Beijing

A BRITISH businessman has been accused of spying and plotting to smuggle sensitive military technology to China.

The FBI claim investigators intercepted phone calls in which John Miller, 63, called Chinese leader Xi Jinping as “The Boss”.

The 63-year-old from Kent is also alleged to have tried to buy military hardware in the US for the People’s Liberation Army.

This included missile launchers, air defence radars and Black Hornet “microdrones” that can fly within feet of enemy soldiers and enter buildings to spy on troop positions.

Other equipment he attempted to purchase included a hand-held device approved by America’s National Security Agency for the secure communication of classified material.

Mr Miller also suggested smuggling a device by glueing it inside a food blender so it could then be “sent via DHL or Fedex to Hong Kong, according to US court papers.

The FBI said Mr Miller calling Xi “The Boss” showed his “awareness that he was acting at the direction and control of the [Chinese] government”.

He was arrested on April 24 after he was caught in a sting when the ‘arms dealers’ he was negotiating with turned out to be undercover FBI agents.

Mr Miller was on a business trip to Belgrade, Serbia, at the time and is still being held last night facing extradition to the US.

He is accused of conspiring with US-based Chinese national, Cui Guanghai, 43, and if convicted, both men face up to 40 years in prison.

Neighbours at his five-bedroom £1.5million home in Tunbridge Wells described him a “respectable family man”, according to the Mail on Sunday.

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American universities have long feared that the Chinese government will restrict its country’s students from attending institutions that cross Beijing’s sensitive political lines.

Universities still fear that consequence today, but the most immediate threat is no longer posed by the Chinese government. Now, as the latest punishment meted out to the Trump administration’s preeminent academic scapegoat shows, it’s our own government posing the threat.

In a May 22 letter, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem announced she revoked Harvard University’s Student and Exchange Visitor Program certification, meaning the university’s thousands of international students must transfer immediately or lose their legal status. Harvard can no longer enroll future international students either.

Noem cited Harvard’s failure to hand over international student disciplinary records in response to a prior letter and, disturbingly, the Trump administration’s desire to “root out the evils of anti-Americanism” on campus. Among the most alarming demands in this latest missive was that Harvard supply all video of “any protest activity” by any international student within the last five years.

Harvard immediately sued Noem and her department and other agencies, rightfully calling the revocation “a blatant violation of the First Amendment,” and within hours a judge issued a temporary restraining order against the revocation.

“Let this serve as a warning to all universities and academic institutions across the country,” Noem wrote on X about the punishment. And on Tuesday, the administration halted interviews for all new student visas.

This is not how a free country treats its schools — or the international visitors who attend them.

Noem’s warning will, no doubt, be heard loud and clear. That’s because universities — which depend on international students’ tuition dollars — have already had reason to worry that they will lose access to international students for displeasing censorial government officials.

In 2010, Beijing revoked recognition of the University of Calgary’s accreditation in China, meaning Chinese students at the Canadian school suddenly risked paying for a degree worth little at home. The reason? The university’s granting of an honorary degree to the Dalai Lama the year before. “We have offended our Chinese partners by the very fact of bringing in the Dalai Lama, and we have work to resolve that issue,” a spokesperson said.

Beijing restored recognition over a year later, but many Chinese students had already left. Damage done.

Similarly, when UC San Diego hosted the Dalai Lama as commencement speaker in 2017, punishment followed. The China Scholarship Council suspended funding for academics intending to study at UCSD, and an article in the state media outlet Global Times recommended that Chinese authorities “not recognize diplomas or degree certificates issued by the university.”

This kind of direct punishment doesn’t happen very frequently. But the threat always exists, and it creates fear that administrators take into account when deciding how their universities operate.

American universities now must fear that they will suffer this penalty too, but at an even greater scale: revocation of access not just to students from China, but all international students. That’s a huge potential loss. At Harvard, for example, international students make up a whopping 27% of total enrollment.

Whether they publicly acknowledge it or not, university leaders probably are considering whether they need to adjust their behavior to avoid seeing international student tuition funds dry up.

Will our colleges and universities increase censorship and surveillance of international students? Avoid inviting commencement speakers disfavored by the Trump administration? Pressure academic departments against hiring any professors whose social media comments or areas of research will catch the eye of mercurial government officials?

And, equally disturbing, will they be willing to admit that they are now making these calculations at all? Unlike direct punishments by the Trump administration or Beijing, this chilling effect is likely to be largely invisible.

Harvard might be able to survive without international students’ tuition. But a vast number of other universities could not. The nation as a whole would feel their loss too: In the 2023-24 academic year, international students contributed a record-breaking $43.8 billion to the American economy.

And these students — who have uprooted their lives for the promise of what American education offers — are the ones who will suffer the most, as they experience weeks or months of panic and upheaval while being used as pawns in this campaign to punish higher ed.

If the Trump administration is seeking to root out “anti-Americanism,” it can begin by surveying its own behavior in recent months. Freedom of expression is one of our country’s most cherished values. Censorship, surveillance and punishment of government critics do not belong here.

Sarah McLaughlin is senior scholar on global expression at the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression and author of the forthcoming book “Authoritarians in the Academy: How the Internationalization of Higher Education and Borderless Censorship Threaten Free Speech.”

Zhajiangmian was one of the first dishes my mother taught me how to make. I’d stand beside her in the kitchen, watching her stir fermented soybean paste into sizzling ground pork, the smell sharp, earthy and instantly familiar. A pot of noodles boiled nearby as I carefully julienned cucumbers, proud to contribute to one of my favorite comfort meals. When the ingredients were ready, we’d build our bowls with noodles, sauce and a handful of crisp veggies. Then came the best part — mixing it together until every noodle was slick with sauce. It wasn’t fancy, but it was fast, filling and always hit the spot.

According to Tian Yong, head chef of Bistro Na in Temple City, humble zhajiangmian may date back to the Qing Dynasty, when minced meat noodles became popular in Beijing for its affordability and ease of storage. Another origin story tells of an empress dowager who, fleeing an invasion, encountered a zhajiangmian-like dish in Xi’an.

However it came to be, zhajiangmian, or “fried sauce noodles,” is everyday comfort food in China and a staple of northern Chinese cuisine. “It carries cultural nostalgia and a sense of regional identity, particularly for Beijing natives,” says chef and cookbook author Katie Chin, founder of Wok Star Catering in Los Angeles. At its core, the dish is built on a simple foundation of wheat noodles (often thick, chewy and hand-pulled or knife-cut), ground pork and a deeply savory sauce made from doubanjiang, fermented soybean paste.

Like many regional Chinese dishes, zhajiangmian is fluid, shaped by geography, ingredients and personal taste. “It doesn’t just vary between regions of China — it even varies between households in different parts of Beijing,” Yong explains.

Chin uses several types of soybean paste in her zhajiangmian, each bringing its own personality to the bowl. Traditional Beijing-style relies on pungent yellow soybean paste for its salty, umami-rich depth. Tianjin-style leans on sweet bean sauce for a milder, more balanced flavor, while some versions use broad bean paste to add heat and complexity.

Then there’s the Korean-Chinese adaptation, jjajangmyeon, introduced to Korea by Chinese immigrants in the early 20th century. It swaps fermented soybean paste for chunjang, a Korean black bean paste that’s sweeter and less salty. “The dish is served over softer noodles and typically mixed together before eating, unlike the Chinese version where toppings are placed separately,” Chin says.

The vegetable toppings are essential to the dish’s character. “They can vary according to Beijing’s four seasons and traditional agricultural calendar,” says Yong. In spring, you might see spinach shoots, mung bean sprouts or radish greens; summer brings julienned cucumber, lotus root and edamame; fall offers carrots, garlic chives and bok choy; winter, Napa cabbage and wood ear mushrooms. While zhajiangmian is one of China’s most beloved noodle dishes, in the U.S., the spotlight tends to shine on familiar favorites like chow mein, lo mein or dan dan mian. But zhajiangmian has a deserved place alongside those staples in the canon of Chinese noodles.

I set out to find the best versions in Los Angeles and discovered dozens of interpretations. Some stayed true to tradition, others took creative liberties. But each bowl shared the same sense of comfort I remembered from my childhood — that salty, savory, soul-satisfying mix of noodles and sauce. Here are 11 of the best places to try zhajiangmian and jjajangmyeon in L.A.