After a week of being in shock, I pondered my next move. The rational action would be to tweak my
proposal and enter the next competition.
I decided not to do so.
Instead, I interpreted my sudden bad news about grant support as a
liberating event. I decided to continue
to do the research that I am interested in, but do it without the pressure that
accompanies seeking and administering funding.
In short, I decided never to apply for federal funding ever again. I now
conduct tiny science.
This decision was completely rational.
After losing my grant, I asked myself serious questions about what
support I really needed to carry out my research. Repeatedly the answer was that a grant was
really a ‘badge of honour’ and not a necessity.
My lab’s primary resource is my brain.
My research niche does not require expensive equipment, animal care
costs, pricey technicians, and the like.
My version of cognitive science can be a frugal science. It will have to be!
In all likelihood, given the current provincial and federal
financial situations, more and more questions will arise about the return of
investment in Big Science. Big Science
involves pouring huge amounts of money into targeted research projects. However, there are growing questions about
the success of Big Science. For
instance, a
recent article in the National Post questioned whether the successes in
research on cancer treatments were significant enough to justify billions of
dollars of funding.
Well, I certainly was never getting enough grant money as it was to do
Big Science. NSERC’s funding decision
pushed me in exactly the opposite direction.
Fortunately, I had a year to access surplus funds remaining in my grant. I reflected on my research needs, and used remaining
money to meet future lab needs. Most of
my work involves theoretical analyses and computer simulations. I obtained lab resources that would support
my future work (new computers, printers, etc.).
They will have to last a while! As of the first of this month, I have no more grant money available.
The pursuit of tiny science is adventurous, though, because it carries
with it a palpable degree of risk. Our
modern age of academia is money driven.
University and Department websites usually describe how much grant money
they pull in, because this is a presumed measure of excellence. In our academic culture, the amount of
external funding that a researcher attracts reflects one’s quality as a researcher. In pursuing tiny science, I ask to be judged
by the quality of my research, and not by the quantity of its financial
support.
This is not going to be a popular position. A university has a financial motivation for
its employees to attract federal grants.
The federal government runs the Indirect Costs
Program; its homepage points out that the goal of this program is to help “Canadian
postsecondary institutions with the hidden costs of research. By alleviating
the financial burden of expenses, such as lighting and heating, the program
ultimately helps researchers concentrate on cutting-edge discoveries and
scholarship excellence. After all, it is easier to achieve a eureka moment when
the lights are on.” Presumably, the
amount of funding an institution receives from this program is a percentage of
the total amount of federal grant funding awarded to its researchers. For 2011-12, the University of Alberta
received $16,878,176 from this program; it obtained $16,945,028 the preceding year. My pursuit of tiny science will not help my
institution’s pursuit of indirect cost money.
Furthermore, my pursuit of tiny science carries the
real danger that it will not help my career either. Being a university professor, there is an
annual evaluation of my performance (research, teaching, and service). This year will be the first time ever I do
not include grant support in my annual report.
Such support obviously is valued in academia; its absence lessens my worth.
Thus, the pursuit of tiny science makes strong
demands. I have to maintain (and most
likely elevate) my level of research productivity to compensate for the lost
grant support when I am evaluated. Can I
do so? Will my research productivity
receive the same kind of reviews when it is unfunded? I am not sure of the answers to these questions,
which is why I view tiny science as an adventure. For the record, I am very proud of my career
as a researcher, teacher, and supervisor, and I have no
problem being accountable by making my CV available on my website. I am confident that I can rise to meet the demands
of tiny science. I have no doubts,
though, that it will be a challenge.
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