Dr. Chun Ju Chang grew up in Taiwan with a strong sense of curiosity. She loved asking questions about how things worked in biology. That early interest led her to study science in the United States, where she earned a Ph.D. from UCLA and later trained at MD Anderson Cancer Center, one of the top cancer research centers in the world.
Along the way, she won many awards for her research. But what stands out most is how she works with students. Whether in a lab or a classroom, Dr. Chang doesn’t just teach facts—she teaches students how to think. Her former students often say she helped them find confidence, not just skills. She asks questions that make people stop and reflect. She listens.
Her research focuses on cancer, stem cells, and how the tiny parts of our cells—like mitochondria—can shape how cells grow or change. One of her most important studies showed how cancer cells use mitochondria to stay in a stem-like state, making them harder to treat. This opened new doors for how scientists think about stopping cancer at its root.
Now a professor at China Medical University in Taiwan, Dr. Chang continues her research while guiding the next generation of scientists. She brings the same focus to mentorship as she does to experiments: clear thinking, patience, and the belief that small ideas can lead to big change.
To those around her, Chun Ju Chang is more than a scientist. She’s someone who helps people find their own path in science.
Interview with Chun Ju Chang: On Curiosity, Confidence, and the Science of Taking Risks
You’ve built a career in science across Taiwan and the U.S. What inspired you to follow this path?
Even as a child, I remember wondering how tiny things in the body could make such a big difference. That curiosity stayed with me. Science gave me a space where asking questions wasn’t annoying—it was encouraged. When I had the chance to study abroad, I took it. UCLA was a huge shift. It wasn’t just about academics. It was about learning how to work through uncertainty and keep going, even when I didn’t have clear answers.
What helped you keep going during those uncertain moments?
I learned to separate failure from identity. A failed experiment doesn’t mean you’re a failed researcher. During my postdoc, we were working on a high-stakes cancer study. One project didn’t go as planned— I learned that controls matter more than timelines. I share that experience with students when they’re feeling stuck. Sometimes the lesson isn’t in the result—it’s in how you recover from it.
You’ve won many awards, but people also talk about your impact as a mentor. How do you build confidence in others?
I try not to solve problems for students right away. When someone comes in with a confusing result, I ask, “What do you think it means?” Even if they’re unsure, just the act of thinking it through helps. Confidence doesn’t come from always being right—it comes from learning how to handle not knowing something. That mindset is especially important in science, where so much is unknown. I want my students to feel safe making mistakes, but also responsible for learning from them.
Your research shows that even mitochondria can affect how a stem cell “decides” what to become. Has that shaped how you think about decision-making in life?
That study changed how I think about structure and freedom. In the paper, we showed that mitochondrial fusion—when mitochondria join together—actually influences the direction a stem cell takes during division. It’s subtle but powerful. One small change shifts the entire path. I think that’s true in life, too. The systems around us—how we were trained, who we’re mentored by, what we’re exposed to—shape what we think is possible. But we still have to make the final call. My decisions to change labs, change countries, even change institutions weren’t always comfortable. But they came from recognizing when structure had become limitation.
That’s a big theme: when to stay and when to leap. What does risk mean to you?
Risk is contextual. When I returned to Taiwan, it was a chance to build something new—research and training programs with longer-term goals. Risk, in that sense, is when the goal is clear but the path is foggy. You move anyway. I tell my students: if the only reason you’re not doing something is fear, you need to take a closer look.
You mentioned you value clarity. But science can be very complex. How do you help students build clarity in their ideas?
I ask them to explain their project without slides. If you can’t talk through your hypothesis, methods, and expected outcomes clearly, then you probably don’t fully understand them yet. Once a student came to me with four dense figures and a twenty-slide deck. I asked them to summarize the project in three sentences, on paper, by hand. It took half an hour. But once they had it, the rest of the project made more sense—to both of us.
How do you stay inspired?
I read outside of my field. There’s something about seeing how other people solve problems—especially with fewer resources—that keeps me grounded. Inspiration isn’t always a flash. Sometimes it’s a quiet sentence that reminds you why your work matters. Other times it’s a failed control that teaches you more than your primary result.
If you could give one piece of advice to someone early in their career—science or not—what would it be?
Practice being uncomfortable. That’s where learning happens. Whether it’s presenting to a room full of experts or publishing a result that challenges an old model, discomfort is part of growth.
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