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墨書 Inktalez
For the next fifteen days, Qian Xuesen was tightly confined in a small solitary cell, unable to speak to anyone. Every night, the guards would turn on the lights every fifteen minutes to check if he was still alive or had already taken his own life.
During this half-month period, he lost over twenty pounds.
Finally, after fifteen days, he was released from prison. His bail was set at an astonishing $15,000, generously covered by a wealthy friend. Upon his release, his friends were optimistic, believing that he would soon be declared innocent.
However, something bizarre occurred.
In October 1950, the U.S. Immigration Bureau made a shocking decision regarding Qian Xuesen. They deemed that during his last entry into the United States, he had been a communist. Therefore, based on the newly enacted Subversive Activities Control Act and the recently revised 1918 Immigration Act under the Domestic Security Act, what awaited Qian Xuesen was not detention but—
Deportation!
Two months prior, they wouldn’t let him leave; now they wanted to expel him. The Immigration Bureau wanted him gone, while the State Council prohibited foreigners with technical backgrounds who could potentially be used by hostile nations from leaving the United States. Caught in between, Qian Xuesen felt like a toy being tossed around, utterly lost.
But regardless of the circumstances, Qian Xuesen was determined to fight for his dignity. You wouldn’t let me leave when I wanted to go; now you want to humiliate me by forcing me out? Fine, I will stay and demand an explanation.
This struggle proved to be incredibly difficult. Over the next five years, he experienced various treatments that stripped a scientist of their dignity.
He participated in hearings regarding his deportation, repeatedly trying to prove that he was not a communist. When asked which side he supported in the conflict between the Nationalists and Communists, he replied that he cared about the Chinese people.
The prosecutor from the Immigration Bureau even asked him if he would fight for the United States in the event of a conflict between it and China.
Qian Xuesen fell into a long silence.
His defense attorney protested that if it were him, he might need six months to consider the matter. The prosecutor sneered, saying he would be willing to wait six months for that.
Finally, Qian Xuesen gave his answer. He said, "I have already stated that I am loyal to the Chinese people. If a war breaks out between the United States and China under Communist rule, and if the war is for the benefit of the Chinese people—which I think is quite possible—then I will fight on the side of the United States. There is no question about that."
The prosecutor relentlessly pressed him, asking whether it was up to him alone to decide if the war was beneficial to the Chinese people. Qian Xuesen affirmed that yes, he would make that decision himself.
The prosecutor then inquired whether the United States government could not decide this issue for him.
He firmly replied, "No, certainly not."
It was evident that such a statement would not satisfy the other party. Despite there being no evidence proving Qian Xuesen was indeed a Communist, the Immigration Bureau made a ruling on April 26, 1951, declaring Qian Xuesen as "a foreigner who had once joined the American Communist Party," and thus he must be deported.
What followed was round after round of appeals and mental torment.
On February 8, 1952, the Department of Justice ruled to deport Qian Xuesen but stayed the execution. Later, it was changed to parole, requiring Qian Xuesen to report to the Department of Justice every month.
His travel was restricted to Los Angeles, preventing him from attending many scientific conferences held elsewhere.
He continued teaching students, writing papers, and published a popular textbook on communications and control systems. However, he could no longer engage in any work that required confidentiality.
He was under constant surveillance. A car often parked outside his home for hours at a time. The phone at home rang dozens of times a day; often when he picked up, the caller would hang up immediately. Jiang Ying later recalled, "Those years were extremely stressful for us."
Whether they liked it or not, Qian Xuesen's family gradually distanced themselves from their former social circle and became marginalized at the California Institute of Technology. Many professors avoided him for fear of getting into trouble.
The academy had done everything it could to help him, but it was all in vain. Some suggested that perhaps they should just let the matter rest.
This meant that Qian Xuesen was beginning to be abandoned by the scientific community he valued most.
He became increasingly reclusive, irritable, and impatient.
Although he was still outside of prison, wasn't this another form of punishment and torment?
If before, Qian Xuesen still harbored hopes of restoring his reputation, returning to work, and resuming his daily life, by 1954, after enduring futile attempts day after day and year after year, his hopes were shattered.
This sentiment erupted in a letter he wrote to a friend: "After realizing that history can be rewritten at any time, can you still believe in history? Do you think there is still justice and honesty in the world? Do you expect to achieve success in the United States without self-promotion or hiring a public relations officer? Dear friend, let us stop believing in these fabricated notions!"
He had to accept a harsh reality: the past could never be reclaimed.
Given this, he needed to consider choosing a new path for his life.
But what could he do?
No one expected that the answer was right in front of him. A magazine he casually flipped through out of boredom brought him a turning point.
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