ARDEM PATAPOUTIAN

How a teenage immigrant from war-torn Beirut became a Nobel Prize winner in California

Ardem Patapoutian, winner of the 2021 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine

August 2025: The 2021 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine was jointly awarded to Ardem Patapoutian and David Julius. The Nobel Prize Committee wrote that the breakthrough discoveries of both men launched intense research activities leading to a rapid increase in our understanding of how our nervous system senses heat, cold, and mechanical stimuli. The laureates identified critical missing links in our understanding of the complex interplay between our senses and the environment.

Ardem Patapoutian was born in 1967 in Beirut, Lebanon. He emigrated to the United States in 1986.

Below, we publish extracts from his biography published in 2021 by the Nobel Prize Committee.

Ardem Patapoutian:

“For the past two decades, I have studied the molecules that convey our sense of touch. I entered this field pursuing the allure of basic biology research, never anticipating the many directions these findings would take. Indeed, my life has been full of directions I never imagined. As an 18-year-old refugee from Lebanon, I had no idea I would become a scientist, and certainly not the recipient of a Nobel Prize.

I am of Armenian descent, born in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1967. My mother, Haigouhy Ajemian, is a retired elementary school teacher and principal, with a degree in biology; my father, Sarkis Patapoutian, is a retired accountant and a writer, under the pen name Sarkis Vahakn. My older brother, Ara, is an electrical engineer; my older sister, Houry, an architect and teacher. My early childhood was typical, at times even idyllic – I recall the beauty of Lebanon, the delicious cuisine, visits to the Mediterranean Sea and the surrounding mountains, and running wild in nature in the summer months.

But in 1975, clashes erupted between religious factions in Beirut. Armenians like my family were mostly thought of as neutral observers to the conflicts between Christians and Muslims, but times were tough for everyone. Beirut’s infrastructure – both physical and cultural – began to deteriorate, and lives were upended by curfews, limited hours of electricity, lack of running water, and bombings of the city. Still, between the blasts, I had many of the trappings of a usual childhood; I quite fondly remember playing basketball and table tennis, reading Tintin, and spending a lot of time watching TV.

I attended small private Armenian schools in Beirut, first Demirdjian and then Hovagimian-Manougian, both located not far from the Green Line that separated Muslim West Beirut from Christian East Beirut. Each year, though, my class grew smaller: Armenian families one by one moved away to escape the war. By my freshman year of high school, I only had four peers in my grade. I was ranked third out of the five of us, an average student. The school closed the next year.

I was a late bloomer, and it wasn’t until I enrolled at a new school, the more academically challenging Rawdah High School, that I began to discover how much I loved math and science classes. The bar was set high as I followed in Ara’s footsteps, and I still remember the first day of class in 10^th grade when the physics teacher recognized my last name and asked if I was as scholarly as Ara. “I hope so,” I answered. After graduation, I enrolled at the American University of Beirut, a sprawling and lush campus overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. With my newfound interest in science, I declared a pre-med major; I really didn’t know, at the time, that being a scientist was a career option.

One frightening day, however, changed everything. I lived in West Beirut and had spent the night after a party at a friend’s house in East Beirut. The next morning while crossing the border between the halves of the city, I heard sniper shots. Terrified, I started running. As I sprinted into West Beirut, a group of militants motioned me toward them – a young man running across the Green Line seemed suspicious.

The militants held me for a day, at one point threatening to shoot me in the knee to see if I could feel pain. If I couldn’t feel pain, they said, it meant I was a spy. I responded, rather foolishly, “Couldn’t I just pretend to feel pain?” Eventually, the men realized I was harmless and let me go. But that was the final straw for me.

Despite the drawbacks of leaving the only life I knew behind, I began making plans to emigrate. A few months later, I packed my bags and flew to Los Angeles.

My goal was to continue my pre-med trajectory at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). But first, there were the common immigrant struggles to face – adapting to a new country, earning some money, and gaining admission to the school. To establish residency in California, I first spent a year working, delivering pizzas and writing horoscopes for an Armenian newspaper. Although I’d grown up watching English language television and taking English classes in school, I initially struggled to understand people speaking around me in Los Angeles. Slowly, as I figured out the pace and language of LA, I found my footing.

A year later, I was accepted to UCLA to study chemistry as a pre-med student, eventually changing my major to biochemistry and then biology. I knew very little about the revolution in molecular biology dominating research in the latter half of the twentieth century. Professor Bob Goldberg taught an introductory molecular biology class called Biology 7, where I first learned the power of DNA and genetics to describe human physiology and disease at a level unimaginable by prior generations. Dr. Goldberg also had us read The Double Helix by James D. Watson, who shared the 1962 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for co-discovering the structure of DNA. Today, I feel Jim’s legacy is compromised, but his book portrayed the fun of basic science and had a huge impression on me.”

Many years later

“When the Nobel Prize call was made – at two in the morning California time – my phone was set to ‘do not disturb’. ”But the committee was able to reach my 94-year-old father, who was then the one to give me the news.

Amidst the celebrations with my family, friends, colleagues and collaborators, the Nobel Prize also helped me reconnect with my roots. I am the first Nobel laureate of Armenian origin as well as the first from Lebanon, so both communities celebrated from afar.

When I reflect on my career, I credit my mentors, collaborators, and trainees for much of my success. My time in the Wold and Reichardt labs imparted on me not only my love of science but examples of how to run collegial, high-achieving, fun lab groups, and I have strived to do the same ever since. I have emphasised the importance to collaboration. Bringing researchers together who have different expertise and backgrounds creates a rich, fun environment and is a more effective way to do science.

I also learned during my years as a trainee that science is very hard, and that if your projects are ambitious, many if not most, will fail. As Lou told me a while back, batting 1 out of 3 in baseball is considered a great feat. Good ideas can come from well-researched experimental plans, but they can also come from something as vague as an informed intuition. So it is crucial at times to trust your training and knowledge, and to take a leap as Bertrand did. In addition, although it is important to have bold ideas, it is equally imperative to know when to let go of the ones that aren’t working out.”

People: Ardem Patapoutian, Nobel Prize winner | Aissata M B Camara, NYC Commissioner | Ryyan Alshebl, German Mayor |

Further reading: Counting Americans |

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