THEO PANAYIDES meets the man who has since moved on to more academic fields
I can’t possibly take any credit for that, says Lefkos Middleton when I run through the recent achievements of the Cyprus Institute of Neurology and Genetics, which he founded in 1990 (and admittedly left in 1999). He’s self-consciously self-effacing. He’s never done a Profile before, and isn’t sure he approves of them; he prefers the conversation to be “targeted”, he says (implying, not at himself). Even when it comes to divulging his age – he’s 61 – he seems uncomfortable, less (I think) out of vanity than a nagging suspicion that his personal details aren’t a worthy topic of conversation. Yet he’s done so much, from authoring 103 peer-review academic papers to a stint in the corporate world, as Head of a research division at GlaxoSmithKline. And of course there’s the Institute.
That’s where we meet, in a conference room on the fourth floor of the sturdy building located, with heavy and deliberate symbolism, right on the buffer zone. He hasn’t worked here for 12, nearly 13 years – and has lived in the UK all that time – but a waiting patient recognises him in the lobby, and runs after him to shake his hand. It’s a shame, sighs Lefkos later: that patient must’ve wanted to chat about the old days – but there’s just no time. He’s only here for a few days, giving a lecture on Alzheimer’s Disease (his current focus) at the University of Cyprus, then as soon as our interview is over he’s doing a tutorial by video-conference with his students at Imperial College, London. Another old patient recognises him in the lift, an old man confined to a wheelchair. He’s unable to speak, bleating out affection in a series of yelps and moans. “He recognised me!” marvels Lefkos to the man’s weary-looking wife, then squeezes his withered hand: “I recognise you too!”
He exudes authority, which is partly the setting – he was the Institute’s first Chairman as well as its founder – and partly his personal appearance, jowly and stocky with a full head of hair. The hair is flecked with grey, and he has bags under his eyes, but I still sense a glimmer of the persuasive energy he must’ve used on countless occasions – because that’s the point, that he’s never been just a doctor and scientist. “I’ve always had a lot of administrative responsibilities,” he admits, and recalls “having back-to-back meetings from 7am till night, whether it was in Cyprus, or in industry, or at Imperial in the first three to four years”. It’s only recently, in the past couple of years, that he’s consciously thrown off all those extra roles and focused on research, trying for some scientific breakthrough in what he calls – with a tinge of wry regret – “probably the last active decade” of his career.
His parents were teachers, his mother (a member of EOKA, Treasurer of post-independence party EDMA and, later, president of the Cyprus Federation of Women) being apparently the more dominant force. Lefkos himself studied Medicine and Neurology in Strasbourg, then moved to the US where, within a year, he’d snagged a junior faculty post at Columbia University. Was he very ambitious as a young man? It wasn’t quite ambition, he replies, evading the question slightly, more “a matter of questioning, and trying to explore new opportunities” – but he also says, for instance, that going to America was “a fixed idea that had to happen, and it happened” (I suspect he’s thinking of the French idιe fixe, i.e. obsession), so it does sound like he was determined to do something with his life. He was certainly mixed about returning to Cyprus in the 80s, a decision taken “purely for family considerations”: his then-wife, a lawyer, wanted to practise here, they had a young child and wanted to be close to their families. In terms of Neurology, however, there was nothing.
He might still have made a decent living, with his medical degrees – but he wanted more. A way out came with the discovery that Cyprus had (and has) a much higher incidence of multiple sclerosis than what’s been reported for neighbouring countries. Lefkos applied for funding to the NIH (National Institute of Health) in the US, and got money to investigate further – then, emboldened by that success, “I made a very comprehensive and ambitious proposal to build an Institute of Neurology and Genetics on the Green Line, with open access to both communities”. The idea was sold on its bicommunal aspect, which was canny and not inaccurate – but the main impetus, it’s fair to say, came from a frustrated young neurologist with ideas beyond his station.
In any case, the late 80s – with the first tentative attempts at reconciliation – were the right time for this kind of project; “The timing was such,” recalls Lefkos, “that there was support from everyone”. The Institute’s biggest success has indeed been bicommunal, the DNA identification of missing persons carried out under Lefkos’ tenure in the 90s “in spite of – and I have to say this – some unnecessary political complications that are not based on science but on…” he hesitates, unsure of the words.
Based on politics, perhaps?
He shakes his head: “Not even politics. I think it’s a matter of personal agendas of some key individuals involved.”
Thereby hangs a tale, I suspect – and the same kind of sentiment comes out later, when he mentions his move to GlaxoSmithKline (then GlaxoWellcome) in 1999. That was a boom time for neurology, and especially genetics: new technology, like functional imaging – the process where you get a test subject to move their hand, or look at pictures, and can see which part of the brain is being activated – allowed drug companies to switch, for the first time, from animal experiments to clinical trials involving humans. “The whole thing just exploded in the 90s.” Lefkos was head-hunted, and would probably have gone anyway – but it also happened that “at the time I was totally frustrated, and felt that Cyprus was… you know, had too much negativity in the air.”
In what way?
He pauses, measuring his words. “I think that in Cyprus there are three phenomena,” he begins, then adds a caveat: “These are the negatives. There are several positive phenomena – but these are the three negative phenomena.
“First, what I call the Newton’s Law of Politics. Anything you do, at some point you’re confronted with a wave of reactions in the opposite direction, of at least equal intensity! And they’re not even guided, they do not have any rationale. They just –” he shrugs – “if you do too many things, people want to stop you. There is some inherent resentment to anything that is really powerful.
“So that’s one thing. The second thing, there is this kind of mediocrity in the air. And I don’t think there are mediocre people. I think mediocrity is like a magnetic field that pulls people down. So it’s always the easy solution: not to excel, not to take risks, not to be innovative.
“I think, unfortunately, although in the 60s in the Republic of Cyprus there was an air of creativity and innovation – to build this new state – perhaps stagnation of a number of people in high political roles, or party roles, or positions in the Civil Service without much movement up and down, has created a kind of magnetic force pulling people lower. And, in a small community like Cyprus, it has to do with the politicians becoming more populist, not reading their stuff, not paying any attention, it’s all on the surface. I think there’s an element of intense corruption that appears every now and then”.
The new Nicosia Hospital was one example of corruption, a building contract that grew out of all recognition; President Papadopoulos called it the biggest scandal in recent Cyprus history – yet even the Papadopoulos government, points out Lefkos, “didn’t do anything to unravel wh
at happened”. Last year’s Mari disaster was another example, exposing a complete lack of risk management at all levels – yet people are already starting to forget, which leads him to the third negative: an all-pervasive tolerance of mediocrity, and even corruption. “Every time I come back [from England] there’s a scandal in the Press,” he sighs, “and then a month later I come back and there’s another scandal, and everyone forgets about the previous scandal”. Cypriots are shockingly tolerant of financial crime and lack of transparency: there’s “a tendency to adapt and gain benefits from this lack of transparency, rather than hitting the animal on the head”.
His own remedy boils down to one word: Europe. “Periods of difficulty are also periods of opportunity,” he declares – and views the EU-wide financial crisis, with Germany and others preaching financial prudence, as a chance for messy countries like Cyprus to put their house in order, harmonising their financial rules and regulations with EU standards.
It’s no surprise that Lefkos Middleton would opt for that solution, indeed you might say it reflects all the various aspects of his personality. The globalised cosmopolitan, who’s always had one foot outside Cyprus, naturally gravitates to an international solution. The authoritative high-flyer who, during his time in industry, “had to make very tough decisions involving millions and millions of pounds, euros and dollars”, feels at home with a supra-national superpower like the EU. The scientist values logic, the administrator efficiency. And then there’s the moderate – another Lefkos trait, despite his exceptional CV. Yes, he took risks, but they were always calculated risks. When we talk about Alzheimer’s, he singles out “the epidemic of obesity and early type-2 diabetes” – both predisposing factors for the disease, like hypertension and cholesterol – as his biggest worry, calling for “public health measures” against over-eating. People need their vices, I protest. Yes, he retorts, but they don’t have to take them to extremes. The simple Mediterranean diet should be our guide – some alcohol, some meat, but in moderation. “No excesses”.
The irony, of course, is that Lefkos works in genetics – the branch of science where excesses (of the kind that were once the province of science fiction) are most likely, and perhaps most inevitable. “The same test you can do as pre-natal diagnosis for thalassemia, with the same techniques you can go for the Boys From Brazil,” he points out, “you can try to create a nation of blond, blue-eyed Aryans”. These are thoughts that give him sleepless nights – not just “informational risks”, like insurance companies and prospective employers having access to our full genetic profiles, but the risks of some lunatic trying to genetically engineer superhumans. There’s “a need for proper rules and regulations that are internationally accepted,” he notes mildly, and a bit unconvincingly.
Meanwhile he keeps working – now, finally, in pure research, after his decades of back-to-back meetings – and lives his life, flitting between England and Cyprus (where two of his three children live with their families). London is a great place to live. His work is very exciting. Despite a few false starts, a drug for Alzheimer’s is a real possibility in the next five to 10 years. And still he tries hard to be self-effacing: “I have perhaps been privileged in life,” he muses at one point. “Rather than having a number of qualities, I think I may have been privileged to have had a number of opportunities.”
Almost time to go – but he’d like to end on a positive note, says Lefkos Middleton (all those years of chairing meetings have clearly left their mark). He’s been very impressed with the University of Cyprus, or what he saw of it while delivering his lecture there. The infrastructure seems solid, the faculty young and dynamic. “I think that there is hope on this island,” he concludes; the negative forces of resentment and mediocrity may, in the end, be defeated. “I’m happy to see positive forces becoming visible, and hopefully prevailing, so that the magnetic force of pulling things down will progressively be beaten”. He nods, summing up the situation with a reassuring smile. No wonder his patients still remember him.
