In 1950, though it didn’t know it yet, the American government held one of the keys to winning the Cold War: Qian Xuesen, a brilliant Chinese rocket scientist who had already transformed the fields of aerospace and weaponry. In the halls of the California Institute of Technology and M.I.T., he had helped solve the riddle of jet propulsion and developed America’s first guided ballistic missiles. He was made a colonel in the U.S. Air Force, worked on the top-secret Manhattan Project and was sent to Germany to interrogate Nazi scientists. Dr. Qian wanted the first man in space to be American — and was designing a rocket to make it happen.
Then he was stopped short. At the height of his career, there came a knock at the door, and he was handcuffed in front of his wife and young son. Prosecutors would eventually clear Dr. Qian of charges of sedition and espionage, but the United States deported him anyway — traded back to Communist Beijing in a swap for about a dozen American prisoners of war in 1955.
The implications of that single deportation are staggering: Dr. Qian returned to China and immediately persuaded Mao Zedong to put him to work building a modern weapons program. By the decade’s end, China tested its first missile. By 1980, it could rain them down on California or Moscow with equal ease. Dr. Qian wasn’t just rightly christened the father of China’s missile and space programs; he set in motion the technological revolution that turned China into a superpower.
His story has been top of mind for me (I’ve been working on a biographical book project on him for several years now) as we’ve watched the Trump administration ruthlessly target foreign students and researchers. On Wednesday, Secretary of State Marco Rubio turned up the pressure, announcing that the administration would work to “aggressively revoke” visas of Chinese students, including those with ties to the Chinese Communist Party or who are studying in “critical fields.” There are some one million foreign students in the United States — more than 250,000 of them Chinese. Dr. Qian’s deportation should serve as an important cautionary tale. It proved an American misstep, fueled by xenophobia, that would forever alter the global balance of power.
In an echo of the current moment, he became a target of the hysteria around Senator Joseph McCarthy’s Red Scare because he was a Chinese national and a scientist. He was humiliated when his security clearance was revoked. The price paid for shunning Dr. Qian has been dear. Not only did the United States miss a chance to leapfrog the Soviet Union in manned spaceflight; it gave China the one resource it lacked to challenge American dominance in Asia: significant scientific prowess. In addition to closing that gap, his return to China ushered in generations of homegrown Chinese scientific breakthroughs. To this day, Washington spends billions of dollars on a nuclear umbrella shielding our Pacific allies from his technical achievements.
When asked about America’s deportation of Dr. Qian, the former Navy Secretary Dan Kimball said, “It was the stupidest thing this country ever did.”
Dr. Qian came to the United States as a young man of 23. He benefited from a scholarship that now seems to represent a vanished mind-set: the idea that international educational exchange would promote American values and foster world peace. Edmund James, the American representative in Beijing, set up the fund that brought Dr. Qian and other students like him to the United States. “The nation which succeeds in educating the young Chinese of the present generation,” Dr. James wrote to President Teddy Roosevelt, “will be the nation which for a given expenditure of effort will reap the largest possible returns in moral, intellectual and commercial influence.” By the 1960s, three-quarters of China’s 200 most eminent scientists, including future Nobel Prize winners, had been trained in America, thanks to Dr. James.
In California, Dr. Qian joined up with a group of other promising young scientists who called themselves the Suicide Squad, after at least one of their early experiments blew up a campus lab. At an annual meeting of engineers, two of the squad members announced they had worked out how to create a rocket capable of flying 1,000 miles vertically above the earth’s surface. Soon they acquired a more official name: the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
In 1949, Dr. Qian was chosen to lead the laboratory, which by then was the precursor to NASA. He not only wanted to help the United States win the space race, but he also unveiled plans to use rockets in air travel to allow passengers to get from New York to Los Angeles in less than an hour.
Was Dr. Qian a spy? Was he a Communist? There was no convincing evidence of either, but it’s unclear whether the American government ever cared. Protests by top defense officials and academics, including J. Robert Oppenheimer, who worked with Dr. Qian on the Manhattan Project, went unheeded. After five years under house arrest, Dr. Qian was begging the Chinese government to help him escape the United States.
State Department documents, now declassified, suggest that Dr. Qian had become a highly undervalued pawn in the eyes of the Eisenhower administration, traded back to China for U.S. airmen. The Chinese premier, Zhou Enlai, speaking triumphantly about the negotiations, said: “We had won back Qian Xuesen. That alone made the talks worthwhile.”
Dr. Qian never returned to the United States and served the rest of his life as a celebrated leader of the Chinese Communist Party. He is seen as a national hero, too, with a museum built to honor his accomplishments. Most of his remarks in his later years were either technical documents or party propaganda against America. In 1966, however, one of his former Caltech colleagues received a postcard decorated with a traditional Chinese drawing of flowers and postmarked in Beijing. On it Dr. Qian had written simply, “This is a flower that blooms in adversity.”
Mr. Rubio’s announcement, although short on details, has surely set off waves of anxiety among international students and their colleagues at research universities, as schools and laboratories brace themselves for further disruption. Something larger has been lost, though: America once saw educating the strivers of the world as a way to enhance and strengthen our nation. It was a strategic advantage that so many of the best and brightest thinkers, scientists and leaders wanted to study here and to be exposed to American democracy and culture.
Dr. Qian’s achievements on behalf of China demonstrate the risk of giving up that advantage and the potential dark side of alienating — rather than welcoming — the world’s talent. There’s always the chance that it will someday be used against us.
Source photograph via Bettmann Archive/Getty Images.
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Kathleen Kingsbury is the Opinion editor of The New York Times, overseeing the editorial board and the Opinion section. Previously she was the deputy editorial page editor. She joined The Times in 2017 from The Boston Globe, where she served as managing editor for digital. She received the 2015 Pulitzer Prize for distinguished editorial writing. @katiekings
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