Chinese vaccine shows promise in stopping plaque build-up in arteries
Chinese researchers say they have developed a 'cocktail' nanovaccine to prevent plaque from building up in the arteries – an underlying factor in
heart disease , which is the leading cause of death worldwide.
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The team said the experimental vaccine had shown promise in a trial on mice.
It targets a condition known as atherosclerosis that causes a build-up of plaque – a deposit of fatty substances, cholesterol and cellular waste – in the arteries, which can lead to blood clots, stroke and heart attacks.
The nanovaccine was developed by a team of researchers from institutes including the Nanjing University of Science and Technology and the University of Science and Technology of China.
To create it, the team attached either an antigen that triggers an immune response against atherosclerosis or an immune response booster onto tiny iron oxide nanoparticles.
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When the resulting nanovaccine was injected into mice that were fed a high-cholesterol diet, the team found that the immune response triggered was able to reduce the development of atherosclerosis.
'Our findings demonstrate that the two-pronged nanovaccine delivery strategy is effective against atherosclerosis,' the team said in a paper published in the peer-reviewed journal Nature Communications on March 2.
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Asia Times
2 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
5 days ago
- Asia Times
How SE Asia can break China's rare earth monopoly
Last week, Australia's Lynas Rare Earths produced heavy rare earth elements (HREEs) at a commercial scale in Malaysia, marking the first time this has ever happened outside of China. This breakthrough, which includes elements like dysprosium and terbium, is no small feat in a market dominated by China, which is responsible for around 60% of global rare earth production and virtually 100% of the world's HREE supply. Rare earth elements (REEs) are critical for the US and other advanced economies: they power technologies from electric vehicles to defense systems. The US Department of Defense, for instance, has identified HREEs as vital for missile systems, radar and advanced communications. Yet, the US itself produces only about 12% of global REEs—and almost none of the heavy types. Without secure access to these materials, Western industries risk supply chain disruptions that could slow the clean energy transition and compromise national security. It is for these reasons that the US recently signed an agreement with Ukraine to secure preferential access to its mineral resources—including, notably, REEs—in exchange for establishing a Ukraine reconstruction fund, as well as certain payback for the estimated US$150 billion the US has provided Ukraine since the war started. However, a significant portion of Ukraine's known REE reserves lies in the Donetsk region, which remains under Russian control, highlighting the fragility of relying on politically contested sources. In this context, Lynas' progress is not just a technical achievement but a geopolitical shift. It positions not only Malaysia, but also Southeast Asia, as a key hotspot for the future of sourcing REEs. Until recently, there were few incentives to produce REEs in the region. But market shifts, the strategic push for supply chain diversification and the growing capacity of Southeast Asian countries to process REEs domestically promise to unlock vast potential. Vietnam, in particular, holds some of the world's largest REE reserves—estimated at around 3.5 million tonnes (with some sources suggesting as much as 20 million tonnes), nearly twice the size of US reserves. Yet its production today is negligible, representing less than 1% of global output. Major deposits in the country's northwest, such as Dong Pao and Nam Xe, remain largely untapped, while significant areas across the country are still unexplored. Still, Southeast Asia's potential REE suppliers face substantial challenges: (1) environmental concerns, notably the management of radioactive byproducts like thorium; (2) a lack of technical expertise and processing infrastructure, with China still controlling key separation technologies; and (3) market and geopolitical pressures, as these countries navigate a landscape dominated by Chinese pricing power, potential retaliation and complex export dynamics. If Southeast Asia—especially Vietnam and Malaysia—can overcome these challenges, the region could emerge as a critical node in global REE supply chains, offering the US, Europe, Japan and others an alternative to China's near-monopoly. However, this will require more than favorable geology; it demands investment in refining capacity, strict environmental standards, and strategic partnerships that ensure technology transfer and long-term market access. For the West, the stakes are clear: support Southeast Asia's rare earth ambitions—or remain perilously dependent on a single Chinese supplier. Patricio Faúndez is country manager at GEM Mining Consulting
HKFP
7 days ago
- HKFP
Nearly half of Hongkongers who lost loved ones to suicide at high risk of PTSD, survey shows
Nearly half of Hongkongers who lost their loved ones to suicide are at high risk of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a survey has found. According to a survey released by the Suicide Prevention Services (SPS), a non-profit organisation, on Tuesday, 47.4 per cent of 154 respondents whose family members died by suicide scored higher than 31 – the cutoff line in a PTSD screening tool. Scores above the cutoff line indicate probable PTSD. Conducted by the Department of Social Work and Social Administration at the University of Hong Kong (HKU), the survey studied those who received SPS services from September 2022 to April 2025 after losing their children, spouses, or siblings to suicide. It also found that those bereaved by suicide struggled with guilt, self-blame, and thoughts questioning the reasons behind the suicides of their loved ones. Amy Chow, a professor at the Department of Social Work and Social Administration at HKU and a board member of the SPS, told HKFP on Tuesday that the study showed women were more likely than men to suffer from self-blame, a sense of abandonment, and feeling uncomfortable talking about the reasons for death. Cultural shame and stigma in Chinese communities often lead the bereaved to remain silent, Dr Fang Chun-kai, a senior attending physician in the Department of Psychiatry at MacKay Memorial Hospital in Taiwan, said at a press conference on Tuesday. They face not only overwhelming grief and guilt but also a lack of adequate social support and psychological care, he added. Each suicide incident affects an average of six family members or friends, Fang said. He called on people not to judge those bereaved by suicide. All the respondents received counselling services provided by the SPS, which had a positive impact on their grief symptoms, Chow said, adding that early intervention is critical. 'If we know anyone who has lost a loved one to suicide, even if they only show mild symptoms, please encourage them to seek help,' she said in Cantonese.
