Clipping Board » Medical Myths ─ The truth about healthcare is often different from what you intuitively think.
By Deng Tietao
In the blink of an eye, we have stepped into a new century (2000). Of course, according to astronomers’ conclusions, the new century technically begins next year, but people are impatient and have already dubbed this the "millennium." Being able to witness two centuries is, naturally, a fortunate thing. Over the past hundred-plus years, Chinese medicine has shared the same breath and fate as our nation, enduring hardships that may not recur in the 21st century—a cause for celebration. We have bid farewell to a burdensome past and marched boldly into the new century, a time when the Chinese nation can finally hold its head high. When discussing the future of Chinese medicine, we must look forward, and that future belongs to all of you present here—it is deeply tied to you. But to talk about the future, we must first reflect on the past. History is a mirror; to move forward and develop, looking back is crucial. Not long ago, I received a letter from Zhu Qingsheng, the director of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine. I had sent him a copy of *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine*, which I co-authored with teachers from the Medical History Research Office. In his reply, he wrote: "I am currently reading your work *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine* and find it very inspiring. History cannot be severed; only by understanding it can we better envision the future. This applies to Chinese medicine, as well as to our nation and people."
The modern history era begins with the Opium Wars, marking the start of the world’s first anti-drug movement. From that point onward, disasters befell our nation and people, with many things turned upside down and the populace plunged into misery. Having lived through that era, we understand it deeply. Chinese medicine, intertwined with the fate of the Chinese nation, faced numerous trials starting from the first year of the Republic of China, when the Beiyang government’s education system omitted Chinese medicine. This omission sparked resistance from the Chinese medicine community. Yu Botao, president of the Shanghai Shenzhou Medical Association, rallied people from various sectors to protest. In 1913, they submitted a petition to the Beiyang government in Beijing. At the time, Wang Daxie, the Minister of Education, brazenly declared: "I am determined to abolish Chinese medicine henceforth and stop the use of Chinese herbs." Due to public pressure, he later relented, claiming there was no intent to eliminate Chinese medicine, but he remained vague about integrating it into the academic system. This was the first attempt to suppress Chinese medicine, aiming to fundamentally leave it without successors. The government refused to establish Chinese medicine education, but private institutions stepped in. Several private Chinese medicine schools emerged, including a few in Guangzhou, such as the Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine, jointly funded by the pharmaceutical industries of Guangzhou, Hong Kong, and Macau. Later, it was forced to rename itself a "society" and excluded from the formal education system—a ruthless move. The Chinese medicine community fought back, reclaiming the title of "school." Schools of Chinese medicine sprang up in Shanghai, Guangdong, and even Chaozhou, rooting the tradition in the early 20th century.
In February 1929, the Nanjing government’s Central Health Conference passed Yu Yunxiu’s proposal, *Abolishing Old Medicine to Remove Obstacles to Medical and Health Affairs*, causing a major uproar. Banning Chinese medicine would also eliminate herb farmers, workers, merchants, and related transportation industries. If enforced for 30 years, Chinese medicine would have faced extinction. Take Taiwan, for example: the Chinese medicine practitioners who went there back then are now in their 70s or 80s, with no successors. Only recently have they begun rebuilding, establishing the China Medical University. Had the mainland not been liberated, the outcome would have been the same, and our generation would have become relics of a bygone era. At the time, Chinese medicine practitioners explored solutions, such as the "Convergence School," seeking a meeting point between Chinese and Western medicine to counter Yu Yunxiu’s arguments. Yet Yu’s damaging influence lingered. He labeled Chinese medicine "old medicine," a stigma that persisted after liberation (1950), affecting some leaders. Early in the post-liberation period, certain figures in the Ministry of Health even urged us to admit we were "old medicine," a notion we rejected. The Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine, originally registered under the Guangdong Provincial Education Department, was told by the Central-South Ministry of Health in 1952 that "there’s no need to train new Chinese medicine practitioners," threatening its accreditation. In the end, students enrolled before 1951 were allowed to continue, while those entering in 1952 were transferred to health schools. Professor Li Guoqiao—everyone knows him, right? He’s a world-renowned expert in tropical diseases. A few years ago, he led a delegation to the World Tropical Disease Conference, delivering five or six reports. From a once-backward nation to presenting keynote speeches at a top-tier global academic conference, even serving on the presidium—that’s no small feat. And where did he graduate from? The Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine. This proves the Central-South Ministry of Health was wrong.
In the early liberation period (1950), Wang Bin, the Northeast Ministry of Health director, carried on Yu Yunxiu’s legacy. He adopted a different tactic, promoting "advanced training" for Chinese medicine practitioners, pushing them to study Western medicine. In 1955, I too attended such a Western medicine course, where third-year students from Guanghua Medical College taught us anatomy and physiology. Later, the central government recognized the issue and reversed course, establishing schools for advanced Chinese medicine training focused on Chinese medicine itself. This solidified and elevated the level of Chinese medicine. This period, too, was marked by struggle. Chairman Mao Zedong, in his commentary on "Learning from the West," wrote: "Chinese medicine is a great treasure trove that should be diligently explored and advanced." This directive had a profound impact. In the toughest times, when Western medicine and drugs were unavailable, the value of Chinese medicine shone through. Yet Wang Bin’s ideology held that "Chinese medicine only provides psychological comfort to peasants," advocating its transformation into an assistant to Western medicine. Thus, over the past hundred-plus years, the tribulations Chinese medicine has endured are beyond words. It’s a long story—everyone can read about it in my edited work, *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine*.
Some young comrades think Chinese medicine is useless, and old practitioners are stubborn and conservative. In Shanghai, someone even said Chinese medicine "changes whether it changes or not," implying it should shift toward studying Western medicine. Minister Zhang Wenkang called this person "a traitor to their heritage." Chinese medicine has faced countless calamities. This history can be divided into three phases: pre-Republic (convergence of Chinese and Western medicine), Republic era (attempts to eradicate Chinese medicine), and post-Republic to 1986 (subordinate phase). The subordinate phase refers to Chinese medicine’s subservience to Western medicine. The establishment of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine in 1986 began to shift this dynamic, though not entirely, so we continue to advocate and fight. The administration was established partly due to a letter I wrote to Marshal Xu Xiangqian, which became a central government document and received successive approvals from top leaders. In 1991, when someone tried to dismantle it, eight of us elderly practitioners petitioned Jiang Zemin, preserving it. Last year, amid a wave of mergers—Western medical schools absorbing Chinese medicine colleges, Western hospitals merging with Chinese medicine hospitals—we petitioned Zhu Rongji, halting the trend. Thus, in our lifetime, we’ve spent less time studying and more time fighting.
Currently, since the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine was established, the subordinate status has changed, yet a new issue has emerged: "self-subordination." In Chinese medicine hospitals, Western drugs outnumber Chinese herbs in wards. Instead of honing our own academic strengths, we abandon our advantages to borrow others’, risking a gradual transformation. On the surface, Chinese medicine appears robust—complete with assistant professors, lecturers, associate professors, professors, resident physicians, attending physicians, deputy chief physicians, chief physicians, bachelors, masters, doctorates, and post-docs. But if the essence isn’t rooted in Chinese medicine, it’s just a bubble—what I call "foam Chinese medicine." Research that deviates from Chinese medicine’s core is a major hidden danger. At a recent symposium, someone cited an example: a PhD graduate looked down on veteran Chinese medicine practitioners but later found their clinical outcomes inferior. This shows that while your academic credentials and knowledge structure may be strong, if your roots in Chinese medicine are shallow, the fruit you bear will taste off—too many side roots, not enough main root.
Regarding the leadership role of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine, its establishment indeed brought earth-shaking changes to the field. Previously, the Ministry of Health ignored Chinese medicine hospitals, which had few beds and outdated equipment. Now, they’ve seen significant growth—a result of our struggles. Additionally, the administration accomplished something great: collating ancient medical texts. After the Song Dynasty’s large-scale collation, the Four Great Masters of the Jin-Yuan period emerged. Without accurate materials, research cannot proceed. Some argue this isn’t scientific research, but we must fight that notion too. The administration also organized 500 veteran practitioners to mentor apprentices—a visionary move. Within three years, many of those elders passed away. With decades of experience, a few years under their guidance can set you up; build on that for decades, and you’re standing on their shoulders. Never underestimate veteran practitioners. No matter how much you study, clinical practice is the test. Clinical efficacy is the lifeblood of Chinese medicine. Why hasn’t it been crushed in over a hundred years? Because of its results. When Zhao Ziyang was in Guangdong, I treated him. His blood pressure was 105/90 mmHg, with a narrow pulse pressure. Western medicine had no solution, but I used Chinese medicine’s differential diagnosis. I determined he had spleen deficiency and stagnant yang qi, prescribed *Bu Zhong Yi Qi Tang*, and after a few doses, he could get out of bed. Later, his pulse pressure widened to over 30 mmHg. Consequently, when he chaired a State Council meeting, he approved the establishment of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine. Without seeing its value, would he have supported it? Moreover, the administration has driven research in Chinese medicine, yielding results. Guangzhou University of Chinese Medicine is now at the forefront of research, and high-level education has advanced, though we’ve yet to secure an academician—more effort is needed.
Now, Chinese medicine is going global. Since Nixon’s visit in the 1970s, when his accompanying doctor witnessed acupuncture anesthesia and was astonished, acupuncture fever took off in the U.S. and swept the world. In the 1980s, Chinese medicine spread globally—a promising trend. But it’s critical that we successors master our skills; otherwise, it’s just foam. I propose returning to Chinese medicine’s roots to go global. For instance, I’m collaborating with the Provincial Chinese Medicine Hospital. They perform heart bypass surgeries, and I assist with Chinese herbs, conditioning patients before and after surgery. I say: in the future, cases others can’t operate on, you can; cases they’d operate on, you won’t need to. That could win a Nobel Prize. Going global requires skill. I consulted on a stroke patient with a lung infection and high fever. Antibiotics failed, but I prescribed 2 grams of *Zi Jin Ding*, dissolved and administered as a chilled enema, and the fever subsided. That’s Chinese medicine’s strength—don’t think it’s incapable.
As for the future, that belongs to futurology, and I’m no futurologist. But through some data, we can glimpse trends. Many favor Western medicine, but let me share the U.S. situation. Professor Xu Jiajie from UCLA’s East-West Medicine Center published an article in the *1999 Macau International Conference on Chinese Medicine Proceedings*, titled *The Current State and Development of American Medicine: Overview and Reflections*. It states: American medicine has undergone massive changes over the past 15 years, a revolution in every sense. "About 100 million Americans suffer from chronic diseases… Facts show that relying solely on a closed, hospital-centric biomedical model cannot reduce their incidence or mortality. This has shifted American medicine from focusing on acute diseases, infections, and inpatient surgeries to chronic diseases, psychosomatic disorders, geriatric conditions, degenerative diseases, and preventive care. Hospital numbers are shrinking, and the inpatient surgery model is moving toward a socialized network, including home wards and care. Medicine’s primary task is no longer treating sick individuals but protecting healthy populations, preventing illness." This shift aligns with Chinese medicine’s strengths—herbal medicine, qigong, and health exercises (like Tai Chi, Ba Duan Jin, Wu Qin Xi) are what Americans need most. Xu adds: "Skyrocketing medical costs triggered this reform. In 1996, U.S. healthcare spending hit $1.035 trillion, over 14% of GDP, projected to reach $2 trillion by 2007… While high costs advanced understanding of disease mechanisms and treatment capabilities, they haven’t effectively addressed many clinical issues, especially chronic and geriatric diseases." This reflects the medical landscape of the world’s most advanced nation. A superpower struggles under astronomical healthcare costs—food for thought. Where’s the U.S. headed? Xu founded the East-West Medicine Center, which became the hospital’s busiest, successfully tackling tough cases and chronic conditions Western medicine couldn’t. Since 1994, it’s taught Chinese medicine to fourth- and first-year medical students, winning their favor. Even the world’s leader is turning to Chinese medicine, proving humanity can’t do without it—especially the Third World.
Renowned Chinese social scientist Tian Sen says China’s contributions aren’t just the Four Great Inventions but five, the fifth being Chinese medicine. Peking University scholar Ji Xianlin agrees, predicting that Eastern culture will shine again in the 21st century, becoming dominant over Western culture. Chinese medicine, holistic and integrative, will replace reductionism. This isn’t about eradication but leadership by Eastern culture, absorbing Western strengths to elevate human civilization. Ji adds: historically, Eastern and Western cultures alternate dominance—Western culture has led for centuries but is now exhausted, showing flaws that harm humanity due to its foundational mindset. The West emphasizes conquering nature, achieving short-term success but endangering survival long-term. He believes we need the Eastern concept of harmony between man and nature. Dreaming that technology will solve everything risks disaster. For universal healthcare, Chinese medicine is key.
I recently received a book, *McGarry’s Chinese Medicine*, subtitled *The First Reportage on Chinese Medicine Pioneering Abroad*. It’s about my student Yang Yifan, a medical history master’s graduate. Though he studied history with me, I stressed that it mustn’t detach from clinical practice, so he trained with me for years and digitized my academic experience. Later, he went to Australia to study and work, and after years of effort, he’s now a local community leader. With Chinese medicine’s efficacy, he built a career, taught Western doctors to use herbs, and collaborated with a university medical school on hepatitis research. He even established a Chinese medicine department in a mainstream hospital—an unprecedented achievement, chronicled by a writer. See, Chinese medicine is taking root abroad, yet some here still doubt its future— isn’t that a joke?
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The Future of Chinese Medicine
In the blink of an eye, we have stepped into a new century (2000). Of course, according to astronomers’ conclusions, the new century technically begins next year, but people are impatient and have already dubbed this the "millennium." Being able to witness two centuries is, naturally, a fortunate thing. Over the past hundred-plus years, Chinese medicine has shared the same breath and fate as our nation, enduring hardships that may not recur in the 21st century—a cause for celebration. We have bid farewell to a burdensome past and marched boldly into the new century, a time when the Chinese nation can finally hold its head high. When discussing the future of Chinese medicine, we must look forward, and that future belongs to all of you present here—it is deeply tied to you. But to talk about the future, we must first reflect on the past. History is a mirror; to move forward and develop, looking back is crucial. Not long ago, I received a letter from Zhu Qingsheng, the director of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine. I had sent him a copy of *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine*, which I co-authored with teachers from the Medical History Research Office. In his reply, he wrote: "I am currently reading your work *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine* and find it very inspiring. History cannot be severed; only by understanding it can we better envision the future. This applies to Chinese medicine, as well as to our nation and people."
The modern history era begins with the Opium Wars, marking the start of the world’s first anti-drug movement. From that point onward, disasters befell our nation and people, with many things turned upside down and the populace plunged into misery. Having lived through that era, we understand it deeply. Chinese medicine, intertwined with the fate of the Chinese nation, faced numerous trials starting from the first year of the Republic of China, when the Beiyang government’s education system omitted Chinese medicine. This omission sparked resistance from the Chinese medicine community. Yu Botao, president of the Shanghai Shenzhou Medical Association, rallied people from various sectors to protest. In 1913, they submitted a petition to the Beiyang government in Beijing. At the time, Wang Daxie, the Minister of Education, brazenly declared: "I am determined to abolish Chinese medicine henceforth and stop the use of Chinese herbs." Due to public pressure, he later relented, claiming there was no intent to eliminate Chinese medicine, but he remained vague about integrating it into the academic system. This was the first attempt to suppress Chinese medicine, aiming to fundamentally leave it without successors. The government refused to establish Chinese medicine education, but private institutions stepped in. Several private Chinese medicine schools emerged, including a few in Guangzhou, such as the Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine, jointly funded by the pharmaceutical industries of Guangzhou, Hong Kong, and Macau. Later, it was forced to rename itself a "society" and excluded from the formal education system—a ruthless move. The Chinese medicine community fought back, reclaiming the title of "school." Schools of Chinese medicine sprang up in Shanghai, Guangdong, and even Chaozhou, rooting the tradition in the early 20th century.
In February 1929, the Nanjing government’s Central Health Conference passed Yu Yunxiu’s proposal, *Abolishing Old Medicine to Remove Obstacles to Medical and Health Affairs*, causing a major uproar. Banning Chinese medicine would also eliminate herb farmers, workers, merchants, and related transportation industries. If enforced for 30 years, Chinese medicine would have faced extinction. Take Taiwan, for example: the Chinese medicine practitioners who went there back then are now in their 70s or 80s, with no successors. Only recently have they begun rebuilding, establishing the China Medical University. Had the mainland not been liberated, the outcome would have been the same, and our generation would have become relics of a bygone era. At the time, Chinese medicine practitioners explored solutions, such as the "Convergence School," seeking a meeting point between Chinese and Western medicine to counter Yu Yunxiu’s arguments. Yet Yu’s damaging influence lingered. He labeled Chinese medicine "old medicine," a stigma that persisted after liberation (1950), affecting some leaders. Early in the post-liberation period, certain figures in the Ministry of Health even urged us to admit we were "old medicine," a notion we rejected. The Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine, originally registered under the Guangdong Provincial Education Department, was told by the Central-South Ministry of Health in 1952 that "there’s no need to train new Chinese medicine practitioners," threatening its accreditation. In the end, students enrolled before 1951 were allowed to continue, while those entering in 1952 were transferred to health schools. Professor Li Guoqiao—everyone knows him, right? He’s a world-renowned expert in tropical diseases. A few years ago, he led a delegation to the World Tropical Disease Conference, delivering five or six reports. From a once-backward nation to presenting keynote speeches at a top-tier global academic conference, even serving on the presidium—that’s no small feat. And where did he graduate from? The Guangzhou Specialized School of Chinese Medicine. This proves the Central-South Ministry of Health was wrong.
In the early liberation period (1950), Wang Bin, the Northeast Ministry of Health director, carried on Yu Yunxiu’s legacy. He adopted a different tactic, promoting "advanced training" for Chinese medicine practitioners, pushing them to study Western medicine. In 1955, I too attended such a Western medicine course, where third-year students from Guanghua Medical College taught us anatomy and physiology. Later, the central government recognized the issue and reversed course, establishing schools for advanced Chinese medicine training focused on Chinese medicine itself. This solidified and elevated the level of Chinese medicine. This period, too, was marked by struggle. Chairman Mao Zedong, in his commentary on "Learning from the West," wrote: "Chinese medicine is a great treasure trove that should be diligently explored and advanced." This directive had a profound impact. In the toughest times, when Western medicine and drugs were unavailable, the value of Chinese medicine shone through. Yet Wang Bin’s ideology held that "Chinese medicine only provides psychological comfort to peasants," advocating its transformation into an assistant to Western medicine. Thus, over the past hundred-plus years, the tribulations Chinese medicine has endured are beyond words. It’s a long story—everyone can read about it in my edited work, *A Modern History of Chinese Medicine*.
Some young comrades think Chinese medicine is useless, and old practitioners are stubborn and conservative. In Shanghai, someone even said Chinese medicine "changes whether it changes or not," implying it should shift toward studying Western medicine. Minister Zhang Wenkang called this person "a traitor to their heritage." Chinese medicine has faced countless calamities. This history can be divided into three phases: pre-Republic (convergence of Chinese and Western medicine), Republic era (attempts to eradicate Chinese medicine), and post-Republic to 1986 (subordinate phase). The subordinate phase refers to Chinese medicine’s subservience to Western medicine. The establishment of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine in 1986 began to shift this dynamic, though not entirely, so we continue to advocate and fight. The administration was established partly due to a letter I wrote to Marshal Xu Xiangqian, which became a central government document and received successive approvals from top leaders. In 1991, when someone tried to dismantle it, eight of us elderly practitioners petitioned Jiang Zemin, preserving it. Last year, amid a wave of mergers—Western medical schools absorbing Chinese medicine colleges, Western hospitals merging with Chinese medicine hospitals—we petitioned Zhu Rongji, halting the trend. Thus, in our lifetime, we’ve spent less time studying and more time fighting.
Currently, since the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine was established, the subordinate status has changed, yet a new issue has emerged: "self-subordination." In Chinese medicine hospitals, Western drugs outnumber Chinese herbs in wards. Instead of honing our own academic strengths, we abandon our advantages to borrow others’, risking a gradual transformation. On the surface, Chinese medicine appears robust—complete with assistant professors, lecturers, associate professors, professors, resident physicians, attending physicians, deputy chief physicians, chief physicians, bachelors, masters, doctorates, and post-docs. But if the essence isn’t rooted in Chinese medicine, it’s just a bubble—what I call "foam Chinese medicine." Research that deviates from Chinese medicine’s core is a major hidden danger. At a recent symposium, someone cited an example: a PhD graduate looked down on veteran Chinese medicine practitioners but later found their clinical outcomes inferior. This shows that while your academic credentials and knowledge structure may be strong, if your roots in Chinese medicine are shallow, the fruit you bear will taste off—too many side roots, not enough main root.
Regarding the leadership role of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine, its establishment indeed brought earth-shaking changes to the field. Previously, the Ministry of Health ignored Chinese medicine hospitals, which had few beds and outdated equipment. Now, they’ve seen significant growth—a result of our struggles. Additionally, the administration accomplished something great: collating ancient medical texts. After the Song Dynasty’s large-scale collation, the Four Great Masters of the Jin-Yuan period emerged. Without accurate materials, research cannot proceed. Some argue this isn’t scientific research, but we must fight that notion too. The administration also organized 500 veteran practitioners to mentor apprentices—a visionary move. Within three years, many of those elders passed away. With decades of experience, a few years under their guidance can set you up; build on that for decades, and you’re standing on their shoulders. Never underestimate veteran practitioners. No matter how much you study, clinical practice is the test. Clinical efficacy is the lifeblood of Chinese medicine. Why hasn’t it been crushed in over a hundred years? Because of its results. When Zhao Ziyang was in Guangdong, I treated him. His blood pressure was 105/90 mmHg, with a narrow pulse pressure. Western medicine had no solution, but I used Chinese medicine’s differential diagnosis. I determined he had spleen deficiency and stagnant yang qi, prescribed *Bu Zhong Yi Qi Tang*, and after a few doses, he could get out of bed. Later, his pulse pressure widened to over 30 mmHg. Consequently, when he chaired a State Council meeting, he approved the establishment of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine. Without seeing its value, would he have supported it? Moreover, the administration has driven research in Chinese medicine, yielding results. Guangzhou University of Chinese Medicine is now at the forefront of research, and high-level education has advanced, though we’ve yet to secure an academician—more effort is needed.
Now, Chinese medicine is going global. Since Nixon’s visit in the 1970s, when his accompanying doctor witnessed acupuncture anesthesia and was astonished, acupuncture fever took off in the U.S. and swept the world. In the 1980s, Chinese medicine spread globally—a promising trend. But it’s critical that we successors master our skills; otherwise, it’s just foam. I propose returning to Chinese medicine’s roots to go global. For instance, I’m collaborating with the Provincial Chinese Medicine Hospital. They perform heart bypass surgeries, and I assist with Chinese herbs, conditioning patients before and after surgery. I say: in the future, cases others can’t operate on, you can; cases they’d operate on, you won’t need to. That could win a Nobel Prize. Going global requires skill. I consulted on a stroke patient with a lung infection and high fever. Antibiotics failed, but I prescribed 2 grams of *Zi Jin Ding*, dissolved and administered as a chilled enema, and the fever subsided. That’s Chinese medicine’s strength—don’t think it’s incapable.
As for the future, that belongs to futurology, and I’m no futurologist. But through some data, we can glimpse trends. Many favor Western medicine, but let me share the U.S. situation. Professor Xu Jiajie from UCLA’s East-West Medicine Center published an article in the *1999 Macau International Conference on Chinese Medicine Proceedings*, titled *The Current State and Development of American Medicine: Overview and Reflections*. It states: American medicine has undergone massive changes over the past 15 years, a revolution in every sense. "About 100 million Americans suffer from chronic diseases… Facts show that relying solely on a closed, hospital-centric biomedical model cannot reduce their incidence or mortality. This has shifted American medicine from focusing on acute diseases, infections, and inpatient surgeries to chronic diseases, psychosomatic disorders, geriatric conditions, degenerative diseases, and preventive care. Hospital numbers are shrinking, and the inpatient surgery model is moving toward a socialized network, including home wards and care. Medicine’s primary task is no longer treating sick individuals but protecting healthy populations, preventing illness." This shift aligns with Chinese medicine’s strengths—herbal medicine, qigong, and health exercises (like Tai Chi, Ba Duan Jin, Wu Qin Xi) are what Americans need most. Xu adds: "Skyrocketing medical costs triggered this reform. In 1996, U.S. healthcare spending hit $1.035 trillion, over 14% of GDP, projected to reach $2 trillion by 2007… While high costs advanced understanding of disease mechanisms and treatment capabilities, they haven’t effectively addressed many clinical issues, especially chronic and geriatric diseases." This reflects the medical landscape of the world’s most advanced nation. A superpower struggles under astronomical healthcare costs—food for thought. Where’s the U.S. headed? Xu founded the East-West Medicine Center, which became the hospital’s busiest, successfully tackling tough cases and chronic conditions Western medicine couldn’t. Since 1994, it’s taught Chinese medicine to fourth- and first-year medical students, winning their favor. Even the world’s leader is turning to Chinese medicine, proving humanity can’t do without it—especially the Third World.
Renowned Chinese social scientist Tian Sen says China’s contributions aren’t just the Four Great Inventions but five, the fifth being Chinese medicine. Peking University scholar Ji Xianlin agrees, predicting that Eastern culture will shine again in the 21st century, becoming dominant over Western culture. Chinese medicine, holistic and integrative, will replace reductionism. This isn’t about eradication but leadership by Eastern culture, absorbing Western strengths to elevate human civilization. Ji adds: historically, Eastern and Western cultures alternate dominance—Western culture has led for centuries but is now exhausted, showing flaws that harm humanity due to its foundational mindset. The West emphasizes conquering nature, achieving short-term success but endangering survival long-term. He believes we need the Eastern concept of harmony between man and nature. Dreaming that technology will solve everything risks disaster. For universal healthcare, Chinese medicine is key.
I recently received a book, *McGarry’s Chinese Medicine*, subtitled *The First Reportage on Chinese Medicine Pioneering Abroad*. It’s about my student Yang Yifan, a medical history master’s graduate. Though he studied history with me, I stressed that it mustn’t detach from clinical practice, so he trained with me for years and digitized my academic experience. Later, he went to Australia to study and work, and after years of effort, he’s now a local community leader. With Chinese medicine’s efficacy, he built a career, taught Western doctors to use herbs, and collaborated with a university medical school on hepatitis research. He even established a Chinese medicine department in a mainstream hospital—an unprecedented achievement, chronicled by a writer. See, Chinese medicine is taking root abroad, yet some here still doubt its future— isn’t that a joke?