Mourning the loss of the possible scientific contributions: A tenure-track researcher forced out
Courage Campaign: Women's Stories of Survival and Speaking Out Against Oppression
The following is a story from a member of the WIS PDX community:
CW: mention of gender-based discrimination and harassment.
I left a tenure-track faculty position at a major research university and turned in my NIH-funded grants after my attempts to stop a pattern of abuse resulted in such severe retaliation that I could no longer function in my role. This is a (relatively) brief account of some of the experiences that lead to me having to make the hardest decision I hope to ever have to make.As a high schooler, I watched my grandmother’s decline through Alzheimer’s disease. I knew then that my future was going to involve figuring out how memory is lost and how to stop it. I worked through college at a memory care facility and then as a work-study student at an Alzheimer’s disease research center. I skipped spring breaks to fill enough work-study hours to pay for undergrad so that I could eventually make it to graduate school to study neuroscience. I earned a spot in a fully-supported (tuition and stipend paid) doctoral program in neuroscience. I had my first baby as a doctoral student, and was still among the first in my cohort to obtain independent funding and to successfully defend my PhD. During my first post-doctoral fellowship, I had my second baby. I pumped breast milk in the bathroom stalls at conferences and cried when I left my babies to do the work I was so passionate about. I knew that the years I put into my training would make a difference in the field.
I pumped breast milk in the bathroom stalls at conferences and cried when I left my babies to do the work I was so passionate about.
During my second post-doctoral position, I put my kids in early care and after care and I went to the lab and did the work and came home and worked on papers and grants after I got them to bed. I was exhausted. But I kept going, knowing the work I was doing was moving us closer to the solution. This knowing was reinforced by authoring papers and obtaining grants for my work. My research was getting recognized. I earned that ever-elusive Tenure Track Assistant Professorship and within six months of joining as faculty, I was fully supported by my own grants. I was presenting my work at national and international meetings. I was forming collaborations with leading researchers. I was doing the work I knew I was meant to do.
Within a few months of getting this tenure-track Assistant Professorship, I learned that my (male) mentors had submitted a multi-million-dollar proposal to complete the work that I had outlined in my recently-submitted early-career investigator grant proposal and five-year faculty development plan. I was listed as a “possible collaborator.” Their names were in the Principal Investigator lines. When I built up enough courage to confront them, the response was “nobody would believe you could do that work.” When I assembled enough courage to report this to my (male) Dean, his response was “you had better find a way to get along or find another research path”. I reported this to the Ombudsperson, who referred me to a senior level administrator. After submitting a report, I was told that because I had done some of my post-doctoral work in their labs, and they ultimately didn’t get the grant, there was nothing to be done. I was told I could refute that decision, but it would require launching a full, visible investigation against my mentors, who still held considerable power over my career advancement.
When I built up enough courage to confront them, the response was “nobody would believe you could do that work.”
Later in my first year of being on faculty, I was asked to “support” the grant submission of another early-stage (male) faculty member. I was told that, since I was “so junior” it would hurt the grant for me to be visible on the grant to be submitted, but that any papers that would come from the work, I would be senior author on. I reluctantly agreed to this arrangement, and spent hours a week helping to develop pilot data for this grant, providing grant writing support, and even gave my currently-funded grant to the colleague as an example of a successful grant in the field. When it came time for the first paper to be submitted, the promised authorship agreement had not been communicated to the rest of the team and I was told my senior authorship was unearned. In consulting with a senior-level administrator at the university regarding the situation, it became clear that the request for me to be invisible on the grant was not appropriate. I asked to see the grant that was pending submission. My heart broke as I saw a significant portion of the grant had been copied and pasted from my own currently-funded grants. The same mentors who had submitted my work as their own were mentors on this grant and not one of them brought this plagiarism to my attention or advocated for me to be a part of the grant despite knowing my work and contributions. Only when I brought this blatant plagiarism to the attention of the senior mentor of the grant was I permitted to be named on the grant. I was ultimately added to the grant and the grant was rewritten prior to submission, but neither the attempts to keep me off of the grant nor the plagiarism of my work were ever addressed.
When I brought this continued pattern of plagiarism by my male colleagues forward, including to the University administrators, the response was “you got yourself added to the grant, didn’t you?” and “if you didn’t want your grant copied, you shouldn’t have shared it.” The male faculty member who plagiarized my work got his grant, and then got a large research space and extra funding to pursue “his” research aims. Despite being a fully-funded faculty member for almost two years, I was still expected to share the same workroom I was in as a post-doctoral researcher with three to four RAs, including one who was regularly hostile to me. I asked frequently for a workspace and saw newer male faculty offered office space while I was told there was no faculty office space for me. I began approaching faculty directly to ask if I could just work in their office when they were out of town. Eventually, the Administrative Director tired of my constant asking and allowed me to share her office.
As all of this was going on, I was in continual communication with University Administration. I told them I needed help navigating the considerable conflicts of interest that were present with my career mentors, and requested an additional faculty-level mentor whom I could trust to have only my career interests in mind be added to my mentorship team. I suggested two senior (female) faculty members whom I had consulted regarding the climate I was in. The administrators pushed instead for a male faculty member who, ultimately, was a sponsor for the grant my male colleague had plagiarized. I raised concern about this, and was told there was “no conflict.” Rather than advocate for me, this individual approached my Dean and my mentors to let them know that I had disclosed the climate I was in to the University Administration. He then told me that after thoroughly discussing my case, that I was considered “hard to work with” and “territorial”. I received an email demanding that I sign over the rights to the patent I had obtained for my work at the university.
The male RA whom I had consulted to help with my projects had been hired by my mentor and began to demand more and more say over how the science I was leading would be done. He belittled my requests for specific work to be completed, developed facets of my projects despite my concern regarding the methodology, and refused to follow the scientific direction I gave for my work. Under the direction of my mentors, this male RA was given first authorship on publications that were the result of my work and/or direction, and were in direct alignment with the specific aims of my grants. I was precluded from determining authorship on the projects my own grants were funding. This male colleague was combative and verbally abusive to me. He openly demeaned me in front of and to my colleagues. When I brought this pattern of behavior to the attention of my mentor, the concerns were dismissed, but I was told that he could be “talked to” if I really felt it necessary. When this RA disclosed to me that he had falsified his credentials to obtain the position he was in, I asked my unit Administrative Director to evaluate, and the response was “we don’t want to risk his career.”
I began being omitted from crucial conversations, was told I was “not a part of this,” and the RA that I brought in to help with my projects and paid off of my grants began receiving absolute autonomy from the Principal Investigator of the lab to pursue the work I was funded to complete as the basis of my career development. I would later learn this RA was actively and regularly working on projects I had planned with competing labs (including my former male mentor) and with the male colleague who had plagiarized my work behind my back. When I brought this concern to my mentors, the response was “you never proposed that project.” So, I provided the documents I had written two years prior outlining the exact research as a career development project. No action was taken, and I was told I would be permitted to “participate as a collaborator” and that I should just “be glad the work is being done.” The University Administrators said it was unfortunate, but there was nothing they would do.
When I had finally resolved that I could not take any more of the abuse and constant trauma, I notified my mentors of my intent to leave the University. This was the single hardest decision I have ever had to make. I was literally walking away from the career I had spent my entire life to that point working towards. When you turn grants back into the NIH, you don’t typically get a second shot at your career.
I may never stop mourning the loss to the field of the scientific contributions I know I still had left to make.
I was asked why I didn’t just take my grants to another institution, as though that would solve the problem. In addition to being bullied into signing over the patent rights to my work, I was told that all of the tissue samples, datasets, and data that were developed through my work would be considered the property of the University. I would have to legally challenge the University and my mentors for these assets. So, aside from uprooting my family to move to another institution, I would become an instant competitor with my former colleagues, only they would keep all of the infrastructure to do the research I spent years developing. I already knew they wouldn’t fight fair, and in science, you can’t win against someone who doesn’t play by the rules. They would always cross the finish line first, no matter what it took to do so.
I was told by one of my male mentors that if I turned in my grants and reported what happened that a false narrative would follow me as I left. I can’t begin to imagine what that could be, but I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to believe to what lengths the University would go to protect their optics. Almost two years out, it is clear that a concentrated effort to rewrite the history of my contribution to the work is being made. Perhaps that is the narrative he meant. The thought of them destroying not just my future but also my past to protect their optics is devastating, but not surprising. Ultimately, my attempts to stop an ongoing pattern of abuse through channels that are supposed to be well-established to prevent abuse lead instead to the University protecting itself and to me being pushed out of the career I worked so hard to achieve. I turned in the remaining years on my grants and walked away to stop the trauma.
Since leaving I have had numerous current or former faculty, staff, and Research Fellows reach out to tell me their story is similar but they are too scared of my reality becoming their reality to speak out. A senior University Administrator who was aware of the whole experience told me “this would never have happened if you were male.”
Eventually, I will be OK. I’ve spent thousands on therapy to learn to trust again, to stop waking up wondering when the next pain will come, and I’ve almost processed the loss of the romantic ideas I had of what it meant to be a part of an academic faculty doing the work I was so deeply passionate about. I have found a new career outside of academic medicine where my skills, training, and love of science are respected and my contributions are valued. I work as part of a team that supports one another to do meaningful work in an organization that is driven by ethics and transparency. I prioritize my family and my health and my community. I am now facing a pending dementia diagnosis for my father, a day that I thought I would face with hope. Instead, I am acutely aware that I may never stop mourning the loss to the field of the scientific contributions I know I still had left to make.
I came across a passage while reading Brene Brown's book Braving the Wilderness, which resonates with me and, I anticipate, many others whom have had a similar experience:
“When the culture of any organization mandates it is more important to protect the reputation of a system and those in power than it is to protect the basic human dignity of the individuals who serve that system, or those who are served by that system, you can be certain that shame is systemic, money is driving ethics, and that accountability is all but dead. This is true in corporations, non-profits, universities, governments, faith communities, schools, families, and sports programs. If you think back on any major scandal fueled by cover-ups, you will see the same pattern. And the restitution and resolution of cover-ups almost always happens in the wilderness- when one person steps outside their bunker and speaks the truth."
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This story was shared with us anonymously as part of the WIS PDX Courage Campaign, which is meant to build support for survivors and to spread awareness of the effects of gender-based discrimination, harassment, and assault in STEM. We empower women to share their stories and speak their truth.
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