258 Fabien Girard and Manohisoa Rakotondrabe
meeting if it was not with a view to adding it to this protocol. In addition,
we had spent a total of two days on this topic and group assignments had
been done on it.
MR N. (PEASANT): Perhaps it is an oversight [laughs].
MR R. (PEASANT): Because these are not things that we grow [Laughter from
the audience]. These plants grow like that, in the fields. We just know that a
plant is used to treat a certain disease if a person asks us. None of us has made
the decision to grow these plants yet.
MR T1 (DRAEP): My apologies, it is not my turn to speak yet, but it is a matter of
understanding. When you talk about “traditional knowledge”, is it knowledge
as it should be or is it traditional plants of our ancestors? [Assembly laughter].
35
The last question is particularly important as it shows most clearly the incommunicability of worlds and the fragility of the category used in the BCP with regard
to vernacular classifications. Even more striking is the two-fold limit that the
peasants set on the legal category of “genetic resources”: apart from Ms B (who
alludes to “seeds” nonchalantly and haphazardly sown in the garden), genetic
resources are nothing but “medicines”, “medicinal plants” and “traditional medicines”. Strictly speaking, these plants are neither planted, nor grown, at least
not in the sense of traditional crops. Equally important is the fact that these
resources appear to belong to a separate universe: as one peasant stated, “these
concern those with healing gifts”, i.e. the mpitaiza olona (healers) or mpanao tambavy (herbalists) (Lefèvre, 2008, paras 12–14).
Some may argue that, subject to minor efforts at translation and readjustment, vernacular categories could be mapped onto legal (and Western) ones.
We disagree: the way each category is embodied in farming praxis should not
be overlooked. That what we refer to as “genetic resources” other than PGRFA
constantly appears to be on the verge of morphing into knowledge and therapeutic practices are proof that these “resources” are in fact foreign to them and
belong to separate realm dominated by healers and herbalists. Importantly, this
explains why they are often forgotten. This also provides clues as to the appropriate interpretation to be made of peasants’ attitudes towards the facilitator.
Throughout the group analyses and semi-directed interviews, the peasants did
not hesitate to join the facilitator in deploring the lack of bioprospectors, apparently sharing with him the hope that in the near future bioprospecting contracts
on aloe vera and talapetraka (Centella asiatica (L)) could reverse course. The sincerity of these statements is, however, doubtful; it was as if peasants were playing a
scene in which their lines do not quite fit with the rest of the screenplay.
***
Lost in the scripts, the peasants and the facilitator strove to resume the boundary
work with a new starting point. The expression “traditional plants of our ancestors”, as we heard one state agent said, should give some guidance as to what the
meeting if it was not with a view to adding it to this protocol. In addition,
we had spent a total of two days on this topic and group assignments had
been done on it.
MR N. (PEASANT): Perhaps it is an oversight [laughs].
MR R. (PEASANT): Because these are not things that we grow [Laughter from
the audience]. These plants grow like that, in the fields. We just know that a
plant is used to treat a certain disease if a person asks us. None of us has made
the decision to grow these plants yet.
MR T1 (DRAEP): My apologies, it is not my turn to speak yet, but it is a matter of
understanding. When you talk about “traditional knowledge”, is it knowledge
as it should be or is it traditional plants of our ancestors? [Assembly laughter].
35
The last question is particularly important as it shows most clearly the incommunicability of worlds and the fragility of the category used in the BCP with regard
to vernacular classifications. Even more striking is the two-fold limit that the
peasants set on the legal category of “genetic resources”: apart from Ms B (who
alludes to “seeds” nonchalantly and haphazardly sown in the garden), genetic
resources are nothing but “medicines”, “medicinal plants” and “traditional medicines”. Strictly speaking, these plants are neither planted, nor grown, at least
not in the sense of traditional crops. Equally important is the fact that these
resources appear to belong to a separate universe: as one peasant stated, “these
concern those with healing gifts”, i.e. the mpitaiza olona (healers) or mpanao tambavy (herbalists) (Lefèvre, 2008, paras 12–14).
Some may argue that, subject to minor efforts at translation and readjustment, vernacular categories could be mapped onto legal (and Western) ones.
We disagree: the way each category is embodied in farming praxis should not
be overlooked. That what we refer to as “genetic resources” other than PGRFA
constantly appears to be on the verge of morphing into knowledge and therapeutic practices are proof that these “resources” are in fact foreign to them and
belong to separate realm dominated by healers and herbalists. Importantly, this
explains why they are often forgotten. This also provides clues as to the appropriate interpretation to be made of peasants’ attitudes towards the facilitator.
Throughout the group analyses and semi-directed interviews, the peasants did
not hesitate to join the facilitator in deploring the lack of bioprospectors, apparently sharing with him the hope that in the near future bioprospecting contracts
on aloe vera and talapetraka (Centella asiatica (L)) could reverse course. The sincerity of these statements is, however, doubtful; it was as if peasants were playing a
scene in which their lines do not quite fit with the rest of the screenplay.
***
Lost in the scripts, the peasants and the facilitator strove to resume the boundary
work with a new starting point. The expression “traditional plants of our ancestors”, as we heard one state agent said, should give some guidance as to what the