Jerome A. Cohen: Legal Pioneer, China Expert, Mentor, and Friend
Jerry Cohen sits in his office at New York University. Eduardo Munoz/Reuters
Jerome A. Cohen was an academic and legal pioneer who almost single-handedly created the field of Chinese legal studies in the United States. Trained as a constitutional lawyer, he made a courageous—and, to some, imprudent—decision in 1960 to learn Mandarin and immerse himself in the then-opaque world of Chinese law at a time when few Americans could even visit the country.
That decision set him on a path that reshaped scholarship, diplomacy, and U.S.-Asia relations. From Harvard, where he established the first program in East Asian law, to New York University, where he co-founded the U.S.–Asia Law Institute, and through the thirty years he spent as a senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), Cohen bridged legal cultures and mentored generations of students and young scholars, many of whom became leaders in government, academia, and business.
But Jerry, as he was universally known to so many, was more than a scholar or practitioner. He was a tireless advocate for human rights, playing critical roles in high-stakes moments—from securing the freedom of dissidents like Chen Guangcheng to pressing Chinese officials to honor their own laws.
For those at the CFR, he embodied the institution’s spirit of rigorous inquiry and principled engagement. Equally striking was his kindness, humor, and generosity of time. He mentored across generations, delighting in others’ successes as much as his own. His legacy endures not only in the study of China’s legal system but also in the countless lives he touched. CFR invited eight individuals—fellows, former staff, and members—to write about Jerry’s work, his effect on their lives, and his enduring legacy.
Michael Froman, CFR president
It’s fair to say that Jerry made quite a mark, on both sides of the Pacific, over the course of his ninety-five years. If there is one lesson to take from Jerry’s life—beyond the merits of his scholarship, his prescient bet on China’s ascendance as a great power, and his deep commitment to human rights—it was his trailblazing spirit.
Yes, Jerry cultivated a mustache and maintained a first-rate collection of bow ties. And yes, he once floated a standing offer of $20,000 to purchase a giant panda from the Chinese government before normalization. But most of all, he remained steadfast in his commitment to studying China and its legal system well before the topic was en vogue.
When he set out on this mission, his boss, then Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter, chided that Jerry was “throwing away a whole accumulation.” That did not deter him. Nor was being barred from entering China in the 1960s—Jerry simply camped out in Hong Kong, where he interviewed refugees from mainland China on the vagaries of Chinese criminal procedure. When he was finally admitted to China in 1972, Jerry did not temper his inquisitive spirit.
CFR was lucky to count Jerry among its ranks. Yes, he was a consummate Sinophile, but he also embodied the founding ethos of the Council. We will miss him, and I extend my condolences to all those who were fortunate enough to collaborate with him throughout his tenure here at CFR.
Vanessa Hope, award-winning filmmaker and documentarian
Jerry Cohen used to quip that Confucius said, “Establish yourself at thirty”—and then my longtime mentor would wryly add, “That will be on my tombstone.” I never thought the day would come when his tombstone would need engraving. At thirty, Jerry made a commitment that reshaped history: he was the first American lawyer to learn Mandarin in preparation to reestablish the field of law in the then self-isolated People’s Republic of China (PRC). He became not just a scholar and practitioner but a pioneering bridge-builder—legendary, principled, and fearless. His words and actions will never die. His memory will remain both a blessing and a giant presence in the story of U.S.-China-Taiwan relations, as enduring as the legacy of the philosopher he so often quoted.
China Connection: Jerry
every major film project I undertook, weaving him into the record of the United States, China, and Taiwan, always documenting history with his voice and perspective in mind.
In these increasingly authoritarian times, Jerome Alan Cohen’s example could not be more vital. His steady, bold leadership—anchored in a lifelong fight for transparency, accountability, and justice—remains a compass for us all. Carrying forward his legacy in diplomacy, foreign policy, and democracy is not simply an act of remembrance; it is an urgent necessity.
Yanzhong Huang, CFR senior fellow for global health
I first encountered Jerry Cohen when I became a CFR fellow fifteen years ago. By then, his stature as a preeminent authority on China was undeniable, his influence on U.S.-China policy profound. His distinctive presence—impeccably dressed, always in his signature bow tie—made a lasting impression. At the roundtables he moderated, his sharp intellect sparked dynamic discussions, challenging speakers with probing, often provocative questions that sometimes caught them off guard. Even in his nineties, his mind remained razor-sharp.
Beyond his scholarly gravitas, Jerry exuded warmth and kindness. I vividly recall a roundtable I hosted where he arrived with his grandson in tow, introducing him with a twinkle of pride that softened his formidable aura. His kindness extended to his support for my work. He once invited me to speak at a Washington roundtable he organized, generously funding my trip to ensure my participation. On another occasion, he entrusted me with interpreting for a group of leading Chinese intellectuals he hosted at CFR—a testament to his confidence in me that inspired me to approach U.S.-China dialogues with greater boldness.
Yet it was Jerry’s unwavering integrity and commitment to the rule of law and human rights that most profoundly shaped his legacy. Throughout his career, he engaged constructively with Chinese leaders and officials while steadfastly advocating for legal reform. His principled criticism of authoritarianism never wavered, whether addressing issues in Taiwan’s judicial system under Ma Ying-jeou (his former Harvard student) or facilitating blind mainland Chinese civil rights activist Chen Guangcheng’s asylum in the United States. Remarkably, Jerry commanded respect on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, his moral authority transcending geopolitical and ideological divides.
Six months before his passing, Jerry signed up for my March 20 roundtable, his intellectual curiosity undimmed even in his final months. His example illuminated a rare synthesis: a scholar and advocate who engaged consistently and critically with opposing views while upholding unwavering principles. In today’s fractured world, Jerry’s legacy reminds us that principled dialogue—whether between geopolitical rivals or across partisan divides—remains both possible and essential.
Maggie Lewis, law professor at Seton Hall University
It is hard to talk about Jerry in the past tense. He was a titan in the field of East Asian law who met Zhou Enlai, brought Ted Kennedy to China, and saved Kim Dae-jung’s life. Jerry did all those momentous things. But I will miss him for the countless less-storied moments.
When traveling to far-flung regions of China for conferences on criminal justice reforms, Jerry would seek out the judge from the most local-level court to inquire how things really worked on the ground. He would keep the conversation going over dinner and a cold beer. Jet lag be damned.
We happened to be in China for a meeting on human rights when Liu Xiaobo received the Nobel Peace Prize in absentia because he was imprisoned for his pro-democracy activism, and some on the Chinese side equated Liu’s conviction with the U.S. crime of advocating overthrow of the government. Jerry met that claim with a steely gaze, then cued our accompanying federal judges to explain why Liu’s peaceful advocacy would be protected under the First Amendment.
When we visited a prison in Taiwan that was euphemistically termed a “technical training institute” for so-called “hooligan” offenses, Jerry pointedly observed that the process by which someone ended up there reminded him of Taiwan’s martial law-era practices he had witnessed—practices that, in theory, had been cast off years earlier.
Jerry carried with him a deep-rooted belief that all people fundamentally sought and deserved to be treated with dignity. On an early trip to a still largely closed-off China, he was whisked through airport immigration while PRC citizens faced long lines. One of them called out, “不公平 (Unfair)!” Jerry recalled that moment as underscoring people’s innate understanding of human rights. And he fought, until the very end, to actualize those rights.
Carl Minzner, CFR senior fellow for China studies
Jerry Cohen was a man of immense kindness and eternal optimism, who built bridges between the United States and China, courageously championed human rights, and mentored generations of students and leaders across East Asia and the United States.
He could never resist a difficult challenge. At a time when Washington and Beijing were locked in hostile silence, and U.S. knowledge about events inside the borders of the PRC was near zero, he began his intensive study of the Chinese language and its legal system. To others, it must have seemed quixotic. But he saw a future in which deeply understanding China and its people would be crucial for the world to come. His groundbreaking 1968 book on China’s criminal process provided that it was possible to use law as a window to understand the reality of China more than a decade before diplomatic relations were normalized.
His approach to bridge-building extended beyond scholarship. He was the first Western lawyer to practice law in Beijing after authorities reopened China to the rest of the world. Along with his wife, art historian Joan Cohen, he helped serve as the epicenter for exchange between American and Chinese lawyers, scholars, and artists. Later, at the NYU Law School, he co-founded the U.S.-Asia Law Institute, creating an enduring platform for legal exchange and reform across East Asia.
But he also did not shy away from the difficult realities of what life under authoritarian rule really meant for those who lived under it. He courageously championed the cause of imprisoned lawyers and dissidents, including helping the blind legal activist Chen Guangcheng find refuge and freedom in the United States. And he always sought to be a force for change. He fused his razor-sharp legal mind, his disarming wit, and his genteel diplomacy into a powerful force for justice in China and across East Asia.
Stephen A. Orlins, president of the National Committee on U.S.-China Relations
As a former law clerk to Supreme Court Justices Felix Frankfurter and Earl Warren, Jerome A. Cohen could have practiced law anywhere he wanted. But he chose to start studying Chinese language and law, opening up an entirely new field of study. Confucius, reflecting on his life, urged his disciples to “Stand Firm at Thirty,” and Jerry did. His enormous impact on the study of China and on those that teach about China reaches across generations. Law schools, governments, and businesses throughout the United States and the world are populated by his students and those to whom he serves as the guiding star.
The last time I saw him, a few days before his death, he recalled as if it were yesterday, how James C. Thomson, Jr.—the soon-to-be-head of the Nieman Foundation at Harvard—introduced us in 1970. He teared up as I said not many friends manage to stay in close touch for fifty-five years. As I left, I said I would see him in a few days and he said, “Don’t give up the fight.” He knew the end was near and strongly believed his students, including me, must continue to study China, learn Chinese, and work for a more constructive U.S.-China relationship. Since his first visit to China in 1972, he had witnessed and participated in extraordinary change in China, and to his dying day, believed the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice. It bends because we pull it in that direction; Jerry did just that.
Jerry did his part to advance human rights across the globe saving dissidents and leaders too numerous to name. Jerry helped create the Human Rights Rule of Law and the Maritime Track II Dialogues at the National Committee on U.S.-China relations. Whether the dialogues occurred in the United States or China, he directly, specifically, and fiercely criticized Chinese government policy; yet did so in a way that the Chinese maintained their respect for this legendary figure. Jerry’s early meeting with Zhou Enlai and support for the establishment of diplomatic relations before Nixon’s groundbreaking visit reminded our counterparts that he was a constant advocate of better relations and communications.
Jerry’s contribution to the field, his mentorship of so many, and his selfless dedication to rule of law lives on through the many lives he touched. I, for one, would not be who I am today without Jerry’s teaching, guidance and friendship over the last fifty-five years. Before he died, he wrote to me that we should celebrate his life and not mourn his death. We all should.
Adam Segal, CFR Ira A. Lipman chair in emerging technologies and national security
I met Jerry soon after I started at CFR. I was hired to direct a new task force on Chinese military modernization, had recently finished my PhD, and—having only published one article on Beijing’s new high-tech zone in a small academic journal—was basically unknown in the China-watching community. Members of the task force were prominent academics, former diplomats, and military analysts. Some never let you forget it.
Jerry, as I saw him do with countless students and young scholars over the years, showed me nothing but kindness and curiosity. That interest in me and my work continued as I moved into cybersecurity, artificial intelligence, and other emerging technologies. While many older China-watchers threw up their hands saying they did not understand technology, he never failed to have a question about the latest developments and what it meant for U.S.-China relations.
I greatly admired Jerry’s moral clarity. With the rise of Xi Jinping, he was clear-eyed about the degradation of civil and human rights within China and Beijing’s worsening relationship with the world. But he never seemed to give up hope that one day the Chinese people would have more say in how they lived and how they were governed. He fully embodied the Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci’s call for “pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will,” and I will greatly miss seeing him at CFR meetings. May his memory be for a blessing.
Minky Worden, director of Global Initiatives at Human Rights Watch
What is the Mandarin word for mensch?
As a scholar who pioneered the study of China’s legal system, Jerry Cohen got to know Chinese Communist Party leaders including Premier Zhou Enlai at a time they needed his expertise to access Western markets. As a law partner at Paul, Weiss, he represented major multinational companies after Deng Xiaoping’s “reform and opening” in 1978 and became the epitome of the successful “China hand” corporate lawyer.
But when I met Jerry Cohen in Hong Kong in the 1990s, the bow tie and gravelly laugh suggested that there was more to this powerbroker working on China, Japan, and Taiwan. At the time, I was working for Martin Lee Chu-ming, a founder of the Hong Kong democracy movement and an outspoken critic of the Chinese legal system. Cohen offered to host Lee at the Council on Foreign Relations at a time when China trade was booming and U.S. government officials of both parties wished the inconvenient Hong Kong democratic leaders would stay away.
This pattern continued over decades, as Jerry elevated the voices of critics of China, like Joshua Wong and the Apple Daily publisher, Jimmy Lai, before they were jailed in Hong Kong.
In 2012, when the blind Chinese lawyer Chen Guangcheng escaped house arrest in his home village and took refuge in the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, Jerry played a key behind-the-scenes role to bring Chen out of China, to the U.S.-Asia Law Institute at New York University that Jerry cofounded.
Jerry knew that these interventions and many others could get him banned from China. Yet whenever I reached out to him to help activists in trouble, not only did he never say “no”— he always said “yes,” and acted with kindness to dissidents in trouble. It took bravery for Jerry to step close to Beijing’s red lines, and he did it frequently.
Despite his venerated status, Jerry never took himself too seriously. As a board member of Asia Catalyst, a human rights group, Jerry once took over an evening of bartending duties with theatrical flair to help a fundraiser at my downtown New York apartment. We played tennis in Central Park into his eighties. He turned up at our mid-autumn lantern parties dressed in full Mandarin regalia—including a golden brocade robe and scholar’s hat.
The Chinese Communist Party is built on the mythology that it—and it alone—represents “the Chinese people.” Throughout his work on the Chinese legal system, Jerry Cohen was motivated by a quest for justice and was determined to bring the rule of law to everyone in China. It was an outcome he did not live to see—but he built a foundation for others to follow. Jerry Cohen was a giant and others who work for justice in China will stand on his shoulders.
