He Jiankui’s Return: Reflections on Ethics, Science, and Second Chances
In a quiet laboratory tucked away in Beijing, He Jiankui carefully pipettes clear liquid into tiny vials, his movements deliberate and precise. Just five years ago, this same scientist shocked the world when he announced the birth of the first genetically edited babies—twin girls known to the public only as Lulu and Nana. That announcement in November 2018 catapulted the then-unknown researcher into global infamy and ultimately led to his imprisonment in China for “illegal medical practices.” Today, having served three years in prison, He has returned to scientific work, albeit under different circumstances and with a perspective transformed by his controversial journey.
The scientific community’s reaction to He’s CRISPR experiment was swift and severe. Most researchers condemned his work as premature, reckless, and ethically unconscionable. He had edited embryos to disable a gene called CCR5, aiming to give the children protection against HIV infection. But this modification had never been tested for safety in humans, and experts worried about potential unintended consequences that might affect not just the children but future generations who would inherit these genetic changes. The international backlash highlighted deep divides in how scientists view the boundaries of research involving human subjects, particularly when those interventions might permanently alter the human genome. Despite the near-universal criticism, He maintained that he acted out of compassion, seeking to protect children from HIV in a country where the infection still carries significant stigma.
During his time in prison, much changed in the landscape of genetic research. While most countries maintained or strengthened prohibitions against heritable human genome editing, the field of genetic therapies continued to advance. Treatments for sickle cell anemia, certain cancers, and other conditions using gene editing (though not in embryos) gained approval, suggesting a gradual normalization of genetic intervention in medicine. He observed these developments from confinement, contemplating his place in scientific history. Was he, as some suggested, merely ahead of his time? Or had he truly crossed an ethical line that should remain uncrossed? The scientist now expresses a more nuanced view of his actions, acknowledging procedural failures while still defending the underlying goal of preventing disease through genetic intervention.
Since his release in April 2022, He has established a new research institute focused on rare disease treatments—a less controversial application of gene editing technology. He notes that the scientific environment in China, while still heavily regulated, appears increasingly tolerant of researchers who push boundaries in pursuit of medical breakthroughs. “Innovation requires courage,” He remarked in a recent interview, “and sometimes that means working at the edge of what society currently accepts.” This perspective reflects both his unrepentant view of scientific progress and perhaps a cultural difference in how risk and scientific advancement are balanced. In China’s competitive research landscape, being first carries tremendous prestige, potentially explaining some of the motivations behind He’s original experiment despite international ethical concerns.
The case raises profound questions about scientific accountability in an increasingly globalized research environment. While He faced consequences for his actions, the children he genetically modified continue to grow, their lives and genetic legacies forever altered by decisions made before their birth. Ethicists point out that even as He serves as a cautionary tale, the absence of binding international frameworks for genetic research means similar experiments could happen again, perhaps in jurisdictions with limited oversight or different cultural attitudes toward scientific risk. The scientific community continues to debate whether absolute prohibitions or careful regulation would better govern such sensitive research. Some argue that outright bans merely drive controversial research underground or to less regulated regions, while others maintain that certain technological lines should never be crossed regardless of potential benefits.
Today, He Jiankui embodies both the promises and perils of scientific ambition in the modern age. His story serves as a complex parable about the responsibilities scientists bear when their work touches the most fundamental aspects of human existence. “I accept that I moved too quickly and without sufficient transparency,” He has stated, “but I still believe that genetic medicine will eventually heal many who currently suffer.” Whether history will judge him as a reckless violator of ethics or a misunderstood pioneer remains uncertain. What is clear is that the questions his work raised—about consent, about future generations’ rights, about who should decide how human genetics evolves—remain largely unanswered. As He returns to work under the watchful eyes of both Chinese authorities and the global scientific community, his controversial legacy continues to shape discussions about where science can go, where it should go, and who gets to make those momentous decisions.
