Here we go again. Lorbeer is holding up an industrial jar of green pills.
'Peter,' he intones gravely. 'Now I show you the other lifeline of Africa.'
Does he say this every day? To every visitor? Is this his daily act of contrition? Did he say it to Tessa too?
'Africa has eighty per cent of the world's Aids sufferers, Peter. That's a conservative estimate. Three-quarters of them receive no medication. For this we must thank the pharmaceutical companies and their servants, the US State Department, who threaten with sanctions any country that dares produce its own cheap version of American - patented medicines. OK? Have you written that down?'
Justin .gives Lorbeer a reassuring nod. 'Keep going.'
'The pills in this jar cost twenty US dollars apiece in Nairobi, six in New York, eighteen in Manila. Any day now, India's going to manufacture the generic version and the same pill will cost sixty cents. Don't talk to me about the research and development costs. The pharmaceutical boys wrote them off ten years ago and a lot of their money comes from governments in the first place, so they're talking crap. What we got here is an amoral monopoly that costs human lives every day. OK?'
Lorbeer knows his exhibits so well he doesn't need to search for them. He replaces the jar in the shelves and grabs a large black and white box.
'These bastards have been peddling this same compound for thirty years already. What's it for? Malaria. Know why it's thirty years old, Peter? Maybe a few people in New York should get malaria one day, then you see if they don't find a cure pretty damn quick!' He selects another box. His hands, like his voice, are trembling with honest indignation. 'This generous and philanthropic pharma in New Jersey made a donation of its product to the poor starving (532)
nations of the world, OK? The pharmas, they need to be loved. If they're not loved, they get scared and miserable.'
And dangerous, Justin thinks, but not aloud.
'Why did the pharma donate this drug? I'll tell you. Because they have produced a better one. The old one is superfluous to stock. So they give Africa the old one with six months of life left in it, and they get a few million dollars' tax break for their generosity. Plus they are saving themselves a few more millions of warehousing costs and the costs of destroying old drugs they can't sel. Plus everybody says, look at them, what nice guys they are. Even the shareholders are saying it.' He turns the box over and scowls contemptuously at its base. 'This consignment sat in a customs house in Nairobi for three months while the customs guys waited for somebody to bribe them. A couple of years back the same pharma sent Africa hair restorer, smoking cures and cures for obesity, and collected a multi-million-dollar tax-break for their philanthropy. Those bastards got no feeling for anything but the fat god Profit, and that's the truth.'
But the full heat of his righteous anger is reserved for his own masters - those lazy bums in the aid community in Geneva who roll overfor the big pharmas every time.
'Those guys who call themselves humanitarians!' he protests, amid more grins from the assistants, as he unconsciously evokes Tessa's hated H-word. 'With their safe jobs and tax-free salaries, their pensions, nice cars, free international schools. for their kids! Travelling all the time so they never get to spend their money. 1 seen them, man! In the fine Swiss restaurants, eating big meals with the pretty-boy lobbyists from the pharmas. Why should they stick their necks out for humanity? Geneva's got a spare few billion dollars to spend? Great! Spend it on the big pharmas and keep America happy!' (533)
Excerpt fra John le Carré: The constant Gardener, Coronet, 2001
281
QAYLE, she said, were not an 'item' but they were 'the two best people on earth' and those around them 'just had dirty minds'.
Under further questioning, Subject first claimed to be bound by the Official Secrets Act, then by oath of secrecy to the deceased. For our third and final meeting we adopted a more hostile attitude to Subject, pointing out to her that by withholding information she could be shielding Tessa's murderers and impeding the search for BLUHM. We attach edited transcripts at Appendix A and B. Subject has read this transcript but refuses to sign it.
APPENDIX A
Q, Did you at any time assist or accompany Tessa Quayle on field expeditions?
With one exception nobody in this story,. and no outfit or corporation, thank God, is based upon an actual person or outflt in the real world, whether we are thinking of Woodrow, Pellegrin, Landsbury, Crick, Curtiss and his dreaded House of ThreeBees, or Messrs Karel Vita Hudson, also known as KVH. The exception is the great and good Wolfgang of the Oasis Lodge, a character so imprinted upon the memory of all who visit hirn that it would be ridiculous to attempt to create a fictional equivalent. In his sovereignty, Wolfgang raised no objection to my traducing his name and voice.
There is no Dypraxa, never was, never will be. I know of no wonder-cure for TB that has recently been launched on the African market or any other - or is about to be - so with luck I shall not be spending the rest of my life in the law courts or worse, though nowadays you can never be sure. But I can tel you this. As my journey through the pharmaceutical jungle progressed, I came to realise that, by comparison with the reality, my story was as tame as a holiday postcard.
On a happier note, let me warmly thank those who helped me and are willing to have their names mentioned,' as well as others who helped me and for good reasons are not.
Ted Younie, a longtirne and compassionate observer of the African scene, first whispered pharmaceuticals in my ear and later purged my text of several solecisms.
Dr David Miller, a physician with experience of Africa and the Third World, first suggested tuberculosis as the way, and opened my eyes to the costly and sophisticated campaign of seduction waged by pharrnaceutical companies against the medical profession.
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