TO AN ambitious biologist, Biopolis must seem like paradise. A septet of angular, gleaming, glass buildings in a leafy corner of a bustling city, the science park is a vista of opportunity.
Aspiring networkers might find themselves crossing paths with Sir David Lane (who discovered the pivotal role that the p53 gene plays in cancer), Edison Liu (the Hong Kong-born discoverer of many crucial proteins involved in breast cancer) or Alan Colman, a member of the British team that cloned Dolly.
Biologist entrepreneurs eager to convert blue-sky findings into blood-red Ferraris can locate their start-ups here, with government help. They can rub shoulders with the big players down the road; both Novartis and GlaxoSmithKline have opened research institutes at Biopolis. They can also mingle with researchers at Singapore’s five biomedical science institutes based here.
But there is another, less well-publicised attraction of this futuristic science park: underneath its pavements lies what is informally referred to as the “mouse house”, one of the largest animal facilities in the northern hemisphere. Around 250,000 creatures, mostly mice, are due to take up residence when the underground moated vivarium at Biopolis is completed, and will be available to the 1,200 scientists who work there.
And when the animal experiments start, there will be no ugly protests, no intimidation and certainly no grisly disinterments. For Biopolis is in the Republic of Singapore, the famously authoritarian state which this year celebrates its 40th year of independence. There is no animal rights movement to speak of, and certainly no extremism of the kind that forced the closure this week of a British farm which bred guinea pigs for medical research. Pharmaceutical industry representatives have issued warnings repeatedly that, if left unprotected, they will shut up shop in Britain and move their business abroad.
The Singaporean Government looks upon the growing ferocity of the animal rights movement in the West with a mixture of bafflement and disapproval. “In general, animal rights activism is not part of our society,” explains Dr Beh Swan Gin, from the Government’s Economic Development Board, which regards Biopolis as a flagship venture that will propel Singapore to the forefront of biomedical science. “There is no militant activism, it is an alien concept to us. Asian societies tend to be more pragmatic; we feel it’s more important to find the causes of diseases than to worry about the rights of mice.”
Sensitive to accusations that conditions are laxer than in the West, Singapore recently introduced a new, strict licensing system for animal experimentation. Researchers who treat animals inhumanely face a year in jail and a £3,300 fine.
Dr Beh is momentarily lost for words when I tell him of the six-year hate campaign against Christopher Hall, who ran Darley Oaks Farm in Staffordshire. The remains of Hall’s mother-in-law were stolen from the village churchyard and her grave was desecrated. “Our Government would not tolerate such terrorist acts,” he says, stony-faced. “Strict laws are in place to punish perpetrators of violence and criminal trespass.”
Singapore has one of the strictest judicial systems in the world, retaining the death penalty for murder and drug trafficking (more than 400 people have been executed since 1991). The upside is that Singapore offers a tightly sanitised, crime-free environment, another possible attraction for the academics who are flocking from all corners of the globe to Biopolis. Most tempting of all, though, is that Singapore plans to become a major player in the biomedical sciences. With a shrewd eye fixed on the emerging pharmaceutical market in Asia, estimated to be worth a potential US $25 billion (£14 billion) annually (the figure excludes Japan), the Singaporean Government has decided to transform the country into a life sciences giant, with the £166 million Biopolis at its heart.
“I don’t think that [animal rights extremism] is the main reason why people are coming,” Dr Beh says. “The ‘pull’ factor is that Singapore wants to put itself on the scientific map. We are making sure that we are investing in the right areas and creating an environment that companies can operate in.”
Accordingly, top international scientists are treated like superstars and wooed with open wallets. The lengths to which Singapore’s ministers are prepared to go in order to poach big names would astound even headhunters in the financial world — Edison Liu, who left America’s National Cancer Institute to run Singapore’s Genome Institute, is reported to have negotiated himself the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Singapore. Newcomers enjoy generous research funds and a free intellectual rein. So many other Brits have turned up that the food court at Biopolis has started screening Premier League football matches.
“This is about attracting individuals who can make a difference,” says Dr Beh. “They bring leadership, and are role models for our young people.” Dr Beh is also delighted that both established companies and small start-ups are opening outposts here: “By coming here, they are putting their money where their mouths are. Others will follow.” Add the tropical climate, excellent schools, low tax rates and the fact that Bali lies a three-hour flight away, and you wonder how any academic could turn down an invitation to join Singapore’s new scientific aristocracy.
A TAXI RIDE to the south of the island brings you to North Buona Vista Road. Turn left after the tall box of glass on the corner — the Ministry of Education — and you will see a towering sculpture of a dandelion clock, its steel fronds glinting in the hot sun. On the right, up a hill, lies Biopolis Way, the narrow, sapling-edged artery weaving between the seven buildings that constitute Biopolis. They bear names such as Helios, Chromos and Nanos, and are connected to each other by a dizzying zigzag of sky bridges. Biopolis is the iconic centrepiece of a wider development called one-north, designed by the Iranian architect Zaha Hadid. It will feature housing, shopping centres and entertainment zones and, unusually for Singapore, the residential area will be “fenceless”. The idea is that scientists will live, work and play together. This very modern vision is tempered by Eastern sensibilities: feng shui experts are said to have been consulted, and 90-degree angles have been avoided.
