During the publicity surrounding the ProdiGene fiasco, proponents of pharmaceutical plants decided to back out of the densely packed farm fields of the Corn Belt. In October 2002, the industry group BIO announced that its members would search for biopharming test sites further from food crops. Colorado, with its good climate, isolated fields, educated workforce, and high-powered research universities, was the obvious place for Plan B.

The Colorado Department of Agriculture, which has the authority to accept, reject or amend federal biopharming permits, started getting ready for an onslaught of field-testing applications. It put together a technical committee of university researchers and state officials to help analyze any incoming proposals, and it organized two informational panels in Colorado farming communities.

News of the ProdiGene slip-ups had spread quickly throughout rural Colorado, and the meetings attracted large, inquisitive and occasionally irate crowds. Farmers like Wiley asked if they'd be liable for any future contamination incidents, and environmentalists demanded to know more about the risks to human health and wildlife. "We're pretending we can isolate these drugs and toxic chemicals from the food supply," says Suzanne Wuerthele of the Sierra Club. "We're kidding ourselves. Contamination is inevitable."

Spurred by the meetings, biopharming opponents from around the state started gathering to strategize. They handed out hundreds of postcards at farmers' markets and local fairs, and concerned letters and e-mails started to pour into the state Department of Agriculture offices. "I couldn't have responded to every one, or I'd have done nothing but answer e-mail all day," says department policy director Jim Miller.

When the Meristem application reached state officials in May, public concern hit new heights. On May 12, amid a flurry of press attention, representatives of more than a dozen environmental and farmers' groups gathered at the state capitol to demand a moratorium on field testing of pharmaceutical crops in Colorado. Gov. Bill Owens, a Republican, did not respond to their request.

The state finally approved the Meristem application, with conditions allowing more frequent inspections, in early June. That cleared the way for the company to plant up to 30 acres of pharmaceutical corn; just a few days later, however, the company announced it was too late in the year to begin planting.

Though Meristem spokesman Emmanuel Boures said, in a recent e-mail, that his company plans return to the state next year, there may prove to be friendlier climes for pharmaceutical crops. "This would be a great place [for the technology], but the reception needs to be warmer," says Jennifer McCallum, a Denver attorney who represents Meristem. "I'm not sure I'd guide clients here in the future."

The reception might soon get even frostier. Miller, from the Colorado Department of Agriculture, says he hopes to include an environmental representative on the state's technical review committee next year. He also plans to organize a panel of activists, farmers and other citizens that will propose a list of environmental, health and economic concerns to be addressed by future applicants. Opponents say they'll keep pushing for a stricter and more transparent permit process on the state level. "The state has totally underestimated how much of a gut issue this is for people," says Jennifer Kemp of the Rocky Mountain Farmers Union.

Texas, home of ProdiGene, is also showing some skepticism about pharmaceutical food crops. The state legislature's agriculture committee recently held a hearing on a bill that would have prohibited all field testing and production of pharmaceuticals and industrial chemicals via food crops. Though the bill died in committee, it had deep-pocketed support; one witness in favor of the proposal was a representative of Frito-Lay.

Pressure on federal regulators may also be on the rise. U.S. Rep. Dennis Kucinich (D-Ohio) has just rolled out a bill that would prohibit field testing of all pharmaceutical and industrial crops. The Genetically Engineered Food Alert, a national coalition of food-safety groups, plans to pursue legal action against the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Yet organic farmer Doug Wiley isn't reassured by the uproar. He knows Meristem won't be the last company to knock on Colorado's door -- ProdiGene has also applied for a federal permit to conduct field tests in the state -- and he's not about to count on the state or the feds to protect the genetic identity of his long-established plot of sweet corn. "Those bureaucracies have seldom made decisions that benefit rural communities," he says. "I have no faith in them at all."

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