On the morning of Thursday, February 14 three years ago, a journalist from a national newspaper rang and asked me whether I’d heard that Wen Zhou Li had been arrested. He had seen a film series I had made about gifted young musicians at Chetham’s School of Music in Manchester and which featured Wen Zhou, an acclaimed Chinese-born violin teacher, who had worked at this prestigious school for 20 years. Was I shocked, I was asked, that he was now being accused of raping and indecently assaulting a pupil?
I was more than shocked. I was incredulous, disbelieving and horrified. I rang Wen Zhou immediately. He broke down in tears and called me back later. Yes, he had been arrested and told by the police that he was being investigated, as a former pupil had made a complaint accusing him of sexual assault when she was a teenager.
“Tamasin, the social services have taken my children,” he told me. “I’m fighting for my life.”
It has taken until March this year for his nightmare to end.
He was allowed to nominate a family friend, a teacher, who agreed to have the children to stay, and they were moved by a social worker without even seeing their father. Wen Zhou was told the teacher would act as a foster carer until social services had interviewed his wife, Li-Li, then 35, to assess the couple’s relationship.
Li-Li herself was in China when the arrest happened and heard of it through family in America, as more than 100 newspapers across the world carried the story. His international career of 20 years was in tatters.
It was six weeks before his sons were returned home, at which point I drove up to Manchester to stay with the family and offer whatever support I could. I sat in on one of the many social services visits and made it known to them, the police who interviewed me and to Wen Zhou’s lawyers, that I would be happy to be a key witness in court.
After a discussion between police, social workers and Wen Zhou, the children were told their father was helping the police on a secret mission. When they did go back home under a supervision order, Wen Zhou was not allowed to be alone with them, to have them in the marital bed, give them a shower, take them to the loo, or help them change at the swimming pool. He moved into the spare bedroom, He says: “It was a feeling like the end of the world. I can now understand why people kill themselves.”
Before this happened Wen Zhou was the definition of positivity. Since the accusation, though, he and Li-Li, who have been married for 15 years, have been prescribed antidepressants, which they still take.
“Having to go to court twice to fight to keep my children was the most difficult moment of my life, and each time the court case was deferred as there wasn’t enough evidence to proceed. I felt hopeless.”
Following his arrest, Wen Zhou was suspended from his posts at Chetham’s and the RNCM, not knowing how long it would be before his case got to court.
It felt, he says, “like a knife hanging over my head which could drop down and kill me at any moment. I was extremely angry and resentful, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was seen as guilty until proven innocent.
“I was treated like an enemy of the people and the State. It made me very vulnerable, but I had to be strong. I developed anxiety because I kept everything inside. The social services controlled my life.”
“Tamasin, the social services have taken my children,” he told me. “I’m fighting for my life.”
It has taken until March this year for his nightmare to end.
I first met Wen Zhou Li 20 years ago, when I began researching my films at Chetham’s. It was obvious the moment I sat in on one of his lessons that his passion for teaching and developing young talent was inspirational, as was the respect – and awe and affection – in which his pupils held him.
All of them spoke to me, privately and on camera, about how dedicated he was, both to them and to the raising of the level of technique and playing at the school, and at the Royal Northern College of Music where he was a violin professor.
Over the months of making the series, and later over the years when Wen Zhou and I remained friends, and he stayed with me and my children in Ireland and Somerset, we all knew him as a man of consummate honour, trust and principle.
All of them spoke to me, privately and on camera, about how dedicated he was, both to them and to the raising of the level of technique and playing at the school, and at the Royal Northern College of Music where he was a violin professor.
Over the months of making the series, and later over the years when Wen Zhou and I remained friends, and he stayed with me and my children in Ireland and Somerset, we all knew him as a man of consummate honour, trust and principle.
The fact that he had been plunged into such a nightmare seemed unfathomable to us – but became all too real to him.
On the day of his arrest, while Wen Zhou, then 58, was being interviewed at the police station, he was warned his two sons, John, aged eight and Jack, five, would not be allowed to stay in the family home, in Northwich, Cheshire, in case they were at risk too.
On the day of his arrest, while Wen Zhou, then 58, was being interviewed at the police station, he was warned his two sons, John, aged eight and Jack, five, would not be allowed to stay in the family home, in Northwich, Cheshire, in case they were at risk too.
“Tamasin, the social services have taken my children,” he told me. “I’m fighting for my life.”
It has taken until March this year for his nightmare to end.
I first met Wen Zhou Li 20 years ago, when I began researching my films at Chetham’s. It was obvious the moment I sat in on one of his lessons that his passion for teaching and developing young talent was inspirational, as was the respect – and awe and affection – in which his pupils held him. All of them spoke to me, privately and on camera, about how dedicated he was, both to them and to the raising of the level of technique and playing at the school, and at the Royal Northern College of Music where he was a violin professor.
Over the months of making the series, and later over the years when Wen Zhou and I remained friends, and he stayed with me and my children in Ireland and Somerset, we all knew him as a man of consummate honour, trust and principle.
On the day of his arrest, while Wen Zhou, then 58, was being interviewed at the police station, he was warned his two sons, John, aged eight, and Jack, five, would not be allowed to stay in the family home, in Northwich, Cheshire, in case they were at risk too.
It has taken until March this year for his nightmare to end.
Over the months of making the series, and later over the years when Wen Zhou and I remained friends, and he stayed with me and my children in Ireland and Somerset, we all knew him as a man of consummate honour, trust and principle.
On the day of his arrest, while Wen Zhou, then 58, was being interviewed at the police station, he was warned his two sons, John, aged eight, and Jack, five, would not be allowed to stay in the family home, in Northwich, Cheshire, in case they were at risk too.
Li-Li herself was in China when the arrest happened and heard of it through family in America, as more than 100 newspapers across the world carried the story. His international career of 20 years was in tatters.
It was six weeks before his sons were returned home, at which point I drove up to Manchester to stay with the family and offer whatever support I could. I sat in on one of the many social services visits and made it known to them, the police who interviewed me and to Wen Zhou’s lawyers, that I would be happy to be a key witness in court.
After a discussion between police, social workers and Wen Zhou, the children were told their father was helping the police on a secret mission. When they did go back home under a supervision order, Wen Zhou was not allowed to be alone with them, to have them in the marital bed, give them a shower, take them to the loo, or help them change at the swimming pool. He moved into the spare bedroom, He says: “It was a feeling like the end of the world. I can now understand why people kill themselves.”
“Having to go to court twice to fight to keep my children was the most difficult moment of my life, and each time the court case was deferred as there wasn’t enough evidence to proceed. I felt hopeless.”
Following his arrest, Wen Zhou was suspended from his posts at Chetham’s and the RNCM, not knowing how long it would be before his case got to court.
It felt, he says, “like a knife hanging over my head which could drop down and kill me at any moment. I was extremely angry and resentful, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was seen as guilty until proven innocent.
“I was treated like an enemy of the people and the State. It made me very vulnerable, but I had to be strong. I developed anxiety because I kept everything inside. The social services controlled my life.”
His passport was taken away; he wasn’t even allowed to visit friends.
There were representations from all over the world – from around 40 former students and people closest to him - I was one of them, but the fact remained: the accuser could carry on as normal, anonymously, while Wen Zhou’s life and career were in ruins, and publicly so. Of the law of anonymity for the accuser but not for the defendant, he says: “I think it should be equal. I should be protected by law as much as the accuser before I’m proven innocent or guilty.”
The fact the case against him was so weak made it all the more astonishing: Wen Zhou’s accuser had asked to be allowed to return to study under him, which she did for a number of years after the alleged incident was claimed to have taken place. Even her parents asked Wen Zhou to accept her as a pupil again.
The charge was withdrawn in March after it emerged that the complainant had made allegations against another teacher in another country, but that no charges had been brought.
“The judge said, ‘Mr Li, you can go out of the court with your head held high and no stain on your character. You are not guilty. Case dismissed.’”
There were representations from all over the world – from around 40 former students and people closest to him - I was one of them, but the fact remained: the accuser could carry on as normal, anonymously, while Wen Zhou’s life and career were in ruins, and publicly so. Of the law of anonymity for the accuser but not for the defendant, he says: “I think it should be equal. I should be protected by law as much as the accuser before I’m proven innocent or guilty.”
The fact the case against him was so weak made it all the more astonishing: Wen Zhou’s accuser had asked to be allowed to return to study under him, which she did for a number of years after the alleged incident was claimed to have taken place. Even her parents asked Wen Zhou to accept her as a pupil again.
The charge was withdrawn in March after it emerged that the complainant had made allegations against another teacher in another country, but that no charges had been brought.
“The judge said, ‘Mr Li, you can go out of the court with your head held high and no stain on your character. You are not guilty. Case dismissed.’”
Did he feel euphoria? “I had very mixed feelings; I was overwhelmed. I wanted an apology. I felt very angry towards my accuser.”
The tragedy is that this brilliant and much-admired teacher now feels he won’t ever be able to teach again. “You have to touch children when you teach them the violin, but I feel dirty if I touch them. They could accuse me at any time. I’m not prepared to put my family at risk. Society has put me in this situation and I feel sad about that.”
He was also unable to listen to music for more than 18 months after his arrest. “My heart hurt every time I listened to the violin,” he says.
Still unable to pick up his violin and play it, Wen Zhou has become a businessman. He is working in supply-chain management between China and the UK. “And I am really enjoying it,” he says.
“I started to learn business just how I learnt music, and I treat my staff how I treated my pupils. Watch me – in the business world I’m going to create a symphony.”
Most of the old joy is back, I can see it in Wen Zhou’s face and hear it in his voice, but it isn’t until we leave my kitchen table and walk in the hills that he turns to me and says: ‘This summer will be the 10th anniversary of a musical festival I used to teach at in Tuscany. It is students over 18. What do you think? Maybe I will go back and teach them.”
The tragedy is that this brilliant and much-admired teacher now feels he won’t ever be able to teach again. “You have to touch children when you teach them the violin, but I feel dirty if I touch them. They could accuse me at any time. I’m not prepared to put my family at risk. Society has put me in this situation and I feel sad about that.”
Still unable to pick up his violin and play it, Wen Zhou has become a businessman. He is working in supply-chain management between China and the UK. “And I am really enjoying it,” he says.
“I started to learn business just how I learnt music, and I treat my staff how I treated my pupils. Watch me – in the business world I’m going to create a symphony.”
Most of the old joy is back, I can see it in Wen Zhou’s face and hear it in his voice, but it isn’t until we leave my kitchen table and walk in the hills that he turns to me and says: ‘This summer will be the 10th anniversary of a musical festival I used to teach at in Tuscany. It is students over 18. What do you think? Maybe I will go back and teach them.”
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