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Beyond the returnee brain trust, a significant part of Asia's science boom relies on outsourcing by foreign companies. In India, a new biotech venture opens up almost every week. Although Bangalore-based Biocon, India's biggest science concern, is developing a new type of oral insulin, most Indian firms are focused on administering drug trials for Western companies or churning out cheap vaccines for diseases like measles and Hepatitis B. Costs for drug trials and production in India are roughly half those in the West. And there's a vast supply of people willing to take part in tests. "If there's any disease you're trying to produce a drug for, we have thousands, if not millions, of patients who have it in India," says N.S. Moorthy, vice president of clinical operations at Saneron, an American firm that's developing a stem-cell bank in partnership with Madras-based LifeCell.
It's not a bad strategy for India to start out this way, primarily relying on foreign money to educate the next generation of its scientists. "We need to build a base for innovation," says Kiran Mazumdar-Shaw, Biocon's chief executive and India's first woman billionaire. "We've found that the best way to leapfrog into innovation is as a partner." Biocon hopes to do just that with its oral formula for insulin, which it first worked on with a U.S. firm and is now developing on its own. There's every sign that this trend of foreign firms heading to Asia to drive down research costs will grow: more than half of the American respondents to a study this year by the Kauffman Foundation, an educational-research NGO, said they had either shifted or were planning to shift R&D facilities to India or China.
For all the hype around Asian science, there are two words that can cause even the most ardent advocate's shoulders to sag: Dr. Hwang. The South Korean researcher Hwang Woo Suk was heralded as the icon of Asian innovation in 2004 when he claimed to have developed a technique for cloning human embryonic stem cells—only to be caught being a little too creative. Hwang had faked his results, and many Asian scientists felt the cloud of his disgrace descend upon themselves, too. More fundamentally, though, Hwang's saga exposes some of the perils of Asian innovation. A top-down Confucian ethic apparently kept his subordinates from speaking out earlier about his shenanigans. And the fervent nationalistic pride generated by Hwang's achievements may have intensified the pressure on a star researcher to keep churning out ever more impressive results. "Many Chinese scientists are in a hurry," says Lu Ke, one of the world's top nanotech researchers, who was schooled in strict German research methods at the Max Planck Institute in Stuttgart before returning to China's Institute of Metal Research in Shenyang. "But nature doesn't work on a rushed schedule. To do good science, you need to do things slowly and rigidly."
Some Asian scientists are guilty of more than just a rush job. In May, one of China's most lauded computer researchers, Chen Jin, a 37-year-old returnee from Texas, was unmasked as having faked what he had claimed was a homegrown digital signal-processing chip that could have helped China lower its reliance on foreign computer technology. At a science conference in Beijing earlier this year, a member of China's cabinet released the results of a survey in which 60% of 180 Chinese scientists admitted to having paid to appear in journals, while around the same percentage said they had cribbed from other people's research. "In China, people seem to have become millionaires overnight, so there are also unrealistic expectations about what we can accomplish in science," says molecular biologist Wang. "That can create an environment in which people feel pressured to fake results." The sanctity of ideas is further eroded by the disregard for intellectual property in many Asian countries. What would compel a scientist to dedicate years to basic research if he or she knows that work will be ripped off when it reaches the commercial stage? In 2004, nanoscientist Lu unveiled a machine that can apply a thin layer of superstrong nanocopper on another material, potentially adding years to the life of industrial tools. Already, he says, pirated models of his machine have turned up in China. Can he take legal action? Lu just shrugs and laughs.
Despite these obstacles, Asian science is advancing so fast that U.S President George W. Bush warned in this year's State of the Union speech that innovations in Asia could come at America's expense. Even South Korea remains one of the epicenters of stem-cell research, despite a loss of morale (and some funding) following Hwang's downfall. Of the 78 stem-cell lines registered at NIH, six come courtesy of South Korean labs. Lavish spending has helped Seoul's climb up the technology ladder, but Korean researchers also credit good ol' Asian values of hard work, hard work and more hard work. "People used to say that stem-cell research was on scientists' 'avoid list' because it was labor intensive and demanded long hours," says Chung Hyung Min, head of Cha Biotech in Seoul, which registered one of the Korean stem-cell lines at NIH. Chung's last vacation was five years ago. "At the end of the day," he says, "it's about who is more willing to spend longer hours at the lab."
Chinese mouse researcher Wang observes that he, too, works far longer hours than he did back in America; he even has a mattress in his office to shorten the commute to work. "When the country is depending on your success," says Wang, "it can push you to achieve things you never thought possible." His words perfectly express both the promise—and the potential pitfalls—of Asia's scientific revolution.
- With reporting by Bu Hua/Shanghai, Stella Kim/Seoul, Jake Lloyd-Smith/Singapore and Alex Perry/Bangalore