Most universities have internal peer review processes for research grant applications. In the first of two articles about internal peer review, I wonder whether what ought to be valuable support can be perceived as an obstacle. Part two looks at how we might run peer review more effectively.
So… yeah… this post is a bit more personal and a lot more off topic than usual. And yes, it is mostly a build up to a request for sponsorship. Sit tight, though… I’ll have a load more post-embargo originally appeared in Research Professional content to post over the coming weeks and months.
Views expressed below are my own and not necessarily etc and so on…
“So, how you are doing, Adam?” “Good news and bad news, really.” “Which do you want to tell me about first?” “Both at the same time… I don’t have cancer…. any more”
In the middle of a house move, I found a lump where there probably shouldn’t have been a lump. The following day, I see a GP who agrees… that’s a lump where there shouldn’t be a lump. The day after I’m in for a blood test… the following week I’m seeing a specialist. Blood test negative (a good sign), lump is smooth and spherical (good sign), but it’s inside the testicle (bad sign). I know I’m in good hands when my specialist answers my question about what she thinks it probably is… she says she doesn’t know. Because she doesn’t. It takes confidence to admit that. Time for more tests.
The coolest person in the hospital – the Ultrasound Guy – does know. That it’s almost certainly a tumour… lots of indications that it is, nothing to indicate that it isn’t. The ultrasound guy is so ultra-sound that he’s holding clinics on Saturdays to catch up with a backlog. Phone call with the specialist a few days later confirms it… my right testicle and I will have to undergo a conscious uncoupling. Just over two weeks later – to allow for self-isolation and a negative COVID test – I’m in for surgery.
It’s a day procedure… it’s not going to be fun, but I’ve had a more serious operation before. If I can get through that, I can get through this. This too shall pass. Every decade or so, part of my body rebels against me and an example needs to be set pour encourager les autres. So it goes. It is known. At least I’ll not forget where I was when I heard the news about the death of the Duke of Edinburgh. Recovery is… slow and complicated by a post-op infection, eventually antibiotick-ed.
Week and a half later, and I’m back in for a CT scan. This time a backlog-clearing early evening appointment, held in a clinic on the sprawling, construction-scarred and largely deserted Nottingham City Hospital campus. The clinic is behind the archetypal door marked “Beware of the Leopard“, but eventually I find someone to take pity on me and give me directions. I’m late, flustered, and embarrassed, but fortunately my lateness is in perfect synchronization with their overrunningness. Also, they’re used to people being late, flustered, and embarrassed. They’re all very lovely to me, and the scanning isn’t nearly as bad as they’d led me to believe it might be.
Two weeks later, and I’m back for the results. And breathe. It’s good news. CT scan normal, biopsy shows that the tumour was small (22mm) and hadn’t spread. I had another blood test on the day, and that came back normal too. No chemo, as the marginal benefit isn’t worth the risk. There’s a very good chance the cancer won’t return, and if it does, there’s a very good chance it’s treatable. I’ll be under observation for five years or so. To paraphrase, if I absolutely insist on getting cancer, testicular cancer is the one to get. And if I absolutely insist on getting testicular cancer, get the type of testicular cancer I had, and seek medical attention immediately.
This post has been a bit flippant and contained some black humour, which is one way of coping and of making sense of things. Truth is, this was a very worrying time. There were always back-up options – if the cancer had spread, it would very probably have been very treatable. But then again, the lump had turned out to be a tumour rather than a cyst, so the odds had already gone against me once. They could do so again.
Why am I telling you all this?
Point One. Get your weird lumps and bumps checked out. Doing so will make them real, force you to drag that background ignore-able worry into the foreground where it’s harder to ignore. But think of it as consolidating your worries into a single manageable payment. It’s probably not cancer… it’s quite unlikely to be cancer. But if you check it out, you can forget about it.
Perhaps I should have started this blog post with the story of the time where I went to see my GP about a little lump on my back. Textbook cyst, said the GP. She was right. But she said I was right to come and see her about it, and I always should. True, I’ve got (nearly) all the privilege there is going, but I’m told that my experience is pretty common. Check everything out early. It’s better for you and it’s better for the NHS. The best time to get anything checked out is early. The second best time is now.
Point Two. All hail the NHS. Eight weeks from finding a lump to a result and an action plan. Eight weeks. In the middle of a global pandemic, folks. Cost to me, nil some prescription charges. Everyone is utterly lovely to me… Dr G, the GP who got me seen quickly at the beginning and antibiotic-ed me at the end. The Consultant willing to say she didn’t know. The ultrasound guy, who broke difficult news to me when he could have left it to the consultant. The whole surgical team. Everyone on oncology. In a US-style healthcare system, I dread to think about what this would have cost. I dread to think about how the cost of future cover would have restricted my professional and personal options.
Point Three. We’ve made huge progress in cancer research. For my particular flavour of cancer the research for treatments seems to have been largely done. But we’ve all lost people to cancer, many far, far too young. I lost a member of my extended family earlier this year. Shortly after I came round from surgery, I heard that a friend had died. His funeral took place on the morning of the afternoon when I received my results. He was a genuinely superb human being on every level and by every metric and I wish I’d known him better.
So we’re not yet where we need to be with cancer research. Not close. And the pandemic has been a real kick on the… teeth… for medical research in general. Their vital fundraising has been very seriously hit. Charity shops? Shut. Mass participation events, like the London Marathon? Cancelled. Not just the London Marathon, but your local city marathon or half marathon or 10k… all those sponsored walks or Races for Life? All gone. They’re struggling to honour existing research commitments, never mind fund vital new research.
If you’re wondering whether this is a build up to me asking for sponsorship for my latest act of folly, then yes, yes it is. Although… if there’s a charity that means more to you, and if you can afford it, support them instead. Or as well as. I don’t mind – the whole charity sector is struggling.
Long before my diagnosis, I’d arranged to take on the full, continuous Peak District Challenge, along with friends from my undergraduate and postgraduate days. It’s a 100km (62 miles) walk through the Peak District. Organisers estimate that the finish time – 20 – 36 hours. Sensible people attempt this over two days. We’re not sensible.
I’ve run a marathon before. Seven. But this is a very different kind of challenge. Weirdly, I’d feel happier if I were running rather than walking. All my marathons have been over inside four hours… 100km is endurance challenge that’s in a different league to anything I’ve tried before. Also, marathons don’t tend to have the Peak District in the way.
COVID has restricted our opportunities to train and prepare, especially on the right kind of terrain. Plus, you know… I’ve not been very well. It’s going to be an uphill struggle, and that includes the parts that are downhill. Go on, chuck us a few quid. Please? The link is to my friend John’s page, as we’re pooling our fundraising efforts. If anything I’ve written/tweeted has ever been any use to you, go on.
Hello and welcome to a reflective piece written by someone in a position of relative privilege in academia during a time of collapse and crisis. Written by someone who knows no more than you do about how best to cope with or understand it, and quite possibly substantially less.
So why am I writing? Out of an attempt to take stock of where we’re at as honestly as I can, without succumbing to the twin temptations of false hope of some brighter new dawn or the consolations of cynicism.
After a little reflection, this is what I want to tell you…
Kindness is everything
I don’t know who you are but listen, you’re doing really well. You probably know the saying by now: “you’re not working from home, you’re working at home in a pandemic”. And it’s true—you’re being tested in all kinds of ways, I’m sure. It’s so easy to focus on what we feel we’re not doing well that we completely take for granted the things we are doing well. This is the basis of imposter syndrome where we think of our own talents and achievements as mundane but regard those of others as vastly superior. See also: the Dunning-Kruger Effect.
We’ve got to be kinder to ourselves, as well as to others. I’ve been carrying a bit of residual guilt around because it feels like very little of the burden of the current crisis has fallen upon my shoulders. I have been able to continue working in physical safety and—in spite of some spicy days and weeks—with a manageable workload that doesn’t pose a serious risk to my mental wellbeing. As I don’t have children, I’ve not had pressures of home schooling.
It’s good to be aware that others have it tougher, to be willing to help, to show kindness and concern and empathy and consideration. To have a sense of proportion. But it’s a mistake to minimise or even discount the things that we’re finding difficult. The things we’re missing.
The fact that other people are in much, much more pain than I am doesn’t mean it hurts any less when I stub my toe. And I won’t make my toe feel any better by berating myself for being in pain and for not wanting to be in pain.
It’s easy to focus on those from whom extraordinary efforts are required during these extraordinary times, to compare ourselves to that extraordinary standard, and judge ourselves harshly. But if you’re anything like me, by this stage you’ve probably normalised a lot of the restrictions that all of us are asked to live under. Not seeing family and friends, severely curtailed leisure activities, having to adapt to remote working and so on. It’s all so [makes screaming sound] and this is the new normal.
But we should not forget that we’re all contributing. If you’re following whatever the guidelines are today, you’re contributing. I have always been ill-suited for a healthcare career due to my squeamishness and clumsiness, so perhaps I should not compare my contribution to theirs. A lot is being asked of each and every one of us even if you feel – as I do – your burden is lighter. From each according to their ability, and so on.
Won’t get fooled again
Kindness—for others, for ourselves—should be the order of the day but what is stopping it becoming the order of the everyday?
There’s a temptation to think that things must be different, will have to be better after this crisis. We should be aware that powerful forces will want to put things back more or less where they were before it ever happened (see the last financial crisis) or in even crueler positions (ibid). I’ve listened to a fewpodcasts discussing the post-1945 political settlement in the UK and the birth of the welfare state, and it’s clear is that none of that happened by accident or overnight. A lot of work went into preparing the ground and preparing the arguments and policy solutions.
If we want to “build back better” (sorry) in academia, we need to think creatively, we need to share ideas, we need to prepare the ground for radical ideas. We need to shift the Overton Window.
Equal treatment
For one thing, we can’t do better in academia without confronting our structural inequalities. And I am sorry. Yes, this is another white, middle-age, middle-class, heterosexual, cisgender man telling everyone what he thinks about equality issues. I understand the scepticism. But in my defence there’s only one thing worse than all that: someone who is all those things and yet doesn’t think about equality issues.
Over the summer I listened to a Hidden Brain podcast on ‘Playing Favourites’ which includes a story about a Yale academic who received markedly better treatment for a hand injury once the doctors discovered that she worked at Yale. And a story about an academic who agreed to an interview she would usually decline just because the journalist had been at the same university at the same time. Both the doctor and the academic could come away from their respective interactions feeling a warm glow as they’d both done something nice for someone else that they didn’t have to.
But as the academic in that second story—Mahzarin Banaji—said: “I think that kind of act of helping towards people with whom we have some shared group identity is really the modern way in which discrimination likely happens.”
Which leaves me to ask: who gets my standard service, and who gets my above-and-beyond, my extra mile? Who gets one last extra read of their proposal? Who gets a meeting rather than an email? Who gets a longer meeting? Whose request gets the quickest response? This year my challenge to myself is (a) to keep an eye on who find I want to do favours for; and (b) look to do more favours for members of disadvantaged/unrepresented groups who may not have had their share of favours in the past. I invite you to join me. My preliminary conclusion is that I tend to privilege the pushy because I’m a people pleaser. I should do better.
My one piece of advice
I’ve only got one bit of proper, real advice for researchers and research professionals and it has got nothing to do with research or academia and it is, I am sorry, only relevant to those privileged enough not to be shielding. Go for a walk outside. Or a run, or a cycle. If you can, you should. You won’t regret it. I seldom regret going for a run, and I never regret going for a walk. Around the park, around the block, whatever. Listen to nature or the streetscape, or put in your headphones, listen to your happy tunes at top volume or your favourite podcast, and stride purposefully like you’re five minutes late for a meeting on the other side of campus.
You may or may not feel better afterwards. But at least you’ll have been for a walk.
Region’s Greetings from one of my recent walks. Trent Embankment, Nottingham. Picture credit: me. Graffiti credit: Probably not Banksy… Trent Banksy, maybe…
You’re applying for UK research council funding and suddenly you’re confronted with massive overhead costs. Adam Golberg tries to explain what you need to know.
Trying to explain Full Economic Costing is not straightforward. For
current purposes, I’ll be assuming that you’re an academic applying for UK
Research Council funding; that you want to know enough to understand your
budget; and that you don’t really want to know much more than that.
If you do already know a lot about costing or research finances, be warned – this article contains simplifications, generalisations, and omissions, and you may not like it.
What are Full Economic Costs, and why are they taking up so much of my budget?
Full Economic Costs (fEC) are paid as part of UK Research and Innovation grants to cover a fair share of the wider costs of running the university – the infrastructure that supports your research. There are a few different cost categories, but you don’t need to worry about the distinctions.
Every UK university calculates its own overhead rates using a common methodology. I’m not going to try to explain how this works, because (a) I don’t know; and (b) you don’t need to know. Most other research funders (charities, EU funders, industry) do not pay fEC for most of their schemes. However, qualifying peer-reviewed charity funding does attract a hidden overhead of around 19% through QR funding (the same source as REF funding). But it’s so well hidden that a lot of people don’t know about it. And that’s not important right now.
How does fEC work?
In effect, this methodology produces a flat daily overhead rate to be charged
relative to academic time on your project. This rate is the same for the time
of the most senior professor and the earliest of early career researchers.
One effect of this is to make postdoc researchers seem proportionally more expensive. Senior academics are more expensive because of higher employment costs (salary etc), but the overheads generated by both will be the same. Don’t be surprised if the overheads generated by a full time researcher are greater than her employment costs.
All fEC costs are calculated at today’s rates. Inflation and increments
will be added later to the final award value.
Do we have to charge fEC overheads?
Yes. This is a methodology that all universities use to make sure that
research is funded properly, and there are good arguments for not undercutting
each other. Rest assured that everyone – including your competitors– are
playing by the same rules and end up with broadly comparable rates. Reviewers
are not going to be shocked by your overhead costs compared to rival bids. Your
university is not shooting itself (or you) in the foot.
There are fairness reasons not to waive overheads. The point of Research
Councils is to fund the best individual research proposals regardless of the
university they come from, while the REF (through QR) funds for broad,
sustained research excellence based on historical performance. If we start
waiving overheads, wealthier universities will have an unfair advantage as they
can waive while others drown.
Further, the budget allocations set by funders are decided with fEC overheads in mind. They’re expecting overhead costs. If your project is too expensive for the call, the problem is with your proposal, not with overheads. Either it contains activities that shouldn’t be there, or there’s a problem with the scope and scale of what you propose.
However, there are (major) funding calls where “evidence of institutional
commitment” is expected. This could include a waiver of some overheads, but
more likely it will be contributions in kind – some free academic staff time, a
PhD studentship, new facilities, a separate funding stream for related work.
Different universities have different policies on co-funding and it probably
won’t hurt to ask. But ask early (because approval is likely to be complex) and
have an idea of what you want.
What’s this 80% business?
This is where things get unnecessarily complicated. Costs are calculated
at 100% fEC but paid by the research councils at 80%. This leaves the remaining
20% of costs to be covered by the university. Fortunately, there’s enough money
from overheads to cover the missing 20% of direct costs. However, if you have a
lot of non-pay costs and relatively
little academic staff time, check with your costings team that the project is
still affordable.
Why 80%? In around 2005 it was deemed ‘affordable’ – a compromise figure intended to make a significant contribution to university costs but without breaking the bank. Again, you don’t need to worry about any of this.
Can I game the fEC system, and if so, how?
Academic time is what drives overheads, so reducing academic time reduces
overheads. One way to do this is to think about whether you really need as much
researcher time on the project. If you really need to save money, could
contracts finish earlier or start later in the project?
Note that non-academic time (project administrators, managers,
technicians) does not attract overheads, and so are good value for money under
this system. If some of the tasks you’d like your research associate to do are
project management/administration tasks, your budget will go further if you
cost in administrative time instead.
However, if your final application has unrealistically low amounts of academic time and/or costs in administrators to do researcher roles, the panel will conclude that either (a) you don’t understand the resource implications of your own proposal; or (b) a lack of resources means the project risks being unable to achieve its stated aims. Either way, it won’t be funded. Funding panels are especially alert for ‘salami projects’ which include lots of individual co-investigators for thin slivers of time in which the programme of research cannot possibly be completed. Or for undercooked projects which put too much of a burden on not enough postdoc researcher time. As mentioned earlier, if the project is too big for the call budget, the problem is with your project.
The best way to game fEC it is not to worry about it. If you have support with your research costings, you’ll be working with someone who can cost your application and advise you on where and how it can be tweaked and what costs are eligible. That’s their job – leave it to them, trust what they tell you, and use the time saved to write the rest of the application.
Thanks to
Nathaniel Golden (Nottingham Trent) and Jonathan Hollands (University of
Nottingham) for invaluable comments on earlier versions of this article. Any
errors that remain are my own.
The relentless drive for research excellence has created a culture in modern science that cares exclusively about what is achieved and not about how it is achieved.
As I speak to people at every stage of a scientific career, although I hear stories of wonderful support and mentorship, I’m also hearing more and more about the troubling impact of prevailing culture.
People tell me about instances of destructive hyper-competition, toxic power dynamics and poor leadership behaviour – leading to a corresponding deterioration in researchers’ wellbeing. We need to cultivate, reward, and encourage the best while challenging what is wrong.
We know that Wellcome has helped to create this focus on excellence. Our aim has rightly been to support research with the potential to benefit society. But I believe that we now also have an important role to play in changing and improving the prevailing research culture. A culture in which, however unintentionally, it can be hard to be kind.
If we want science to be firing on all cylinders, we need everyone in the research system – individuals, institutions and funders – working in step to foster a positive working culture.
Which leads me to wonder what the role of research development and other research support professionals should be in moving towards a more positive research culture. I don’t know the answer, and this post is an open invitation to share your thoughts. I’ll pull these together into a crowd-sourced post with credit for those who want it and anonymity for those who don’t. This approach seemed to work well for a previous post around supporting a new academic discipline, so perhaps it will work here too.
I don’t want to say too much in this post, but as I’m asking others I should at least share a few indicative thoughts about areas to think about.
We should look at our own profession, our own culture, and how we treat each other. In my time in research development I’ve generally found it to be a supportive profession, both internally within the universities where I’ve worked, and (especially) externally through ARMA. However, I’m white, male, heterosexual, middle age, middle class, so I’m very much playing on ‘easy mode‘. I don’t get mistaken for an administrator, and either I’m super diplomatic and great at influencing and persuading, or I get taken more seriously by some people because of my jackpot of categories of privilege. As I’ve alluded to on this blog before, I do have a slight stammer and have written about the challenges that can cause me, but it that has seldom held me back and I don’t think it’s affected how I’m perceived.
In terms of our own profession and our own behaviour, the phrase “be the change you want to see in the world” came to mind. Although… when I went to google to find out who said it, I found an interesting blog post that arguing that Mahatma Gandhi (to whom it is usually attributed) said and meant something rather more different and much more challenging. It’s not simply about living our values, but reflecting on them and changing ourselves where necessary. As a philosopher by training I also thought about Aristotle and his writings on the importance of character and virtues – if you nurture the right character and the right virtues, the chances that you’ll respond in the right way when tested or under pressure will be higher. But how do we do that? Practice, reflection, courage, and learning from the example of others, both positive and negative.
Less esoterically, a second category of issues is around our role in supporting research and researchers, especially around grant getting and grant writing activity. Competition for funding, low success rates, increasingly long and complicated application forms, and pressure from university management form part of research culture. While we rarely have formal power or authority over academic staff, we do have a measure of influence on research culture.So how do we use that influence and our roles for good? What’s our role in preventing research excellence coming at the expense of those who make it happen – which includes us, in our small way. I’ll kick things off with three issues I’ve been thinking about recently…
Firstly, forwarding funding opportunities and supporting applications. When I send funding opportunities onto academics, am I guilty of unconscious bias? Am I committing the availability error and just emailing the first people who come to mind? Does that mean some people with certain characteristics are more likely to receive those emails than others? Does unconscious bias affect how I respond to tentative enquiries about opportunities, or about how I divide my time between proposals?
Honest answer is that I don’t know. But I’ve been influenced by the pushback against ‘manels’ (all male panels at conferences)… and if my funding opportunity distribution list looks like a manel, especially a white manel (because intersectionality is key) I’m taking time to stop and think about who I might have missed. Sometimes structural inequalities or call specifics mean that I got it right first time, but it’s worth a check.
Secondly, what’s our role around workload and work life balance? Could we do more to minimise the burden on researchers at all levels of seniority? Partly this is around efficiency and systems and processes, but partly I think there are cultural issues to consider too. I recently had a discussion with organisers of a research network which ran funding calls about the appropriateness of having a deadline of (something like) 23:59 on Sunday evening. The argument was that academics preferred this because it gave them more time than, say a Friday 4:00pm deadline. But it’s time over a weekend, and arguably this increases the expectation that academics work weekends. When do we set our internal deadlines for various tasks, from REF reviews to internal peer reviews to internal deadlines for draft applications? Do we assume that academic colleagues will be working weekends?
Thirdly, when we advise on the staffing of research projects, are we creating good jobs with fair salaries and training career development opportunities? The issue of ‘good jobs’ on research projects (for academics and managers/administrators) was something that Wellcome brought up at a visit I attended a few weeks ago. I have to admit that under cost pressures on UKRI applications, there’s a strong incentive to try to cut researcher time as much as possible to reduce both employment costs and overheads. Of course, we should never over-cost for any post for any funder, but likely I’ve had a role in creating (potential) jobs that are lower quality than they might otherwise be.
That’s probably enough for now – this was supposed to be a short post. But this is an open invitation to email me with any thoughts you have about challenges we face, or steps we might take, in responding to the Wellcome Trust’s challenge to reimagine how we do research. I’ll be sharing this invitation via the ARMA Research Development email list and via Twitter for greater international reach.
