Sympathy ill-placed . . .
Last month, the publication The Scientist did something really weird. In its July issue, it devoted several pages and an editorial that, in effect, supported some researchers who had acknowledged their scientific misconduct.
The magazine story, “Life After Fraud,” detailed three cases where researchers recalled their experiences after being the focus of misconduct investigations by both the feds and their own institutions. One of the cases involved a respected Ohio State researcher, although the names in all three cases had been changed.
These vignettes, told largely from the researchers’ points of view, all explained that the individuals involved had signed voluntary agreements with the federal Office of Research Integrity acquiescing to the charges and agreeing to sanctions generally prohibiting their serving on review panels and receiving federal support for research, usually for a period of three years or less.
These findings were then reported in ORI’s own publications and on its website, as well as being cited in the Federal Register and other government publications. Those latter citations were the crux of these researchers’ statements that they were being victimized long after their penalty periods had expired, since the information was searchable on the internet.
The premise of the story was that these researcher’s admissions of misconduct, by signing the ORI agreements, were lifelong sentences since a simple internet search by potential employers routinely yielded details about their cases to anyone who was interested.
Sympathetically, the story suggested the consequences guilty researchers faced were too harsh.
Surprisingly, the magazine’s editor, Richard Gallagher, in an editorial flatly said that the punishments in these and other scientific cases were too harsh, and advocated a purging of the records after the short “sentences” ended. While one can applaud Gallagher’s sympathy and altruism towards these scholars, it seems odd that the boss for a publication claiming to be the “magazine for the life sciences” would so easily forego the traditional watchdog role that journalists routinely play.
But Gallagher writes: “It reminds me of the system present in US prisons, in which even after ‘serving their time,’ prisoners will still have trouble finding work because of their criminal records. But is it fair to compare felons to scientists who have, for instance, fudged their affiliations on a grant application when they were young and naïve?”
In fact, the rules and guidelines that govern oversight in cases of alleged scientific misconduct are extremely cautious and generous to those accused. The proceedings in these cases routinely extend for months, and in some cases years, before a finding is determined. The federal authorities rely on the accused’s institution, and therefore his/her peers, to investigate the allegations. Those investigations are staged in seriousness, based on the implications of the evidence, allowing accusations without merit to quickly crumble through lack of substance. And all such inquiries and investigations are kept secret until the point when a finding of misconduct is reached to protect the reputations of those who are subsequently cleared.
Information about the cases remains confidential until after an institution’s investigation has been completed and the findings are submitted to federal authorities for their concurrence. At that point, most researchers will have signed voluntary agreements agreeing to sanctions, as happened in the case of the scholars cited in this story.
What’s missing in Gallagher’s charitable stance is an acknowledgement of what the actual crime is – a breach of the public trust.
Our society has long-since agreed that people in certain roles may have a higher-than-normal obligation to the rest of us. Ministers must do no wrong. Lawyers and doctors have codes of conduct demanding professional behavior. Even journalists understand that a single incidence of plagiarism can cost them a career and embarrass them before tens of thousands of readers.
Why should researchers be held to a lower standard?
The truth is that scientific misconduct is an exceedingly rare event, and that rareness, in essence, is why when cases do occur they become such newsworthy episodes and remain in our collective electronic memory, the internet.
Few humans can say that they have never made a mistake, nor paid a price for it. As a society, we tend to be forgiving of those who admit their frailties and show remorse, and that’s as it should be. But scientific misconduct betrays both our trust and the culture of science itself.
Rules of behavior for researchers are clear for all to see. They just need to be followed.__Earle Holland
![[del.icio.us]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
![[Digg]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/digg.png)
![[Google]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/google.png)
![[LinkedIn]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/linkedin.png)
![[StumbleUpon]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/stumbleupon.png)
![[Windows Live]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/windowslive.png)
![[Yahoo!]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/yahoo.png)
![[Email]](http://researchnews.osu.edu/blog/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/email.png)
Will this affect the type of research being done? i.e.: Too much research on climate change simply to make a political point? Not enough scientific innovation into oil exploration as Democrats are politically against new drilling mostly? This could make for an interesting blog post.