“Put a man on it.”
In a career filled with good advice, this one struck me for its sheer audacity.
I had recently met a social scientist to whom I described the plight of my oldest cancer patients from migrant and refugee backgrounds, whose vulnerability and lack of agency to navigate complex healthcare conspired to achieve some of the poorest outcomes in the country. When I lamented that my advocacy seemed like draining the sea with a teaspoon, the scientist wisely counselled that I needed to collect good evidence to inform better systems. When I confessed that I needed help designing a research project, she offered the energies of her team. I was excited by the prospect of pairing my clinical experience with her proven research capability to help needy patients.
The next step was to find research money. I sought more advice, this time from a senior doctor I had met at a conference who had an impressive research background. She read my application and made many helpful observations, including the fact that, given my lack of a track record, I would not win a competitive grant. I pointed out that the social scientist had the research credentials I lacked but she shook her head impatiently and told me what my application really needed.
“Put a man on it.”
I was simply incredulous that this could be construed as good advice, that too coming from an accomplished woman.
The problem of gender inequity in research funding is all too familiar.
A recent American study found that an elite class of principal investigators who hold three or more concurrent NIH (National Institutes of Health) grants grew in number over the past 30 years but, even after controlling for career stage and degree, women were significantly underrepresented. And despite evidence of diminishing returns for annual grants over US$600,000, the dollars remain concentrated in the hands of a select few.
The authors also observe that women and faculty from underrepresented ethnic and racial groups face disparity at two levels – initial application and reapplication – suggesting a trend of inequitable resource allocation that follows an unsuccessful applicant across career stages.
In the UK, a study of cancer research funding showed a 70-30 split in the number of grants awarded to men and women. As a result, men received grants valued at nearly £2bn with grants to women totalling £500m.
In Australia, the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC), the major funder of scientific research, found that more men than women apply for grants, a higher proportion of men are awarded grants and greater overall funding is awarded to men. In response, the agency introduced a major overhaul. This led to a welcome finding of equal numbers of applications and equitable funding at the early career stage but these results were soured by the realisation that, at the most senior level of funding, only 21% were women. The direct consequence of this imbalance is that about 35% more grants and 67% more total funding were awarded to men than women in the first three years of the new scheme. Gender equity remains a work in progress although the NHMRC should be commended for its new set of measures.
For a moment, I thought that my veteran adviser was being pragmatic. After all, if I wanted a competitive grant, what I offered simply wasn’t enough. The benefit of having diverse researchers is that they generate diverse ideas and focus on typically neglected and underserved populations, which improves national health and wellbeing, so I wondered whether the end would justify the means.
My dismay turned to horror when my adviser suggested a man I should tie my fortunes to. He was one of those “elite” principal investigators whose pioneering work attracted eye-watering funds which helped him run a bigger lab with more qualified people, which catapulted him to more publications, more recognition and more grants.
What she didn’t know was that he was an old friend from medical school who would probably have helped me – but his field wasn’t remotely related to mine, and how would I ever look him in the eye again?
The bargain stuck in my throat. It seemed unethical and insulting, not only to my female collaborators but also other women. If I was going to have a late-blooming research career, I wanted to learn the ropes – how to write a strong application, leverage my experience and find the right partners, men and women.
To paraphrase Isaac Newton, I was happy to stand on the shoulders of giants, I just didn’t want them to carry me.
Some months later, I received the rejection letter I expected. It said what every polite letter says – great idea, inadequate funds. There was nothing to help me improve.
Never having felt entitled to the grant, I was disappointed for my patients but fortunate to return to my “regular” job. For the other academics who had spent weeks polishing the application and cross-checking every word limit and every reference, the rejection was a lost career opportunity.
Seeking public money rightly requires strong justification but I found the grant process so tedious and time-consuming that I couldn’t summon the spirit to repeat it. It did, however, give me a fresh regard for female researchers, some of whom I got to know well.
During the day they conduct research, help patients, serve on thankless committees, while often also attending parent-teacher meetings and buying the groceries; by night they pore over grant applications to secure their lab’s future.
These women deserve our attention but what they really deserve is a level playing field. Suggestions for this include quotas, separate competitions and equal numbers of awards for men and women, balancing the composition of award committees, actively promoting women into senior academic roles, mentoring more women, and acknowledging that women’s careers are shaped to a far greater extent by their home responsibilities.
Australian taxpayers fund medical research to the tune of $5bn. Amid news showing that 95% of federal government programs in the past 10 years have not been properly evaluated, any policy changes must be rigorously tested for impact.
Women don’t want their work to be easy but in academic research, as in so many aspects of life, true gender equity would be a welcome change.
• Ranjana Srivastava is an Australian oncologist, award-winning author and Fulbright scholar. Her latest book is called A Better Death
