DURING a recent visit to Malaysia, a colleague from Europe shared his apprehensions regarding a student who had applied for a PhD position in his laboratory. With over 25 years of experience in academia, he could not shake the feeling that what he had discovered about the student seemed almost too good to be true.
The reason for his anxiousness was the long list of 76 peer-reviewed publications authored by the student, who had just completed a Master’s degree a few years ago.
In response, I shared my take on that, suggesting that we are currently grappling with a pandemic of “prolific authoritis”, signifying an abundance of prolific authors in the academic or scientific world.
For many academics and scientists, penning a paper once a month is a piece of cake. For others, a “piece” could be “baked” once a week or even in a matter of days.
These prolific authors appear to be super-efficient, juggling their routine responsibilities such as teaching, supervising, marking exam papers, writing research proposals, and last but not least, staying abreast of new publications.
A common excuse that I hear in defence of the hypothetical disease of “prolific authoritis” is the superlative networking and collaborative abilities possessed by some of these authors. The more extensive one’s collaborations and networks, the higher the likelihood of them having more publications.
Nevertheless, the subjective concern about the intellectual contribution that is required in collaboration to becoming an author of a paper remains unsolved. Hence, the accusations of unethical authorship practice often escape the dock in the courtroom.
Academic misconduct or scientific fraud – no matter how we call it – is not limited to unethical authorship practices. There are other forms of scientific fraud.
The gravity of scientific fraud is apparent when we examine headlines on the Retraction Watch website, some of which include, but are not confined to: “There is a scientific fraud epidemic – and we are ignoring the cure”, “Why research fraud is getting worse”, and “Buying–selling scientific articles: Consequences of mistakenly buying smuggled or counterfeit goods”.
Presently, the Retraction Watch database lists approximately 45,000 papers retracted due to various forms of scientific fraud or misconduct. However, this tally does not reflect the actual numbers of fraud.
Many may escape detection, allowing the authors in question to end their careers with numerous publications, achieving a sort of hall of fame.
Once, I was evaluating a thesis of a postgraduate student. I found some data that appeared too remarkable to be true in the thesis. I contacted other examiners, expressing my concerns. However, I was informed that as examiners, we lack the mandate or justification to scrutinise the authenticity or validity of the data. Our primary responsibility was to assess whether the student merited the degree based on the content presented in the thesis.
Despite my efforts, I failed to convince my colleagues that as examiners, we bear the responsibility to scrutinise all facets of the thesis, not only how it is written, but whether the hypothesis, research questions and objectives are adequately addressed, or if the student has thoroughly discussed the results and compiled a reasonable and relevant literature review.
On a another occasion, one of my students sought my permission to use some data to publish a paper. I dissuaded the student as the reproducibility and authenticity of the data could not be verified.
Given the constraints of time and resources, it was practically impossible to repeat the experiment. Sadly, the student had to accept this outcome, foregoing the opportunity for publication, whereas many others may not have exercised the same level of caution that I insisted upon my student.
On one hand, students face time and resource constraints in completing their degrees while on the other hand there is a requirement to publish a specific number of papers to obtain the degree. This often leads students to feel compelled to publish using whatever data they have on hand.
Academics feel obliged to pursue such publications not only for the benefit of their students but also for career progression, contract renewal and grant applications. Unfortunately, in this scenario, the reproducibility, authenticity and quality of the data remain at best secondary or are given little to no priority.
Given the pressing needs of students and academics, predatory journals, as well as many purportedly reputable ones, exploit the situation by offering publication opportunities in exchange for “article processing fees” under the guise of open-access publications. Hence, the praxis “publish or perish” has now become “pay and publish”.
This creates a vicious cycle where the imperative to publish papers for academic degrees, appointments and promotions, coupled with the reputation of the institution, sets the stage for various forms of scientific misconduct.
These are not secret anymore. Albeit, the question remains – can we escape the traps?
The writer is the Associate Dean (Continuing Education) at the Faculty of Dentistry and an Associate Member of UM LEAD at Universiti Malaya.
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