Mark is thirty years old and is in his fifth year of graduate study in genetics. One of the projects he is working on is geared toward the development of a tool that will allow molecular biologists to sift through the abundant data generated by the human genome project. In his work on this project, Mark came across an organization that was producing flawed data, and he sent a statement of his objections concerning the faulty data source to the “second in command” at the organization. To support his argument further, he included his own, unpublished data. A few weeks later, his contact at the institution posted Mark’s data set on a website without asking permission and without giving proper credit. His advisors counsel him not to write a letter of complaint, as the individual who stole his data was in a higher position of authority, and could ruin Mark’s career. The incident disappointed Mark: he did not receive appropriate credit for his work, and the incident made Mark question his scientific beliefs and values.
Mark, thirty years old, is in his fifth year of graduate study in genetics. He is working toward a PhD in molecular biology. He likes to refer to himself as an applied scientist—someone who thinks about the practical usage of the research he is doing—since he always asks the question, “What’s the human value?” His long standing stated goal is to help humanity.
Mark faced a situation in which his instinctive altruism came into conflict with his ambition to become a recognized professional. Unless he is willing to be “scooped,” (and watch as someone else writes about his data set) he has to consider carefully whether to share new work with colleagues. He is working concurrently on two projects. The first aims to curb a potentially fatal human disorder by developing an animal model that could ultimately lead to better treatments and diagnostic measures. The second—a project that Mark dubs his “soapbox”—is situated in the emerging field of computational biology. Its goal is to develop a tool that will allow molecular biologists to sift through the abundant data generated by the human-genome project. Mark wants to ensure that scientists can use and share available data. “There’s all this awesome, great data out there that we can use,” he says. “Let’s just figure out how to use it.”
One facet of this project is the investigation of national and international databases. Mark learned of an organization that is producing flawed data, and subsequently tried to discourage the spread of this data by contacting higher-ups at the organization. After many letters and no response, he finally reached the “second in command” at a prestigious institution. He sent this individual a statement of his objections concerning the faulty data source, and to support his argument further, he included his own, unpublished, data.
The person with whom Mark finally connected was extremely appreciative. Mark was hopeful that the institution would be more careful about how and from whom they accepted data. He says, “They’ve eliminated certain companies that have given them error-prone data before. They’re not accepting anything from them anymore. They’ve installed systematic evaluations, like we suggested.”
But a few weeks later, his contact at the institution (whom he described as his “friend” because of the relationship they developed) posted Mark’s data set on a website without asking permission and without giving proper credit. Perplexed, Mark approached representatives of the institution. One representative “admitted that [Mark was] the driving force to changing the way the database is going, but he gave some excuses and he did whatever and then that was it.” When Mark approached professors at his home institution for help, they said, “This is the way it happens. This is science politics.”
The incident disappointed Mark for several reasons. First, he did not receive appropriate credit for his work. Second, there seems to be nothing that he can do about it, since the person who stole his data and neglected to give him credit was in a position of authority. In other words, he had the power to ruin Mark’s career. Many professors, including Mark’s mentor, counseled him not to write a letter of complaint. They all advised against doing anything that would hurt his chances for getting a recommendation from this person: “[Getting a recommendation] is ten times more important for you … than not having him as a friend.” Finally, the incident made Mark realize that his scientific values and beliefs are not the same as those of most of his colleagues. He says:
“It’s affected the way I think about the field. Because I used to think it was all holy up there … [I] used to think, ‘Okay, scientists go into this as these intellectual people trying to solve the problems of our society.’ And they’re not flashy. You look at us, we’re all wearing T-shirts, whatever. We’re not trying to impress anybody like that, but we’re just trying to think. And then I see … the same sort of low-life interaction you see on all these other levels, and it just brings down my image of the field.”
Mark is grateful to his mentor for showing him how to navigate the “real life” of science politics. He describes his mentor as a “big brother” who “[tells] you at every stage whether you [have] a problem … [or] whether [this is] reality.” But the personal goals and ideals that informed Mark’s upbringing have been tainted:
“Every time I make [a] judgment … I’ll think twice. I mean, it sounds bad, but I’ll think twice about doing that if I stay in the field. I’m not saying that I still won’t, but I’ll definitely think twice. Maybe I’ll write it a different way, maybe I’ll give him limited information. But I’ll definitely think twice about how I do it. Which is sad … I’m haunted by those decisions and the outcomes of those decisions.”
Mark decides that he is not always going to make the application and utility of his work a priority. He is going to have to find a way to balance his ultimate goal—to make his work beneficial to others—with the need to protect himself as a young professional in the field. He realizes that his values and morals will be “separated from what happens in science.” In his own words:
“Screw the scientific value of it. Screw the success. I think that’s really important … making both worlds work. You want to be able to survive in your field. Just be able to survive. Just be able to live and make a living. At the same time, you need to do what’s right. There will probably need to be a way that I could do both. Without getting screwed over.”
In the end, Mark decides that if he remains in the field, he is going to have to play “hardball”: “I don’t understand it. I’m not sure I agree with it. But if I’m going to stay in this field, that’s the way. You’ve got to abide by these rules.”
How do you think Mark defines “hardball”? Will “playing hardball” make him a better scientist? Why or why not?