饶毅：在大问题上我没错过
近二十年来，在重大问题上，事实一再证明饶毅老师没有错。
最初批评的人数量越多、激烈程度与最终的证明成正比。
也就是说，看起来汹涌澎湃的批评，其实最后证明饶老师最初的前瞻性和准确性。
2004年，饶老师带头反对喇嘛到美国神经科学学会演讲。
2012年，饶老师英文致信英国《自然》杂志主编，批评其对中国游泳选手叶诗文的污蔑。
近年，美国国立健康研究院NIH带头迫害旅美华人科学家。饶老师多次致信NIH的院长，严厉批评其政策。
2020年7月20日，饶老师在《纽约时报》发表英文文章，刊登在其国际版首页，叙述他在武汉的12位亲戚无一感染，而他住纽约6位亲戚有一位死于新冠病毒感染。
2011年，饶老师第一个提出屠呦呦的青蒿素研究值得诺贝尔奖。饶老师把当年他参与评审的全球大药厂GSK的科学奖颁发给了屠呦呦。
而海内外华人群起而攻之。虽然从2002年起，饶老师十几年准确判断了十几二十位诺贝尔奖得主，海内外华人群众继续以自己的无知和偏见攻击饶老师评价屠呦呦。
2015年，屠呦呦获得我国第一个自然科学的诺贝尔奖，海内外华人虽然承认饶老师第一个对屠呦呦的研究有前瞻性的准确判断，显然多方面证据（科学史、奖项评价等）表明饶老师是对我国和世界生命科学研究工作判断力第一的华人科学家。
2016年美国大选前后，饶老师三次在国内电视公开告诫我国观众、批评特朗普，并预计特朗普将带来严重问题。海内外华人一片哗然，绝大多数是猛烈抨击饶老师。几年后，海内外华人普遍发现特朗普确实有问题，也有人承认当年误批了饶老师。
2022年3月29日，饶老师是国内第一个依据科学数据，经过分析和对比四个方案，明确提出应该“普及疫苗（特别是提高老年人接种）然后放开”的防疫政策。
饶老师有没有错过？当然有。但是小事。在韩春雨事件上，饶老师确实判断失误。没人能够百分之百准确，而且韩春雨不过是河北科技大学的年轻教师，对他的评价不是大是大非。而回国的饶老师身在北大却关心没有出过国的河北科技大学教授，也没有私利，而是关心弱势年轻人心切。
可以说，在多个重大问题上，饶老师第一个公开发言的时候遭到很多人（有时是大多数人）的反对，而其后几年内被事实证明是对的。
只是：反反复复，每一次重复同样的过程，罕见有人遵循“前事不忘后事之师”的基本规律。
饶老师从回国的45岁，成为现在的60岁，获得了可以说“不听老人言...”的资格了。
新冠去世的叔叔和肺科医生的父亲
英文链接：
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/22/opinion/coronavirus-china-us.html
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/22/opinion/coronavirus-china-us.html
Opinion
My Uncle Died of Covid-19 in America. In China, Would He Have Lived?
My father, a Chinese pulmonologist, believes his brother could have been saved.
By Yi Rao
Dr. Rao is a molecular neurobiologist in China.
July 22, 2020,5:01 a.m. ET
BEIJING — Eight is thought to be a lucky number in China because in Chinese it sounds like the word for “fortune”; 444 is a bad number because it rings like “death”; 520 sounds like “I love you.”
Having always disliked superstition, I was dismayed to receive a message by WeChat at 4:44 p.m. on May 20, Beijing time, informing me that my uncle Eric, who lived in New York, had died from Covid-19. He was 74.
Uncle Eric was a pharmacist, so presumably he contracted the virus from a patient who had visited his shop in Queens. Infected in March, he was sick for more than two months. He was kept on a ventilator until his last 10 days: By then, he was deemed incurable and the ventilator was redirected to other patients who might be saved.
The medical trade runs in my family. I now preside over a medical university in Beijing with 19 affiliated hospitals. I studied medicine because my father was a doctor, a pulmonary physician. He decided to study medicine after losing his mother to a minor infection when he was 13. My father did not expect to lose a brother 15 years his junior to a disease in his own specialty: the respiratory system.
My father (Weihua) and Eric (Houhua) were first separated in 1947. My father, then 17, stayed behind in Nanchang, the capital of Jiangxi Province, in central-southern China, to finish his education, while Eric, age 2, and other brothers and a sister sailed to Taiwan with their parents. With the end of World War II, Taiwan had been returned to China after five decades of Japanese occupation, and there were job opportunities there.
The family did not anticipate what would happen in 1949 and, for them, the beginning of another kind of, and very long, separation.
My father completed his medical education in Nanchang and had graduate training with one of the top respiratory physicians in Shanghai, but in the 1960s theCultural Revolution then took him to a small town and after that to a village, where he was the sole doctor. He moved back to a major hospital in Nanchang in 1972.
In the mid-1970s, my grandfather sent him — by way of Fiji — a letter at a previous address, and miraculously it arrived.
Soon, Uncle Eric became their emissary.
Uncle Eric was the first member of my family to become an American citizen. He arrived in San Francisco in the late 1970s, drawn to an economic powerhouse of a country, so starkly different from what he had grown up with in Taiwan.
It was 35 years before the brothers met again, in 1982. My father was a visiting scholar for a year at the Cardiovascular Research Institute at the University of California, San Francisco, where he conducted research on pulmonary edema, and he received a few months of clinical training in the intensive care unit at what is now called the Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center.
In the early 1980s, the gap between China and the United States was gigantic. And my father has always been grateful for the education he received at U.C.S.F. and the kindness and generosity of the Americans he met.
He brought his American training back to Nanchang to establish the first I.C.U. in Jiangxi Province and one of the first I.C.U.s in China. He also established one of the first — if not the very first — institute of molecular medicine in China.
In 1985, I followed in his footsteps and in those of my uncles — Uncle Tim (Xinghua) had immigrated to California as well: I went to San Francisco to study for my Ph.D., also at U.C.S.F. My younger brother moved to the United States a few years later.
In the 1990s, with the collapse of the Soviet model, America seemed to be the only other exemplar left. Having studied in the United States and with plans to work and live there for the long haul, I applied for American citizenship and obtained it in 2000. My children were born in the United States.
But then 9/11 happened, and this axis of evil emerged: Dick Cheney (vice president); Paul Wolfowitz (deputy secretary of defense); David Addington (counsel to the vice president); John Yoo (Justice Department lawyer and author of the “Torture Memos”). These men were ready to do anything to advance their agenda, imposing their own law — meaning, really, no proper laws and no rule of law — in Iraq, at Guantánamo and elsewhere. And too many Americans went along. That period proved to me that America was not the democratic beacon many of us had thought it to be.
I first started looking into how to renounce my U.S. citizenship while I lived in Chicago and then again after moving back to China in 2007. I completed the process in 2011 — a decision that has been validated since by the advent of President Trump and Trumpism, which are a natural expansion of what was put in motion after 9/11.
Uncle Eric never returned to China.
By the time my father retired in 2005, at 75, he had treated countless respiratory and I.C.U. patients in China. He had worked through the SARS epidemic in 2002-3, issuing dark predictions that the virus, or something like it, would come back. He and I debate whether the new coronavirus proves his prediction right.
As Covid-19 began to spread earlier this year, my father, now 90 and long retired, would send me advice about how to treat the disease so that I could relay it to other doctors, including the one leading response efforts in the city of Wuhan, the pandemic’s epicenter early on.
Our family has 12 members in Wuhan, mostly on my mother’s side, and six in New York, mostly on my father’s side. All my relatives in Wuhan are safe. Uncle Eric died in New York after the pandemic had moved to the United States — the world’s strongest country militarily, the richest economically and the most advanced medically.
The United States had two months or more to learn from China’s experience with this coronavirus, and it could have done much more to lower infection rates and fatalities. My father is struggling to accept his brother’s death partly, too, because he believes that he could have treated Uncle Eric — that in China Uncle Eric would have been saved.
As the pandemic rages on in the United States and throughout the world, with some smaller outbreaks in China, the United States and China are not collaborating, but competing, in the search for a successful vaccine for the virus and treatment measures for the disease.
My father’s family has been divided for most of his life, separated mostly by the decisions of political leaders. For a long time, the United States seemed like the better place to live — for those lucky enough to have such a choice.
Now, my father and Uncle Eric have been separated once again. This time that outcome doesn’t speak well of America.
Yi Rao is the president of Capital Medical University, a chair professor at Peking University and the director of the Chinese Institute for Brain Research, in Beijing.
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