Imagine you are the CEO of a multinational corporation. What ethical issues come to mind based on this case and relate the contrasting cultural values p

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Multinational pharmaceutical firms commonly explore, extract, develop, and

distribute drugs from traditional medicinal plants. Please read “The Case of

Hoodia,” a fictional account of a real-life dilemma that involves multiple

stakeholders, including the San, the oldest continual human inhabitants of Africa,

a multinational pharmaceutical firm, the health concerns of obese people around

the world, a large pan-African government research organization, and a South

African non-governmental organization.

After completing the reading, answer questions 1 and 2.

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The Case of Hoodia

“So, what do you do?”

Angela Bingham turned to her seatmate and tried to muster a genuine smile. Although

she was proud of her work, Angela disliked being asked such a personal, invasive question by a

stranger. Nevertheless, she was stuck sitting next to this man for the remainder of her 11-hour

flight to Cape Town, so she decided to open up a little.

“I work for a company called Pharmedics. It’s a British pharmaceuticals concern that

specializes in developing drugs from traditional medicinal plants. The medicines we work on are

used to treat asthma, Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s disease, AIDS…you name it. My latest

project is development of an extract from a plant called Hoodia Gordonii. It grows in the wild all

over southern Africa and has been used by the San, or the Bushmen of the Kalahari, for

thousands of years. The San are the first human inhabitants of Africa. They take Hoodia to stave

off hunger and thirst on long hunting and gathering expeditions and during times of drought. The

extract, P57, may turn out to be an anti-obesity wonder drug.”

“Wow, that sounds interesting and like really good work. Are you a scientist?”

“No, I’m an account director. Actually, Pharmedics is a virtual company—there are very

few of us who are employed directly by the company itself. I work with outsourced field

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researchers, lab scientists, clinicians, and manufacturers. I’m a middleman; I develop a

communications strategy between the stakeholders and I coordinate feasibility studies for

research and production. Pharmedics works on initial isolation of extracts. We leave the

commercialization up to the big boys.”

“The ‘big boys’?”

“Yeah, Phizer, Unilever—big multinational pharmaceutical firms. They’ve got the money

and the power to push drugs through the Food and Drug Administration and such. But tell me,

what do you do, um…I can’t believe I already forgot your name…”

Angela’s seatmate smiled graciously. “Roger. Don’t worry about it—I’m an artist, a

sculptor, so I’m a little flighty myself. I’m bringing a commissioned work to Cape Town to be

placed in front of the headquarters of a big shipbuilding company. I work with metal. The pieces

of the sculpture are down in the baggage compartment. I’m going to South Africa to put them all

together.”

“Well, well,” beamed Angela, “that’s basically what I’m going to Cape Town to do, put

together pieces. But I’m no artist. This is more like a sales job, although I’m not quite sure what

I’m selling or to whom.”

Temporarily saved from having to explain further by the arrival of the dinner cart, Angela

leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She recalled the conversation she’d had the previous

week with her company’s president, David Campbell, when she was initially dispatched on this

mission.

“Angela, I just want you to know that you’ve done incredible work on the clinical trials

of P57. It has enormous commercial potential and Phizer is very interested in taking it to the next

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level. But Angela, nothing can happen at all until we work things out with the San. I’ve got their

lawyer, reporters from the Observer, a bunch of NGOs, and the governments of Namibia,

Botswana, and South Africa breathing down my neck…it’s unbelievable. I didn’t even know the

San existed anymore. I need you to go over there and make everybody happy.”

Angela’s heart pounded. She was used to bringing people together to work as a team, but

this sounded much more complicated than what she usually did. “David, I’m not sure I

understand what you want me to do. Why do we have a problem with the San? They don’t have

the development license on the patent for Hoodia, we do.”

Taking off his glasses, David Campbell stood and began pacing the room. “We purchased

the development rights for Hoodia from the initial patent holder, the South African-based

Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR), one of the largest research organizations

in Africa. Although it was a government-sponsored institution, it did not consult with the San,

the original holders of the knowledge of Hoodia, before applying for the patent. Even if they had

approached them, the San may have had little trust for an apartheid-era institution. They may not

have even understood what was at stake for them. The San’s way of life has been undermined by

development in southern Africa. The San are poverty-stricken and they lack education and access

to information, so they have little power to negotiate or profit from developing their indigenous

knowledge…anyway, a South African NGO called BioWatch got wind of the CSIR agreement

with us and leaked it to the press.”

Angela was starting to catch on. “So do the San believe they are the true owners of

Hoodia? Do they want some sort of monetary compensation for their knowledge of Hoodia?”

“To tell you the truth, the San find the very idea that anyone should pay them for their

knowledge morally abhorrent. The San culture values knowledge as a collective resource.

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What’s more, the whole patent process makes little sense to them. They don’t see how life—

even plant life—can be ‘owned.’”

Sitting back down at his desk, Campbell went on to explain how matters were made even

more complicated by the fact that the San were not a single community, but a group of multiple

far-flung communities that lived and travelled throughout South Africa, Namibia, and Botswana.

An advocacy organization had been formed in 1996 to lobby for the interests of the San

communities, the Working Group of Indigenous Minorities in Southern Africa (WIMSA).

Through their lawyer, WIMSA had recently informed Pharmedics and the CSIR of their decision

not to pursue the San’s ‘no patents on life’ policy in court, as it was too expensive. Instead, the

San wanted to negotiate a benefits-sharing agreement, with Hoodia royalties being used to

alleviate poverty and sustain endangered aspects of San culture. The distribution of such benefits

was, however, potentially problematic. Even if an agreement could be reached between the

CSIR, Pharmedics, and WIMSA, how could a system be created to fairly compensate multiple

nomadic San groups across three countries?

Angela was overwhelmed but determined. “David, I can’t believe what a puzzle you’ve

placed in front of me. I’ll go to Cape Town. I can’t promise I’ll make everyone happy, but I’ll try

to help everyone recognize all the many moving parts and how they can best fit together.”

“Ma’am, would you like eggs or French toast?”

Angela’s attention snapped back into the present.

“Oh, uh, thank you. French toast, please.” She looked away from the steward and over

towards Roger. His dinner tray had been replaced with one featuring eggs and toast, and the sun

was shining brightly through the window.

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“Well good morning, sleepyhead, just in time for breakfast! You passed out without even

taking a bite of dinner. I didn’t want to wake you—I hope that’s o.k. We’ve only got a few more

hours before landing.”

“Oh yes, of course. Roger, can I ask you something? You said you are going to Cape

Town to put the pieces of your metal sculpture together. How exactly are you going to do that?”

“Well, you choose your method depending on the types of metals you are working with.

If the metals are the same, you can weld them together. It takes a lot of heat and it’s dangerous,

but if you are careful the joining will last a long time. If the metals are different, it’s very

difficult to force them together with welding. You generally have to use some sort of fastener

like bolts or rivets. You pick the process to match the parts.”

“Thank you, Roger. I’m starting to think I should conceive of my task in Cape Town

more in terms of sculpting than selling. You’ve helped me a lot.”

Angela leaned back in her seat. She was grateful Roger had asked her what she did for a

living; moreover, she was glad she’d chosen to open up to him. She smiled to herself, and this

time it was genuine.

________________

According to Dr. Martha Honey, co-founder and co-director of the Center on Ecotourism and Sustainable Development, ecotourism is travel to fragile, pristine, and usually protected areas that strives to be low impact and is often small-scale. It helps educate the traveler, provides funds for conservation, directly benefits the economic development and political empowerment of local communities, and fosters respect for different cultures and for human rights.

Please read "A Monumental Dilemma," a fictional account of a travel reporter's experience conducting research for a travel magazine article about ecotourism in Cambodia. After completing the reading, answer questions 1 and 2.

A Monumental Dilemma

It is 4:30 a.m. and as promised, my guide and driver, Kim San, is waiting for me at the hotel entrance. We had met the previous day to work out a sightseeing schedule for the week, and he insisted that the first thing I do on my tour of the Angkor Archaeological Park was witness the sunrise over Angkor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world.

I climb aboard Kim San's motorbike, and we're off. My heart races as we weave in and out of the streets of Siem Reap, the boomtown launching point for millions of yearly visitors to Angkor. In the darkness, the motorbike headlights reveal shadowy forms of men and women bustling to set up shops and restaurants that will serve the waking hordes of tourists.

It's a seven-kilometer drive to the main ticket booth to Angkor Wat. Kim San stops in front of a large, modern complex, built to move large crowds quickly through the concession.

Climbing off the bike, I look around. "Kim San, you said this place would be packed, but there's hardly anyone here."

Kim San smiles. "Many people wait to come until just before the sun rises. I have guided journalists before. I know you want to have the best view, and that is why I brought you here early. You will see, believe me. Here, you must take a flashlight or you will trip and fall. You must purchase your ticket at the booth," says Kim San. "I will bring water. Follow me."

Looming in the distance, I sense the presence of Angkor Wat, although it lies nearly 2 kilometers away. Designated in 1993 as a United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) World Heritage Site, Cambodia's Angkor Wat temple was also a finalist in the New Seven Wonders of the World competition in 2007. It is the best-preserved structure in the complex of over 1000 temples known collectively as Angkor, the Sanskrit word for city. Angkor flourished between the 9th and 15th centuries A.D. as the seat of the Khmer empire, which ruled over parts of present-day Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, Myanmar, and Malaysia. It was the largest preindustrial metropolis in the world, with a population of nearly one million and an urban footprint roughly the size of modern Los Angeles. Since its founding in the 12th century, the temple complex of Angkor Wat has remained an active religious center, first dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu, then re-dedicated to Theravada Buddhist use in the 14th or 15th century. It is a source of great national pride and has been depicted on every version of the Cambodian flag since 1863.

Kim San leads me to a ticket window. At this hour, there are more employees and guards lingering about than tourists. I pay my $60 US fee for a week's entrance to the park and am taken to a side room to have my photo taken for the pass. While waiting I do some quick mental calculations. In my background research, I read that there were nearly three million yearly visitors to Angkor. That's $180 million US—a huge revenue source for a country with a Gross Domestic Product of only about $10 billion US.

"Tickets are expensive, aren't they?" I comment to Kim San as we make our way back to his bike for the remaining 2-kilometer ride. "Angkor Wat brings in a huge amount of money to Cambodia."

"I guess so," he responds. "Cambodians get to enter for free, which is good, but no one really knows exactly where the money goes that is collected from foreigners. In 1999 the government gave a 10-year lease to a private company called Sokimex to handle all of the ticket sales in Angkor. A man named Sok Kong owns Sokimex, and he is a personal friend and creditor to Prime Minister Hun Sen and his family. Sokimex is supposed to give $10 million US per year to Aspara, the government agency that oversees and manages the archaeological park. People think that most of that money actually ends up in the hands of corrupt government officials, because hardly any of it is spent to conserve the sites in the park."

"Is Angkor falling into disrepair?"

"Yes," says Kim San, "three million pairs of hands and feet brushing up against the sandstone bricks of the temples does a lot of damage, not to mention looting and vandalism, all of the waste produced, and the water used. Overuse of water destroyed the original city of Angkor, and now overuse is undermining the temples' sand foundation—the ground is literally sinking."

.

As we speed towards Angkor Wat, I realize I have a problem. The magazine dispatched me on this assignment to cover Angkor as an ecotourism site—to describe how tourism has helped revive Cambodia's ailing economy and preserve the local culture and environment. This information about ticket sales, temple destruction, and pollution seems to go against the ecotourism focus of my story.

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Kim San stops along the long moat we'll have to cross to enter the main temple complex. As we walk, Kim San continues his commentary. "Most Cambodians are happy with the tourism, Joseph. Even the anchovy paste sellers in Siem Reap are making money. We are safe—the Khmer Rouge is gone—so most Cambodians feel that letting Sok Kong, Hun Sen, and their cronies keep the money is a small price to pay for the improvement of our safety, economic standing, and cultural recognition throughout the world."

From my research, I know that Khmer Rouge is the name given to Cambodia's ruling party between 1975 and 1979. When the Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975, they declared that year to be Year Zero. All Cambodian history and culture prior to Year Zero was to be destroyed and replaced by the new revolutionary culture, starting from scratch. Foreigners weren't allowed in the country; essentially, Cambodia was cut off from the rest of the world until 1992, when the United Nations began its peacekeeping mission.

When we reach the top of the tower, Kim San instructs me to find a place to sit. There's nothing to do now but wait for the sun to rise and reveal the view. In the stillness, I slowly become conscious of the sound of water buffalo moving through the waters of the moat and muffled chants of nearby monks. Over 100,000 people live within the boundaries of the

archaeological park, making Angkor a living, breathing model of Cambodia's cultural heritage.

At last dawn breaks, the sun bathes the temple towers in a golden light, and thousands of intricate sculptures, carvings, and stone reliefs emerge from the shadows. I'm startled out of my reverie by a group of tourists huffing and puffing up the steps behind us and fussing to their guide that they're late and they've missed the sunrise.

"I'm sorry, Madame. I'm afraid the sun waits for no one, not even someone who forgot her camera in the room."

I laugh to myself at the clever retort. I'd been impressed to learn through my background research that official guides like Kim San are certified by the National Tourism Agency of Cambodia. They all speak exceptional English, hold university degrees, and are steeped in the culture and history of the area. All this work earns them a daily rate of between $10 and $20 US per day—a king's ransom compared to the average Siem Reap salary of approximately $40 US per month. Even off-duty policemen, paid approximately $30 US per month, hang out around the temples, ready to guide those who decide against hiring someone in town.

The arrivals are increasing with the light. Busses are lining up on the other side of the moat and the souvenir sellers are beginning their steady sales pitch.

"You were right, Kim San, it's getting crowded around here. Shall we explore?"

A group of monks walk past, chanting and holding flowers, incense, and candles. The cameras click away. Kim San explains, "They are celebrating Magha Puja, a day of veneration for Buddha and his teachings. The ceremony traditionally takes place at night. However, now the monks also perform the traditional ritual during the day so as to receive money from tourists. This money is used to fund a school where the monks pass on traditional skills in arts and crafts to the locals so they in turn can sell these products to tourists. When the monks have finished performing their ceremony they will accept tips to have their pictures taken with the tourists.

I turn and notice three little girls, bracelets and bamboo flutes in hand, standing in the middle of a group of shouting tourists.

"Canada! What's the capitol of Canada?"

"Ottawa!" responds one girl eagerly. "Ottawa in Ontario. Canada have 10 provinces. Ontario, Quebec, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Manitoba, British Columbia…" The child goes on to rattle off the rest of the provinces, plus their capitals and relative populations.

The crowd loves it. Video cameras whirr away, recording the scene. "These

kids are going to be on YouTube next week, aren't they?" I quip.

Kim San smiles. "They already are. They are most likely earning money to pay their teachers. The Khmer Rouge is gone, but we still have a big enemy in Cambodia: corruption. It is everywhere. Teachers charge children to enter the classroom, and even white-haired old women must pay off the army and/or police for the right to beg in the temples. We pay under the table for everything—birth certificates, travel visas, fair rulings from judges, everything. Everyone needs the money and everyone pays."

A little girl is tugging at my shirttail. "Handsome mister, where you from?"

"America," I respond.

"America, very good country. Capitol Washington, D.C. You buy flutes for your children? Two flutes 2000 riels."

"I'll buy your flutes if you answer some questions for me," I bargain. "Tell me, do you go to school?"

"No. My brothers go to school. I earn money so they go to school."

"Why do your brothers go to school? What do they want to do when they grow up?"

"My brothers want to have a hotel. Make lots of money. They don't want to work on farm. Too hard work. No money. Now you buy flutes?"

–

"Yes, now I'll buy your flutes." Digging deep in my pockets for the 2000 riels, I glance at Kim San, who, with his university degree, observes these interactions with detached amusement. I look back at the determined face of this little salesgirl, who, at 8 or 9-years-old, probably knows more geography than I do. I hand her the 2000 riels and turn around to look at Angkor Wat. With the sun rising behind it, it glows like a beacon of hope and casts a wide shadow below. At that moment, I know what the title of my article will be—Angkor Wat: A Monumental Dilemma.