University Times

"I do not write with sophistication, but I do write very clearly,"says Pitt's Li Ching Chun, better known to his fellow geneticists in the West as C.C. Li.

"My English is not the best. So, my writing style is so simple that even people who do not know anything about genetics understand what I am talking about."His textbooks, beginning with "Introduction to Population Genetics"(1948, Beijing University Press), have been translated into several European and Asian languages and "continue to inspire confidence and admiration for simplicity and clarity of exposition and illustration,"the American Society for Human Genetics (ASHG) noted in honoring Li recently for lifetime achievement in genetics education. The ASHG award, only the fourth such honor the society has bestowed, recognizes Li's writings and teaching of human population genetics, segregation analysis and paternity problems, among his other specialties. But it also honors Li's uncompromising defense of scientific freedom. Following the Communist revolution in his native China, Li became a key figure in the conflict between traditional genetics, pioneered by the Austrian botanist Gregor Johann Mendel (1822-84), and the ideology-driven "new genetics"of T.D. Lysenko (1898-1976), a Soviet biologist and agronomist. Lysenko dismissed Mendel's chromosome-based laws of inheritance as "capitalistic"and "reactionary"and held that cells can absorb environmental influences and acquired human characteristics, which can be inherited by the next generation.

Before the Soviet and Chinese governments finally rejected Lysenkoism in 1956, the wrongheaded theories led to widespread crop failures and suppression of intellectual freedom. Li, sensing that his refusal to endorse Lysenkoism was endangering not only his career but possibly his life, fled China for Hong Kong in 1950. The following year, he came to the United States as a faculty member in Pitt's newly established Graduate School of Public Health.

As a professor emeritus, Li still works at his Crabtree Hall office five days a week. His American-born wife, Clara, drives him to Pitt and helps with his work. At 86, Li is nearly blind. He peers through a magnifying glass as he reads one word at a time. Never a facile writer, he now prints in large block letters. Li is scheduled for cataract surgery this winter.

"I am committed to write a paper for a European journal but this depends on my eyesight,"says Li, who has published more than 20 research papers since retiring 16 years ago as a professor in the Department of Human Genetics.

"Sooner or later, I will have to stop,"Li acknowledges, with a chuckle. "If I can last four more years, I will reach 90. Then I think I will be qualified to say good-bye to work! "My memory now is very poor. This degeneration, you have to accept. I remember the old things but not the new things. The new things don't register. They come and go."Last week, in an interview with University Times Assistant Editor Bruce Steele, Li talked about old things: his early life; the ill-timed honeymoon trip that led to near-starvation and a 38-day trek with his pregnant wife through Japanese-held territory during World War II; and events that led to his flight from China to Pittsburgh. I was born on Oct. 27, 1912.

That was a special year in Chinese history: 1911 was the final year for China's last emperor, 1912 was the first year of the Chinese republic. So I am of the same age as the Chinese republic.

I was born in a village along the seashore in northeastern China, called Taku. It is a suburb of a large city called Tientsin. In 1900, during the Boxer Rebellion, Taku played the same role that Normandy played during World War II. The allied armies of eight nations that invaded China, including the United States, landed in Taku. In those days in China, there were no trucks, no [motorized] army transport. The allied soldiers had to march from Taku to Tientsin, and from there to Beijing.

There was a rape of Taku. History doesn't write about this, but our village people – my mother and father, my aunt – whenever they got together years later, all they talked about was the rape of Taku. Almost every family was involved. The soldiers kicked down the peasants' wooden doors and marched right in. Quite a number of small girls were saved by hiding them under piles of hay. Many older women took the rapes instead. This way, the soldiers wouldn't search the house, as long as they had some woman to rape.

The next year, 1901, almost every family in Taku has a foreign baby born. What to do with it? Our village elders made a resolution: Don't say anything. Nothing happened. Before the baby even cries, it is killed. We killed all the babies, several thousand of them. The next year, everything returned to normal with the unspoken law that nothing happened, nobody talks about it. But of course, people talked.

My father was among the first generation of Chinese who had a missionary education. British missionaries were in China before the American missionaries, so my father went to a British missionary school. That's where he learned English. He also became a Christian. These two things determined his future.

My father had four sons. I am the number three son. He sent all of us to a British school called T.A.C.C. That stands for Tientsin Anglo-Chinese College. It was called a college, but really it was a high school. I enrolled there when I was 13. It was a miniature Cambridge. The color of the brick, the design, it was all modeled after Cambridge because the president, Dr. Hart, was a Cambridge graduate.

After T.A.C.C., between 1932 and 1936, I attended the University of Nanking. This was an American missionary school. In the agriculture college, where I studied, we learned about how to use the American plow. The Chinese plow worked very primitively. The American plow had an angle, so it turned the soil over. Entomology, cytology, botany – all were taught by American professors. I got my B.S. degree from Nanking.

From 1937 to 1940, I went to the Cornell University College of Agriculture. At the University of Chicago, where I studied for two summers, there is what they call the I-House, the International House. It is a place where foreign students could stay. Foreign students in those days had a hard time finding rooming houses. People didn't like to rent to foreign students. The International House was the most convenient place to go, at least for short-term students like me. It was slightly more expensive. Say, if a rooming house charged $3 a week, maybe the I-House charged you $4 a week.

My wife-to-be was a secretary, working for United China Relief in downtown Chicago. This is during the Japanese war. She also was staying at the International House. Same cafeteria, but with two doors. After eating, the girls went upstairs one way, we boys went through the other door. But you could always meet in the cafeteria. That's how I got to know her.

I was 25 years old, without a girlfriend. She was not young – already 21 – without a boyfriend. Other Chinese students introduced us.

In September 1941, we got married. Then we set off for our honeymoon in Shanghai. That was the beginning of a long story.

We booked a Dutch ship, a one-class ship, so there was no first-class, no tourist class. From Chicago we went to San Diego and boarded the ship. They said, it takes about three weeks to get to Shanghai. I came to this country by ship. In those days, there is no airplane. So, I am looking forward to the trip. There is entertainment, music and so forth, every day on the ship.

After a few days, we got the news. They said, we are not going in the normal direction because the Japanese have submarines in the Pacific Ocean. We have to take the southern route. The ship turned south toward Australia. That was the first surprise. But there was nothing to complain about. There was plenty of food. After a few days, we did get very close to Australia. You could almost see the shore. But we didn't stop. We waited for news. Finally, they said, yes, you can turn north. After sailing in a zigzag way for a long time, finally we landed in Java for a few days. There, the ship loaded up on food and fuel. We were not supposed to go on shore, although I did get on shore for a walk. I was getting tired of the ship.

When we left Java, we should have sailed northeast to Shanghai, but they changed course again. We got reports: The news in Shanghai is bad. It is full of Japanese troops. So we went to Hong Kong. This is at the end of November. They said, the Dutch ship cannot take the risk. They transferred us to a smaller, British ship to go to Shanghai.

Okay, I am familiar with the route. The ship starts heading for Shanghai. I know that the land should be on my left. And when I wake up on the first day and take a walk, I see that the land is on my left. I told my wife, åEverything is okay, we are heading for Shanghai.' The second day, I go out for a walk and discover that the land is on my right hand. This is impossible! I am familiar with the geography. My only interpretation is that the ship turned around and is going back. I ask a Chinese sailor what is happening – the crew were all Chinese – but he said, åWe are not allowed to say anything.' I went to my cabin and told my wife, åWe are going back to Hong Kong.' In Hong Kong, they told us the truth. They had gotten the message: Japanese troops are ready to take Shanghai, so don't go there. Turn back. That was Dec. 6, 1941. We checked into a hotel in Kowloon. The second day, Dec. 8, I went out for breakfast and discovered that every place, stores and everything, was closed. Remember, when it is Dec. 7 in Pearl Harbor, it is Dec. 8 in Hong Kong. The Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor and Hong Kong almost simultaneously. Two days later, we began to see Japanese soldiers in the streets. The British troops retreated and retreated, from Kowloon to Hong Kong island. They were really miserable-looking. All they did was march and play their drums. No guns. You don't fight Japanese that way.

We were stranded in Kowloon for nearly two months. I had run out of money a long time before because I had American travellers checks, but nobody wanted them. I am a beggar with several hundred American dollars in my pocket! I only cashed one twenty. I went to a British hotel. They said, åWe are not supposed to do this, but in your special case we will give you $20.' During this time, I learned about hunger. When you are starving, you really can't do anything. You can't think. You just lie there like a zombie. When you see a thing, the first question in your mind is: Is this edible? If it is not edible, it is useless. If you see a piece of paper, you think: Well, it might be edible. So you tear off a piece and put it in your mouth. I met two Cornell friends during this time. One is a native of Hong Kong. His father owns a money shop. Another man, I met in the street. He said, åWhat are you doing here?' I said, åI have nothing to eat and no money. I'm looking for one of my wife's relatives here.' He said, åYou come with me.' He took me to his home and gave me a shoebox full of uncooked rice. He said, åCarry it under your arm because otherwise, people will steal it.' He also gave me a $500 Hong Kong bill. That was all he had. You couldn't cash this bill, it was too big. But I took it to the other friend whose father ran the money shop. The next day, my friend brought me $350, all in singles and fives. That was the best rate I could have gotten. With that, I paid the fee of a guide to take my family and me to Free China.

We never saw any Japanese soldiers. We had Chinese spies everywhere. All Japanese army cooks were Chinese. They were all spies and made reports to us. They knew when the Japanese were eating and sleeping. We always kept about two miles apart. Our guide, he wore two hats. That's the signal. You always follow the man with two hats put together.

We had information on every move of the Japanese soldiers. We avoided every place where there were Japanese. You bribe the officers, give them gold watches and tell them the date and number of people who will cross at what time. By that time, the officer gets his men out of there. If the Japanese had not accepted bribes, either we would have had to kill them or they would have killed us. Bribes saved lives.

During this journey, I discovered one reason there are so many pagodas in China. There are no road maps, but pagodas serve as landmarks. You can see them miles away. We were walking in rice fields, not even on roads. You have to have a pagoda to know whether you are walking in the right direction.

After 38 days of walking, we finally got to Free China, to the town of Hui-yang. Everybody went to restaurants and had a big meal. I did this too. On the way, I saw a photography studio. I thought: What's the use of this place? I thought all stores should sell food. That's what starvation does to your thinking.

After a few weeks, I got to Kweilin, where my brother lived. My wife delivered our first baby there. Kweilin was famous for its caves. Huge caves. We hid in them during air raids. The day my son was born, he and my wife were carried to a cave. He died 14 months later, of dysentery. His name was Jeff. He died in my arms. Years later, I had a daughter and a son, named Stephen. Stephen named his own son Jeffrey, in honor of his big brother who died.

After World War II, Li became a professor and chairperson of the agronomy department at China's National Beijing University.

In 1948, Communist troops surrounded Beijing. National Beijing University was located in the city, but the agricultural college, where I worked, was outside the city in Communist-held territory. The Nationalists still controlled the city itself. In 1949, the Nationalist troops in the city surrendered, by negotiation. Both sides agreed, no fighting. I went in with the Communist troops in 1949. The first few weeks were peaceful. The Communists wanted me to report to the National Beijing University, which was in the city. They didn't know what the Communist troops would do. The Communists wanted me to report to the faculty, to assure them that nothing would happen, don't panic, there will be no killing.

The Communists had given us two meals a day and no mistreatment. I made the report, and the faculty felt much better. There was a honeymoon period of a few weeks.

Most people were like me. I had no pre-determined position for or against the Communists. There was a short period when I dealt with Nationalist officers. At night, they retreated and the Communist soldiers would come. I slept with my shoes on because there was no time to get dressed. You negotiated with one side during the day and with the other side at night. If there had been fighting, our college would have been right in the firing line. We were negotiating the plan for evacuation. One night, the Communists came with mule carts to our college and evacuated us to another place a few miles away from Beijing. We stayed there for 40 days before the truce was agreed upon.

When this honeymoon period was over, the signs of Lysenkoism began to show. I can summarize this conflict in one line: ideology versus science. The Communists did not believe in the autonomy of science. In their world, ideology overruled science. I had no escape. I could not say, åYes, sir, my science is wrong.' I knew the Mendelian inheritance was true.

My colleagues were all silent. They could not help me. If they helped me, they would be committing a bigger crime than any I could have committed. I was the head of the department, I taught genetics, so I was the target.

If they had really wanted to, they could have dragged me out anda Li mimes taking a bullet in the head. I would prefer that to saying, åLysenko genetics is true, ours is false' – that wouldn't be true.

They sent someone to see me one night, a faculty member who had always been friendly to me but was a party member. He said, åBig Li, as a friend, listen to me. All you have to say is that Mendelian genetics was wrong and Lysenko genetics is correct. If you can just say that, everything will be okay. Why can't you do that, as a favor to all of us at the university?' I said, åThat is just the thing that I cannot do.' Li gestures to the painting of Mendel above his desk at Crabtree Hall and a photo of Mendel on his desk. How could I denounce this man? This man is my god. He discovered the laws of inheritance. The Communists said, åYou think inheritance is due to a concrete thing. This thinking is reactionary. Everything depends on environment.' Today, we know that all hereditary material are determined by DNA, so there must be a material basis for heredity. But that is exactly what the Communists opposed.

The Communists did not threaten my family. At this point, they still played the good guy. They said, åWe want to save you. This is not persecution. We are protecting you.' They tried several times to get a younger colleague to denounce me, but all of my assistants were loyal to me. They refused. The Communists did not do anything to them, although they may have had slow promotion for the rest of their careers. Some are still there today. They still write to me.

In the Soviet Union, the Communists had arrested [pro-Mendelian Soviet geneticist N.I.] Vavilov, who played the same role in Russia that I played in China. They charged him with being a British spy because he had studied at Cambridge University. That's where he studied genetics. They tried to play the same trick on me. They spread rumors. My wife had visited the American embassy. She is a U.S. citizen by birth. The embassy called her to register in case they had to evacuate Americans. My wife went to the embassy only twice, but the Communists said, åWhat is going on here? You go to the American embassy?' I thought, åThis sounds like the Vavilov case. They will try to make me out to be an American spy.' At that time, I decided to leave China.

To do this kind of thing, you have to double-talk. To one man, you say one thing. To another man, you say another thing. The second rule is, you don't say good-bye to anyone. In those days, government permission was not required to buy a train ticket. This was before the Korean War. I bought two tickets. Some of the things I did, even my wife didn't know until the day before we left, because my wife couldn't keep a secret.

I made all the arrangements. I bought the tickets. I left a letter with the guard at the gate, a policeman. In the letter, I asked my university for a leave of absence without pay. I said, I'm going home to see my mother in Shanghai. I hired two bicycle rickshaws to get us to the railway station, my wife, my 4-year-old daughter Carol, and me. When I got there, five or six of my friends are waiting for me. How did they know? My impression is, the guard had immediately delivered my letter to the dean. The dean read the letter and took a car to the railway station to wait for me. The dean asked, åWhen will you be back?' I said, åTwo or three weeks.' I had to sacrifice my home, my curtains, my bedspread, my carpeting. My wife tried to save some things, but I said, åNo. Keep everything as if I am coming back tomorrow.' This is part of my strategy. If they arrested me, I would ridicule them. åThis is nonsense,' I would say. åLook at my home. Everything is still here. Where did you draw the conclusion that I am leaving?' But they didn't arrest me.

We traveled to Shanghai, where I went to the travel agent and bought tickets to Canton. I only slept in Shanghai for two nights. My mother was surprised. She said, åYou haven't been home for so long. Just to stay two nights and go?' I said, åMother, they are coming for me. I have to keep one step ahead of them.' In Canton, I immediately bought tickets to Hong Kong. There, we crossed the bridge. My brother was waiting for me on the other side.

Hong Kong was British territory, but there was nothing to stop you from walking there from Chinese territory in those days. As soon as I crossed the bridge, I was safe. A few days later, a Communist agent did visit my mother. That convinced her I had been right; they were just one step behind me. They asked my father to see me. My father said, åHe's gone. He's in Hong Kong now.' The agent said, åHe couldn't be. He just came home three days ago. He must be still in the house. May we take a look?' So the Communists came in and searched the house. They concluded, åLi Ching Chun is still living here.' My father said, åWhat's the evidence?' The Communists said, åWe saw books of his in the attic.' åYes,' my father said, åthose are his books from when he was an undergraduate.' The cop had not made that distinction! They put spies at all four corners of the house and watched the house for a few weeks, but then they disappeared. I had written a couple of letters from Hong Kong to Beijing. When they received these letters, they knew I was already in Hong Kong, so it was no use to watch my Shanghai home.

One Communist asked my father, åWhy didn't you stop him?' My father said, åHe is not a kid. He is a professor at Beijing University. I couldn't stop him.' My father did get into trouble later, but not because of this. Unlike most Chinese people who had money, he did not go to Hong Kong after the revolution. He believed in Communism. The Communists had said. åWe are not going to confiscate what you have. We are going to form a partnership with you, partly governmental and partly private.' My father believed in this. He exported tung oil to the United States. And in the beginning, the Communists did not confiscate my father's business. That came in 1966, during the Cultural Revolution. That changed everything.

After I left Shanghai, I never saw my parents again. Of my three brothers and two sisters, the only one I ever saw again was the brother who met me in Hong Kong. Since then, he too has died.

I am forever grateful to a man named H.J. Muller.

He was the first geneticist to be awarded a Nobel Prize. He was from the Soviet Union and he resigned from the Soviet Academy of Sciences, protesting Lysenkoism. In the American Genetic Association, he chaired a committee for the rescue of foreign geneticists. He mobilized all of his means to save me. The other geneticists he saved were all from the Soviet Union. I was the first case in China. Years later, when my second son was born, we named him Stephen Muller Li.

In 1951, Thomas Parran, dean of Pitt's new public health school, was searching for a geneticist to do research on chronic and hereditary diseases. Based on Muller's recommendation, Parran offered the job to Li.

The U.S. State Department said it was willing to admit me to the United States. But usually this is up to the local consulate, which studies the case and makes decisions. The American consulate in Hong Kong had the power to decide. Muller learned of this. In 1951, Muller had a meeting in India. When it was over, he was supposed to go to Japan and then back to the United States. But he made a special stop in Hong Kong on his way to Japan. He stayed for one day, to meet with the American consul. We all met in my brother's apartment.

We had dinner together and talked for two hours. Finally, when Muller thought everything had been solved, the consul pointed to me and said, åThere is one problem. We still don't know that this man is C.C. Li.' I had left China without any documents. åWhere is your passport?' the consul asked me.

At this point, Muller shouted, åThis is absolute nonsense! Everybody in this room, including yourself, knows he is C.C. Li. What other proof do you want?' This consul had been sitting next to me for two hours. After Muller spoke, the consul whispered to me, åCan you come to my office tomorrow morning?' I said, åyes.' The problem was solved. He yielded to Muller. The next morning when I appeared at the consulate, everything was in order. The consul issued a special travel permit to me as a person without nationality. My brother then booked a flight for me to Pittsburgh.