DOE senior scientist Yi Shouliang leaves US for China
Senior
scientist Yi Shouliang has returned to
China to take up a new role at
Sichuan University , after permanently leaving the US where he previously worked at the federal government's Department of Energy.
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The career decision, which follows this year's escalating
Sino-US tensions , saw him leave his
academic role as adjunct professor at the University of Pittsburgh after less than 12 months and dissolve his commercial ventures.
Previously, he was a principal scientist and project leader at the DOE's National
Energy Technology Laboratory (NETL) where he focused on the Water-Energy Programme but resigned in June 2023 after five years at the helm.
He then founded American Sustainable Membrane Technology LLC, serving as its CEO.
At NETL, Yi's research focused on developing novel membranes and adsorption materials for the Carbon Capture, Utilisation, and Storage (CCUS) programme and water management initiatives.
Senior scientist Yi Shouliang has left the US where he was working as an adjunct professor at the University of Pittsburgh to return to China. Photo: TNS
The circumstances surrounding his departure remain undisclosed and there are no listed records of Yi as a chief researcher on the DOE and NETL's official websites, despite his lengthy tenure. Currently, his name only appears in patent filing and project proposals.
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Asia Times
4 days ago
- Asia Times
Marco Rubio's and Miles Yu's war on Chinese students is misguided
In an age of escalating geopolitical rivalry, democracy's strongest foundations — press freedom, civic trust and public accountability — are being eroded by a perfect storm of surveillance, suspicion, and systemic misinformation. This is especially visible in US-China relations, where bipartisan hawkishness has led to sweeping proposals like Senator Marco Rubio's latest effort to revoke visas from Chinese students and researchers — treating them as national security risks by default. Joining the chorus is Miles Yu, a former Chinese international student who became a top China policy adviser in the first Trump administration. In his widely cited essay, 'Enabling the Dragon,' published in November 2024 the week after Donald Trump had won the election, Yu argues that US universities have become naive enablers of the Chinese Communist Party, serving as academic outposts vulnerable to intellectual theft and ideological infiltration. Yu urges that the United States should sharply restrict academic engagement with China, calling such cooperation a national security threat. His claim is sweeping: that China has 'outsourced' its academic system to exploit American openness, and that the US must respond by severing intellectual ties. Both Rubio and Yu are also ignoring the data: Chinese nationals make up the largest share of foreign students in STEM fields — computer science, engineering, math and the physical sciences. According to the National Science Foundation, more than 80% of Chinese PhD recipients in these fields stay and work in the US after graduation, contributing directly to American innovation, entrepreneurship, and research leadership. Many have founded startups, filed patents and worked in cutting-edge labs at US universities and tech companies. The idea that they are 'outsourcing' American prosperity to China is not only false — it's self-destructive. If these students are forced out, the US will not only lose a competitive advantage in global talent — it will damage its innovation ecosystem at its roots. Immigration-driven innovation has been one of the few consistent engines of American prosperity in a polarized and gridlocked political climate. Treating every foreign-born talent as a potential spy will only drive them into the arms of competitors. Moreover, this zero-sum framing misrepresents how education actually works. American universities are not ideological weaklings — they are spaces where critical thinking, civic inquiry and pluralistic values are cultivated. Chinese students are not arriving with monolithic loyalties — they are shaped by their experiences here, often becoming some of the most perceptive critics of authoritarianism and some of the strongest defenders of democratic ideals. Diaspora students and scholars, such as the founders of China Labor Watch and Human Rights in China, have often been at the forefront of documenting abuses, challenging both Chinese state narratives and the overreach of US suspicion. They are not security liabilities — they are civic actors. And yet, they are increasingly caught in the middle. Media outlets rush to publish stories about alleged espionage long before there's due process. Federal task forces pressure universities to cut off collaborations without context. On social media, platforms like X — once Twitter — amplify xenophobic paranoia while silencing legitimate voices. The result is a digital public sphere poisoned by fear and disinformation, where nuance disappears and policy becomes a blunt instrument of exclusion. In my research — China's Emerging Inter-network Society — I explore how diaspora communities and digital platforms are reshaping political consciousness. Platforms like WeChat and TikTok are indeed double-edged: they can be used for surveillance, but also for storytelling, mutual aid, and grassroots advocacy. What Yu fails to mention is this: He was once 'the dragon' he now seeks to shut out. To presume otherwise is to vastly underestimate the power of American education — something Yu himself should know firsthand. Yet there's a glaring irony: Yu himself is living proof that American education works — not just as a system of knowledge transmission, but as a transformative force of values, perspective and civic engagement. Yu came to the US in the 1980s as an international student from China. He benefited from the very system he now decries — one that welcomed global talent, nurtured individual potential and allowed a Chinese-born scholar to rise to the highest levels of US policymaking. If America had treated him then the way he now proposes treating others, Miles Yu might still be teaching Maoist doctrine in Anhui, not advising presidents in Washington. If Miles Yu truly believed Chinese students couldn't be trusted, one wonders why he chose to stay and serve in the US government rather than return to China after pursuing his PhD degree. Doesn't his own life prove the power of American education to transform, inspire, and integrate? If we now assume every Chinese student is a CCP foot soldier, does that include him too? Or is he the exception who proves the value — not the danger — of keeping the door open? He chose to stay in the United States not because he was coerced but because the openness and meritocracy of American institutions resonated with him. If we now claim that every Chinese student is a sleeper agent for Beijing, then Yu's own journey becomes an inconvenient contradiction. Isn't he the evidence that America's democratic model can win hearts and minds? That contradiction isn't just ironic. It's emblematic of a dangerous drift in US national security thinking in which suspicion has replaced strategy and identity has replaced evidence. If the US blocks Chinese students while maintaining that it wants to 'compete' with China, Beijing will likely frame the move as hypocritical — claiming it reveals American insecurity rather than confidence in its democratic model. The retaliatory measures may not just hurt bilateral relations but also signal to other countries the risks of aligning too closely with US policy on China. Yu's central claim is that Chinese students and scholars serve as covert extensions of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), sent not to learn but to spy, steal, and subvert. This argument has gained traction in parts of Washington, where fears of intellectual property theft and technological competition are real and justified. But let's be clear: there is a vast difference between targeted counterintelligence and collective suspicion. To reduce an entire population of students — numbering over 270,000 annually — to latent threats is both empirically unfounded and strategically foolish. Chinese students are not a monolith. Many come precisely because they seek an alternative to the CCP's control. Some become critics of the regime. Others stay, contribute to US innovation, or build bridges that serve American interests abroad. Treating them as presumed agents of espionage doesn't protect US security — it undercuts America's greatest soft power asset: its openness. We are now witnessing the consequences of this worldview hardening into law. In May 2025, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, citing security risks, announced that his department would move to revoke or block Chinese student visas in 'sensitive' research fields outright, citing national security risks. The proposal would give broad authority to federal agencies to deny or cancel visas without due process, based not on individual conduct, but on nationality and field of study. This is not strategic caution — it's blanket exclusion. And it mirrors the logic of Yu's essay: that anyone Chinese by origin or association is inherently suspect. Such policies are dangerously close to the racialized fearmongering of the Chinese Exclusion Act era, now dressed in tech-sector clothing. They undermine US universities, punish innocent scholars, and hand the CCP a propaganda victory. If carried out, this policy won't stop espionage — it will cripple American research labs, isolate Chinese dissidents, and accelerate talent flight to competitor nations like Canada, the UK, and Australia. The Trump administration's aggressive stance on Chinese espionage is haunted by the very intelligence failures it now seeks to prevent. As Sue Miller, the CIA's former chief mole hunter, has pointed out, the collapse of US spy networks in China more than a decade ago — a debacle that saw scores of informants arrested or executed — remains unresolved. That strategic humiliation not only decimated on-the-ground intelligence, it also created a culture of institutional paranoia in Washington. Now, instead of rebuilding trust and refining intelligence practices, the Trump-era approach has leaned heavily on suspicion and overreach — particularly targeting ethnic Chinese scientists, scholars, and students. But blunt tools don't fix complex failures. The overcorrection has led to high-profile wrongful prosecutions, deteriorating academic collaboration and growing mistrust within diaspora communities. The United States' inability to root out past internal breaches has fueled a form of policy scapegoating — one that risks trading precision for profiling. Without credible reform of intelligence capabilities and transparent accountability for past missteps, the crackdown will remain reactive, politically charged and ultimately self-defeating. Yu frames UA-China academic collaboration as 'outsourcing,' suggesting the US has ceded control of its intellectual infrastructure to a hostile power. But this misunderstands both how American academia works and why it thrives. Academic exchange is not a one-way transaction. It's a competitive ecosystem, where ideas are tested, refined and challenged through global participation. Chinese students and researchers don't dilute US education — they elevate it. They help fill STEM classrooms, contribute to breakthroughs in AI and biomedical research, and keep US universities globally dominant. Cutting them off would hurt America far more than it would hurt China. Yes, vigilance is necessary. Research security protocols should be strong. Federal funding should come with guardrails. But throwing out the entire system of engagement, as Yu and now Rubio suggest, would be self-sabotage. If enforced, Rubio's proposal to ban Chinese students will not only undercut America's higher education system — it could also trigger swift retaliation from Beijing. China may impose reciprocal visa restrictions on US students, scholars and education programs, halt joint research initiatives or tighten controls on American academic access to Chinese data and field sites. More strategically, it could restrict elite talent from going to the US, incentivize a reverse brain drain or escalate a global narrative campaign accusing the US of racial discrimination. Such moves wouldn't just harm bilateral ties — they would damage America's soft power, alienate diaspora communities and send a troubling signal to other nations about the risks of engaging with US institutions. Ironically, by closing the door on Chinese students, Rubio and his allies may be doing more to weaken America's global leadership than to defend The U.S.-China contest is not just about chips, jets, and rare earths. It's about the future of global norms — openness versus control, pluralism versus authoritarianism. In this battle, academic freedom is not a vulnerability. It's a weapon. It is what makes the US different from — and stronger than — the system the CCP promotes. If we start mimicking Beijing's paranoia, walling off knowledge, and excluding people based on their passport, we risk becoming what we claim to oppose. Yu himself is living proof of that freedom's power. He came to the US seeking truth, found it in an open society and used it to shape national strategy. That's a success story, not a turn around now and advocate for closing the gates behind him is not only short-sighted — it's a betrayal of the very ideals that made his own story possible. A call for strategic openness Miles Yu transferred himself from Chinese student to gatekeeper by pulling up the ladder behind him. What we need is not blanket restriction but smart engagement, clearer funding rules, targeted export controls and honest dialogue with university leaders – and, yes, a robust national security posture. But we must resist fear-driven policies that punish potential allies and weaken our intellectual base. The best way to 'outcompete' China is not to become more like it — but to double down on what made the US the envy of the world. If we follow Yu's and Rubio's advice, we may win a battle of suspicion — but lose the war for global leadership. If the US wants to outcompete authoritarian regimes, it must stop mimicking their logic. Surveillance, guilt by association and ideological profiling are not strategies for innovation — they are symptoms of decline. Democracy's strength lies in openness, in attracting talent, and in offering a system that can inspire — not coerce — loyalty. Rather than banning students, the US should reinvest in the institutions that make it a magnet for global minds: its universities, its press, and its civic infrastructure. Journalists must be more careful not to amplify racialized suspicion. Lawmakers must recognize that brainpower, not fear, drives prosperity. Scholars like Miles Yu must reckon with the contradiction between their personal journeys and the policies they now advocate. Democracy does not win by closing its doors. It wins by proving it is worth entering. Yujing Shentu, PhD, is an independent scholar and writer on digital politics, international political economy and US-China strategic competition.
Asia Times
20-05-2025
- Asia Times
US brain drain handing the global talent war to China
The US-China rivalry is no longer just a clash of tariffs, navies and diplomatic showdowns. A quieter, subtler front has emerged – one that is nonetheless reshaping the global order and deciding future winners and losers. It's a contest for people, specifically the scientists, engineers and academic pioneers who will shape the future. In this emerging struggle, talent is the new oil and the pipelines are shifting as the once-unidirectional flow of talent toward the United States is reversing, redirecting careers, rebalancing innovation and redrawing the map of global power and influence. Thousands of highly skilled professionals, especially those of Chinese descent, are leaving American institutions for new opportunities in China and elsewhere. This is more than a reversal; it is a redistribution of global brainpower, one that is reshaping research ecosystems and tilting discernibly the balance of global innovation. Between 2010 and 2021, nearly 20,000 Chinese-born scientists left the United States, a trend that accelerated after 2018. These are not second-string researchers: they include figures like neuroscientist Yan Ning, who left Princeton to lead the Shenzhen Medical Academy, and Gang Chen, a top MIT engineer who returned to Tsinghua University after being cleared of espionage-related charges. Increasingly under Trump, restrictive visa policies, geopolitics and racialized suspicion are repelling rather than attracting top talent. The previous Trump administration's China Initiative may be over, but its chilling effect remains. Chinese and other Asian scientists worry about surveillance, unjust scrutiny or even prosecution. Simultaneously, shrinking research budgets and unstable funding make the US less attractive. Added to that is a cultural atmosphere strained by rising anti-Asian sentiment. For many scientists, it is not just about funding, it is about a sense of belonging, and increasingly, they feel like they don't. Personal reasons matter too: proximity to family, cultural affinity and a desire to build something at home are strong motivators for many. The choice is not always ideological; sometimes, it is just practical. Meanwhile, countries like China are actively luring top talent. Programs like the Thousand Talents Plan offer not only top-tier salaries and research budgets, but also housing, leadership roles and prestige. Institutions like Westlake University and the Shenzhen Medical Academy promise autonomy and world-class facilities. For many, returning to China is no longer a step down but rather a step up. China's talent recruitment is strategic and political. Scientists are welcomed back with fanfare, but also with expectations. Loyalty to the Chinese Communist Party matters. Returnees are integrated into networks that blend scientific leadership with ideological alignment. Yet even within these constraints, China offers room to lead. The government knows innovation cannot be fully micromanaged, so it invests heavily in reducing red tape and offering clear career trajectories. The result is a paradox: a system that demands control but depends on creativity. Returnees also serve as powerful symbols. Chinese media portray their return as validation of China's rise and the West's decline. These narratives bolster nationalism and legitimize the regime. But the government knows this soft power cuts both ways: Disillusioned returnees could become critics, so integration and respect are key. This moment raises an important question: Is China reaching a true inflection point in its ascent as a scientific superpower? For some, the symbolism is striking. Mao Zedong once declared the rise of the Chinese people on the world stage. Today, the return of world-class scientists to China could be seen as a realization of that prophecy – not through revolution but rather through research. China's growing ecosystem of labs, research parks and universities is producing world-class science. Its top research institutions are climbing global rankings. Its researchers are making breakthroughs in quantum computing, artificial intelligence and biomedicine. If this trajectory holds, China may soon rival or surpass the United States in the highest tiers of innovation and technology. But the path is not guaranteed. Real leadership in science requires openness, trust and intellectual freedom – qualities that sit uneasily with China's political leadership. Whether China's scientific rise is sustainable will depend on how the Communist Party manages these tensions. Is this the beginning of a new Chinese scientific century, or a premature peak? The answer lies in how China balances its national ambitions with the global ethos and norms of science. For the United States, the loss of top researchers is a clear threat to its innovation edge, jeopardizing future breakthroughs in AI, biotech and clean tech. It also weakens American soft power. The American university used to be the global gold standard, but that aura is now fading. China, on the other hand, is reaping real benefits, with returnees driving progress in key innovation sectors. Chinese universities, meanwhile, are climbing in global rankings. It's all giving Beijing cause to tout these successes as proof of its system's superiority. Globally, talent flows are becoming more fluid. Brain circulation, not just brain drain, is creating new innovation hubs in places like Singapore, Germany and the UAE. These countries are benefiting from researchers disillusioned with both Washington and Beijing. The science world is thus becoming decentralized and more competitive. But also more fragmented. As US-China collaboration collapses, Europe and others are increasingly being forced to pick geopolitical sides. The science world is slowly but surely breaking into competitive blocs. In response, the US has gone on the defensive. National security policies like Project 2025 and export controls aim to wall off critical technologies. But this fortress mentality could backfire if it alienates more and more international talent. If it goes too far, the US could easily find itself isolated in the global innovation race. Some US universities and tech leaders are pushing back, calling for visa reform and more support for international students and scholars. But without federal leadership and a clear vision, the drift and alienation of talent is set to continue under Trump. China, meanwhile, is doubling down on luring talent home. It sees returnees as key players in its 'moonshot' initiatives, ranging from quantum computing to green tech. The challenge for Beijing is maintaining enough openness to keep innovation alive while ensuring loyalty. Other nations are also seizing the moment. Canada, Australia and parts of Europe are streamlining immigration for scientists. The future may not be bipolar but multipolar, with a mosaic of innovation centers replacing the old US-centric model. The United States must act decisively. Immigration reform is essential, including green cards for STEM graduates, simplified visa processes and a clear welcome message. Combatting anti-Asian racism in academic and professional spaces is also critical. Beyond that, the US must recommit to public investment in science, not just for military goals but for shared human progress. Building global collaborations, not tearing them down, will help retain trust and talent. China must also tread carefully. Over-politicizing science risks smothering the innovation it seeks and craves. It needs to protect intellectual freedom, promote interdisciplinary research and allow greater institutional autonomy. Other countries will likely continue cultivating environments where scientists can thrive regardless of their national origin. Science is inherently global, and countries that embrace this will punch above their weight in the coming decades. The world is witnessing a quiet revolution as global brain drain morphs into brain circulation. The old assumption that the West is the final stop for talent no longer holds. China is rewriting the rules and the US is at risk of writing itself out of the game. The winners will be those who recognize that global talent seeks trust, opportunity and, just as importantly, respect. In the new world of global competition, it's not just about who builds the fastest chip or finds the next vaccine. It's about who people trust to build a future they're willing to work toward. Tang Meng Kit is a graduate of the MSc in International Relations program at the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), Nanyang Technological University (NTU), Singapore. His research interests encompass cross-Strait relations, Taiwanese politics and policy issues, as well as aerospace technology. He currently works as an aerospace engineer.
HKFP
16-05-2025
- HKFP
Nvidia plans China research centre as US export curbs bite, report says
US chipmaker Nvidia is planning to build a research and development centre in Shanghai, the Financial Times reported Friday, as tighter export restrictions imposed by Washington threaten sales in the key Chinese market. The tougher US controls in recent years have prevented the California-based firm from selling certain AI chips — widely regarded as the most advanced in the world — to China. As a result, it is now facing tougher competition from local players in the crucial market, including Huawei. Nvidia boss Jensen Huang discussed plans to set up a research and development centre in Shanghai with its mayor during a visit to the city last month, the FT reported, citing two unnamed people familiar with the matter. The site would 'research the specific demands of Chinese customers and the complex technical requirements needed to satisfy Washington's curbs', said the report. It added that 'actual core design and production' would remain outside of China in order to comply with intellectual property transferral regulations. Nvidia did not immediately respond to an AFP request for comment, nor did Shanghai authorities. During a visit to Beijing in April, Huang met with Vice Premier He Lifeng, telling him that he 'looked favourably upon the potential of the Chinese economy', according to state news agency Xinhua. Huang said he was 'willing to continue to plough deeply into the Chinese market and play a positive role in promoting US-China trade cooperation', Xinhua said. The tightened US export curbs come as China's economy wavers, with domestic consumers reluctant to spend and a prolonged property sector crisis weighing on growth. President Xi Jinping has called for the country to become more self-reliant as uncertainty in the external environment increases. Xi said last month that China should 'strengthen basic research, focusing our efforts on overcoming challenges in key technologies such as advanced chips and core software, and building an autonomous AI system', according to Xinhua. Washington has expanded its efforts in recent years to curb exports of state-of-the-art chips to China, concerned that these can be used to advance Beijing's military systems and otherwise undermine US dominance in artificial intelligence.
