Author: ESTELLA NELSON
Topic: Genetic Questions
Committee: Government and Law
Committee Chair: ANDREW VANDERKOLK
The question of whether life can be owned touches on some of the most profound ethical, legal, and philosophical debates of our time. Ownership implies control, and control over life—whether in the form of genetically modified organisms or personal genetic data—raises critical concerns about autonomy, fairness, and the boundaries of innovation. While it is straightforward to own pets or buy plants, extending this concept to the very building blocks of life itself is far more contentious. Companies like Monsanto and 23andMe have demonstrated that life, at least in certain contexts, can be treated as intellectual property – but should they be? This has ethical, real-world implications not just for corporations and governments, but for every individual, as we navigate a world where biological materials are increasingly commodified.
Biotechnology has created incredible opportunities to address challenges in medicine, agriculture, and environmental sustainability. However, these advancements come with a price. Who benefits from the innovations, and at what cost to the broader society? The ownership of life is no longer just a theoretical debate. It has become a pressing issue with far-reaching consequences, affecting farmers, consumers, and even patients. Understanding the implications of this ownership requires an examination of patent law, corporate practices, and ethical dilemmas in the biotech industry.
Patent Law and Biotechnology
US patent law requires that items be novel, inventive, and have industrial applications—essentially, they must be new and useful. Inventors are granted exclusive rights over their creations, which can be legally protected. In the biotech industry, this framework is applied differently. Unlike Europe, the United States does not exclude living things from patentability, except human beings. However, there must be significant differences between the patented living entity and naturally existing ones. This distinction creates opportunities for innovation but also ethical dilemmas.
The ability to patent GMO plant varieties has economic and developmental benefits. Intellectual property protection incentivizes companies to invest in research and development, fueling advancements in biotechnology. However, Monsanto’s dominance in the market raises concerns about monopolistic practices. As of 2020, GMOs accounted for around 90% of soybean and corn production in the US, according to the FDA. Monsanto dominates this market, controlling nearly
a quarter of global commercial seed sales. Their flagship product, the Roundup Ready soybean, exemplifies this control. These plants are genetically modified to resist Monsanto’s own weedkiller, ensuring dependence on their products.
Monsanto’s Aggressive Patent Enforcement
Monsanto’s enforcement of its patents is aggressive and far-reaching. Holding over 4,000 patents in the US, the company has pursued numerous court cases against farmers for alleged violations, solidifying its reputation as an uncompromising enforcer of intellectual property rights. 
One notable case, Bowman v. Monsanto, reached the Supreme Court in 2012. Vernon Bowman, an Indiana farmer, was sued for patent infringement after saving Roundup Ready seeds and mixing them with local soybeans to produce a second-generation crop. This practice, which historically allowed farmers to cut costs and increase sustainability, was deemed a violation of Monsanto’s patent. The Supreme Court’s ruling clarified that patent exhaustion—the idea that buyers can use purchased products as they wish—does not apply to genetically modified plants. Creating new seeds from GMO crops constitutes making copies, which infringes on Monsanto’s patents. This decision established a precedent that reinforced the company’s control over its products.
Historically, farmers could save seeds for future planting, sell them back to local granaries, or reuse them, fostering a cycle of self-reliance and local commerce. However, Monsanto’s patented protections disrupt this tradition, forcing farmers to repurchase seeds each growing season. These practices ensure Monsanto’s market dominance but place significant financial strain on small-scale farmers who rely on affordable and reusable seeds to remain competitive. Critics argue that these policies burden farmers and also stifle agricultural diversity by narrowing the availability of non-GMO seeds.
The Bowman v. Monsanto case underscores the broader tension between protecting innovation and preserving traditional agricultural practices. While intellectual property laws incentivize technological advancements, they also risk consolidating power in the hands of a few dominant corporations. This dynamic raises ethical questions about the balance of power in the agricultural sector and the long-term implications for food security and farmer independence.
The Role of GMOs in Agriculture
GMOs play a vital role in addressing the challenges of a growing global population. These crops maximize yields, improve resistance to pests and diseases, and adapt to changing environmental conditions, offering solutions to food security and sustainability. However, these advancements come at a significant cost. Their high prices and the monopolistic practices of companies like Monsanto create substantial barriers for smaller farmers, who often cannot afford the expensive seeds and related technologies. This economic divide forces many small-scale farmers out of business, further consolidating agricultural power in the hands of large corporations.
The legal landscape surrounding GMOs amplifies these challenges. Another notable court case, Schmeiser v. Monsanto Canada Inc., provides insight into the extent of corporate control. Percy Schmeiser, a Canadian farmer, was sued by Monsanto for allegedly growing their patented Roundup Ready canola without purchasing the seeds. Schmeiser argued that the seeds had accidentally spread to his fields via wind or cross-pollination, but the Canadian Supreme Court ruled in Monsanto’s favor in 2004. This decision reaffirmed that even unintentional use of patented genetic material could constitute a violation, further underscoring the risks for farmers operating near GMO fields. Critics argue that such rulings place an unreasonable burden on farmers to monitor and control natural processes like pollination, which are often beyond their control.
These legal precedents highlight critical ethical questions about the commodification of life. By allowing patents on genetically modified plants, the line between innovation and exploitation becomes blurred. What prevents this framework from extending to other organisms, including human genetic material? As biotechnology continues to evolve, society must confront these issues, balancing the need for progress with the rights and autonomy of individuals and communities.
23andMe and DNA Ownership
Similar concerns about ownership arise in the context of 23andMe. In September, all seven independent board directors resigned over disagreements with the founder’s decision to take the company private. Once a leader in direct-to-consumer genetic testing, 23andMe has seen its market share collapse, losing 99.9% of its value. As the company faces an uncertain future, questions about the fate of its vast DNA database loom large.
23andMe has suggested partnerships with pharmaceutical companies to use genetic data for developing personalized medicines. However, this raises significant privacy concerns. HIPAA protections do not apply to non-healthcare companies like 23andMe, leaving consumer data vulnerable to exploitation. Much like farmers buying Monsanto seeds, consumers often sign away substantial rights without fully understanding the implications.
The commodification of genetic information reflects broader trends in biotechnology, where corporate interests often outweigh individual rights. Recent developments, such as the unauthorized use of genetic databases by law enforcement, further complicate this landscape. In a prominent case involving GEDmatch, a genetic genealogy database, police gained access to identify a suspect in the Golden State Killer investigation. While this helped solve a decades-old criminal case, it also exposed privacy vulnerabilities in consumer genetic databases, raising questions about how such information should be used and who should control access.
Additionally, the rise of genetic data marketplaces, such as Nebula Genomics, highlights the growing commercialization of personal DNA. Companies now allow consumers to sell their genetic information directly to researchers or pharmaceutical firms. This shift has sparked debate about whether individuals are truly informed about the long-term implications of these transactions, especially as data security concerns and the potential for misuse grow. The combination of these events emphasizes the urgency of establishing stronger ethical and legal frameworks to protect individual rights in the age of genomic commerce.
The Legacy of HeLa Cells
The story of HeLa cells underscores the ethical complexities of using human biological materials for innovation. Taken from Henrietta Lacks without her knowledge or consent in the 1950s, HeLa cells became the first immortal cell line. Unlike normal cells, which stop dividing after a set number of cycles (a phenomenon called the Hayflick limit), immortal cell lines like HeLa are able to divide indefinitely under proper laboratory conditions. This unique property allows scientists to conduct prolonged and repeatable experiments, making HeLa cells invaluable for medical research. These cells have contributed to breakthroughs in vaccines, cancer treatments, and more. For instance, they played a pivotal role in the development of the polio vaccine, in vitro fertilization techniques, and advancements in cancer research.
Immortal cell lines differ from stem cells in significant ways. While both can replicate and are used extensively in research, stem cells are unspecialized and have the potential to develop into various types of cells within the body, making them crucial for regenerative medicine and developmental biology. Immortal cell lines like HeLa, on the other hand, are already specialized and are primarily used to study specific biological processes, test treatments, or understand disease mechanisms over extended periods. This distinction makes them complementary tools in scientific research, each serving unique purposes.
Despite all of her monumental 
contributions, neither Henrietta Lacks nor her family received recognition or compensation for decades, raising profound questions about consent, ownership, and equitable distribution of benefits from scientific advancements. HeLa cells highlight the persistent tension between scientific progress and personal rights. On the one hand, access to biological materials has fueled extraordinary breakthroughs that have saved millions of lives. On the other, the lack of informed consent and equitable treatment exposes systemic inequities in how marginalized individuals and communities are treated by the scientific community. This case has since inspired discussions around bioethics and led to the eventual establishment of agreements to recognize and include the Lacks family in decision-making processes related to the cells’ use.
HeLa cells highlight the persistent tension between scientific progress and personal rights. On the one hand, access to biological materials has fueled extraordinary breakthroughs that have saved millions of lives. On the other, the lack of informed consent and equitable treatment exposes systemic inequities in how marginalized individuals and communities are treated by the scientific community. This case has since inspired discussions around bioethics and led to the eventual establishment of agreements to recognize and include the Lacks family in decision-making processes related to the cells’ use.
The legacy of HeLa cells parallels contemporary concerns about genetic data ownership, particularly in companies like 23andMe. These issues underline the urgent need for robust legal and ethical frameworks to safeguard individual autonomy while fostering innovation. Just as organ donation requires consent, so too should the use of cells and genetic material. Without such safeguards, history risks repeating itself, with progress achieved at the expense of fairness and justice.
The Future of Life Ownership
Life is increasingly treated as a commodity, owned primarily by corporations rather than individuals. This commodification extends from genetically modified crops to personal genetic data, and even to biological materials like HeLa cells, creating profound ethical and societal challenges. While biotechnology offers groundbreaking advancements, corporate ownership over fundamental aspects of life raises concerns about individual autonomy, societal equity, and ethical boundaries.
As biotechnology continues to advance, the implications of this trend grow more significant. Genetically modified organisms (GMOs) have transformed agriculture, enabling higher yields and pest resistance, but their patents have concentrated power in the hands of a few corporations like Monsanto. Cases such as Bowman v. Monsanto and Schmeiser v. Monsanto Canada highlight how these legal frameworks often burden farmers and stifle agricultural diversity. Similarly, companies like 23andMe and genetic data marketplaces like Nebula Genomics have turned personal DNA into a commercial asset, sparking debates about privacy, consent, and the ethics of genetic data usage. Meanwhile, the legacy of HeLa cells demonstrates how historical injustices can persist in modern science, emphasizing the need for stronger ethical safeguards.
The balance between innovation and ethical responsibility remains precarious. Society must grapple with whether life can and should be owned, and if so, under what conditions. Addressing these issues will not only shape the future of biotechnology but also define the moral and ethical boundaries of science and commerce for generations to come. As corporations continue to wrestle control from individuals, the ethical issues multiply and the stakes get bigger. The law reads that a person’s life cannot be owned. Redefining life from a human level to a cellular level increasingly blurs the distinction between reasonable and outrageous. Maybe life can be owned at a cellular level – but we will let corporations once again take ownership of human lives? That is a question that we must ask ourselves and decide – preferably before our cells are patented away.