Philip Bethge

Tag: synthetic biology

  • Der Schatz im Silberfisch

    Antibiotika aus Fliegenblut, Wundsalben aus Madenspucke, Enzyme aus Käferkotze – Forscher entdecken den Wert der Insekten für Medizin und Ackerbau.

    Von Philip Bethge

    Des Totengräberkäfers Geschäft ist Leichenfledderei. Immer wenn etwas stirbt, im Wald oder auf der Flur, krabbelt er heran, gelockt vom Odem des Todes.

    Aus einigen Kilometer Entfernung kann das kaum zwei Zentimeter lange Insekt Witterung aufnehmen. Hat es ein totes Tier gefunden, einen Maulwurf etwa oder ein Vogeljunges, fängt es an zu buddeln und wird nicht müde, bis das Aas unter der Erde ist. Dort, in dieser Grabeshöhle, betupft der Käfer den Korpus mit Sekreten gegen die Verwesung. Ein anderer Saft verflüssigt den Kadaver dann zu Babybrei: Der Totengräber füttert seine Larven mit der stinkenden Fleischsoße.

    Appetitlich klingt das nicht. Doch Forscher sind begeistert von dem morbiden Kerbtier. Denn was der Totengräber mit seinen Körpersäften schafft, würde sich der Mensch gern zunutze machen.

    “Wie gelingt es einem so kleinen Käfer, eine komplette Maus zu konservieren und zu verflüssigen?”, fragt der Gießener Insektenforscher Andreas Vilcinskas, 51. “Das ist, als würde ich Sie anspucken und Sie lösten sich mit Haut und Haaren auf!”

    Der Totengräberkäfer sei ganz offenbar dazu in der Lage, extrem wirkungsvolle Konservierungsstoffe und Enzyme zu produzieren, sagt Vilcinskas. Und noch mehr erfreut den Forscher: “Ein solcher Kadaverbewohner muss eine tolle Immunabwehr haben.” Die einst, so die Hoffnung, auch dem Menschen Gesundheit schenken kann.

    Vilcinskas ist Leiter des Loewe Zentrums für Insektenbiotechnologie & Bioressourcen in Gießen. Krabbeltiere sind seine Leidenschaft. Doch nicht Antennenlänge oder Gliederzahl interessieren den Professor – er begeistert sich für die inneren Werte der Tiere. “Jedes einzelne Insekt ist ein prall gefüllter Wirkstoffschrank”, sagt der Entomologe. Die Sechsbeiner seien die erfolgreichste Tiergruppe auf Erden, “und ich bin überzeugt, dass ihre Vielfalt sich auch in den Molekülen widerspiegelt, die sie produzieren”.

    Vilcinskas glaubt, Wirkstoffe aus den kleinen Körpern gewinnen zu können, die Krankheitserreger bekämpfen oder Getränke haltbar machen; er hofft auf Medikamente ….

    –> Weiterlesen auf Spiegel.de

  • Sie lebt

    Ein Spielfilm feiert Bernhard Grzimek als Naturschützer der ersten Stunde. Die Serengeti in Afrika war der Sehnsuchtsort des Zoodirektors, ihre Rettung war sein Lebenswerk. Was ist aus dem Vermächtnis des großen Tierliebhabers geworden?

    Von Philip Bethge – DER SPIEGEL 14/2015  – VIDEO

    Khetho Ncube hat schon viele Könige aus dem Dickicht springen sehen. “Häufig sitzen die Löwen dort im Schilf und warten auf Tiere, die zum Wasser wollen”, sagt der Tansanier und zeigt hinüber zum Ufer des nahen Flüsschens. Seine Winchester, geladen mit Patronen vom Großwild-Kaliber .458, hält der bullige Wildführer dabei fest in der Linken.

    Beruhigend. Denn wer in der Serengeti spazieren geht, fühlt sich schnell wie Löwenfutter.

    “Immer in meiner Nähe bleiben”, hatte Ncube am Morgen gemahnt, als die Sonne langsam den Himmel über der blassgelben Savanne eroberte. Für den Ernstfall vereinbarte er Handzeichen: stopp, langsam zurück, hinhocken.

    Jetzt eilt der Wildführer voraus, hinter sich eine in Ehrfurcht verstummte Touristenschar. Ein junger Massai im königsblauen Gewand, den traditionellen Mkuki-Speer in der Hand, geht am Ende der Wandergruppe, wohl als Attraktion für die Gäste, vielleicht aber auch tatsächlich, um rechtzeitig vor Simba, Tembo und Chui zu warnen. So heißen Löwe, Elefant und Leopard in der Landessprache Kisuaheli.

    Ncube liest den Savannenboden wie eine Karte, findet den Kot von Hyänen, weiß vom Kalzium der Knochen ihrer Opfer, und Elefantendung voll spitzer Akaziendornen (“Niemals drüberfahren, sonst ist der Reifen platt”). Dann hebt er die Hand. Die Besucherkarawane kommt zum Stillstand. Vier Kaffernbüffel galoppieren unweit vorbei, muskulöse Fleischberge mit furchterregenden Hörnern.

    “Die gefährlichsten der großen Wildtiere”, flüstert Khetho Ncube, der für einen Reiseveranstalter arbeitet. “Die sollte man nicht überraschen.” Gereizte Elefanten würden erst mal eine Scheinattacke führen, Ohren nach vorn, wütend peitschender Rüssel, berichtet der Wildführer, “aber wenn ein Büffel angreift, ist man in Todesgefahr”.

    “Walking Safari” heißt das Abenteuer, an dem an diesem Tag zum Beispiel Pat Kurtiniatis und Mike Cramer teilnehmen, ein Rentnerpaar aus dem Orange County in Kalifornien. Die Reise stand bei ihnen auf jener Liste wichtiger Dinge, die sie noch tun wollten in ihrem Leben.

    Der Serengeti-Nationalpark in Tansania, etwa so groß wie Schleswig-Holstein, ist eines der letzten großen Wildnisgebiete der Erde, ein Sehnsuchtsort der Menschheit auf der Suche nach dem Natürlichen, Unberührten, Ursprünglichen. Kaum einer wusste das besser als Bernhard Grzimek , der langjährige Direktor des Frankfurter Zoos, der vor mehr als 55 Jahren mit seinem Sohn Michael in diese endlose Savanne kam und den Dokumentarfilm “Serengeti darf nicht sterben” drehte.

    Am kommenden Freitag zeigt die ARD einen neuen Spielfilm über Grzimek , den Deutschen, der nicht weniger vorhatte, als die Fauna Afrikas zu retten. In der Hauptrolle: Ulrich Tukur, der den Mann als visionären Tierschützer gibt, als sendungsbewussten Ökopionier – und großen Frauenhelden.

    –>> Artikel im Original auf SPIEGEL Online lesen

    In modischem Einreiher, das Silberhaar sorgsam gescheitelt, plauderte Grzimek in seiner Fernsehsendung “Ein Platz für Tiere” weitgehend konzeptfrei über See-Elefanten und Trompeterschwäne, über doppelköpfige Nattern oder Paradiesvögel, während ihn ein passender tierischer Partner aus dem Frankfurter Zoo umspielte.

    Weltweite Berühmtheit verschaffte sich der Tierheger allerdings erst, als er nach Afrika aufbrach und mit “kreuzzüglerischem Pathos vor der Vernichtung der letzten frei lebenden Großwildherden Afrikas warnte”, wie der schrieb.

    Die britische Verwaltung des damaligen Tanganjika beabsichtigte, die Grenzen des Serengeti-Nationalparks neu zu ziehen, um dem Wunsch der Massai nach mehr Weideflächen zu genügen. Doch welche Grenzen sollten das sein? Grzimek und sein Sohn lernten fliegen, reisten mit einem zebragestreiften Kleinflugzeug nach Ostafrika und zählten mit der Sorgfalt preußischer Verwaltungsbeamter die in der Serengeti lebenden Gnus (99 481), Zebras (57 199) und Grant- sowie Thomson-Gazellen (194 654) , um deren Wanderwege zu bestimmen.

    Die Erlebnisse in der Savanne verarbeitete Grzimek zu dem Film “Serengeti darf nicht sterben”. Das Werk (Grzimek: “Nebenbei gedreht”) trug ihn auf den Gipfel seines Ruhms und wurde 1960 mit einem Oscar ausgezeichnet. Sohn Michael erlebte den Triumph nicht mehr: Er war im Januar 1959 noch während der Dreharbeiten mit der Dornier Do 27 des Duos abgestürzt.

    Der Vater verschrieb sich umso entschlossener der Aufgabe, die Serengeti zu bewahren. Als er 1987 starb und neben seinem Sohn am Rand des Ngorongoro-Kraters beerdigt wurde, war die Wildnis der Serengeti weltberühmt.

    Doch was ist aus Grzimeks Vermächtnis geworden? Wie steht es um die Serengeti, fast 30 Jahre nach dem Tod des zoologischen Dampfplauderers? Und, viel grundsätzlicher: Kann es auch in dieser immer dichter bevölkerten Welt gelingen, der Großfauna, also Elefanten, Nashörnern, Büffeln oder Löwen, ein dauerhaftes Überleben in freier Wildbahn zu garantieren?

    Antworten gibt es vor Ort, am besten direkt im Herzen des Nationalparks, in Seronera. Der Ort, kaum mehr als ein paar versprengte Häuser, ist Sitz der Parkverwaltung. Grzimek ist hier immer noch präsent. Als Pappkamerad steht er im Besucherzentrum neben dem ersten Staatspräsidenten Tansanias, Julius Nyerere.

    Grzimeks Statthalter vor Ort heißt Robert Muir, Afrikachef der Zoologischen Gesellschaft Frankfurt (ZGF) mit ihrem Gorilla-Logo. Der drahtige Brite empfängt auf der Veranda seines kleinen Wohnhauses, von der aus der Blick über die weite, mit Akazien und Buschwerk gesprenkelte Ebene geht. Unweit weiden Antilopen und Giraffen. Später wandern zwei Elefanten nur wenige Meter am Haus vorbei.

    “Grzimeks Arbeit war visionär”, sagt Muir, “er hat Nyerere überzeugt, die Parkgrenzen so zu legen, dass die Tiere ihren Wanderwegen folgen können.”

    Rund zwei Millionen Weißbartgnus, Zebras und Thomson-Gazellen ziehen im Jahresrhythmus durch die Serengeti und die angrenzenden Gebiete , fünfmal mehr als noch zu Grzimeks Zeiten. Über 26 000 Quadratkilometer erstreckt sich ihre Wanderung, von Tansania nach Kenia in das Massai-Mara-Schutzgebiet und zurück, durch die Flüsse Mara, Grumeti und Mbalageti, in denen die Krokodile lauern.

    Das Naturwunder der Serengeti, es existiere noch, sagt Muir. Doch der Druck wächst. Rund 170 000 Touristen aus aller Welt besuchen jährlich den Wildnispark. Geht es nach der tansanischen Nationalparkbehörde (Tanapa) , sollen es künftig jedoch noch mehr werden. Gleichzeitig kommen Wilderer in das Gebiet – auf blutiger Jagd nach Elfenbein und Nashorn.

    Und immer mehr Menschen leben um den Park herum. Rodung, Landwirtschaft, Viehherden und Wasserknappheit bedrohen das Ökosystem. Hinzu kommt der Klimawandel, der den uralten Kreislauf durcheinanderzubringen scheint – wie in diesem Jahr, in dem die ersehnten Regenfälle bislang fast vollständig ausgeblieben sind.

    “Für Tansania steht sehr viel auf dem Spiel”, sagt Muir. Ein Viertel des Bruttoinlandsprodukts wolle das Land künftig mit Tourismus erwirtschaften, berichtet er. Gleichzeitig gebe es internationale Verpflichtungen, den Naturreichtum zu erhalten, immerhin gehöre die Serengeti “zu den Top Drei der Nationalparks der Erde”, neben Galápagos und Yellowstone.

    Was auf dem Spiel steht, lässt sich am folgenden Morgen erahnen, als es im Land Rover Richtung Süden geht. Hunderte Gnus und Zebras galoppieren entlang der Straße in langen Reihen über die Savanne, eine endlose Kolonne schnaufender und blökender Tierleiber, die zusammen- und wieder auseinanderzufließen scheinen wie die Strudel eines Flusses, der sich über das Land ergießt.

    Elefanten mit ihren Jungen trotten gemächlich durch den aufgewirbelten Staub, während Warzenschweinfamilien mit hoch erhobenen Schwänzchen über die Ebene sprinten. Unter einem Busch, kaum fünf Meter von der Straße entfernt, labt sich ein Rudel Löwen an den Eingeweiden eines frisch erlegten Gnus. Die Schnauzen rot von Blut, reißen sie schwer atmend Fleischbrocken aus dem Tierkörper heraus, direkt daneben parken die Geländewagen der Touristen.

    Aus den geöffneten Wagendächern ragen die Köpfe bleicher Amerikaner und Europäer heraus, deren ununterbrochen klickende Kameras mit ihren Teleobjektiven wirken wie seltsame Körperanhängsel. Die Löwen stört es nicht im Geringsten.

    Die ruhig fressenden Großkatzen neben den schier endlosen Herden – der Tod, so alltäglich, wirkt fast profan angesichts des üppigen Lebens ringsumher.

    Doch der Bilderreigen des anscheinend Wilden, Ursprünglichen trügt. Der natürliche Kreislauf ist auch in der Serengeti längst gestört. Nach einer Stunde Fahrt ist die Ranger-Station von Moru im Süden des Nationalparks erreicht. Hier hat Philbert Ngoti von der Anti-Wilderei-Einheit der Tanapa das Sagen. Zusammen mit 51 Wildhütern kontrolliert Ngoti ein tausend Quadratkilometer großes Gebiet, um die letzten rund 30 Spitzmaulnashörner der südlichen Serengeti zu schützen.

    Im Rest des Parks tummeln sich weitere 20 dieser Tiere; jedes von ihnen hüten die Ranger wie eine kostbare Preziose. Denn für Wilderer ist derzeit nichts so wertvoll wie das Horn der massigen Huftiere. “Wenn ein Wilderer zwischen einer Gruppe von Elefanten und einem Nashorn wählen kann, wird er das Nashorn töten”, erzählt Ngoti. Der Schwarzmarktpreis für das Horn, dessen Material dem von Fingernägeln gleicht, liege in Vietnam oder China bei mehreren 10 000 US-Dollar pro Kilogramm, berichtet der Ranger. Ein “lukratives Geschäft”, das er mit seinen Kollegen zu verhindern sucht.

    “Die Wilderer sind gut bewaffnet”, sagt Ngoti, “aber wir sind es auch.” Immer wieder komme es zu Feuergefechten. “Wer nicht vorsichtig und gut trainiert ist, kann hier leicht sein Leben verlieren”, sagt er.

    Die Ranger haben vielen der Nashörner einen Sender ins Horn implantiert. So können die Tiere leicht aufgespürt – und beschützt – werden. Mit dem Pritschenwagen geht es von Moru aus querfeldein über die Savanne. Einer der Männer streckt eine Antenne in den Himmel. Immer lauter wird das rhythmische Klicken des Empfängers. Dann taucht, zunächst kaum sichtbar gegen das gelbe Savannengras, ein massiges Nashorn in der Ferne auf. Rajabu haben es die Männer getauft, ein Bulle, über 40 Jahre alt. Gegen den Wind nähern sich die Ranger dem Tier. Es blickt herüber, zögert. Nashörner sind Einzelgänger, scheu und gleichzeitig gefährlich. Attacke oder Flucht: Ngoti hat schon beides erlebt. “Wenn wir zu schnell zu nah kommen, wird das Tier angreifen”, warnt er. Schließlich trollt sich das tonnenschwere Wesen.

    Ngoti und seine Männer können durchaus stolz auf ihre Arbeit sein. Denn Anfang der Neunzigerjahre hatten Wilderer die Nashörner in der Serengeti auf nur noch zwei Weibchen dezimiert. Aus dem nahen Ngorongoro-Schutzgebiet wanderte 1993 dann Rajabu in das Gebiet ein. Ein Glücksfall: Während das Abschlachten der Tiere in Südafrika eskaliert (Spiegel 11/2015) , wächst die Population in der Serengeti.

    “Im Moment werden fünf bis sechs Kälber jährlich geboren”, sagt Ngoti. Nur ein einziges Nashorn sei im vergangenen Jahr von Wilderern getötet worden.

    Ähnlich verhält es sich mit den Elefanten. Ihre Zahl liegt im Serengeti-Ökosystem nach einer Zählung von vergangenem Jahr bei rund 6000 Tieren – fünf Jahre zuvor waren es 3068. “Wir sehen sehr viele Jungtiere”, schwärmt ZGF-Mann Muir. Dabei geht der Trend in Tansania eigentlich in die andere Richtung: 2009 lebten rund 109 000 Elefanten in Tansania. Bei der jüngsten Erhebung 2014 waren es nur noch rund 44 000.

    Warum geht es den Tieren in der Serengeti besser? Das Erfolgsrezept der Tanapa sei es, sagt Muir, ständig Präsenz zu zeigen. Über 300 Ranger würden im Park patrouillieren. Auch die Touristen helfen. “Je mehr Leute hier herumfahren, desto schwieriger ist es für die Wilderer, versteckt zu operieren”, sagt der Biologe.

    Doch der Erfolg gegen die Wilderer im Park ist ein Pyrrhussieg, solange die Hintermänner nicht gefasst werden. Wie Kriminalisten sind die Tanapa-Experten daher auch in den umliegenden Dörfern im Einsatz. Wo wird die Schmuggelware gelagert? Über welche Kanäle gelangt sie nach Übersee? Woher kommen die Waffen?

    Der Kampf um die Serengeti muss vor allem außerhalb des Nationalparks gewonnen werden. Und dabei geht es nicht nur um die Wilderei allein. Drei bis vier Millionen Menschen leben heute in den Dörfern um das Schutzgebiet – weit mehr als noch zu Grzimeks Zeiten.

    Wilddiebe legen Drahtschlingen aus, in denen sich jährlich Tausende Gnus, Zebras oder Impalas verfangen und elend zugrunde gehen. Immer näher rücken die Felder der Einheimischen an die Parkgrenzen heran. Der Wasserhaushalt des Gebiets wird verändert, die Wanderschaft der Tiere behindert. Im Gegenzug trampeln marodierende Elefanten durch die Mais- und Hirsefelder der Menschen.

    Den Löwen wiederum gilt das Vieh als leichte Beute. Die Rache der Hirten kann ihnen gewiss sein. Gerade wieder sind zehn der Raubkatzen westlich des Parks vergiftet aufgefunden worden.

    Besonders schwierig ist die Situation östlich des Parks, in den Schutzgebieten Loliondo und Ngorongoro. Dort siedeln vor allem Massai. Das Hirtenvolk lebt traditionell mit seinen Rinderherden, die als Statussymbol gelten. Immer mehr Massai und damit auch immer mehr Rinder sind in den vergangenen Jahren in die Gegend eingewandert. Inzwischen ist das Land stark überweidet. Die Massai würden ihr Vieh gern in die Serengeti treiben. Doch das dürfen sie nicht.

    “Die Hirten sehen eine Menge Gras auf der anderen Seite”, erläutert ZGF-Mann Muir, “das führt zu Spannungen.” Ein Streit um die Grenzziehung des Parks ist entbrannt; manche der Landrechte außerhalb des Schutzgebiets sind bis heute ungeklärt. Und seit langer Zeit schon ist man sich nicht einig, wer genau über die Nutzung des Landes entscheiden darf. Im Oktober sind Parlamentswahlen in Tansania, darum ist alles hier im Moment politisch. Auch die Serengeti.

    “Die Gemeinden in der Nähe profitieren noch nicht genug vom Nationalpark”, sagt Muir. Tanapa und ZGF versuchen daher seit Jahren, den Einheimischen alternative Einkommensquellen zu eröffnen, die im Einklang mit dem Naturschutz stehen.

    In Nyichoka beispielsweise, einem Dorf etwa 30 Kilometer westlich des Nationalparks, haben sich an diesem Tag die Mitglieder der “Sinduka Cocoba Group” um einen runden Tisch versammelt, auf dem ein blauer, mit drei Schlössern gesicherter Metallkasten steht. Nach einem festgelegten Ritual wird die Box entriegelt. Zum Vorschein kommen vier mit Geldscheinen gefüllte Plastikdosen. Sie enthalten das Gesamtvermögen der örtlichen “Naturschutzbank”. Reihum zahlen die Männer und Frauen sogenannte Anteile von jeweils 4000 Tansania-Schilling ein (etwa zwei Euro). Dann werden Schulden getilgt und Auszahlungen getätigt.

    An jedem Samstag kommen die Mitglieder der Bank zusammen. Der Sinn der Geldschieberei: Die Dorfbewohner vom Stamm der Ikoma legen zusammen, um ihren Mitbürgern später Mikrokredite gewähren oder selbst welche in Anspruch nehmen zu können. Das Geld investieren sie in Projekte, die ihnen den Lebensunterhalt sichern. Einzige Bedingung für die Finanzspritze: Die Natur darf durch die Unternehmungen nicht beeinträchtigt werden.

    Agnes Marongoli beispielsweise hat mithilfe der Kredite gemeinsam mit ihrem Mann Maro ein kleines Kulturzentrum aufgebaut. Vor einer von ihnen errichteten traditionellen Hütte führt eine Tanzgruppe den “Singori” auf, einen Erntedanktanz. Touristen kommen hierher, um Kunsthandwerk zu kaufen und sich die uralten Tiermythen der Ikoma anzuhören. Zusätzlich verkaufen die Marongolis Honig an die Hotels der Gegend – auch die Bienenstöcke haben sie mit Mikrokrediten finanziert.

    “Wir waren Jäger”, sagt Marongoli, “jetzt profitieren wir von den Touristen, die in unsere Läden kommen.” Das Geschäft lohnt sich für sie, die nie eine Ausbildung bekommen hat: Ihre acht Kinder kann sie nun auf die Schule schicken.

    Die Gemeinden rund um Nyichoka haben ihr gesamtes Land zum Wildtier-Schutzgebiet umgewidmet. Bewusst verzichten sie auf Ackerbau, Jagd und Viehzucht. Das Gebiet grenzt direkt an den Nationalpark und ist eine Art Wildnis-Pufferzone. Die Tiere profitieren von der Erweiterung ihres Lebensraums. Gleichzeitig können die Gemeinden ihr Land direkt an Tourismusunternehmen verpachten. Acht Luxuszeltlager für Touristen sind in der Gegend entstanden.

    Im vergangenen Jahr sei dadurch rund eine halbe Million US-Dollar in die Gemeindekassen gespült worden, berichtet Masegeri Rurai, der die “Ikona Wildlife Management Area” für die ZGF betreut.

    Vom Tourismus im Nationalpark selbst profitiert die lokale Bevölkerung jedoch kaum. Mit den Gewinnen finanziert die Tanapa vor allem den Unterhalt der anderen 15 Nationalparks in Tansania, die kaum Einnahmen haben.

    Naturschutz ist ein teures Geschäft. Und der Tourismus muss ihn finanzieren. Doch wie ist die Balance zu halten? Im Massai-Mara-Schutzgebiet in Kenia stehen die Geländewagen in der Hauptsaison in langen Schlangen vor jedem Löwenrudel. Im Vergleich dazu wirkt die Serengeti menschenleer. Und das ist so gewollt.

    Zurück in Seronera wartet schon Tanapa-Mitarbeiter Godson Kimaro, Chef der Tourismusabteilung der Serengeti. “Wir wollen mehr Gäste hier haben”, sagt Kimaro, “aber gleichzeitig muss der Tourismus nachhaltig bleiben”. Rund 2700 Betten in etwa 120 Safari-Camps gibt es im gesamten Park. Kimaro plant etwa 550 zusätzliche Betten für die nächsten Jahre. Das muss dann aber auch reichen.

    Gleichzeitig will er das Angebot für die Gäste attraktiver machen. Neben den traditionellen “Game Drives” gibt es heute schon Heißluftballonfahrten. Spezielle Kurse für Tierfotografie, mehrtägige Wandertouren oder Dinnerpartys in der Wildnis schweben Kimaro vor.

    Für so viel Exklusivität muss man ordentlich zahlen: Schon der Eintritt in den Park kostet 60 US-Dollar, pro Tag. Dazu kommt die Übernachtung, die schon in den Safari-Zeltlagern 500 US-Dollar kosten kann. Wer ein echtes Dach über dem Kopf vorzieht, zahlt leicht das Doppelte.

    Fast ausschließlich aus Übersee sind daher die Gäste der Four Seasons Safari Lodge Serengeti, einer Hotelanlage nördlich von Seronera. Von der breiten Terrasse mit ihren edlen Sitzecken aus geht der Blick auf einen azurblau schimmernden Swimmingpool. Unterhalb des Beckens und kaum zehn Meter dahinter befindet sich ein künstlich angelegtes Wasserloch, das sich aus dem geklärten Brauchwasser des Hotels speist.

    An diesem Abend ist eine komplette Elefantenherde an der Tränke erschienen, dazu Impalas und eine Gruppe von Kaffernbüffeln. In der Ferne ziehen Giraffen. Langsam senkt sich die Sonne. Kellner reichen eisgekühlte Getränke. Ein warmer Wind umfächelt die Touristen. Es ist das perfekte Out-of-Africa-Abziehbild inklusive der Schirmakazien, die sich gegen den Himmel abzeichnen.

    Vielleicht ist genau dies das Schicksal der Wildnis: dass sie sich nur als kitschige Postkarte erhalten lässt, als ein Ort temporärer Zivilisationsflucht.

    “Die Natur aber bleibt ewig wichtig für uns”, schrieb Grzimek in seinem Serengeti-Buch. Politische Sorgen hingegen führten dann nur noch “ein Buchstabenleben” in Geschichtsbüchern. “Aber ob dann noch Gnus über die Steppen stampfen und nachts Leoparden brüllen, das wird den Menschen immer noch etwas bedeuten.”

    –>> Artikel im Original auf SPIEGEL Online lesen

    [box]Wenn Bernhard Grzimek (1909 bis 1987), der damalige Direktordes Frankfurter Zoos, “Ein Platz für Tiere” moderierte, schauten in den Sechziger- und Siebzigerjahren Millionen zu. Grzimek war scharfzüngiger Tierschützer, Enzyklopädist (“Grzimeks Tierleben”) und Regisseur. Sein Film “Serengeti darf nicht sterben” verschaffte ihm Weltruhm.[/box]

  • Lieber naiv

    Von Philip Bethge, DER SPIEGEL 42/2014

    Mit großer Gleichgültigkeit nimmt die Welt die Hiobsbotschaften der 12. Biodiversitätskonferenz im südkoreanischen Pyeongchang zur Kenntnis: Die Vernichtung der Vielfalt geht fast ungebremst weiter. Keinesfalls wird es gelingen, wie geplant bis 2020 den Verlust an Artenvielfalt zu stoppen. Innerhalb von nur 40 Jahren sind die Wirbeltierpopulationen der Erde um die Hälfte geschrumpft, warnt der WWF. Die Versauerung der Ozeane bedroht das gesamte Meeresökosystem. Doch dringlich findet das offenbar niemand. Ein fataler Fehler. Denn der Verlust der Biodiversität ist die einzige wirklich irreversible globale Umweltveränderung. Und ohne Vielfalt stirbt auf lange Sicht auch der Mensch.

    Beispiel Ernährung: China hat jetzt schon 90 Prozent weniger Weizensorten als noch vor 60 Jahren, Indien 90 Prozent weniger Reissorten. Mangelt es jedoch an genetischen Varianten, können Pflanzen Naturkatastrophen oder Krankheiten nicht überstehen. Ganze Landwirtschaftszweige sind zudem bedroht, wenn Käfer, Bienen oder Schmetterlinge fehlen, die mehr als drei Viertel der wichtigsten Nutzpflanzen bestäuben, von Kürbissen über Äpfel bis zum Klee für die Nutztiere. Ob es neue Wirkstoffe für die Medizin sind, Enzyme und Mikroorganismen für die Biotechnologie oder neue Materialien wie etwa Spinnenseide – oft ist Vielfalt der Schlüssel zum Fortschritt. Und intakte Ökosysteme wirken auch als Ganzes. So wie in New York, wo die Catskill Mountains sauberes Trinkwasser bereitstellen. Oder auf den Philippinen, wo nur intakte Mangrovenwälder die Küste vor Tsunamis schützen können. Dabei kommt es auf jede Art an. Denn Ökosysteme sind wie Netze. Sie reißen, wenn zu viele Maschen fehlen.

    Der Zyniker zuckt mit den Schultern. Dann soll sich der Mensch eben ausrotten. Die Natur wird überdauern – in welcher Form auch immer. Ja, auch das ist richtig. Ich will aber kein Zyniker sein. Lieber schlage ich mich auf die Seite der vermeintlich Naiven. Ich will daran glauben, dass wir weitsichtiger, schlauer sind, dass wir noch längst nicht unser Bestes geben. Und ich will noch nicht einmal von der Hoffnung lassen, dass wir die Vielfalt aus einem ganz einfachen Grund erhalten werden: um ihrer selbst willen.

  • Hydropower Struggle: Dams Threaten Europe’s Last Wild Rivers

    Europe’s last remaining wild rivers flow through the Balkans, providing stunning scenery and habitat to myriad plants and animals. But hundreds of dam projects threaten to do irreparable harm to the region’s unique biospheres — to provide much needed electricity to the people who live there.

    By Philip Bethge

    How did Europe’s rivers look before they were tamed — back when they were allowed to flow freely through the beds they spent centuries carving out?

    Most of the Continent’s waterways, like the Elbe, the Rhine and the Danube, have long since been hemmed in. But examples of Europe’s largely vanished wilderness remain. Such as the Vjosë, which flows unfettered through its valley in southwestern Albania, splitting off into tributaries that once again flow together in a constant game of give-and-take with solid ground.

    “With every flood, the Vjosë shifts its course,” says Ulrich Eichelmann, a conservationist with the organization RiverWatch, as he looks across to the narrow ribbon of alluvial forest that clings to the side of the valley. “The river fills the entire valley,” says the 52-year-old. “Such a thing in Europe can only be found here, in the Balkans.” Then he pauses. On the opposite shore, a cormorant takes flight.

    The Vjosë: 270 kilometers (168 miles) of river landscape, from the Pindus Mountains of Greece all the way down to the Adriatic Sea. Not a single dam disturbs the water’s course. No concrete bed directs its flow. And every pebble tells a story, says Eichelmann — of pristine mountain enclaves, of waterfalls, gorges and lakes.

    The ‘Blue Heart of Europe’

    The Vjosë is not alone. Several crystal clear, untamed rivers rush through many countries in the region. “The blue heart of Europe beats in the Balkans,” says Eichelmann, who, together with environmental organization EuroNatur, works to preserve these natural water systems….

    –> Continue reading at DER SPIEGEL International

  • Vultures lured back to Germany

    Vultures are slowly returning to Germany, driven out long ago by an unwelcoming populace. At the behest of conservationists, loosened “carcass regulations” in Europe have made the search for food less daunting — but some still wonder if the birds will be able to survive.

    By Philip Bethge

    Griffon vulture number 259 is no longer able to fly. A bullet from a small-caliber rifle wielded by an unknown shooter shattered the ulna and radius of the bird’s wing in June. Veterinarians tried to rehabilitate the vulture, using physical therapy to strengthen its wing muscles and even applying leeches to improve circulation, but nothing worked.

    “It’s over for him,” says Wolfgang Rades, director of Herborn, a bird park in the central German state of Hesse. Rades casts a concerned glance toward the vulture, where it crouches on a pile of stones in a corner of its enclosure, looking a sad sight on this cold, damp morning. Yet for Rades, the bird is also a sign of hope. “He’s an ambassador for others of his kind living in the wild,” the biologist says. “Many more vultures will follow him, if we humans allow them to.”

    Griffon vulture 259 is among the vanguard of a new avian presence in Germany. Vultures are returning to the country, slipping stealthily into German airspace and often flying at heights of over 1,000 meters (3,300 feet). Ornithologists, glider pilots and hang gliders have all spotted these carrion-feeders above cities such as Hanover and Freiburg and regions such as the Black Forest and the Swabian Jura (see map).

    “At least 50 to 60 vultures have been sighted in Germany this year,” says Dieter Haas from the Vulture Conservation Initiative (GESI) based in Albstadt, southwestern Germany. “And many more are sure to follow.”

    Ornithologist counted 26 griffon vultures just in mid-June in the area outside the town of Tessin in northeastern Germany. And from April to August, a bearded vulture named Bernd delighted bird lovers by flying all the way from the Alps to the Baltic Sea. Even cinereous vultures, a rare species with a wingspan of nearly three meters, have been spotted in German skies.

    Others may revile these species as supposed harbingers of death, but bird lovers are thrilled. “Vultures provide the best disposal service nature has to offer. They perform an important ecological function,” says Haas, who has observed vultures feeding numerous times. They plunge from the sky “like stones” when they spot a carcass on the ground, he says of such spectacles, and set to work on their find. “They gobble everything up and then they’re gone again.” Haas considers these birds “a gift from the skies.”

    EU Takes Away Food Source

    All four European vulture species — the bearded, cinereous, griffon and Egyptian vultures — were once native to Germany, but humans were no fans of the birds.

    A century ago, when vultures still lived here, people in the Alps believed bearded vultures stole lambs, goats and even small children. They called the birds “bone crushers,” for the way they dropped their prey from great heights onto rocks, smashing the bones to get at the marrow, their favorite food. Local lords offered a bounty for hunting the birds. In 1913, a hail of birdshot tore apart what is presumed to have been the Alps’ last bearded vulture, in the Aosta Valley, Italy.

    Many griffon vultures, meanwhile, perished from poison bait that was meant for wolves and foxes. Pesticides, too, are harmful to vultures, since they accumulate in the bodies of the animals on which vultures feed.

    More than anything, though, vultures disappeared because their once plentiful source of food ran dry — and remains so to this day. A 2002 EU hygiene regulation, also called the “carcass regulation” by conservationists, stipulates that germs from animal carcasses must be prevented from making contact with drinking water, to keep animal-borne diseases in check. The law was primarily introduced to stem the spread of bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE), or mad cow disease, but it also applies when a sheep gets its skull split open by lightning or a deer meets its end at the bumper of a car. No dead livestock may be left lying in the open, and hunters must either take the carcasses with them or quickly bury them.

    The new regulation kept European woods tidy — but there was nothing left for vultures to eat.

    Farmers in Spain, for example, had to close down their “muladares,” traditional spots where for centuries they had tossed carcasses for vultures to feed on, a hygienic method of disposing of dead animals.

    ‘Vulture Alert’ in Germany

    With their food source now gone, hungry vultures began attacking even living livestock. And in 2006, Germany experienced its first influx of vultures, as the emaciated birds flocked in to look for food. Coming as it did in the middle of the summer news slump, the arrival of birds such as a griffon vulture nicknamed “Gonzo” made headlines. German mass-circulation daily Bild reported a “vulture alert in the north.”

    Three years later, lawmakers eased the “carcass regulation” in response to pressure from conservationists. Spain’s muladares are back and the country’s vulture population has grown again, to around 25,000 pairs. Biologists have succeeded in reintroducing vultures into the French Alps as well. “It’s fantastic, they’ve seen griffon vultures and steinbock on the same crags out there,” Haas says enthusiastically.

    It’s no surprise, then, that the carrion-feeders have struck out for Germany as well. Young vultures are true distance travelers, undertaking wide-ranging exploratory flights before they start to breed between four and six years of age.

    Such was the case with one early adopter, the bearded vulture Bernd — so nicknamed, although the bird later turned out to be female. In 2012, Bernd was fitted with a radio transmitter and released into the wild in Switzerland. This year, on May 17, Bernd began a journey northward.

    Bernd flew first over Bavaria and the Czech Republic, then as far as Poland’s Baltic Sea coast, before turning west. She continued on past the cities of Stade and Bremen, then headed south once again. But then, near the city of Bayreuth, Bernd’s radio signal suddenly cut out. Bird lovers feared the vulture had suffered a violent death, but those fears were soon allayed. “The female bearded vulture appears to have managed to get rid of her radio tag,” conservationists announced online on June 13. Then on June 19 came the news: “Bernd is alive!” The bird was found, weakened, in the German state of Saxony. She was rehabilitated and returned to the wild in the Alps.

    Can Vultures Be Fed?

    When caught, Bernd was near death, having found too little food in Germany. It’s a common scenario. In June, a griffon vulture was spotted at a landfill outside the city of Vechta in northern Germany. “It sat around there for days and grew visibly weaker,” recalls Ludger Frye from the local chapter of Germany’s Nature and Biodiversity Conservation Union (NABU).

    Frye decided to feed the vulture. “But it was more difficult than I expected,” he says. Frye spoke with the landfill operator and with conservation and hunting authorities. He could give the bird game carrion, he was finally told. Frye found a couple pieces of venison “in a carcass bin” and threw them to the vulture. “Then the bird started doing better,” he says. Soon, it continued on its way.

    Frye is pleased with this success, but not precisely happy with the general situation. “If these animals don’t find anything to eat here, we’ll never get them back,” he says.

    It’s true that Germany is not yet a vulture paradise. “We’re overly concerned with hygiene,” says Rades at the bird park in Hesse. He points out, for example, that wildlife hit by cars in Germany still gets cleared away in next to no time. “Why don’t hunters just move carrion 100 meters or so into an open field and leave it for the vultures?” the biologist asks. And, he adds, why not re-establish specific locations for feeding these birds?

    Haas from the Vulture Conservation Initiative has set up one such spot already. In the Danube River valley outside the town of Sigmaringen, he regularly brings found carrion to a field belonging to a shepherd friend of his. Haas reports that he’s seen some vultures circling above the field, but so far none has landed. “They don’t quite dare,” he says. Next, he wants to try bringing in vultures from zoos — ones that have had accidents and are no longer able to fly, what Haas calls “crash vultures” — to provide a “trust-building measure” for the wild birds.

    Habitat Restoration

    Will offering food to these birds of prey really work? Supplying the birds’ flight routes with enough meat would call for a fair number of carcasses. The demand would amount to “one cow per year for each vulture,” calculates Haas, who dreams of setting up observation platforms near such feeding sites as a draw for eco-tourists. He imagines an afternoon outing to watch vultures feed would present an almost irresistible attraction. “People could experience something really worthwhile,” Haas says.

    That idea, though, goes too far even for some bird experts. Lars Lachmann of NABU, the conservationist group, finds it a bit premature to be feeding vultures. “With the current low population numbers, at the moment that would just lead to carcasses lying around everywhere, which people would then blame on conservationists,” he says.

    Instead, Lachmann wants to restore the birds’ habitat. Vultures need rocky outcroppings and open pastures where a sheep might now and then fall dead without immediately being “disposed of according to regulation,” Lachmann says. “Then the vultures will come of their own volition.” He considers the foothills of the Alps, the Swabian Jura and the Harz Mountains in central Germany all to be “potential griffon vulture country.”

    What remains to be seen is whether or not the general public will give these strictly protected carrion-feeders a warm welcome. Cases such as that of griffon vulture 259, the bird felled by a rifle bullet, make it seem as though the writing may already be on the wall. Whoever shot the bird was most likely not a hunter, biologist Rades says, but a “gun nut with a small-caliber rifle.” It seems ignorance and prejudice may once again seal the fate of vultures in Germany.

    A different approach is possible, though. Haas tells the story of 23 griffon vultures that turned up one day in the Lorraine region of France and prepared to spend the night in the woods there. “Right away, someone jumped in and provided them with two dead sheep,” he says. The next morning, the same French man “took pictures of the vultures and put a great story up online.”

    Translated from the German by Ella Ornstein

  • The Second Cooing: Raising Passenger Pigeons from the Dead

    The Second Cooing: Raising Passenger Pigeons from the Dead

    The world has been without passenger pigeons since 1914. Now, scientists want to bring them back. Geneticist Ben Novak has embarked on the project and has begun collecting passenger pigeon DNA from natural history museums. His “de-extinction” efforts are not without critics.

    By Philip Bethge

    The eye sockets of the slender pigeon are filled with light-colored cotton. Its neck feathers shimmer in iridescent colors, and it has a russet chest and a slate-blue head. The yellowed paper tag attached to its left leg reads: “Coll. by Capt. Frank Goss, Neosho Falls, Kansas, July 4, 1875.”

    Ben Novak lifts up the stuffed bird to study the tag more closely. Then he returns the pigeon to a group of 11 other specimens of the same species, which are resting on their backs in a wooden drawer. “It’s easy to see just dead birds,” he says. “But imagine them alive, billions of birds. What would they look like in the sky?”

    Novak has an audacious plan. He wants to resurrect the passenger pigeon. Vast numbers of the birds once filled the skies over North America. But in 1914 Martha, the last of her species, died in a zoo in Cincinnati, Ohio.

    Novak, a researcher with the Long Now Foundation, a California think tank, wants to give the species a second chance. At the Museum of Vertebrate Zoology in Berkeley, Novak used a scalpel to slice small tissue samples from the red-painted toes of the passenger pigeons kept there. He hopes to isolate tiny bits of DNA from the samples and use them to assemble an entire genotype. His ultimate goal is the resurrection of the passenger pigeon.

    “It should be possible to reconstruct the entire genome of the passenger pigeon,” says Novak. “The species is one of the most promising candidates for reintroducing an extinct species.”

    The art of breathing new life into long-extinct species is in vogue among biologists. The Tasmanian devil, the wooly rhinoceros, the mammoth, the dodo and the gastric-breeding frog are all on the list of candidates for revival. To recover the genetic makeup of species, experts cut pieces of tissue from stuffed zoological rarities, pulverize pieces of bone or search in the freezers of their institutions for samples of extinct animals.

    The Dream of “De-Extinction”

    The laboratory techniques to create new life with bits of genetic material were pure fantasy in the past. But now scientists believe that the vision could become reality, step by step. Experts in bioengineering, zoologists, ethicists and conservationists recently met in Washington, DC for a public forum on “de-extinction.”

    “Extinct animals are the most endangered species of them all” because “there is hardly anything left but the DNA,” says Stewart Brand of the Long Now Foundation, which co-hosted the meeting with the National Geographic Society. The current showpiece project in bioengineering is the rebirth of the passenger pigeon.

    The story of Ectopistes migratorius is a striking example of human hubris. When the Europeans arrived, the passenger pigeon was probably the most common bird on the American continent. The birds travelled in giant flocks, sometimes several hundred kilometers long. “The air was literally filled with pigeons,” naturalist John Audubon wrote in 1831, after observing the spectacle. “The light of noon-day was obscured as by an eclipse.”

    During their long migrations, the pigeons devastated entire forests. They descended upon their breeding grounds in eastern North America by the millions. There are historical accounts, for example, of a breeding ground in Wisconsin the size of Tokyo, where an estimated 136 million passenger pigeons came to breed. The noise was deafening.

    Living in a flock guaranteed the pigeons safety from predators. But the behavior also sealed their fate. When hunters discovered passenger pigeons as game birds, they were able to kill them with brutal efficiency, either by catching them in nets or shooting them with birdshot. They also placed pots of burning sulfur under trees until the birds, anesthetized by the vapors, dropped to the ground like overripe fruit.

    In some breeding areas, hunters slaughtered up to 50,000 passenger pigeons a day. The birds were shipped by the ton in freight cars and sold to be grilled at a few cents a dozen.

    Sequencing the Pigeon DNA

    By the time the establishment of a closed season for the birds was proposed in the US state of Minnesota in 1897, it was already too late. The last wild passenger pigeon was shot to death in 1900. Then, Pigeon Martha — named after Martha Washington, the country’s first First Lady — finally met her end at around noon on Sept. 1, 1914. She was the last surviving specimen in an unsuccessful program to breed the birds in captivity.

    Novak’s goal is to bring back the species, and he seems perfect for the job. In elementary school, he completed a project on the dodo, the extinct bird species from Mauritius. The passenger pigeon has fascinated him for years. “We caused the extinction of the species,” says the 26-year-old. “Now we have a moral obligation to bring them back.” To that end, the genetic detective is visiting natural history museums to take tissue samples from as many of the roughly 1,500 remaining samples of the skin and bones of the bird as possible.

    The passenger pigeon’s DNA has about 1.3 billion base pairs. Their sequence describes what the bird looks like, what its call sounds like and how it behaves. However, the animal’s genetic material in the museums is shredded into miniscule pieces, degraded by bacteria and contaminated with foreign DNA. But that doesn’t deter Novak. He and Beth Shapiro, an evolutionary biologist at the University of California in Santa Cruz, have begun to decode the bird’s DNA.

    The biologists have an ambitious plan. Bit by bit, they intend to match the DNA sequence of the passenger pigeon with that of its close relative, the band-tailed pigeon. Then they will essentially stamp out the divergent sequences from the band-tailed pigeon genome and replace them with synthesized passenger pigeon genetic material.

    With the help of the genome created in this fashion, the scientists will create primordial germ cells for the passenger pigeon, which will then be implanted into young embryos of an easy-to-breed pigeon species. The scientists hope that once they have grown and mated, the pigeons will lay eggs that will hatch into passenger pigeons.

    Chickens in a Duck’s Egg

    The procedure is not only complicated, but also largely untested. But, says Novak, “all the necessary steps are being studied intensively right now.” For instance, he explains, biologists have already managed to insert primordial germ cells from chickens into duck eggs. The drakes that emerged a short time later actually carried the sperm cells of chickens.

    Novak is already thinking beyond the hatching of the first passenger pigeon. Once a flock of the birds has been created, he plans to release them into the wild. “The passenger pigeon was a keystone species in the forest ecosystems,” says Novak, explaining that the destructive force of the flocks led to a radical rejuvenation of forests. Thick layers of pigeon droppings fertilized the soil, which soon led to new growth. “Passenger pigeons are the dance partners of the forest,” the scientist raves. And the “ballroom” still exists.

    But even if scientists can pull off this feat, does it really make sense to bring a long-extinct species back into the world? “Conservation biology’s priority must remain that of ensuring a future for species (currently) existing on the planet,” retired Professor Stanley Temple of the University of Wisconsin-Madison says critically. He fears that species extinction could be trivialized in the future. “People might say: ‘Can’t we let them go extinct and bring them back later?’”

    Zoologist David Ehrenfeld of Rutgers University also criticizes the species resurrection projects, saying that they are “extremely expensive” and, in light of a global species crisis, downright absurd. “At this very moment, brave conservationists are risking their lives to protect dwindling groups of existing African forest elephants from heavily armed poachers, and here we are talking about bringing back the wooly mammoth,” he says.

    Ehrenfeld also doesn’t believe that revived species would stand much of a chance of survival. “Who will care for the passenger pigeon chicks?” he asks, noting that parental care is “critical” for the development of young birds.

    Darkened Skies

    But Novak rejects the criticism. “Passenger pigeon parents were never incredibly involved in raising their young,” he says. He also plans to teach the chicks the basics of passenger pigeon life by dyeing carrier pigeons and essentially using them as flight controllers for the returning species.

    “We’ll ferry them with homing pigeons down to wintering grounds and back to the breeding area,” he says. “After a few years, we have passenger pigeons that fly the same (routes) as their forefathers.”

    When that happens, clouds of passenger pigeons will darken the skies once again, and another dream could be fulfilled for Novak. “Part of me would really love a passenger pigeon as a pet,” says the scientist. And perhaps, he adds, the pigeon zoo could even be expanded.

    There are 50 extinct pigeon species worldwide, says Novak. He has already earmarked three of them for resurrection: the Japanese silver-banded pigeon, the Choiseul crested pigeon and the thick-billed ground dove.

    “I am a pigeon nut,” says Novak.

    Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan

  • The Wizard of Stem Cell Science: Robert Lanza and the Dawning of a New Era of Hope

    Ethical worries have slowed medical research into applications for stem cells. But scientists like Robert Lanza have developed less controversial ways to derive stem cells from normal body cells rather than embryos and are already launching the first clinical trials.

    By Philip Bethge

    Stem cell researcher Robert Lanza hopes to save thousands of lives — and for a long time this caused him to fear for his own.

    “They bused these crazy people up from Kansas, and then they picnicked right outside our front door,” he says as he gazes out of his window at the gray winter landscape of Marlborough, Massachusetts. “The public thought we had these little buggy-eyed embryos here and were ripping apart their limbs to get these cells.”

    The physician always feared “somebody hiding in the bushes,” waiting to attack him. At the time, a doctor was threatened at a nearby fertility clinic, and a pipe bomb exploded at a bio lab in Boston.

    “Back then I thought that there was probably a 50-50 chance that I was going to get knocked off because I was so visible,” says the doctor. Then he leans back in his chair and laughs. Lanza likes to flirt with danger: “I said, okay, try to kill me — I’m still going to do what I think is right.”

    In Lanza’s case, doing what is “right” involves working with therapies based on human stem cells. The blind shall see again; the paralyzed shall walk again; the hemophiliac shall not bleed anymore. That may sound like something out of the Bible, but Lanza is no faith healer. In fact, the US business magazine Fortune called him “the standard-bearer for stem cell research.” The 57-year-old is the chief scientific officer at the US company Advanced Cell Technology (ACT) and one of the most flamboyant and controversial figures in this field of research.

    Militant anti-abortionists tried to hunt Lanza down because embryos had to die for his research. Just last year, the scientific journal Nature wrote that ACT has “a history of public blunders” and a reputation for “overhyping results.”

    At the same time, however, Lanza is writing medical history. For over one year now, eye patients in the US and the UK have been treated with cells from ACT laboratories — the first clinical stem cell trial worldwide.

    And there is a world premiere in the making: Lanza’s team has cultivated blood platelets that could be tested in hospitals as early as this year. The researcher and his team didn’t harvest the cells from embryonic stem cells, but rather from induced pluripotent stem (iPS) cells derived from normal body cells.

    “It took a decade,” says Lanza, “but now we are finally ready to move into the clinic with our stem cell therapies.”

    The Making of a Rebel Scientist

    Lanza is a slender man with short hair that stands on end, and he speaks so quickly that his sentences tend to be cut off. His laboratory is located in an ugly commercial building on the outskirts of Marlborough. It’s hard to imagine that a medical revolution is brewing in this dreary setting. The petri dishes, test tubes and steel containers filled with liquid nitrogen are teeming with human cells. The ACT “Master Cell Bank” cost $1 million (€770,000), says Lanza, “but these things grow like weeds once a stem cell line has been established.”

    The cell factory is currently producing batches of iPS blood platelets. Emergency wards have a huge demand for these helpers in the body’s natural clotting mechanism. Lanza explains that a lack of these elements can have dramatic consequences: His sister was seriously injured during an accident. The hospital didn’t have enough blood platelet concentrate. “She bled to death,” he says.

    Lanza wants to prevent something like that from ever happening again. His team has found ways to cultivate an “unlimited supply” of the cells. When frozen, he says, they can be kept for months. He is currently negotiating the final details of the planned study with the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). “We don’t need any embryos to make iPS,” Lanza says with pride. “If this type of stem cell works,” he adds, “the whole ethical controversy will be eliminated.”

    Venturing to start clinical trials now is seen as a bold step. But Lanza is used to falling out of line. Even back when he was a schoolboy — just after the genetic code had been deciphered — he decided to alter the genetic makeup of a white chicken to make it black. “So I went to my teacher and told him that I was going to change the genetic makeup of the birds,” Lanza recounts. “He said: ‘Lanza, you’re going to go to hell.’”

    This merely encouraged the 13-year-old. He cobbled together some laboratory equipment. To gain support for his experiment, the youngster boarded a bus in his hometown of Stoughton, close to Boston, and went “looking for a Harvard professor,” as he explains with a grin. At first, his journey appeared to end at the closed gates of Harvard Medical School. But Lanza soon saw “a short, balding guy” coming across the parking lot. “He was wearing khaki pants and had a bunch of keys,” he says. “I thought he was the janitor.” The boy had no idea that this was Stephen Kuffler, one of the most famous neurophysiologists of his time.

    Kuffler played along: He opened the door for Lanza, allowed the boy to explain to him how genetics worked, and pushed him up the stairs. This opened up a new universe for the up-and-coming scientist. He repeated his chicken experiment and landed his first publication in Nature.

    The Dawning of a New Medical Era

    Lanza likes to tell this story to visitors. It shows how zeal can overcome all obstacles. He is often compared to the main character played by Matt Damon in the film “Good Will Hunting,” a highly talented outsider who, like Lanza, comes from a humble background.

    “Right from the beginning, I probably didn’t follow the rules,” says Lanza with a certain amount of pride. He studied medicine at Harvard. In South Africa, he worked with Christiaan Barnard, the surgeon who performed the world’s first human heart transplant in 1967, and with Jonas Salk, who developed the polio vaccine in the 1950s. Then, in 1996, the world’s first cloned sheep, Dolly, was born in Britain — and Lanza sensed that his hour had arrived.

    “I knew right away that cloning could revolutionize medicine,” he says. With the help of cloned stem cells, the young researcher was convinced that a wide range of top-notch replacement parts could be created for the human body.

    The physician signed up with the biotech startup ACT. Working for the company in 2000, he cloned a gaur, an endangered wild bovine native to Southeast Asia. Later, his team managed to transform the frozen skin cells of a banteng into a living sample of this Asian wild cattle. The skin cells came from an animal that had died a quarter of a century earlier in the San Diego Zoo.

    For Lanza, these were just practice exercises. The ultimate goal for him was always people — and he was at just the right place for that: In 2001, then-ACT CEO Michael West went before the press and announced that his company had cloned a human embryo for the first time. West spoke of the beginning of “a new era of medicine.” Then all hell broke loose.

    —> Read original article at SPIEGEL Online International

    Obstacles Along the Way

    When Lanza harkens back to those days, he becomes more serious. Although the ACT embryos had only grown to tiny balls consisting of six cells, for anti-abortion activists and pro-lifers the researcher was now the Antichrist incarnate.

    “I remember that I went down to Tennessee, to the Bible country, and I went to one of those churches to explain what we were really doing. As I went through the door with the minister, a guy got up and shouted “Murderer! Murderer!” Lanza hired a bodyguard.

    In the wake of the media coup, ACT started to founder. Investors withdrew from the company, and with George W. Bush in the White House, public funding for stem cell research dried up. “We went through multiple times where we lost the whole team,” says Lanza, who notes that they even had their phone disconnected for a while. “Rather than curing diseases, we were trying to resolve theological problems,” Lanza says bitterly. “And that’s not what I studied medicine for.”

    Talking about the issue has slowly made the doctor furious and, almost imperceptibly, his tone of voice is becoming shriller. Another story has to be told, that of a policeman standing in front of the door one day. Lanza was afraid that he would be arrested. But no: “He came into my office and said that he had a child who was slowly going blind,” the physician recalls. “He said that he had heard of these cells that could supposedly help, and I said: ‘Yes, I have these cells in a freezer, but I don’t have the $20,000 to test them on mice.’”

    Lanza had to turn the man away. It pains him to this day. “I don’t want to know how many people went blind because we lost our public funding,” he says angrily. “Nobody gets it; they say everything is fine; no, it’s not fine!”

    Changes in the Political Environment and Scientific Advances

    Attention shifted away from ACT. Instead, everyone started talking about Geron, another biotech company on the West Coast. Researchers there had succeeded in cultivating nerve cells from embryonic stem cells. With support from Christopher Reeve, the paralyzed “Superman,” there was renewed hope that spinal cord injuries could be healed. Three patients were treated using the therapy developed by Geron. But in November 2011, the company put the brakes on the research due to a lack of funds.

    That was the moment when Lanza realized that he once again had to play the role of stem-cell-research poster boy. But this time he had something to show for his efforts. Benefiting from progress that Geron had made, ACT had also managed to gain FDA approval for a clinical trial.

    Researchers had cultivated so-called retinal pigment epithelium (RPE) cells, which form a thin layer over the retina and keep the photoreceptor cells nourished and healthy.

    In July 2011, doctors at the University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA) injected the first two patients directly behind the retina, each with some 50,000 RPE cells from Lanza’s cell factory. There are now 36 patients in the US and the UK taking part in the trials. They either suffer from the hereditary Stargardt disease or age-related macular degeneration (AMD), both of which are conditions in which RPE cells slowly die, resulting in a loss of vision.

    Initial Success and Tempered Optimism

    One of the Stargardt patients is David Lee, from the northern English town of Leigh, just outside of Manchester. Following a routine eye checkup 25 years ago, Lee was told that he suffers from the disease. Over the ensuing years, he has had to idly stand by while he progressively loses his eyesight. “Watching television has become very hard, and reading is impossible without magnification,” the 47-year-old says.

    Then Lee heard about the stem cell trials and submitted an application to become a subject in the study. In late July 2012, he was operated on by a team working under surgeon James Bainbridge at Moorfields Eye Hospital in London. The doctors injected RPE cells in Lee’s left eye. “I was exceptionally happy about it,” he says.

    Lee regularly travels to London to have his eyes examined. His physicians are satisfied. The RPE cells from the bio lab are thriving in Lee’s retina. “I see definitely brighter on the eye that was operated on,” he says.

    He runs a bakery out of a small brick house in the center of Leigh, and he can still see just well enough to be able to sell cakes, pastries and bread. “I know that I won’t get my sight back”, Lee says. “But, for me, it would already be a big success not to lose any more of my sight.”

    Many of the patients report that the therapy is effective. “We have some surprisingly good visual outcome,” says Steven Schwartz, an eye surgeon at UCLA. He says that one of his patients can read a clock again and go shopping, while another can recognize colors again. In addition to AMD and Stargardt patients, Schwartz plans to integrate extremely nearsighted individuals into the test program soon. The FDA has already approved the clinical trials.

    Lanza is a “genius” and his work is “stellar,” Schwartz says. “The patients seem to tolerate the cells well,” he says. But the researcher warns against overly optimistic expectations, adding that it remains completely uncertain whether the innovative eye therapy will actually heal these ailments. He notes that the trials are mainly meant to test the safety of the procedure.

    Stem cells can transform into virtually any type of body cell. Once they have become differentiated, they tend not to cause any problems. But what happens if they continue to develop, and one of the RPE cells from the lab mutates in the eye and becomes malignant?

    “I worry that a single case of cancer in a stem cell model like this could set the field back enormously,” says Arthur Caplan, a bioethicist at the University of Pennsylvania. He is concerned that ACT may be pursuing its clinical trials far too aggressively. After all, the company has to placate its investors and outdo the competition.

    Competitors and Risks

    Indeed, Lanza will have to hurry up if he wants to be the first to come up with a clinically tested application for iPS cells. His greatest rival is located in Kobe, Japan, at the RIKEN Center for Developmental Biology. There, Dr. Shinya Yamanaka is working on groundbreaking stem cell therapies.

    And the Japanese researcher is a very capable contender. After all, he received the Nobel Prize in physiology or medicine last October for his method of producing iPS cells. Like Lanza, Yamanaka is striving to use stem cells to cure blindness from macular degeneration (AMD). But, unlike Lanza, he plans to use iPS cells.

    “Lanza is under tremendous pressure to show some positive results,” Caplan warns, adding that he is without a doubt a serious researcher. “But ACT has a history of overselling. They made a lot of promises in the past that just haven’t delivered.”

    Lanza is aware of the bad press. “Mistakes have been made,” he admits. But he remains feisty. For instance, he accuses Yamanaka, his Japanese counterpart, of venturing an experiment that is particularly risky. “We still don’t entirely understand how safe iPS cells are and how they work,” says Lanza. Using them to cultivate RPE cells to treat eye diseases is dangerous, he adds, because the cells could possibly become cancerous in patients’ eyes.

    “By contrast, we picked platelets for our first clinical trial with iPS because they have no nuclei,” he says. There is no chance of them growing out of control.

    Enthusiastic about the Future

    “Come have a look, I’m going to show you something else,” Lanza says at the end of the interview, as he opens a binder and pulls out a diagram that charts age relative to degree of paralysis. It has to do with multiple sclerosis. Lanza has studied mice that suffer from this crippling neurological disorder. The curve documents the sad fate of untreated animals: At the age of two, they drag their hind legs behind them. At the age of three, they are completely paralyzed.

    But it’s a completely different story among the mice that were treated with stem cells: The curve of this group can hardly be differentiated from that of healthy animals. “One shot of these cells and they are jumping around completely normal,” Lanza says with enthusiasm. The researcher treats the animals with so-called mesenchymal stem cells (MSCs), which are cultivated from embryonic stem cells or iPS cells. They resemble bone marrow cells and secrete substances in the body that work like a fountain of youth.

    “That’s the future,” Lanza says. He points to an entire list of diseases that could potentially be treated with MSC cells, including chronic pain, arthritis and Parkinson’s. “The biological potency of these cells is just incredible! And we can make them by the millions,” he exclaims.

    This is what Lanza is like when he’s in the grips of enthusiasm. His eyes sparkle and his gestures underscore each word. At moments like these, one senses how far his enthusiasm can take him.

    “Before ACT hired me, they gave me a task,” he explains. “I was asked to get all the Nobel laureates in the country to sign a letter to support embryonic stem cell research.”

    Lanza put his fax machine to work. Ever since then, he has had a stack of letters in his desk drawer — with the signatures of 70 Nobel Prize laureates.

    Translated from the German by Paul Cohen

    —> Read original article at SPIEGEL Online International

  • SPIEGEL Blog: Surrogate Mother (Not Yet) Sought for Neanderthal

    An interview published last week by SPIEGEL with American genetic scientist George Church has sparked frenetic media speculation about a supposed plan to bring the Neanderthal back from the dead. Church feels his remarks were mistranslated, but it was other media outlets that twisted his words.

    “Wanted: Surrogate Mother For Neanderthal,” screamed an article in the Berliner Kurier tabloid in the German capital on Tuesday, complete with an image of a grinning, bearded caveman. Britain’s Independent seemed positively creeped out by a Harvard professor who wanted to bring such beings back to life as some kind of “Palaeolithic Park.” Meanwhile, the Daily Telegraph implored: “Spare Neanderthals This Modern Freak Show.”

    Media and websites around the world — in Britain, Italy, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Russia, South Korea and Turkey — expressed interest in the idea of resurrecting the Neanderthal. By Wednesday morning, more than 600 sources on Google News had reported the story, with all citing SPIEGEL as their source. What happened?

    The source of the net furore was an interview SPIEGEL conducted with George Church. The Harvard University genetic researcher then provided an explanation to the Boston Herald for the sudden media fever. He blamed it on an error downstream of SPIEGEL. He said it had been incorrectly reported that he was looking for a surrogate mother to carry a Neanderthal clone.

    The sudden interest in the Neanderthal, our human cousin, may tell us a little bit about the diffuse fear of overly ambitious genetic researchers. But it tells us even more about the laws of tabloid journalism.

    In this case, the entire brouhaha arose in articles written outside of SPIEGEL’s domain. And it is important to us to communicate this because we make a significant effort to ensure that our stories are correctly translated when they appear on our English-language website. Occasionally mistakes slip through — as is inevitable with any site that relies heavily on translation — but when they do we are quick to correct them.

    In addition, we sent Church an English version of our interview the week before it went to print for authorization. This provided him with an opportunity to change any formulations that may have caused any room for misinterpretation. We did make some alterations later without checking, and have since apologized to him for introducing the word “hell,” which he did not say.

    A Storm of Coverage

    It should quickly be obvious to anyone following the hype over the Neanderthal surrogate mother closely that the storm of coverage didn’t break out until a week after the interview was published. Last Friday, we posted the interview, which we had requested from George Church because we had been fascinated by his latest book. The title alone, “Regenisis,” seemed promising.

    And Church didn’t disappoint in his interview. He laid out the great future he believes the still relatively young research field of “synthetic biology” will have. Regardless whether he was discussing the cloning of humans, the genetic optimization of Homo sapiens, the manipulation of the genetic code of all life forms or the re-creation of the Neanderthal, nothing was treated as taboo in his interview. In other words, it offered plenty of fodder for both controversy and thrilling entertainment.

    The interview first appeared in the German-language print edition of SPIEGEL on Monday, Jan. 14, and the raft of outraged reader letters reflected the intense interest the interview generated. Church has always presented himself as a bold and argumentative visionary who won’t hesitate to consider anything that might be scientifically feasible.

    Initially, few media outlets picked up the story. Nor did that change after we posted a short article focusing primarily on Church’s remarks on the potential for resurrecting the Neanderthal on SPIEGEL ONLINE in German. The hype machine got going shortly after that.

    It was only then that the story was given the decisive spin — by other media outlets. Early tweets on the interview, may have helped to set the tone, like one person who tweeted: “My life’s new ambition: Mate with a Neanderthal woman.” A short time later, the first journalist stumbled across the interview’s emotive word: “surrogate.” That’s when headlines like the one that appeared in the Daily Mail — “Harvard professor seeks mother for cloned cave baby” — were born. Subsequent tweets are already discussing the possibility of a film being made of the story.

    The question of whether a surrogate mother could be used for a possible future Neanderthal clone does in fact pop up in the interview. In the question, we cite a passage in Church’s book in which he writes that, “a whole Neanderthal creature itself could be cloned by a surrogate mother chimp — or by an extremely adventurous female human.”

    No Want Ad Implied

    It would have to be clear to anyone who gives that passage in the interview a critical read — and the same applies to both the German and English versions — that it is in no way intended as some kind of want or personal ad. Church didn’t mean it that way and we didn’t understand it to mean that either. Really, what Church was explaining is that he considers the rebirth of the Neanderthal to be technically possible. He also explains the steps that would be necessary to get there. The last step, someday, would be the search for a surrogate mother. He also says that he believes the chances are good that he might experience the birth of the first Neanderthal clone within his lifetime. We thought that statement alone was a bit of a reach, particularly given that Church is 58 years old today.

    We’re sorry that Church, who provided us with such fascinating insights into his research, has now become the victim of media hype. In the course of the past two decades, he told the Boston Herald, he has done perhaps 500 interviews about his research and this is the first one to spiral out of control quite like this.

    What’s perhaps most bizarre about the entire media hysteria over Church’s interview is that potential surrogate mothers are now contacting the geneticist. His concern — at least if things get to that stage — that he will have difficulty finding potential surrogate mothers appears to be unfounded.

    *Editor’s Note: At the request of George Church, five changes have been made to the above text. In particular, he wanted to avoid the impression that he had blamed a translation error on the part of DER SPIEGEL for the confusion that ensued following the interview’s publication.