrees, do not pose any such threat. They involve a modest bit of genetic engineering on the bacterium Pseudomonas syringae, a common parasite that lives on the bark and leaves of many plants. The bacterium produces a protein that serves as a seed for the formation of ice crystals when the temperature drops below 32 degrees F. By snipping the seed-making gene from the DNA of the microbe, Berkeley Plant Pathologists Steven Lindow and Nickolas Panopoulos created a mutant form of P. syringae that does not promote frost. They call their new microbe "ice- minus." In the laboratory, leaves coated with the microbes have briefly withstood temperatures as low as 23 degrees F.

In 1982 Lindow and Panopoulos applied for permission to treat potatoes with ice-minus. They failed to anticipate Rifkin. A former antiwar activist with a fertile imagination and a knack for using the bureaucratic process, Rifkin organized what may be the longest-running regulatory battle ever. One of his victories: a 1984 temporary injunction against Lindow and Panopoulos issued by Federal District Judge John Sirica of Watergate fame.

There have been excesses and lapses on both sides. Rifkin, who makes his living speaking against genetic engineering, sowed fear and doubt among the public even after his supporters had concluded that the experiments were safe. But the scientists have not been blameless. Advanced Genetic Sciences Inc., the Oakland-based start-up firm that conducted the strawberry tests, managed to alienate most of California's Monterey County in 1986 when its closely held plans to test the microbes in that area were uncovered by a local newspaper. While that issue was being debated, Rifkin revealed that AGS scientists had already injected mutant bacteria into fruit and nut trees growing on the roof of their Oakland labs -- a violation of federal and state regulations. AGS was fined $13,000 for its transgression.

AGS learned its lesson. This month's experiments were preceded by a well- orchestrated campaign that included public meetings, mounds of explanatory literature and plant tours for county officials. The final legal hurdle fell the day before the first test. "The court is convinced," said Sacramento Superior Court Judge Darrel Lewis, "that ((the experiments)) are not unleashing some deleterious bacteria that are going to consume the city of Brentwood or anywhere else."

It was a setback for opponents of such research, and for Rifkin in particular. But it does not mean smooth sailing for the genetic engineers. Strict guidelines are now in place, and as long as there are industry watchdogs, every experiment will be closely checked. Rifkin shows no signs of giving up. "We will battle every step of the way," he promised last week. "This protest is not going to go away." For Lindow, however, the long battle was over. Said he, when the tubers were finally in the ground: "It's quite a relief to finally see science progress."

With reporting by Cristina Garcia/Tulelake and Dick Thompson/Washington