只能批评中国、不能肯定中国,某些写手虚构的逻辑
一批写手,以前之所以“支持”饶毅老师,是因为他们误解,认为饶老师从国外回来、批评了国内不良事件人物,所以是他们一边的人。
这些写手中,有好人,但也有伪君子。完全不懂得真正坚持真理、依据事实的科学家,因为他们大多数都没见过真正的科学家。而且在中国少数确实是科学家的人,其中也有相当一部分扭曲了。
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。
此前的2004年,饶老师与鲁白、邹承鲁在英国的《自然》增刊上批评中国科技管理问题。2010年施一公、饶老师在美国《科学》周刊批评中国科技经费管理。
无论是批评还是肯定,饶老师都不变:求真求实。
饶老师批评中国的问题,是因为饶老师认为应该改进、可以改进。
饶老师肯定中国,是因为饶老师认为我国对外工作应该改进、可以改进。在特朗普等煽动下,外国有一些人(包括海外有些华人)诬陷中国。饶老师有一份力尽一份力,明确反击他们对中国的造谣。
全体活着的海内外华人科学家,近四十年没有一人做到了能在《纽约时报》捍卫中国。饶老师只有一篇文章,其他科学家有第二篇吗?
以前外国媒体如果发表华人的文章,大部分是文科或没有学术背景的华人批评中国。
国际第一大媒体刊登肯定中国的文章,如果不是绝无仅有,也是极为罕见。
伪君子们对饶老师《纽约时报》的文章百思不得其解。
少数伪君子,当时发现饶老师与他们的目标不同,就开始批饶老师。用的手法与今天一模一样:不讲事实,无法反驳饶老师说的具体观点、问题,而是大谈动机、顾左右而言他。
批判饶老师的美国人,有参议员Tom Cotton、前国务卿Michael Pompeo。他们也不谈事实,只谈其他,他们不仅批判饶老师的文章,而且批评《纽约时报》发表这种文章是帮中国。
有些伪君子号称自己是自由派,结果与美国极右的反华派一个腔调。
没有原则、不依据事实、只按立场肆意人身攻击、违反自己宣称的口号,这种写手无一例外都属于伪君子。
饶老师从来蔑视他们的所谓“支持”,因为饶老师鄙视这种人格。
对这种人,饶老师应该学习鲁迅的:一个都不原谅。
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.