I recently published a post 'What I will miss about working as an academic research scientist' (A New Yorker in Oslo: What I will miss about working as an academic research scientist (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com). There are some things that I won’t miss about academic research, and now I can write about them. As long as I did academic research I never felt I had the freedom to really write the truth about this arena, at least the arena I've experienced here in Norway.
I won't miss the arrogance and elitism that exist in the academic workplace. Too many research leaders (mostly men but also one or two women) used their leadership positions to disparage other researchers (including PhD students and postdocs who worked for them and for whom they developed a dislike) in an effort to make themselves look much better than they actually were. Several actually thought they were extraordinary researchers, and they were not. Truth be told, they were and are middle-of-the-road researchers with grant funding and a few good papers under their belts, nothing more. They were preoccupied with prestige, power, control, and money. If they had all these things they were automatically better than the others who didn't have these things, and that viewpoint was supported all the way to the top of university hospital leadership. This is probably not ground-breaking news to those who've worked in academia for years. My point in commenting on it is the following: how research leadership behaves and what they allow in terms of bad or questionable behavior sets the tone for the workplace--pleasant and productive, or unpleasant and ultimately unproductive (or unwillingly productive). You cannot have it both ways. Arrogance and elitism do not lead to healthy research production. They lead to demotivation and inertia in those who have to suffer with them; the ones who often suffer most are the scientists in untenured positions. Arrogance and elitism were allowed (or at least not discouraged) in my former workplace, to the detriment of the careers of many younger scientists and colleagues. I know that because the latter often came to my office over the years to get support and to share their feelings of despair and demotivation. Most of them left academia when they were still young enough to start over somewhere else, usually in the private sector where they ended up not only feeling more at home but where they were able to create successful careers.
I won't miss the conformity/lack of intellectual diversity that characterize a lot of academic workplaces. I could list up several areas, among them immunotherapy, that would guaranteed get you a lot of grant funding, but at what cost? It stands to reason that not everyone can work in this field, and why would they want to? Researchers are at heart an independent bunch; they like to have the intellectual freedom to study what they want (within the guidelines of their institutions, of course). But it is that intellectual freedom that is important, or at least was important. Nowadays you are likely to be told by research leadership that your area of interest is not worth pursuing; you should pursue an area that will net you the most money. I have no problems with their advice or suggestions, but it is very unrealistic to expect that all medical research scientists would want to work in the field of immunotherapy. You don't just snap your fingers and poof--now I know all there is to know about immunotherapy and patient treatment when for years your research interests tended toward basic science (non-patient-related) questions. Conformity and intellectual freedom are a poor match. But since conformity leads to money, and academic research is now big business, it stands to reason that conformity rules. Some of the scientists I most enjoyed talking to and collaborating with were non-conformists (like me) who believed in what they were doing and struggled along. It must be said that up until around 2006, it was still possible to get a basic research project funded. Nowadays it is a rare occurrence.
I won't miss the frequent lack of interest in informing employees of what was going on in the department, in dealing with pressing problems, or in the research that employees were doing. One leader had the habit of shrugging his shoulders whenever problems that needed to be addressed and discussed were brought up. They weren't his problem. 'I really don't care, do you?' That type of attitude, which essentially says to others--F*** off and don't bother me. Even those leaders who did listen did very little about the problems at hand. And just to be clear, there is a big difference between running to a leader with every minute problem versus talking to them about one or two select issues. Very few people did the former. It wouldn't have mattered one way or another; the response would have been the same--lack of interest. It was demoralizing, because nothing ever gets solved with that attitude.
I won't miss the indecisiveness, procrastination, non-committal leadership, and inertia of academia, the countless meetings about the same problem or issue that could have been solved with clear-cut decisions but rarely were. Some leaders were deathly afraid of making a decision that could turn out down the road to be a mistake, so they didn't make any decisions at all. Fear leads to indecisiveness and procrastination. Indecisiveness and procrastination help no one, and simply contribute to the inertia that a workplace becomes mired in over time. My motto was 'Just do it' (to paraphrase Nike). That doesn't mean that I was impulsive or proactive without good and well-researched reasons for acting. It means that I was ready and able to make a decision and to stick to it after I reviewed the facts. I was not afraid to be wrong, because if your decision proves to be the wrong one you admit that and move on. But if you remain non-committal you won't (ever) make a mistake. But you won't take a risk either, and that is necessary in order for an institution to move forward. For all the incessant talking about change and the necessity for it, there was very little actual change. I discovered that most people simply liked to talk rather than act. That wasn't me. Perhaps I too would have found a better fit in the private sector.
And finally, I won't miss feeling old. I’m three weeks into retirement and I don’t feel old anymore. The last few years in academia made me feel old—no longer professionally relevant, no longer competitive, no longer in the game. I’ve written about the reasons why in my ‘Publish or languish’ post (A New Yorker in Oslo: Publish or languish (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com). If you don’t get grant funding, you’re just ‘hanging on in quiet desperation’ until retirement. Some hang on until they’re sixty-seven; others until they’re seventy-two. I was simply not interested in doing either. I retired early. Older scientists are not really respected anymore (if they ever were). I don't know if my viewpoints can be extrapolated to other countries, but I'm guessing that they can (if the limited Netflix series The Chair gives a good indication of what goes on at top universities in the USA these days). In that series, the leadership of the English literature department wants to get rid of its older professors. It doesn’t prove to be an easy task, but it must be rather dismaying to know that your workplace would prefer that you retire or quit. But that’s all part of the game; best not to take it too seriously. Best to leave when the going is good, when you still have your health, when life is still an adventure. Because life is an adventure, and work is not the only thing in life that defines us. The fun part will be discovering and rediscovering the parts of us that have been hidden all these years. I’m looking forward to that.
