Can mezcal still be mezcal if it’s made outside Mexico? The rise of agave cultivation abroad is sparking a heated debate over cultural heritage and what is biopiracy
Biopiracy refers to the exploitation of biological resources and traditional knowledge without proper acknowledgment or compensation to the communities that hold them. In the case of agave, a plant deeply tied to Mexico’s cultural and ecological heritage, the issue is complicated by the fact that maguey plants grow naturally in other parts of the Americas, including California. Adding to this complexity, seeds and genetic material have been informally transported from Mexico to other parts of the world, raising questions about ownership, cultural significance, and ethical resource use. The debate over biopiracy versus bioprospecting highlights ethical, economic, and environmental concerns, underscoring the urgent need for equitable practices in accessing and utilizing the planet’s biodiversity.
And the fact is, it’s impossible to talk about biopiracy without also looking at biocultural issues. How much of our cultural heritage are we willing to share with others, and how much are we willing to see adapted, transformed, or even exploited by those outside our communities? Where do we draw the line between cultural exchange and cultural appropriation, and what does this say about the values and power dynamics that underlie our globalized system?
Seeds of civilization
Agriculture has always been the cornerstone of human development. Around 10,000 years ago, when humans began domesticating plants, they also began shaping societies. Agriculture gave us more than food—it allowed us to settle, build cities, and create the civilizations that form the foundations of our modern world. But agriculture didn’t evolve in isolation. Its progress has always been intertwined with trade.
As soon as people started growing crops, they began exchanging them. Trade routes became the veins of early civilizations, carrying not just goods but also ideas, technologies, and cultural practices. The Silk Road wasn’t just about silk—it was a highway for agricultural innovations, like the spread of wheat, citrus, and spices across continents. Similarly, the maritime trade networks of the Indian Ocean connected Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, creating shared agricultural legacies that persist today.
Trade wasn’t just about survival; it was about possibility. The exchange of crops and farming techniques expanded diets, boosted economies, and even transformed landscapes. Maize, tomatoes, and potatoes from the Americas fed growing populations in Europe and Asia, while colonizers introduced rice and sugarcane that shaped the Americas. This constant flow of agricultural knowledge and biodiversity defined what we call human progress.
The role of exchange in societal evolution
When societies traded goods, they also exchanged ideas. Agricultural practices traveled with the crops, leading to innovations like irrigation systems, crop rotation, and improved soil management. These exchanges didn’t just strengthen individual societies—they linked entire regions in networks of cooperation and interdependence.
Mexico is a great example. The region’s agricultural legacy, particularly maize, spread throughout the Americas long before European contact. Mesoamerican farmers shared their techniques and seeds with neighboring regions, enriching diets and cultures from the Andes to the Mississippi. In return, they adopted crops, creating the milpa, one of the most diverse agricultural systems in history.
Similarly, the Spanish Conquest—a pivotal moment in global history—brought about profound agricultural transformations. Tomatoes, cacao, and vanilla crossed oceans to become integral parts of European cuisine, while Old World crops like wheat and barley as well as spices and animals were introduced to the Americas. These exchanges forever changed the way societies ate, farmed, and traded.
The shift in power dynamics
For most of history, trade was seen as a mutual benefit. Farmers and societies shared their knowledge because it created abundance and strengthened their connections. However, with colonialism and the rise of modern capitalism, the dynamics of trade shifted. The free exchange of agricultural resources gave way to exploitation, commodification, and control.
Colonial powers took seeds, plants, and farming knowledge from indigenous communities, typically without acknowledgment or compensation. These resources became the backbone of global agricultural empires, but the profits rarely flowed back to the people who held the ancestral knowledge of cultivation. Instead, wealth was concentrated in the hands of those who commodified crops like cacao and sugarcane, turning them into lucrative global goods while exploiting both the land and the labor of the original stewards.
Fast forward to today, and this exploitation has taken on new forms. Modern technology has made it easier to patent seeds and genetic material, effectively privatizing resources that were once shared freely. The question now isn’t just about who gets to use these resources but who has the power to control them.
The meaning of biopiracy
Biopiracy occurs when traditional knowledge, often held by Indigenous communities, is transformed into commercial products through international legal mechanisms such as patents. The controversy surrounding biopiracy begins with how the practice itself is defined. Since the 1990s, the patenting and commercialization of biological resources and traditional knowledge have sparked intense debate. According to Rachel Wynberg from the University of Cape Town, the past three decades have seen growing global attention on biopiracy, driven by increased awareness and social movements advocating for the environmental and cultural rights of Indigenous peoples and local communities. This focus has coincided with the rise of global intellectual property rules, further intensifying the discussion around biopiracy and its implications.
These activities take on various forms, and may involve universities collaborating with local communities, small research companies, or multinational pharmaceutical corporations. While some label these actions as biopiracy, others use the term “bioprospecting” to describe similar activities in a more neutral or positive light.
The term “bioprospecting” emerged as a response to the criticism surrounding biopiracy. Advocates of bioprospecting argue that it offers a framework for fair collaboration between corporations or researchers and Indigenous communities, emphasizing the potential for benefit-sharing agreements. However, critics claim that bioprospecting often serves to legitimize the same exploitative practices associated with biopiracy, as the power dynamics between Global North and Global South actors remain deeply imbalanced. The issue lies not only in the use of resources but also in the lack of equitable compensation or recognition for the communities that hold ancestral knowledge about them.
In an effort to address these concerns, the Nagoya Protocol was established in 2010 as part of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD). The protocol aims to ensure fair and equitable sharing of benefits arising from the utilization of genetic resources, emphasizing the importance of obtaining prior informed consent and establishing mutually agreed terms with provider communities. By including these communities in the decision-making process, the protocol seeks to create a more balanced relationship between resource users and providers. However, critics say it lacks the enforcement mechanisms necessary to truly protect the interests of these communities.
Martin Fredriksson, Professor at the Department for Culture Studies, Linköping University, critically examines these issues in his work, highlighting how frameworks like the Nagoya Protocol often fall short of addressing the systemic inequalities inherent in the global trade of biological resources. He notes that while the protocol introduces the concept of “provider communities,” it struggles to move beyond the commodification of biological resources and traditional knowledge. This, Fredriksson argues, perpetuates a system in which the Global North benefits disproportionately from the biodiversity of the Global South.
In summary, biopiracy differs from bioprospecting in its framing and implications, yet both terms underscore the ethical dilemmas surrounding the use of biological resources and traditional knowledge. The Nagoya Protocol represents an attempt to mediate these issues, but its limitations highlight the ongoing challenges in achieving equitable practices in the globalized exchange of biodiversity.
During a conversation with Douglas McMaster, chef and owner of the British restaurant Silo, we discussed how industrialization has commoditized much of what we eat, stripping food of its deeper meaning. McMaster noted that food should serve as a connection to nature, not just a product for consumption. This perspective aligns with the broader implications of biopiracy, highlighting the need to honor the origins and cultural significance of the resources we utilize.
An overview of cases in Mexico
Mexico, a country rich in biodiversity and cultural heritage, has been a focal point for companies and their “bioprospecting” initiatives. These agreements often promise progress and shared benefits but frequently result in conflicts over sovereignty, transparency, and fairness. A couple of prominent cases illustrate biopiracy’s complexities and consequences. From the controversial collection of medicinal plants in Chiapas to the extraction of bacteria and fungi in Oaxaca, these cases reveal a recurring pattern of using Indigenous knowledge and how it may marginalize local communities and exploit natural resources.
According to a thorough analysis by Andres Barreda, PhD, there’s an urgent need for robust legislation that protects the rights of Indigenous peoples, ensures fair benefit-sharing, and upholds the sovereignty of Mexico’s natural and cultural wealth.
The “ICGB Maya Project”
In 1998, the International Cooperative Biodiversity Groups (ICBG) program awarded a bioprospecting project in Chiapas a grant of US$2.5 million. The ICBG is a consortium of US federal agencies, including the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the US Department of Agriculture. The project involved a partnership between the University of the state of Georgia, El Colegio de la Frontera Sur (ECOSUR), a Mexican research and teaching center, and Molecular Nature Limited (MNL), a biotech company based in Wales, UK. The goal was to collect thousands of medicinal plants from the highlands of Chiapas to analyze their active compounds for potential commercial use. To manage relations with local communities, the project established a nonprofit organization called PROMAYA (Promotion of Intellectual Property Rights of the Highland Maya of Chiapas, Mexico) to represent the interests of the Maya population in Chiapas.
This decision sparked controversy, as COMPITCH (the Organization of Indigenous Traditional Healers of the Highlands of Chiapas) protested the lack of direct representation and consultation with Indigenous communities. They argued that PROMAYA did not adequately reflect the priorities or voices of the Maya people. COMPITCH highlighted that the project’s approach ignored their collective decision-making structures and failed to respect their guidelines for protecting sovereignty and ensuring transparency.
This breach of trust, coupled with a lack of transparency, resulted in one of the most prominent cases of biopiracy in Mexico. Foreign stakeholders began collecting plants and sending them to the University of Georgia for analysis before completing prior consultations with the communities. The lack of respect for Indigenous timelines and self-management practices led COMPITCH to publicly denounce the project, highlighting its exploitative nature. Media coverage amplified the issue, prompting intervention by Mexican environmental authorities such as Semarnat. Negotiations with the communities ultimately stalled, as COMPITCH refused to be used as a “test case” for drafting new administrative norms on bioprospecting. They maintained that bioprospecting contracts should not proceed without addressing the absence of proper legislation and resolving the existing legal vacuum (Barreda, 2001).
Another case involves the contract signed between the Union of Zapotec and Chinantec Forestry Communities (Uzachi) in the Sierra Juárez of Oaxaca and the company Sandoz (later Novartis, now Syngenta) in 1999. Over the two-year agreement, Sandoz collected more than 10,000 samples of microscopic fungi. Their goal was to explore the potential of their secondary metabolites for pharmaceutical applications.
The contract included conditions negotiated to benefit Uzachi, such as the establishment of a laboratory owned by the union, technical training for community members, annual payments, and royalties in the event of pharmaceutical discoveries. Despite these provisions, the agreement faced criticism. Key concerns included the exclusivity of the information for Sandoz, the confidentiality of the agreement, and the exclusion of neighboring Indigenous communities with similar biodiversity, which created local tensions. The case also highlights a broader issue with the model in which Indigenous communities sell biological resources to multinational corporations without broader consultation or public transparency (Barreda, 2001).
Dr. Catherine Goodman, a researcher specializing in traditional cultures, explains the complex power dynamics underlying biopiracy processes. In her opinion, this phenomenon is not new; historically, there has been a movement between the Old and New Worlds, and even within the Old World itself. Goodman recalls that the concept of biopiracy began to emerge in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when privatization models started to be implemented regarding the right to use and share traditional knowledge.
Dr. Goodman pointed out that in fields like music, arts, and agricultural goods, the privatization of traditional knowledge and processes has also sparked controversy. An example of this is the nixtamalization process, an ancestral technique from Mexico that could be patented (most of the tortilla chips companies such as Frito Lay and Doritos use an industrialized version of it) but must be protected and recognized as collective knowledge. Another instance is the commercial use of stevia. In an article for Atlas Obscura, Eric J. Wallis explores the Guaraní people’s case that the stevia industry appropriated their ancestral knowledge.
In our interview, Dr. Goodman reflects on how knowledge generated with public funds in the United States is transferred to private companies, which use it for commercial gain, without researchers receiving a fair return for their work. This economic model has also been attempted in Mexico, with the privatization of government-supported knowledge.
Although the Nagoya Protocol is legally binding for all its member countries, its effective implementation requires the establishment of comprehensive national legal frameworks. A study by the UNDP in Mexico highlights numerous challenges in achieving this, including a high degree of sensitivity toward issues of illegal appropriation. This sensitivity has stalled progress in creating consensus over broad and systematic legal measures to regulate access to genetic resources and ensure fair and equitable benefit-sharing.
The case of maguey
Diana Pinzón, founder of Zinacantán Mezcal in Puebla and co-founder of the Fondo Agavero, has drawn attention to the growing issue of biopiracy in the agave industry. In an article published in Comestible.info, she discusses how the global demand for mezcal and other agave-based spirits has fueled the exploitation of endemic Mexican agave species by foreign companies. This exploitation often occurs without proper regulation, threatening both the biological diversity and the cultural sovereignty of local communities. Pinzón underscores the ethical concerns raised by multinational corporations profiting from agave while disregarding the cultural heritage and sustainable farming practices of Mexican producers.
The broader implications of such practices echo a vital truth: the oxygen we breathe depends on the conservation of ecological reserves. While these reserves can and should be utilized, their use must be respectful, sustainable, and honor the first-use rights of the native peoples in biodiverse and megadiverse regions.
In 2003, Vandana Shiva , a renowned environmental activist, scholar, and author specializing in biodiversity and intellectual property rights, addressed similar concerns about the commodification of plants. She emphasized the intrinsic value of medicinal plants beyond their market potential, advocating for the recognition of their cultural and ecological significance.
For traditional producers of agave distillates, the maguey plant holds medicinal and spiritual value, far beyond being a mere ingredient for alcoholic beverages. This perspective underscores the need for frameworks that respect and protect the deeper connections between communities and their resources. In her paper, Shiva pointed out that Indigenous medical systems are based on over 7,000 species of medicinal plants and 15,000 herbal medicines. According to a study published in the European Journal of Agriculture, “today’s commercial medications and pharmaceuticals contain active components originating from plants in about 60% of cases.” Additionally, the global herbal industry is projected to reach a value of $5 trillion by 2050.
The central problem of biopiracy is the use of ancestral knowledge that has been developed by generations, which, when privatized, deprives the originating communities of the economic benefits generated in the capitalist market, where such knowledge is often repackaged and marketed as innovation.
Dr. Goodman advocates for public and shared access to this knowledge, rather than allowing it to be appropriated by companies and governments, which limits the collective benefit and reduces the ability of traditional communities to defend their rights.
Many modern inventions and discoveries patented as intellectual property are built upon pre-existing indigenous knowledge systems. This dynamic raises critical questions about how to ensure fair recognition and protection for the contributions of Indigenous communities, both in the agave spirits industry and beyond.
California agave enterprises and projects
Agaves have proven to be incredibly tolerant and require minimal water, making them an attractive crop for farmers in a state where water scarcity is a growing concern. Additionally, the versatility of agave extends far beyond spirits production, with potential uses in the creation of sweeteners, textiles, and even biofuels, making them a valuable addition to California’s agricultural landscape.
According to UC Davis agave researchers, California is home to nine native species, including Agave deserti and Agave shawii. California farmers began importing agave plants from Mexico after they realized these species’ resilience to the state’s drought conditions.
Last September, an assembly bill established the California Agave Commission, a government body dedicated to supporting the agave industry. According to the bill, the commission’s responsibilities include conducting research, promoting marketing and production, and implementing sustainable farming practices. In a recent roundtable hosted by Aventureros del Mezcal, Sósima Olivera and other industry experts discussed the bill and its implications for Mexican producers of agave spirits.
They mentioned that California producers have already planted more than 30 species, including Agave tequilana, with 49 members currently cultivating agave. And that a series of workshops like the “Agave 101” at Madera Community College are set to educate and grow the movement, with plans to extend it to Arizona and Texas.
Even though the agave spirits labeling bill of 2022 states that only agave spirits produced entirely from agaves grown within California may be labeled with the words “California agave spirits,” the information as for how producers have gotten seeds of Mexican species of agave are not officially registered.
In an article by the LA Times, Craig Reynolds, founder of the California Agave Council, stated, “The potential for California agave far exceeds its place as a boutique specialty crop,” emphasizing that “to have an impact for California agriculture and for climate resilience, it needs to be big.” This vision reflects the ambitious scope of California’s agave industry, which is rapidly expanding. Organizations such as California Agave Growers support this growth by offering “clones (hijuelos) which originated in Mexico but are grown in California” and seeds for agave varieties that do not produce clones. Their website mentions that they currently provide seeds for Tobalá, Tepeztate, Mexicana, and Karwinskii, and they are collaborating with a commercial greenhouse to propagate these seed-grown agaves as potted starters for sale.
During the roundtable, Raymundo Ramirez from Rajabule Mezcal expressed concerns about the impact of transporting micro-endemic agave species from Mexico to California noting a lack of transparency surrounding the origins of California’s agave production—whether through imported plants or transported seeds. This raises critical ethical questions about the responsibility of California producers to ensure sustainable and equitable practices, especially given the absence of clear regulations in Mexico for implementing the Nagoya Protocol.
The roundtable highlighted Mexican producers’ fear that California’s focus on process efficiency and technology, rather than cultural tradition, creates an uneven playing field, fostering unfair competition between California’s agave spirits and Mexico’s traditional distillates. Researcher Eduardo Sánchez Jiménez emphasized the importance of collaboration among producers and organizations to develop better regulations and intellectual property laws. Sosima pointed out that the lengthy registration process for seed batches under Mexico’s National Seed Certification System complicates efforts to safeguard germplasm. Sánchez further noted that there is limited participation in this system by local organizations and producers, as they often do not attend the necessary training sessions. His proposal was for the community to improve internal communication, establish agreements to register their agricultural heritage, and unite to address challenges with better production processes and stronger organization.
Deanne Moore of the Agave Lab project in California grows more than 25 varieties of agave, with special focus on varieties native to California and the Southwest US. Her team uses techniques of syntropic agriculture to return most of the nutrients to the soil by following natural cycles of production. She is focusing on the native species that grow in California (agave deserti, a. shawii, and a. utahensis) plus natives from Texas and Arizona (a. parryi, a. palmeri, a. murpheyi, a. havardiana, plus some subspecies). “The plants that are from Mexico came from three ways: purchased and imported legally as pups from Mexico (no smuggling); as purchased as plants from nurseries in California that cultivated them from plant material in the US; or plants from tissue culture.” She points out that “No agaves were taken from Mexico illegally in an agricultural setting or in the wild.”
Agave Farm, a project based in Campo, CA is where Moore sources many of her plants and maguey. On their website, they list different products such as agave syrup, biofuels, condiments and agave fibers. They also list different varieties of agave for sale in which the description notes they are used for making tequila, mezcal, and pulque.
While visiting Puebla on an industry trip, I spoke with Edna Viveros, director of the Puebla chapter of Mujeres del Mezcal, about the growing competition that mezcal faces abroad. She shared insights from her visit to the Agave Council, where she learned about their ongoing projects. Viveros emphasized that the production of agave distillates outside Mexico has become an unstoppable movement, presenting significant challenges for traditional Mexican producers. She stressed the urgent need for collaboration between Mexican authorities and producers to address this competition, particularly through the creation of robust regulatory frameworks that safeguard agave biodiversity and the cultural heritage of traditional Mexican distillates.
Adding to these challenges, Trump’s proposed 25% tax on imports poses an impending threat to the deeply interconnected economies of Mexico and the United States. For Mexican mezcal producers, such a tax would increase costs, potentially undermining their ability to compete in the US market. On the other hand, US consumers would likely see higher prices as these additional costs ripple through the production chain, from raw materials to the finished product.
Gloria García, a mezcal producer from Logoche, Oaxaca, shared how the sale of maguey pups, or hijuelos, was once a common practice among mezcaleros and agaveros in her community. In the past, when agave was abundant, producers freely sold these pups to anyone interested, often without realizing they might be taken abroad. García explained that for many families, selling plants or seeds provided essential income to cover unexpected or additional expenses. However, she stressed the importance of informing older generations of producers about the current risks of seed and plant exploitation. Today, instead of selling maguey pups, producers focus on cultivating them for reforestation, aiming to preserve both the plant and its cultural significance.
The Central Dilemma
The historical importance of trade and agriculture shows us that exchange is natural, even essential, to human progress. But when did sharing become stealing? Why does biopiracy—a term that wouldn’t have made sense in ancient trade networks—matter so much today?
The answer lies in our changing awareness of power dynamics. Today, we understand that not all exchanges are equal. What once seemed like mutual benefit can now be seen as exploitation when viewed through the lens of colonialism, capitalism, and intellectual property laws. This awareness challenges us to rethink how we share resources in a way that respects the communities and ecosystems that create them.
Agriculture and trade have always connected humanity. The challenge now is ensuring those connections remain just and equitable as we navigate the complexities of our modern world.
Reflections for the Future
In the case of Mexican agave spirits, is the growth of California spirits the biggest challenge farmers and producers face? Or is it the lack of organization within the different actors of the industry that complicates the ability to deal with the problems brought by the Denomination of Origin (DO)? Is competition going to push for better cooperation between agaveros, mezcaleros, producers, and consumers altogether?
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