A big pile of grant money and a swank lab come in handy when you want to make major medical breakthroughs. But the 40 researchers at Seoul National University’s College of Veterinary Medicine have shown that grit and determination–and the absence of government interference–can be just as important. Two weeks ago, Hwang Woo Suk and Moon Shin Young, who direct the work at the cloning lab in Building 85, published a paper in the prestigious journal Science that shocked biomedical researchers and put South Korea at the center of one of the hottest and most controversial research fields: stem-cell therapy.
Researchers have for years thought that stem cells, which can grow into any type of cell in the human body, may one day provide cures for diseases such as Parkinson’s and diabetes. They can’t know for sure, though, without experimenting with stem cells harvested from human embryos, which in turn are created by cloning. While the most well-endowed labs in the United States, Britain, France and elsewhere are hamstrung by a political backlash against cloning research, South Korea has quietly filled the vacuum.
Although the lab in Building 85 is brand new–it was built a year ago–the college hasn’t devoted many resources to it. Its budget of less than $2 million a year comes from philanthropists and revenues from tuition–the government gives no money for stem-cell research. “Foreign researchers are surprised to see how little we spent for the project,” says Hwang, declining to give a figure. “Dedication amid scarcity is sometimes better than laziness amid abundance.” The lab occupies only the sixth floor of Building 85–a 10- by 10-meter space in which researchers in blue jumpsuits and hairnets work elbow to elbow. Dean Lee Mun Han says the college tends to concentrate on a few important research projects, like bird flu and mad-cow disease, “rather than chasing fashionable projects that bring money.”
The tight budget has meant that researchers have had to make do with less. For instance, whereas most veterinary schools have their own farms, Hwang’s lab borrows animals from privately owned farms. Researchers drive for hours into the countryside just to implant cloned embryos into the uterus of a cow or pig, which tends to decrease the success rate. To make up for this disadvantage, the researchers simply do more experiments. “There’s no secret to our success,” says Hwang. “Our philosophy is simple–no Saturday, no Sunday and no holiday. Just work.”
The work is hard, and scientists in Building 85–like those elsewhere in South Korea–are poorly paid. A world-renowned scientist like Hwang makes only about $50,000 a year. The university’s prestigious graduate school has trouble attracting students. Earlier this month a lawmaker called for Parliament to give more funding to the sciences and engineering. Recently President Roh Moo Hyun had lunch with some engineers turned CEO to boost morale.
Korea’s booming fertility industry has helped pick up the slack. Nearly 100 fertility clinics across the nation perform as many as 20,000 in vitro fertilizations a year for infertile mothers. Although the procedure costs only about $2,500, compared with $10,000 in the United States, the Korean success rate–better than 40 percent–is the highest in the world. This industry has created a labor force skilled in detailed lab work. “Koreans are the only people in the world who can pick up small beans with slippery steel chopsticks,” jokes Hwang. It’s also created a large pool of human eggs. Hwang’s researchers had access to 242 eggs from 10 different women.
Hwang’s biggest advantage is arguably the government’s hands-off attitude. While researchers in the United States, for instance, are banned from doing research on human cloning, Koreans are free to do whatever they see fit. Similar cutting-edge work is being done in countries like China and Israel, also with lax rules. “South Korea has the loosest laws regarding cloning in the world,” says Kim Byung Soo of the People’s Solidarity for Participatory Democracy, a civic group that objects to the research. “Dr. Hwang’s team wouldn’t have succeeded had it not been for the lax regulation.”
Nevertheless, most Koreans reacted to the news of Hwang’s cloning achievement with patriotic fervor. Hwang “hoisted the national flag on the hill of U.S. bioengineering technology,” said a Seoul daily. President Roh has promised to “place top priority on the support of the bioengineering industry.” Amid this patriotism, ethical issues have taken a back seat.
Will the anything-goes environment last? In December, the National Assembly passed a newly created Life Ethics Law regulating cloning research. When it takes effect in 2005, it will prohibit human cloning for purposes of reproduction, but not research. So far, lawmakers haven’t moved to restrict research, but with all the publicity, they’re coming under renewed pressure to do so. Last week Hwang said he will suspend experiments on human stem cells for a year to give the government time to clarify its position on the research. Should the government decide to ban it, Hwang says he’s prepared to take his operation overseas.
At stake is South Korea’s budding leadership in stem-cell research. Hwang is talking with researchers from the United States, Britain and Germany about collaborating on further experiments. “Our achievement will accelerate cloning research in the world,” Hwang says. For now, the workers in Building 85 will set the pace.
