by Maria Kyriazi

Imagine yourself. It’s past 9pm on a
Friday night, and you’re sitting in a room full of microscopes, dim light, almost completely dark, listening to the gurgling noises of the computer and the microscope. The building seems empty, but you know that there are still about ten or fifteen more people hiding behind their lab bench, working endlessly, awaiting their desired results. You are sitting in that dark microscope room, imaging the twenty samples that took you a week (or a month) to prepare. Your precious samples that you took care of as if you gave birth to them. And then, you look at the results. The experiment failed. Again. The optimisation didn’t work, or something went wrong along the way, or one of your buffers was not the same LOT number as the one you used before, or your cells were just not really ‘feeling it’. Well, if that doesn’t ring a bell, then welcome to the world of science. At least the biologists’ one. For those out there reading this, knowing exactly what I am talking about, grab your coffee, my dearest friend, and keep going. One day we will make it to Nature …

Many of you Orielenses might think that this article is entirely irrelevant with nagging feelings or unrequited crushes that this lingering issue was all about, but what I am about to describe to you is exactly what this relationship is. I was really debating on whether I should write something more ‘sophisticated’, maybe more ‘scientific’, or a lay article on a breakthrough discovery (which was my initial plan, to be honest). But as I delve deeper into my doctorate journey, I explore even more the scientific reality, which was far different than I had dreamed of, and I thought I ought to share my experience. Not to discourage anyone – it would be devastating and inappropriate – but to seek hope. Hope that one day things will change, the system will change, and we will build a science community where science progression itself will indeed be our main focus as scientists.

I used to hear my academic fellows expressing their dissatisfaction about how things functioned within the science field when I was younger. I remember being a naive undergraduate student, during my very first exposure to academic laboratories, witnessing brilliant and intelligent researchers being disappointed and discouraged. For the results of their work, for the institutional policies or publication journals, for the constant pursuit of grants and funding, for the politics involved – for the system itself. From PhD students to post-docs, to senior researchers, to professors. Everyone. And I was so surprised. I used to think, ‘But why? You have all the tools to guide the future of our world. To make our world a better place.’

I used to think that being a scientist was the most amazing job anyone could ask for. And don’t get me wrong, I still think it is. I used to think that scientists had the power, the charisma and the gift to explore the world, search for the answers to complicated questions and once they untangled them, to share it with the rest of the world. To gift their knowledge to the world. I used to think that being a scientist meant being challenged but also respected for your knowledge, and your work.

But then, one day, I realised. I don’t remember how and when it happened, but I realised. Everything just made sense. I realised what it meant to be a scientist. What it meant to sacrifice, to fight, to work hard and still be judged for not doing enough. I won’t examine the public’s attitude against scientists and scientific discoveries. I think that the public view in response to vaccination against the COVID-19 pandemic already implies a lot about the topic.

The challenges that modern science faces are critical, and while many people within the field acknowledge them, no one really speaks about them openly. Modern researchers are constantly challenged to succeed. And although one might think that success exclusively relies on the rationale, the experimental design, the quality of the research findings and the rigour of the methodology used, it comes with great surprise when finding that success is merely measured by the quantity of publications in highly impact journals, the number of grants and awards received and how appealing the research findings might look like. ‘Appealing’ meaning how groundbreaking and novel the results appear. Therefore, it comes as no surprise when discovering that several scientists exaggerate or misinterpret the results of their work so that they can get published.

Research takes time, and revolutionary research takes even more time, years, and maybe a whole career in science … Yet, the value of a researcher currently relies on the successful stories behind their published papers to provide them with more funds to continue their work. Having said that, it also comes as no surprise that whilst in most published papers the use of positive words to describe data is highly selected, minimal selection of ‘negative’ results is observed. In other words, no one highlights what didn’t work, as it would be not as ‘appealing’, and therefore, not desirable for publishing in high-impact journals. And so, a vicious cycle begins. Funding bodies will not award grants if the research does not seem revolutionary, and with grants given for three to five years, the researcher is obliged to discover and publish revolutionary results within that tight time frame, so that they can keep their current and get their next fund. Peculiar, yet a real issue. And while it seems obvious that the discovery of cancer treatment cannot be found within three years, it is still the case that scientists will be pressured to find a treatment, or something close to treatment within that time frame, which of course is not feasible.

On a positive note, though, science still manages to progress somehow. Despite the dysfunctional system, it is apparent that wonderful discoveries have been made over the last few years. From whole genome sequencing to personalised medicine, to even being able to study systems’ functionality in space. And it also seems that there is room for improvement. Slow, but present. And what is behind that? Personally, I think it is the drive of the researcher. The natural curiosity that drove us to become scientists in the first place. The ability to explain the world, that flash of insight that stimulates us whenever we find the explanation behind our question. A majestic feeling that makes every second of our restless days and nights of work worth it. So, if you are to ask me in the end, is it all this worth it? Well, I really hope I can give you a definite answer within the next three years of my PhD, but if it is to experience that mesmerising feeling of discovering something no one else has found yet, if it is to help improve the science world a bit more, if it is to find something that will make people’s lives a little better, then it is worth every minute of it.