Fascination of Science, page 8
You've said that you've inherited your father's quick thinking—and his impatience. Is that still true?
My employees can tell you a thing or two about that. We can agree on an experiment, and just a day later I'm already asking what the results are. I'm always impatiently waiting for results. Speed isn't the most important thing in science, though; it's more important to think about the problems correctly and constantly. I wake up at night and can't go back to sleep, thinking about what I could do to solve a problem. I live for science, I have to admit. I work all day in the lab and preferably on the weekends because that's when I have the most peace and quiet.
You didn't really make any headway with your PhD until your father reviewed the experiment with you. Is it true that those were the two most instructive hours of your life?
When I was young, I used to be devastated when experiments went wrong, and I generally suffered from mood swings and was often depressed. I know from my mother that my father also suffered from these periods, but he never showed it. In my doctoral work, something elementary didn't work right at the start, and I thought I had to be really stupid. Then my father showed me one Sunday at the institute how to find the errors in a short space of time. I learned to consider which parameters could be variable, and then eliminate one possible source of error after another. And I learned something perhaps even more important: the professor mustn't come across as aloof to the students.
The key is to always ask questions. If you just sit in the office every day and don't talk to the staff and don't follow the experiments in detail, you don't stand a chance of achieving anything in science. Everyone is looking for something new; to actually find something new, you need originality and the ability to think outside the box. I'm quite good at that. I've managed to push forward new ideas several times; even in my old age, I still have the ambition to do something great.
“In the United States, people live by the reviews of their work. They get kicked out, mercilessly, if they aren't good enough.”
As a small child, you made a pudding and painted it blue, after which your mother urged you to label everything precisely and create a protocol. Was that the start of your scientific career?
Yes, that's how it was seen by my family. My mother always encouraged my siblings and me to do science. I don't know what she was thinking at the time, but she certainly wanted it to be scientific. When I dyed the semolina blue, she said, “Now you must label it, put stickers on it, and then write down how you did it. You have to keep a proper record, just as you're supposed to in the lab.”
You once said that your mother was the center of your universe. You called her every day until she died?
She lived to be 104, and for her last two years I did indeed call her every day. Before that, the intervals were a little longer. But I always communicated with her regularly, and she knew precisely what was going on in the lab. She was the most curious person you could imagine; she was interested in everything, whether it was politics, or science, or culture.
When your father married your mother, he told her that, for him, his political work came first, then science, and then family. What about you?
Science comes first—it has dominated my life. Family does play a big role, but I spend most of my time in the lab, no question. My wife and I once carried out an experiment together, and after two hours she was really annoyed with me because I kept on coming over every few minutes and asking her if she had done this and that yet. Since then, we've never conducted an experiment together. She has retained her independence. She also used to work in the lab a lot and she taught for many years. When she had to give up teaching at the age of sixty-five, she started studying art history and threw herself into that.
The Berlin Wall fell in 1989, and you went to America in 1995. What was it like to start working abroad after so many years in the GDR?
It was completely different. However, conditions had already changed a lot after German reunification. In the GDR, we had practically no money to do research, there was limited research exchange with the West, and it wasn't easy to do science. On the other hand, a big plus was that the GDR border was shut and so almost all the good students stayed in the country; many ended up with me.
After German reunification, I had the title of professor, but no professorship. I had to reapply and was rejected twice. Because of that, I was pretty depressed and didn't even know if I would get a job again. Then, I went to Boston with eight of my students. We were welcomed with open arms, and so it wasn't that difficult to get back on our feet. The biggest difference was that in Berlin I was the star, so to speak, while in America I was just one of many good people. But I knew that, and I wanted it that way. It's scientific heaven here in Boston being able to talk to so many fantastic colleagues.
Was leaving Germany a decisive step in your life?
One drawback was that my family was suddenly split up. My two older children stayed in Germany and studied there. My daughter, who was 15 at the time, came with us, but then returned to Germany when she was 17. I tricked my wife slightly. She said that her condition for making the move to the United States was to work in my lab—otherwise she wouldn't come with me. I agreed, although I didn't want that at all; the staff would no longer have talked openly to me if my wife were in the lab. So, I told her she had to learn a few procedures first, and I offered her work with a colleague.
My ulterior motive, of course, was for her to get stuck in his lab. And that's how it turned out. It's still a problem, though, that in order to see my whole family, I have to fly to Germany. But scientifically, the move to the United States was a huge enrichment. I ended up on top at Harvard. In my eyes, the system in the United States is much more honest and tougher than in Germany. Once you've done something good in Germany, you can sit back and relax until you retire. In the United States, people live by the reviews of their work. They get kicked out, mercilessly, if they aren't good enough. I, too, as a Howard Hughes Medical Institute Investigator, have just had to be assessed again, at the age of 71.
In science, only the person who makes the first discovery receives the recognition. What's your experience been like here?
I honestly don't get it. Unfortunately, it often happens that two groups find something out at the same time; this has happened to me twice now within three months. But I'm firmly against keeping everything secret. My people know that if they tell me something, the next moment the whole world will know about it. I can't keep secrets. The good thing here is that other scientists also tell me a lot, and so in both recent situations I just mentioned, the competition told me about their experiments. In Germany, you often find rivalry among colleagues who don't even work in the same field. In the United States, there is more of a team spirit and more happiness when a colleague succeeds.
Could you describe what you're currently working on?
I have thirteen people in the lab, and although that's a relatively small number, we're working on five different projects. One of them is to discover how proteins emerge from the cell and are translocated into membranes. Another has to do with the reverse process; that is, how proteins are degraded when they are misfolded. A third has to do with how organelles—specialized subunits within the cell—acquire their characteristic appearance. Then we're also carrying out research on the importing of proteins into an organelle called the peroxisome. If this import doesn't work properly, it can lead to diseases in children that are usually fatal.
We're wondering how it's possible for proteins to get in there, because when they're folded, they pass through the membrane, and that's not the case otherwise. The last project has to do with the question of how respiration works. The lungs are constantly contracting and expanding when we breathe, and in order for this expansion to occur, there have to be proteins that reduce the surface tension. This research may even lead to a practical application. For instance, often a spray is used in the trachea of premature babies to help them breathe, until they develop their own lung surfactant. In our opinion, the mixture used presently isn't very efficient, and we're trying to improve it. This may also have great significance for serious lung injuries in adults.
“I have no illusions: in science, no one is irreplaceable, unlike in art.”
Why should a young person study science?
Being a scientist is the best profession imaginable: every day I get to follow my curiosity, I can come and go when I please, my colleagues and I see the world when we exchange ideas. I'd tell a student, if you feel the vocation and passion in you, get into science; there's nothing better. Once you find the field you're passionate about, you should get on with it and not look back. A high position or plenty of money is a trivial matter that comes automatically when you really get into it. I care a lot about helping the younger generation. I'm even happy when my postdocs manage to be better than me.
What factors made you the person you are today?
Coming from a family of scientists, I knew earlier than most kids what science really is. I sort of absorbed it from very early on. My brother once said that we already knew what a dean was when we were kids. But my parents’ influence didn't just apply to science; we were also exposed to art from an early age. My parents made it a point that we took music lessons, and we were introduced to opera at a very early age. My brother and I could sing all the arias of The Magic Flute by heart, and I can still do that today. I'm also an avid concert and opera goer, both in Boston and in Berlin, and I sometimes go three days in a row.
Which country do you feel more at home in?
The United States has become home for me now; my best friends are here. But when I travel to Germany, it's home, too. I also still speak German more fluently than English.
Which of your accomplishments do you want to remain when you're gone?
I have no illusions: in science, no one is irreplaceable, unlike in art. What Mozart wrote will never be written by anyone again. But if I don't discover something new, someone else will. I also see this as a kind of liberation—that we're all actually contributing only one building block to the great edifice of science. In the end, individual names, except for a handful, will all be forgotten. If just a sentence of mine remains in a textbook, that's already good. In my case, it's already more than a sentence.
What's your message to the world?
There needs to be more rationality in the world, and therefore science should be made universally accessible and become a guideline for humanity to generate more justice, end poverty, and above all achieve lasting peace. We need to show more compassion to those who are less fortunate than ourselves. Even at the family level, it's not always easy to live in harmony with each other, and it's even more difficult among nations. That's why it takes great effort from all sides to achieve peace.
“The world is changing, and we need to be prepared.”
Tandong Yao | Geology
Professor of Glaciology at the Institute for the Study of the Highlands of Tibet, University of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, Beijing
China
Tell me a little about your parents. What work did they do?
My parents were laborers. They worked on hydropower dams, which were built as part of the huge efforts in the 1950s and 1960s to develop western China.
What about their education?
Back then, education in China was poor and was particularly limited in the countryside. My father attended primary school, but as the eldest son in his family he didn't get the chance to go to middle school. My mother was illiterate; she didn't go to school, which was a common situation at that time.
But you went to primary school. What was that like?
I went to a local primary school, near my village. I then boarded during the week at middle school, which was the best middle school in the area, and I went home only on Saturdays. This was during the Cultural Revolution, when the whole of China was in chaos. In the cities, teachers were not able to teach. In the countryside, teachers managed to retain their authority, so I was fortunate in being able to learn in a stable environment.
And how was high school for you?
At the time, students who graduated from university had to work in the countryside. This meant that highly qualified teachers from Beijing and other cities taught me during high school. Essentially, I was able to profit from the limited situation.
Why did you want to become a glaciologist? Where and when did this interest start?
That's a good question! The first time I saw glaciers in the Tibetan Plateau was in 1978, when I was still a grad student. Our mission was to find the major source of the Chang Jiang [Yangtze] River, which of course is glacial meltwater. We tried to find the glacier that supplies the first drop of water to the river. I was so impressed with the glacier's beauty and the stunning landscape that I decided then and there to study glaciology.
You graduated from Lanzhou University in 1982 with a master's degree and received your PhD from the Institute of Geology and Geophysics, Chinese Academy of Sciences, in 1986. Why did you then decide to study overseas?
Before 1977, China was scientifically isolated; we could only read some foreign papers, although luckily my advisor at the Lanzhou Institute of Glaciology and Geocryology sometimes invited foreign scientists to give guest lectures. I was lucky in being able to study abroad. I had to choose between studying as a postdoctoral in France, where I could work closely with scientists at the top level of studies on the ice core or go to the United States to study and also improve my English. I discussed it with my director and professors, and they told me, “Go to France. Science comes first. You can improve your language afterwards.”
In total, you spent five years studying abroad. Was this an important time for you?
It was an extremely important time and a precious opportunity; I had to pass exams organized by the Ministry of Education and be nominated by an institute before I could study abroad. I was the first graduate student to be nominated as a postdoctoral scholar in my field. Studying abroad allowed me to widen my knowledge. At the time, the French laboratory for ice-core studies was the most important in its field, so I gained new ideas about how to study the ice core and how to approach scientific questions. It was the same in the United States.
Did you have a specific goal in mind when studying?
My mission was to go to the West and absorb as much scientific knowledge and as many ideas as possible, and to bring this knowledge back to China. I tried hard to absorb as much as possible. In France, people didn't normally work on weekends. Not me, though; I worked on weekends, and almost around the clock.
How did your studies overseas influence your later work?
In France and the United States, we discussed how to develop a study for glacier research on the Tibetan Plateau. In the United States, we decided to start a program for Tibetan ice-core studies and applied to the National Natural Science Foundation. That's why I entered a cooperative arrangement with Lonnie Thompson, professor of earth sciences and a senior research scientist with the Byrd Polar Research Center at Ohio State University. I still work with him today.
You then returned to China and set up your own research lab on the Tibetan Plateau. Can you tell me more about your research?
We've been continuing our work on the Tibetan Plateau for forty years now, ever since my first visit there in 1978. In that time, continuous climate change has had a big impact on the glaciers, impacting the lakes, rivers, streams, and ecosystems. Global warming at the Third Pole [Hindu Kush-Karakoram-Himalayan system] is twice as great as the global average, which has dangerous consequences for the region. That is, if the ice collapses here, it could damage roads, bridges, and villages, and potentially cost lives. When ice collapses, it travels at a speed as high as 100 kilometers per hour, so anybody nearby is in great danger. Three years ago, the ice collapsed and buried a lot of people.
Do you see a solution to the problem of global warming?
We have a Third Pole Environment (TPE) collaboration among scientists from many countries, including Germany, the United States, and China. There needs to be worldwide action taken to reduce the world's carbon footprint. But even that is not enough; if you only stop further production of CO2, there's still more than enough already in the atmosphere to do grave damage. The immediate need is to inform the local people, get ready, and adapt to the consequences.
Do you feel powerless watching what's happening to our climate?
I'm always optimistic. Where there is risk, there is also opportunity. For instance, global warming is bringing wetter, warmer weather to the Third Pole, which is extending the world's farming periods by fifteen days. More greenery means more oxygen, too. I've just returned from the Tibetan Plateau, and the previously bare mountains are now covered with grass.
“Where there is risk, there is also opportunity.”
