For my nephew

I'm truly not procrastinating at the moment. I got a lot done this morning. I'm taking a break.

So my nephew has just graduated from college and is seriously considering doing a Ph.D. in linguistics... or neurology... or the neurology of language or something like that. I don't want to discourage him at all...in fact I think he is cut out for being a great Academician. I just want him to learn from my mistakes. And if he is at all on the fence about it, I want to say: HEY, just get your masters first!

So I have attached here a few things I think he needs to read. The first read is something I stumbled upon relatively recently, and wow did it resonate with me. I've pasted it in here for all to read, including myself when I need a reminder that my apathy is apparently part of this process. But I especially want my nephew to read it.

Monday, July 3, 2006
When Bad Things Happen to Good Postdocs By Lincoln Webber
Copyright© 2006 by The Chronicle of Higher Education

Career advice for scientists
I clearly remember the moment I heard that I had won my first research grant. I was a long shot for the award and had overcome many obstacles to apply. I expected my postdoctoral supervisor would be happy. He told me the news in his office. We both sat there, grinning at each other.

Then he added, still grinning, "But I don't think you deserve it." My grin inverted. Had I heard correctly? My supervisor, hereafter referred to as "Darth," then proceeded to reveal how he felt that I was not working hard enough, thinking hard enough, or learning his rules for success. When I asked him to give me an example of what he meant, he didn't. I should have accepted the grant and promptly fired him once the paperwork cleared. I didn't, and I lived to regret that decision.

How could I have ended up in a situation like this? On paper, my position looked amazing. I was in a famous institution, working with a rising star and building an innovative project. I had plenty of data and an external fellowship. I had generated several manuscripts and was gearing up to submit them to top journals.
In the course of my weekly meetings with Darth, which often included his research coordinator, I was "diagnosed" as defensive, paranoid, negative, pompous, arrogant, secretive, scheming, learning disordered, and finally, virtually unemployable. He often threatened to fire me, despite the fact that he did not pay my salary and I technically did not work for him. He never once offered me constructive criticism, advice, or encouragement. I could see straight through his tyrannical, narcissistic diatribes. He knew that and it made it worse for me.

The verbal abuse was one thing, but a more destructive trend had started to emerge. He was sitting on my manuscripts. He would tell me I could not attend meetings in my own institution, or give invited talks about my research. He frustrated nearly every attempt I made at original science and wasted my time on side projects for people he wanted to impress. Instead of encouraging collaboration with other scientists, he stated that my duty was to troll his "database" for potential projects, at the rate of one project a week.

Why did I put up with it for so long?
Three reasons: (1) I tried to rationalize the verbal abuse as separate from actions that would impair my career development. (2) The abuse was so outlandish and childish that it was hard to accept that it was actually happening. (3) He paid the material costs of my research. Without that, I could not pay for the cutting-edge technique I was using. He had me by the purse strings. But the day he accused me of stealing a manuscript that his assistant admitted she had misplaced, was the day I took stock and realized that I had to leave.

The abuse had taken a terrible toll. I was no longer myself. I felt hunted. I was becoming some of the things he accused me of: distrustful, negative, hypervigilant, and defensive. A homunculus of Darth had inserted itself in my thoughts. Anger constantly crackled in my veins like background radiation. I felt panicky all the time. I took a day off and put together a plan.

I went to my co-supervisor; a down-to-earth senior scientist at another institution who listened patiently as the story came gushing out and offered to help me find a new supervisor. Bolstered, I went to another colleague who knew about the politics at my institution. I spilled the story again. He looked at me and said, "You are the first person to sit in my office and tell me this about Darth -- and not burst into tears."

I mustered support. A manager in the institution helped me secure a new office. A former postdoc told me about the misery she went through with Darth before finally fleeing. She also told me who in the institution I could trust.
The more I investigated, the more I heard that Darth had a history of mistreating students in his lab. Some former lab members had even secured other positions without letters of reference from him. That led me to believe that I needed powerful support if I was going to get out of this and have any hope of a career in my field. Darth had a lot of power, and as far as I could tell, he wielded it with impunity. Stealthy work it was, but I finally identified the person I should talk to first. I was lucky enough to have my own version of Dante's Virgil, the first friend I made at my institution. He helped me navigate out of this Inferno. He got me facetime with an administrator who listened with compassion and, once I had finished, immediately called the vice president, who agreed to see me confidentially.
The vice president listened quietly to my tale. When I was finished, he asked me if I had a Plan B. I stated that I did. He asked me why I did not simply change my supervisor. I told him that the material costs of my research were borne by Darth. He told me he would pay them. Case closed. Then he told me that he would assign someone to mediate the separation, to make sure it went well.

It was over: the constant abuse, the predatory harassment, the constant threat of conflict. At least, that is what I thought. In many ways, it was just the intermission of a long opera. I called and made an appointment with the assigned mediator, Darth's immediate boss. Darth found out. He hauled one of my closest friends in the lab into his office, and demanded that she tell him exactly what I had been up to. She did.

Then I received an e-mail from a former labmate saying that Darth had called her up and demanded that she tell him what I was up to. To her credit she did not, and begged that I keep her out of this. She feared Darth's reprisal if he knew she spoke ill of him. I actually felt empowered by those developments. There was blood in the water, and it wasn't mine. I met with the mediator and gave a shorter version of my story citing several of the worst incidents of abuse. Shortly thereafter, Darth offered up a long, magnanimous e-mail as a separation agreement. He offered support during my transition and agreed to all of my terms. I would be able to use his database and he promised he would not withdraw his participation in grants that were under review.

A year later, Darth had managed to claw back just about every item he offered in that letter. He even demanded the rights to the data I collected. If I am lucky, I will receive one authorship from all the work I did in that lab.
In the end, despite being stripped of most of what I accomplished in that lab, I am grateful that I made it out of there, and got my life, my optimism, and my drive back. They did not spring back undamaged, however. For the first three months after the separation, I was gripped by a severe apathy.

Then there was the issue of my former colleagues in Darth's laboratory. We had always got along. Some of us were friends and hung out together on weekends. After I left, none of them even acknowledged that anything had happened. They just ignored the situation and interacted with me in the same chipper manner they always had.
With a change of scenery, the support of my new supervisor, and, finally, a new position in my institution with supportive mentors and the freedom to develop my own projects, I feel like I am rehabilitated. I am glad that I went through this -- if only to end up here.

What did I learn that may be of use to others?
Lesson No. 1: No news is not good news. Investigate your prospective supervisor and if you hear nothing of substance, suspect that perhaps people are clamming up about his lack of people skills. Look elsewhere for a mentor.

Lesson No. 2: Don't think that being flexible and agreeable will help you deal with bullies. That just stokes them. Working harder does not make things better. Make preparations to leave.

Lesson No. 3: Know that bullies fear exposure. Their entire self-image is based on how their chosen mirrors treat them. That also means that they have deeply ingratiated themselves with anyone with power.

Lesson No. 4: Don't drink the Kool-Aid. Don't let them convince you, either explicitly or implicitly to keep silent. Make sure that you tell as many people as possible what is going on. Seek out the people who don't like or respect your supervisor, and see if they can help.

Finally, realize that you may not win, no matter how just your cause. Fight the good fight as long as possible, in order to rebuild your social capital, then move on.

As postdocs, we are exposed. We enjoy, in most cases, neither the rights of a student nor the privileges of an employee. We have to depend on the kindness of veritable strangers. The best advice I received during this whole terrible drama was from a friend, a former Jesuit brother who lives and works in one of the poorest, most stressed places on the planet. He pulled my story out of me over a few beers and a curry one evening, and he admonished me for putting up with the abuse. "What you are doing is just meditating on the train tracks!" he said. It took me a while to realize I was not tied to the tracks like a damsel in distress. I had a choice. I am glad that I took his advice and jumped.
Lincoln Webber is the pseudonym of a Ph.D. in the sciences at a major research institution.

The second thing my nephew should take a loot at is this blog:
http://radio.weblogs.com/0147021/2006/07/18.html