A poor upbringing in rural Paracatu, Minas Gerais, not far from the region immortalized by Guimarães Rosa in Grande sertão: Veredas (Vastlands: The Crossing), did not stop Ruy de Araújo Caldas, 84, from getting where he did: he became a reference in studies into plant biochemistry in Brazil, and a science, technology, and innovation administrator with stints in government, at public and private universities, and with a research company. Chagas disease, which he and his entire family—his father, mother, and five siblings—contracted, did nothing to hold back his scientific career either. Diagnosed with the illness in the 1970s, he decided to study the respiration of Trypanosoma cruzi, which he calls a “very intelligent parasite.”
At 84, Caldas has been retired for almost three decades from the University of Brasília (UnB), where he spent a large part of his career alongside his wife, American biologist Linda Styer Caldas [1945–2007], with whom he had three children. They met during his PhD at Ohio State University and returned as a married couple to ESALQ-USP soon after moving from Piracicaba to Brasília after receiving a job offer they couldn’t refuse. Caldas still lives in the federal capital, dividing his time between academic life and the management of rural properties—he is a livestock breeder and coffee grower, and is still active at the Catholic University of Brasília (UCB), where he set up the graduate program in genomic sciences and biotechnology, and was associate dean for research and graduate studies. In recent years he has also spent time in Goiânia, Campo Grande, and Piracicaba, helping to plan scientific initiatives and put together master’s and PhD programs at public and private institutions. Ruy Caldas gave the following interview to Pesquisa FAPESP.
Plant biochemistry
Institution
Catholic University of Brasília
Educational background
Degree in agricultural engineering from the Federal Rural University of Minas Gerais State, now the University of Viçosa (UFV, 1964), master’s in mineral plant nutrition from the Luiz de Queiroz College of Agriculture of the University of São Paulo (ESALQ-USP, 1967), and PhD in plant biochemistry from Ohio State University (1970)
You were born in the rural environment amidst economic difficulties and barriers to access to education. How did you overcome these obstacles?
I lived in Paracatu, Minas Gerais, a village from the gold era, isolated from the world. My mother always said that the most important thing is education. She did her primary education with normalist teachers and became a rural schoolteacher herself, giving classes in a straw hut. She sent us to study with another, very dynamic teacher called Janaína Silva Neiva. I enjoyed studying, but what I really liked was the country life. I went to the village to do my fourth primary year. I didn’t want to do the ginásio [middle school] and lied to my uncle Zecão, who raised me and lived on the farm—I told him that the entrance exam date had passed. He rode on horseback into the village, saw for himself that this was not true, and hired a teacher, Eva Mundim, to give me a crash course in January to sit the exam.
Did that work?
I passed and did my middle school in Paracatu. My parents had moved to Barretos, São Paulo State, and I followed them there in 1952. A lot of teachers that graduated from the School of Philosophy at USP had moved to work in the country. In Barretos we were lucky enough to have well-qualified teachers at the Mario Vieira Marcondes Middle School, one of which being Jorge Abreu, the author of a general history book. I remember being impressed when he told the story of the Greeks—Socrates, Demosthenes, Pythagoras, and I thought: how good it is to be a thinker, a scholar. This was a turning point. In Barretos, I liked to dabble in the vegetable garden. After middle school we returned to Paracatu, and I installed a vegetable garden for my father; but I wanted to learn more. Tarso Botelho, an agronomist from Paracatu, and recently graduated in Viçosa, suggested: “Do you want to do a technical course in Viçosa?” I signed up and did the course. There I met Walter Brune [1912–2004], a chemistry professor with a PhD from Germany. I liked that a lot and switched from horticulture to chemistry. It was these two key personalities, a historian and a chemist, that showed me the importance of knowledge.
And how did you become a researcher?
Professor Walter Brune never gave solely theoretical classes. He used to come in with two or three carts of reagent, discussing theory and conducting experiments in the classroom. At the beginning of the agronomy course, we had a project to dose vitamin C from fruits of the Cerrado [wooded savanna], and this is when I learned a little bit about the scientific method. At the end of this course in 1964, I was accepted onto an internship at the Soil Department of the Campinas Institute of Agriculture [IAC] to carry out soil dosing with pH, phosphorus, and potassium, and to do leaf analysis. I learned a lot during this period. It was when phytopathologist Álvaro Santos Costa [1912–1998] invited me to work in the IAC virology section. Another turning point was when I started working with virus biochemistry at IAC in 1965. Santos Costa invited plant virology researcher Gerd Benda [1927–2023], from Louisiana State University, to spend a period as an IAC researcher; we worked together on sugarcane virus biochemistry.
How was your journey toward the PhD in the United States?
In August 1965, Eurípedes Malavolta [1926–2008], then the director at ESALQ-USP, became aware of my career background. He called me and said: “Hey, you are hired here.” That was a shock. Professor Malavolta was a renowned plant mineral nutrition researcher, and energetically promoted a cooperation agreement between USP and Ohio State University. I took up my post at ESALQ in September 1965. Malavolta said to me: “I want you to do your PhD in the United States as soon as possible.” The prerequisite to go to Ohio was to have completed a master’s. I spent a year and three months teaching biochemistry; then I defended my master’s and prepared to travel. In September 1967 I began my PhD in Columbus.
What was the theme of your master’s?
It was about the impact of the tomato virus, known as the head turner virus, on phosphorus absorption by infected plants. We used radioactive phosphorus—USP had a reactor—to measure the absorption levels. The disease is called head turner because the tomato wilts and the tip of the plant turns downward.
And how was your PhD in the US?
During the IAC period, I wanted to work with molecular biology. But Malavolta and ESALQ were interested in studying nitrogen metabolism in plants. I went to Ohio determined to do my PhD in plant biochemistry, in line with the institute’s expectations, although that was not my area of interest. My adviser was Donald Dougall [1930–2016], an Australian biochemist who worked with nitrogen metabolism. There was a question yet to be answered: what mechanism the plant uses to mobilize the ammonium ion, which is toxic, in a nontoxic molecule, glutamine. I was tasked to set up the first bioreactors to conduct plant tissue culture, for enzyme extraction and protein purification.
New ideas rarely take off. This was one of my disappointing moments with Brazilian science
And was this already happening in Brazil?
Plant tissue culture was considered one of the most cutting-edge biotechnologies at that time. In Ohio, we worked under the guidance of Dougall, and a researcher from the US Geological Survey, Linda Hancock Styer [1945–2007], came and joined us at the laboratory. I started dating Linda, we married, and I brought her back to Brazil, where she helped to boost research using plant tissue culture in Brazil significantly.
How was your return to ESALQ?
I did my PhD in just over three years, and in 1970 I returned to ESALQ, where I lectured and put groups together. Linda was working informally, setting up plant tissue culture groups, but there were no vacancies for professors in the area. UnB invited us to give a talk here in Brasília, and after we delivered it, the dean, Amadeu Cury [1917–2008], and Associate Dean José Carlos Azevedo [1932–2010], said: “You could both come here. We need people in life sciences.” I explained that I was committed to USP for four years to make up for my absence during the PhD, but they proposed hiring Linda and talking to the dean of USP about the possibility of assigning me to UnB. Then USP let me go for four years, but I ended up resigning so as not to hold the post at ESALQ.
How did you find it at UnB?
There was the biology course, but very little in terms of plants. There was, however, a large group looking at endemic diseases, led by Wladimir Lobato Paraense [1914–2012], a big name in schistosomiasis. There was also another group led by Aluízio Prata [1920–2011] looking into Chagas disease, as well as a very strong group under Isaac Roitman. I worked with plant tissue, but we needed to reinforce the group to provide a more concrete result. This was when Isaac Roitman, Lobato Paraense, and Aluízio Prata invited me to participate in a program created by the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and Technological Development [CNPq], known as the Integrated Endemic Disease Program [PIDE]. I accepted the task of working on the biochemical part of Trypanosoma cruzi, which causes Chagas, and then the snail that transmits schistosomiasis, the Biomphalaria. The idea of understanding Chagas disease also motivated me for personal reasons: I discovered that I had it.
I married Linda and brought her back to Brazil. She helped to boost plant tissue culture
How did you find out?
In 1974 there was a professor from Paracatu who worked with Isaac Roitman. He said to me: “Ruy, you’ve lived in the country, have you been tested for Chagas?” I said: “Never. I remember as a child being bitten by the kissing bug, as it was called, but I never felt anything.” He did the exam and brought me the result, after which Aluízio Prata confirmed that I did indeed have the circulating T. cruzi. I received a lot of support from the UnB medical team. The cardiology exams picked up an irregular heartbeat, which I still have, although it’s now under control.
How was it to be investigating a disease while carrying it?
I didn’t let the students do the experimental part—I did that myself. I was afraid of a rogue needle jabbing and infecting someone. I developed large-scale T. cruzi cultivation methods, including antibody experiments on rabbits. I was the one with the problem; there was no going back, and my aim was to do the work and see if I could contribute to finding a solution. At the time it was thought that the T. cruzi respiration blockage could be a control mechanism. I worked at the bench to try and understand its respiratory system, which was fascinating. You block its aerobic respiration system and it uses another mechanism. If you block this second system, it develops a third. In evolutionary terms, it is a very intelligent parasite. When I was studying this respiratory system, we posited a hypothesis about an escape mechanism in the immune system, and formulated a CNPq project, but the scrutineers said there was no information about it in the literature, and they chose not to support it. New ideas rarely take off. This was one of my disappointing moments with Brazilian science. Someone has to have published research overseas to have the confidence that the result will be obtained. It’s difficult to do disruptive science. I think that’s what made me change my career path to train researchers who think outside the box.
How did you do that?
In 1983, the dean of the Federal University of Viçosa, Antônio Fagundes de Sousa, was delighted with the volume of publications my group was generating at the time. There was a large group there, with a PhD from Purdue University in the US, but little was being published. He asked me to spend some time there with Linda, to see if people could be mobilized to open new lines of research. I spent six months there. With the support of the associate dean for research at the time, Pedro Henrique Monnerat, and Maurílio Alves Moreira [1949–2013], from the field of chemistry, we came to the conclusion that the university was very compartmentalized. Each department was its own fiefdom; nobody talked to anybody, no one could use anyone else’s equipment. Then the idea arose to create a nondepartmental environment, and we set up the Biotechnology Center for Agriculture: BIOAGRO. We approached senior management at the Brazilian Funding Authority for Studies and Projects [FINEP], and they approved the first investment to leverage construction of BIOAGRO.
Understanding Chagas disease motivated me for personal reasons: I discovered that I had it
During the 1980s you had a research experience in the private sector. How was that?
British American Tobacco, whose Brazilian subsidiary was Souza Cruz, had a number of companies in Brazil, such as Suvalan and Maguary, in the juice beverage industry. They also held 35% of the stock in pulp and paper corporation Aracruz Celulose. They set up a biotechnology unit called Bioplanta to support these businesses, and saw that I had the profile to run the plant biotechnology team; I stayed there for three years.
It wasn’t common to do research in the private sector in those days, was it?
There was a lot of prejudice. I remember something interesting that happened in 1989, not long after the Constituent Assembly [which drafted the 1988 Brazilian Constitution]. I was invited to a roundtable panel on biotechnology in Brazil at UNICAMP, promoted by the Ministry of Science and Technology. When I got there, they decided to remove me from the table when they found out I was at a private company, alleging that it was a promiscuous action. It was a little awkward—not for us from Bioplanta, but for the Ministry. Fortunately, things evolved, but always happen very slowly here. Our commercial competitor countries move forward at high speed.
You retired from UnB in 1994. If asked what was your main contribution, what would you say?
My greater contribution was in the area of qualification, primarily undergraduate students. I had the role of encouraging people to go to the laboratory to work and think, to be more critical and analytical. I lectured on complex disciplines: biophysics, biochemistry, enzymology. We trained a lot of people with good qualifications. At the time, many were still doing their doctorates outside the country, and there needed to be a really good scientific base. My big contribution was to help form a generation with an excellent scientific base.
What did you do after you retired?
Two weeks after my retirement I got a call from the Ministry of Health, as did Kumiko Mizuta [1940–2023], to help set up the ministry’s Science and Technology Department, so we went and did that. Around that time I also received an invitation from the dean of the Federal University of Goiás, Ary do Espírito Santo, and accepted some work as a guest professor. They allowed me to hire some people to make changes there. I called João Lúcio de Azevedo, from ESALQ, and Almiro Blumenschein [1932–2019], who had just left the Brazilian Agricultural Research Corporation [EMBRAPA]. The late Sérgio Olavo Pinto da Costa [1930–2023] was immediately incorporated into the team. We tried to motivate people from the Federal University of Goiás, but the professors were disheartened. When we got there we held a seminar, and very few people attended. We did some experiments with the students, and these young people started getting enthusiastic. Then we were able to hire new professors. At the end of our two years there, we held another seminar in the auditorium, this time with a packed audience.
You were once a director at the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and Technological Development (CNPq). What did you achieve during this period?
The Science and Technology Minister José Israel Vargas called me to say that José Galizia Tundisi, president of the CNPq, needed a director of special programs. I took on the challenge and managed to break certain paradigms. For example, we created an agribusiness program. We proposed it to Minister Vargas, and his first response was: “Science is not business.” I joked: “Minister, you do business with the State—the State pays you and you provide a service in exchange.” He accepted the creation of the agribusiness program, which served as an interface between CNPq, EMBRAPA, and the business sector.
You were part of a group that discussed the Innovation Law bill, approved in 2004. How was your involvement in that?
During the CNPq years, I was part of a South-South Cooperation group. I went to South Korea and learned about legislation on innovation there. The country had reconnected industrial development support institutes, which were becoming somewhat academic, to the country’s development strategy. Later on, I was helping the EMBRAPA president Alberto Portugal, and the science and technology minister, Ambassador Ronaldo Sardenberg, went out there to attend a conference. Mr. Portugal said to me: “Run what you told me about Korea by the minister.” When he gave me the floor, I said: “Minister, the State control system is responsible for a lot of negative feedback, and is obstructing EMBRAPA’s strategies. This needs to change.” Then I told him what Korea had done. At that time, the then senator Roberto Freire had tabled an innovation law proposal based on the French model, which is very bureaucratic. I sent emails to Carlos Américo Pacheco, who was executive secretary at the ministry, saying: “Carlos, look, Brazil is wasting time.” He set up a meeting in Brasília, bringing together a group of deputies and senators, including Roberto Freire, and there was a closed debate, with Freire airing his thoughts. I talked a little about the difficulties and bureaucracy involved in doing research in Brazil, drawing on my experience at Bioplanta. I was invited into the group that conceived the Center for Management and Strategic Studies [CGEE] to help draft the innovation law proposal. Fernando Henrique’s term came to an end, and the law was enacted by the Lula government.
A lot of people in agriculture have a conscience, but most just want to exploit the rural space as much as possible
In recent years, you have replicated the work you did at Goiás Federal University in other places. How have you found the experience of structuring education and research at institutions?
The dean of the Catholic University of Brasília, Guy Capdeville, invited me to structure a graduate program in biological sciences. We put together a young team of PhDs, many with international experience, to formulate the Graduate Studies in Genomic Sciences and Biotechnology Program, which today is at level 7, the maximum on the scale of the Federal Agency for Support and Evaluation of Graduate Education [CAPES]. The associate deans of universities in the Brazilian Central West decided to create a biotechnology network in our region as well, which I was asked to coordinate when I was associate dean of the Catholic University. I was executive secretary for twelve years. In 2013, a little tired, I decided to change course. Marco Antonio Raupp [1938–2021], then minister of science, technology, and innovation, asked me to draw up a proposal for the National Biotechnology Program. We put together a team more than 100-strong to draft a proposal for submission to the National Science and Technology Council [CCT], during the term of President Dilma Roussef. At the last minute they changed their minds and the proposal did not go to the CCT.
Then you went to work in Campo Grande, Mato Grosso do Sul.
Father José Marinone, dean of Dom Bosco Catholic University in Campo Grande, proposed to me: “Would you like to do the same as you did at the Brasília Catholic University here at Dom Bosco?” There was a biotechnology program that needed restructuring. Not only was the master’s ranked up a level, but the PhD course was approved and is now at CAPES level 5. I spent two years there. I was on my way back to Brasília when Marcelo Turine, dean of the Federal University of Mato Grosso do Sul [UFMS], asked for help with a doctoral course that needed a boost. I taught medical biochemistry—in English—to improve the program’s CAPES level. Then the COVID-19 pandemic happened, and I returned to Brasília to tend to my dairy cattle farm.
You recently spent some time back at ESALQ. How was that?
The ESALQ director, Durval Dourado Neto, called me. He was in the second year of his term and he wanted my help with strategic planning. I sold the farm here and went to work with Durval. FAPESP issued a call for proposals to the Research, Innovation, and Dissemination Centers [RIDC]. I said: “Mr. Durval, it’s time to take advantage of this call.” We met with Ricardo Ribeiro Rodrigues, Pedro Brancalion, Eduardo Aranha, and Luiz Estraviz to discuss what RIDC theme would make sense for ESALQ. Luiz came up with the idea of carbon in tropical agriculture, and Eduardo Cerri took on the lead role. Fortunately, this was approved and is on its way to being a great international benchmark. At the end of my time there, I resumed at the Catholic University of Brasília.
You have kept one foot in rural life. Do you still have a farm?
I left the country at 18, but the country never left me. My family worked on a livestock farm called Nova Índia in Barretos; the owner was very rich and strict, like the “colonels” [wealthy landowners who held political power and influence in the Brazilian Old Republic period 1889–1930]. Once I said to my father: “One day, we’ll buy a farm.” When I came to Brasília in 1972, I bought some land and gave it the same name: Fazenda Nova Índia. I kept it for 25 years, then passed it on to my children.
What did you produce there?
I had a thousand head of cattle, which produced 1,200 liters of milk per day, and we also grew soy, corn, and coffee. I had 2,050 hectares, but only used 1,000, leaving 1,050 in reserve. Ecology students did their PhD studies there in the ecological corridors. Linda helped to set up the first ecology program in Brazil, here at UnB, in the 1970s. When she passed away, the farm went to our children. Later, I had a much smaller dairy farm, which I sold when I went to Piracicaba. Now I’m setting up a coffee plantation in Cristalina, Goiás. My hobby is growing special coffee.
How are things in the Cerrado? The most recent news is that changes in land use there are happening increasingly quickly.
The agricultural exploitation of the Cerrado was wrongly approached. The federal government, through Agriculture Minister Delfim Neto, appointed Mauro Silva Reis, a forestry engineering professor at Viçosa, as director of the Brazilian Forestry Development Institute [IBDF]. He had a great outlook, and a PhD in forest pathology from North Carolina State University in Raleigh. Mauro demonstrated that it was important for the Cerrado to conserve at least 20% of each area, even with the reforestation projects, and this was incorporated into the law. But then at one point the rural caucus in Congress altered the legislation and said that there could be reserves in any location—anyone could buy a reserve outside their property. Practically everything was deforested. The farm that I passed on to my children was sold, and the new owner did not leave a single tree standing. A lot of people in agriculture have a conscience, but most just want to exploit the rural space as much as possible. It’s important to keep the pollinators and part of the ecosystem.
