Why Does This Prominent Amazon Researcher Face 14 Years in Prison for Biopiracy?

Motoring up Brazil's Arauazinho River during the rainy season is like navigating a lake full of trees. The rust-colored water escapes its banks and spreads out across the rain forest, leaving the channel indistinguishable from the jungle around it. Marc van Roosmalen, however, seems to sense the river's course. Perched on the bow of our small aluminum boat, the primatologist confidently directs our pilot up the main artery, and we head deeper into the Amazonian wilderness with every turn.

Thin and leathery, with a deep tan and a goatee, Van Roosmalen looks younger than his 60 years. A Dutch-born naturalized Brazilian, he first came to this remote and untouched area of the Amazon more than a decade ago to study a biological El Dorado, a treasure of rare and undescribed biodiversity. For many researchers, discovering a single new species is a career maker. Van Roosmalen has discovered at least 10 — fantastical-sounding creatures like the dwarf marmoset and the giant peccary. His work along the Arauazinho and the Aripuana has earned him a reputation as one of the world's greatest living naturalists.

The boat edges around another curve, and Van Roosmalen's longtime field aid, Francis Correêa, shouts and points at an enormous anaconda, thick as a palm tree, curled on the bank. "Francis has such a keen eye," Van Roosmalen says as the snake eases into the water and underneath the boat.

A few minutes later, our engine quits. "I think I'll have a swim," Van Roosmalen announces, grabbing a snorkel out of his bag. "This water is really nice. The only problem is the electric eels. And the anacondas. And the sting rays, but that's only in the dry season." He doffs his blue button-down and yellow T-shirt and jumps into the water. I'm dubious, but he persuades me to join him, narrating the river's features as we paddle among the submerged tree trunks.

Eventually the pilot gets the motor going, but only barely. We beach the boat and strike out overland. The hike is slow going because Van Roosmalen pauses to note every fruit and tree, every monkey scratch in the bark. He picks up a large, hollowed-out nut. "This is a new species in the Brazil nut family that I'd like to describe," he says wistfully. "In the old days, I would collect this and then later return for the flowers."

He walks a few steps and then stops abruptly. "Automatically I put it in my pocket," he says, pulling out the nut and dropping it to the ground. "If I forget and go back to Manaus" — the capital of the state of Amazonas — "they can throw me in jail."

He may sound paranoid, but he's actually facing a bleak reality. In the summer of 2007, Brazilian authorities put him into one of the country's most dangerous prisons for two months, the beginning of what was supposed to be a 14-year sentence. They called him a traitor and a biopirate and convicted him of stealing the country's natural resources. As a result, Van Roosmalen was fired from his job at the government scientific institute where he'd spent two decades. He became estranged from his family, mired in debt, and afraid for his life. Even as we trudge through the Arauazinho, he awaits the verdict on his final appeal. If he loses, he goes back to prison to serve out his term.

No one disputes that Van Roosmalen is a talented researcher, or suggests that he is any sort of common criminal. When he ran afoul of Brazil's own paranoia over the theft of natural resources, important science lost out to bureaucracy, xenophobia, and cynicism. But Marc van Roosmalen is a polarizing figure here. Some see him as an environmental hero; others believe he is the nations's biggest biopirate. The same monomania and hubris that made him a great researcher also helped bring about his own demise. He could have become one of the most innovative conservationists of his generation. Now he may end up nothing more than a cautionary tale — or, if his worst fears come to pass, a martyr.