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The system III – the workplace

2023; The Company of Biologists; Volume: 136; Issue: 22 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1242/jcs.261709

1477-9137

Mole,

Business Process Modeling and Analysis

I've been warped by the rain, driven by the snow. I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know, and I'm still willin’. I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari, Tehachapi to Tonopah. Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made. Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And I've been kicked by the wind, robbed by the sleet, had my head stove in but I'm still on my feet. And I'm still willin’.I'm not a trucker, I'm an insectivore (Moles have trouble with getting a license, it might be the eye test, but I think it relates to being able to see over the dashboard). But I met an independent trucker a few years back. He owned his rig, paid for its upkeep, and when he worked, he drove 18 to 20 hours a day, often for weeks. Then he took his family on long vacations, before going back to driving. He worked when he had work, for as long as he wanted, which tended to be a long time. He seemed to make a very good living and be very happy with his life. And no, he wasn't Lowell George, who wrote “Willin’”. Lowell George wasn't a truck driver; he was a brilliant songwriter and slide guitar player. At the time I met him (the trucker, not Lowell George), I saw some similarities to my own lifestyle. I am often away from home for several days (even weeks) at a time, and my work hours often extend from early morning until late at night. I'm sure that the trucker has things to complain about, but I don't think he does this publicly or on social media (like I am sort of doing here). But like the trucker, nobody but me is responsible for the way I choose to work. If I wanted to, I could work just a few hours a day and go home, and that would be fine (at least, unless I stopped publishing, lost my funding, and subsequently lost my position, which could happen, but I might also be fine with a lighter workload). This was the case even when I was a Molet; my various mentors didn't care when I worked, just that I got stuff done. I generally worked in the lab from around midnight to morning, because it was the only time I could get into a sterile hood. But nobody told me I had to do this. Both of us – the trucker and I – work long hours because we choose to, and not because anyone else tells us to.Don't get me wrong, I do have responsibilities. I have made a firm commitment to the Molets that I am there for them, day or night, weekday or weekend, to help plan their experiments and discuss results, to work with them on publishing their findings, and to assist with bringing in collaborators when needed. I have never, ever, asked any of them to work particular hours, or longer hours, or to work ‘harder’. Together, we agonize over failed experiments and celebrate cool results. And if anyone needs personal time for any reason (I don't need to know the reason), I have never denied this. I hope that my lab is a good workplace. That said, I know that the Molets work incredibly hard.I also have to attend committee and advisory meetings, teach classes, and take part in my own lab meetings and journal clubs. I have deadlines relating to grant applications and progress reports, so my schedule is not entirely up to me. But these represent only a relatively small part of my week, and the rest of the time, I work when I choose to (for the most part). And yes, that does turn out to be most of the time. Much of this work (not meetings, etc., but the other work I do), I don't really consider ‘work’. Oh, and by the way, I don't have tenure.Tenure is something I think is unique to the world of academia. Basically, it is a guarantee that you cannot lose your faculty position, even if you stop publishing or don't get any grants. That is, you can't be fired (unless you break some rather serious rules). As I understand it, tenure exists (or at least, existed) to allow academic freedom; once you attained it through scholarly endeavor, you could not lose your position because your philosophical views conflicted with those of the institution (or society at large). I'm sure there was a time when tenure was important for the ability of biomedical research scientists to explore ideas that were unpopular in society (such as evolution, but also, perhaps, tragically flawed ideas, such as eugenics). Indeed, it wasn't so very long ago (measured as within my lifetime) that there were tenured professors at prestigious universities who insisted that AIDS was caused by lifestyle, not virus, and that intelligence correlated with skin pigmentation. Needless to say (I hope), these ideas were not based on careful analyses of data or sound reasoning, but the point is, they did not lose their jobs for holding these views (or because I thought they were idiots, which of course, they were). On the other hand, tenure can have very positive roles in academic research, but that's for another discussion.By the way, there is no tenure in industry. My friends in industry think that the whole idea is very funny. They are hired ‘at will’, meaning they can lose their job for any reason, even if they are doing everything very well. Many of them move from company to company, being hired for the skills they have learned and the experience they embody. The idea of tenure is antithetical to their workplace.There are a lot of problems with the scientific research workplace. Below are some of the issues I have identified; you may have others (or different ones), but these are mine. These problems concern those who are employed by institutions, as opposed to students and other ‘trainees’ (yes, there are problems there as well, and while I will touch on these, they deserve another discussion. Indeed, I have discussed some of these issues before*). And by ‘institution’, I mean universities, institutes (small and large), and companies (small and large), although each problem applies to different extents to each. Oh, and any resemblance to movie titles is entirely coincidental.1. The Multiplicity problem. Once upon a time, scientists didn't train scientists. Newton, Mendel, Darwin, and Haldane gave lectures to students and other scholars (although I don't think Mendel did), but they did not teach others to do what they did. The concept of a training record (who one trained with, and who one trained) is a relatively recent thing. But today, all over the world, the vast majority of researchers in academic laboratories (and many industry-supported labs) are trainees. And it is common knowledge that the System does not provide long-term opportunities for the majority of those who complete their training (I have talked previously about how I think trainees are mistreated and how I think this should be fixed*, so I won't go into that here). The reason is simple and was explained by Thomas Robert Malthus in 1798 (although he was talking about population growth rather than trainees and labs): population growth rate is geometric while supporting resources grow at an arithmetic rate. In effect, the system is producing more trainees than it can support. But even if we understand the problem, this does not solve it. The current solution, the ‘export’ (one might say ‘stampede’) of trained scientists into other professions, is only temporary as even these opportunities expand at only an arithmetic rate.2. The Wolf of Wall Street problem. Long ago in a galaxy far away, when I was a Molet, my friend and mentor, Prof. Hound, summed up the job of an academic research scientist. “It is our job to turn money into papers,” he told me. “You mean ‘knowledge?’”, I asked. “Okay, that's another way to look at it,” he said, “but my way is funnier”. Now, many years later, I can see this as a sort of idealistic wish. The problem is that in most of our institutions, our ability to bring in money is seen as a more important contribution to the institution than our ability to generate knowledge (or papers). This is understandable in institutions that are strapped for cash (although see point 3), but it also applies to those that have more money than they can spend (and yes, these exist, and as far as I can tell, they are even more obsessed with currency than those that exist at the edge of the abyss). Indeed, knowledge in the form of publications that receive recognition are valued predominantly (by our institutions) as a way to leverage acclaim into money (in the form of grants or contributions). Scientists (and other scholars, but let's stay focused) are therefore often viewed as a way to support other necessities of the academic environment. Our propensity to imagine that we are valued because we are forever chipping away at the edges of human understanding is often viewed as ‘cute’, by the powers that be.Of course, this ability of independent research scientists to provide support in the form of cold, hard cash does not apply to those of us who work in industry, since for the most part, we are not mandated to obtain funds, but to do the research that supports the company's goals. I'm sure, though, that I don't have to point out that getting money and making money are generally a company's goals. ‘Getting’ versus ‘making’ will depend on the stage the company is in, but it's a simple fact that no matter how successful research in the company is, its value must be calculated in terms of dollars, pounds, Euros, Yen, etc.I'm not saying that the need to focus on finance is a bad thing by itself. Somebody has to do it, and indeed, I'm glad that it isn't me who works to keep the lights on. What I am saying is that the conflicts that arise between the pursuit of knowledge and the (necessary) need to finance the institution in which knowledge is pursued are one source of the problems we face in the System.Oh, and the problem mentioned in #1 is rooted in #2, since research (as well as science-related efforts) depends on money, and money is a finite resource that follows arithmetic growth.3. The Field of Dreams problem. Owing to the nature of our funding structure (well, the funding structure that exists in my country), institutions can borrow money to build laboratories and the loans will be paid off (with interest) by virtue of the money raised by the additional scientists who will occupy said laboratories. This, I think, is why even very rich institutions must stay focused on money generated by researchers. Indeed, I know of at least one prominent research institution that is named after the individuals who made money by financing (and, in at least one case, building) the laboratories on the campus. All of this exacerbates the conflicts that arise in #2.But it is quite possible that I am being too generous to the System that exists in other countries. Throughout the world there are institutions that are created with the idea that ‘if you build it, they will come’. Of course, we are training more people than there are existing positions (#1), so creating more opportunities is important. But to do so without simultaneously increasing the opportunity to obtain resources (which is generally the case) is a problem. And as we saw in #1, this can only go so far.For many, I think that #1 and #2 (with the addition of #3) is why the System is seen as ‘broken’. There are no easy solutions. One approach is to limit the extent to which scientists are trained (essentially to arithmetic growth) and then ensure that nearly everyone who is trained can be sustained in some way as a scientist. This would require that we stop using research funds to support trainees (as a workforce) and instead employ scientists as scientists (who, as in industry, would have positions that are entirely dependent on the ability of someone else to obtain the funds to support them and, if/when this fails, they must seek work elsewhere). But this would mean that most of us who desire a career in science would be turned away due to (eventual) lack of positions. It could happen, but a lot of people would be very unhappy; it might be a long-term (and questionable) solution, but I don't think it is realistic. I could be wrong, of course. Another solution is to greatly increase support for science and jobs in science. That would be nice, but unlikely (and for the reasons we saw in #1, temporary). Last time we talked about why the agencies and foundations that support science do so. It is not because they want to ensure that everyone has a job. They want results, however these can be obtained.We aren't going to solve all of this (yet). Let's look at some additional problems with our current System.4. The Space Cowboys problem. Much of what we do, this biomedical research thing, takes up space. For me, this entails lab benches, a room for tissue culture, a room for equipment that doesn't fit in the lab proper, desks for the Molets, places to store large boxes of plastic, and racks and racks of rodents. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, specifically; my colleagues who predominantly work at very large pieces of equipment to visualize very small things have labs the size of mine. Research takes space. And there is never enough of it. The biggest headaches experienced by every chair and director I have known is space. But some equate space with success, i.e., the more space someone has, the more successful they must be. They compete for it, and take all they can get, regardless of whether they really need it or not (and they always need it). Some institutions apportion space according to funding (often with a specific money/floor measurement metric); taking space away from the have-nots to give to the haves. Maybe this makes sense on paper. In practice, it creates animosity and (unhealthy) competition. Go get your own centrifuge.The space cowboy's problem is not only about space. It is the attitude that ‘I can only be successful in relationship to you’. If you make a discovery that is being celebrated, it makes me look bad. If your trainee is struggling, I will amplify the struggle and point out your deficiencies, making me look better. Space cowboys can make the workplace toxic and, the thing is, our institutions often reward such behavior (look how successful that cowboy is).One alternative, apparently, is for everyone else to deride any expression of pleasure at finally publishing a piece of work. If you don't mention it ever, nobody can criticize you for boasting. But there is another way, which requires a change in perspective. If someone in my department, my institution, or my field (regardless of where they work) makes an exciting discovery, it genuinely benefits me, you, and all of us. Science is a small pond amongst very large bodies of water (industrial complexes, multi-national corporations, governmental organizations); it is a good thing if we get noticed at all. A very good thing.Where I work, people stop us in the hallway to congratulate our lab when we manage to publish something. Colleagues poke into my office to comment on a talk they heard me give at a meeting. I do the same (“Great paper! Really interesting! I'd love to learn more about it when you have a chance!”). I hope this happens where you work. Send the space cowboys to another planet.5. The Tomorrow War problem. I am going to make a statement that is based on perception, not fact, but I think I'm close here. The median scientific life of a successful scientist is about 10 years. That is, if one were to look at a random set of biomedical research scientists we considered ‘successful’ 10 years ago, we would not consider half of them especially successful today. Look, it's pretty simple: we often think of ‘successful’ scientists as those working on a problem that we view as exciting, urgent, or ground-breaking, etc. But 10 years later, the problem simply isn't that exciting, urgent, or ground-breaking anymore, either because most (or many) of the questions have been answered, or because the problem turned out to be intractable in its original form (for example, an exciting new approach to a therapy didn't work as hoped). And most of the time, the people who were working on it 10 years ago are still working on it today. Maybe ‘ten’ isn't the right number, but you see what I mean. It feels as though the system failed them, but it was simply the usual evolution of any scientific field (although there are certainly exceptions).But there is a problem that emerges with this. Let's say you discovered an entirely new class of molecules, let's call them Brads. You gain recognition, publish papers, get grants, and are promoted at your institution (or even move because so many other institutions want you). And trainees flock to your lab to learn about all about Brads. You sincerely want your trainees to be successful, and there is so much to do. So you assign a Brad (Pitt, Cooper, Johnson, Davis) to each trainee, and they each publish, and then get their own labs. They go on to work on their molecule, get grants, publish papers, are promoted, and train their own trainees. In the Pitt lab, each trainee works on an aspect of Pitt (Bullet Train, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, A River Runs Through It, Troy – okay, maybe not Troy). They publish (not Troy, but OUTH was great), and some of them do okay. If these trainees then get a lab, do they continue to dissect the ‘problem?’ This is not an unusual scenario. And yes, if they hold to this model, the System certainly fails them.Some suggest that the answer is to limit the life of a scientist; move ‘old’ scientists out to make way for ‘new’ scientists. Or at least, don't support scientists simply because they were once successful. I can see the reasoning. Maybe they were just lucky to find the Brads in the first place.Personally, I think that for a scientist to be ‘successful’, they probably have to reinvent themselves every ten or so years (maybe less, maybe more). Maybe they get lucky again. Or maybe they are creative, innovative, and immersed in the literature to the extent they make their own luck. But it could be argued that the System tends to funnel investigators into a groove from which they cannot escape (probably mixing metaphors here, funnels don't channel into grooves, but you know what I mean).6. The Love Actually problem. I love where I work. I have loved, really loved, every place I have ever worked. So much so that each time I left, my colleagues were shocked that I would ever leave. It is great to find things you love about where you work (it beats hating everything). But here's the thing: institutions don't love you back. They may value you, they may appreciate you, but only to the extent that they are getting something out of you. Institutions want your loyalty, and in return, they will create metrics that allow them to reward you, based on what you give them (which usually translates into how much money you can bring in, or at least, how much you facilitate others bringing in money as well). Yes, they appreciate that you are an excellent teacher, but they can find other teachers. They appreciate that you bring prestige in the form of acclaimed discoveries (as long as you keep making them) but, even then, there are lots of people who can make discoveries. Maybe they appreciate how many followers you have on Tweezer. But we can all be replaced. Institutions do not love us. (Which is why I have never had qualms about leaving to go love someplace else).This System, which demands loyalty that is not reciprocated, seems to be a problem. But is it? I think that the issue is the word ‘loyalty’. If we replace it with ‘respect’, as in ‘My institute does not love me, but it shows me respect’, then maybe we have something. We don't always get what we want, but if we try, sometimes we get what we need. I don't think asking for respect is unreasonable.I know we haven't solved anything here. Before we can start to do that, we have another aspect of the System to discuss; how we disseminate what we discover. But right now, I'm going to listen to some Lowell George and Little Feat, and put on my sailing shoes.