Publish or languish

"Hanging on in quiet desperation", to paraphrase Pink Floyd. That about sums up remaining in academia as an older scientist (over sixty) in some workplaces and universities. At my former workplace, there were many older scientists who were deemed unproductive by research leadership. That may have been true for one or two older scientists, but by and large the majority of older scientists were just as productive and had just as much motivation to do research, publish, and mentor PhD and Masters students as scientists half their age. But they seldom got the chance because research funding dried up and no matter how relevant they tried to make their grant applications, they were rejected. It often started when they were in their mid- to late-fifties and just continued. My question is why any older scientist in his or her right mind would want to hang around languishing in a workplace that no longer wants them or considers them productive? To languish is to be 'forced to remain in an unpleasant place or situation'. That describes the daily life of many older scientists. Of course I understand that not all cannot retire in their fifties (although I know teachers and civil servants who did just that, with good pensions to support them). 

So what's an older scientist to do in an academic workplace that no longer values him or her? He or she can hang on in quiet desperation and 'hope' for more grant funding after having written grant application after grant application ad nauseam. Good luck with that. 'Hope springs eternal', as Alexander Pope said. Or the older scientist can hope for some good will from research leadership, but I would say don't hold your breath. From what I've seen and heard during the past decade, some of the research leaders did nothing but badmouth the older scientists they deemed unproductive. They disparaged them or poked fun at them; I know because I sat in on some of the leader meetings and was witness to their behavior. Of course not all research leaders were like this. But as karma would have it, one of those types of leaders in my former workplace is now having problems getting funding for his research; he's reached that crucial age when it all changes. And so it goes. Since he was one of those leaders who actively disparaged his peers, I am very glad to hear that he is now having problems of his own. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy as we say in America.

Publish or languish. That is the choice for many older tenured scientists. It becomes a catch-22 situation after a while. If you no longer obtain funding for your research, you cannot attract students nor will you be able to get technical help. You will end up working alone in the lab, and it goes without saying that your research production will slow down, you will publish much less, and that will go a long way toward ensuring that you do not remain in the running for grant funding. And so it goes. No grant funding, no students and no help, thus no publications and no grant funding. 

Do I have ready answers to this problem? I do not. I merely present it. It used to be publish or perish, but nowadays it's publish or languish because so many older scientists hang onto their tenured positions with every ounce of strength they've got. Some who should have more self-insight refuse to acknowledge that their time in the sun is over. For some it's an identity problem; they simply cannot see themselves doing anything else other than research. They've lived and breathed research their entire lives. My advice to academic scientists who are approaching that crucial age when it all changes, is to take a good long hard look around them, around their workplace. See if older scientists are valued or if they are just pushed to the side and ignored. See if there is subtle pressure on them to retire early. Just see how they're treated, because guaranteed, once you reach their age, that is how you yourself will be treated. 

 

What I will miss about working as an academic research scientist

This past Monday was my last day as a full-time employee at my university hospital. I can now call myself 'retired'. Not out to pasture 😀, just retired from the job I've been doing for the past thirty years. My department hosted a small and very nice retirement party for me on Monday afternoon; most of the attendees were current and former research group members, department leaders, research technicians, and collaborators. The reactions from co-workers and colleagues to the news of my retirement have been mixed; all of them wish me well, some understand why I'm leaving now, some wonder if I'm retiring too soon and if I will be bored, one woman said right out loud how lucky I was to be retiring. I am glad I decided to retire now. I look forward to a new chapter in my life and to the freedom to put some of my ideas into action. 

There were several talks given about me and my contributions to the department over the years. Those who held the talks were those who have known me the longest. They know what I have accomplished as an academic research scientist. They also know how much help and support I've given others. I was described as having integrity and as someone who believes in fairness/fair play. Those are very true statements; I abhor nepotism, borderline corruption, rewards given to those who do not deserve them. The list is long. I was also described as a driving force by my former boss, who talked about how I brought new techniques into the lab and performed some work (published in 2007) that virtually no one else in the world had done before. Those were nice words to hear. He also described me as someone who can say no, and that is also true; I am not just a yes-person. I have my own opinions and thoughts; I respect what others have to say but if I firmly believe in what I want or in what I think is best for a project or a group, I am hard to dissuade. 

But it is the people I have worked with over the years that I will miss the most. Projects come and go, grant funding came and went, prestige disappears, but what matters the most is how you have treated those who worked for you and with you. It always surprises me how so few people really understand that. People remember how they were treated; I will always remember how well I was treated by the three men (the triumvirate--Frank, Zbigniew and Myron) I worked for at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. My co-workers here in Oslo described me as 'raus'. In English it means 'willing to share and to give a lot, to give without the expectation of anything in return, not miserly'. That was also good to hear, because it's true. I know some leaders who are miserly; by hanging onto their knowledge they hang onto the control they have over others, because it is mostly control and power that they want. God forbid someone under them should 'challenge' their knowledge. But being a miser costs, because misers are not good leaders, and those who work for misers remember their utter selfishness and egoism. I learned 'raushet' from working for others who were 'rause', the men I worked for at Memorial. They gave of their expertise, patience, and knowledge, willingly. They wanted us to succeed. They wanted us to shine. They wanted us to 'outgrow' them. Those are good leaders, and those are the leaders I remember, not the miserly ones, not the rude ones, not the ones who never give of their time willingly. I've met far too many of the latter. 

We scientists would have published very little of our work without the competence and expertise of the research technicians who have worked in our groups over the years. So they are the people I will miss the most. It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with them and to publish articles together. I will miss doing research--the intellectual freedom to pursue an idea and to see where it leads. There is almost nothing that comes close to that feeling of freedom when it all works out. But science the way I enjoyed doing it has changed. I commented on that change in my speech at the end of the party; science is big business now--big money and big research groups. It wasn't always that way, and I prefer the days when research groups were small and money didn't rule. I said that to my audience. Because that is true too. Small is nice. Small allows you to care about the projects and the people involved. I'm grateful for a career that allowed me to do that.