whistleblowing
This post is part of an on-going series. If you feel lost, you can get an overview here or jump to the start here. Slowly but surely, the whistleblowing column in coming to a close. Yesterday, I finally finished the data criticism. It turned out rather expansive, but that was
whistleblowing
At long last, we arrive at this investigation’s final stop: Another PhD thesis of the same department. It resembles Fis’ in many ways—similar inconsistencies, problematic data, self-contradictory claims… but with one decisive difference: It actually shows data, and thus enables scrutiny.
philosophy
Until now, a major aspect of this blog concerned the detailing of my burnout and its underlying circumstances. That will change.
whistleblowing
The next publication on our retrograde path laid the foundation for the project's future, and is thus the most critical. Actual data is still eerily scant (especially for a PhD-thesis), and what little is provided is either unconvincing, or contradictory—and even just a glance reveals it.
whistleblowing
Finally, it is time for the data criticism. Even though the real issues lie elsewhere, it is my position’s cornerstone—and will reveal a shameful side of science.
whistleblowing
The dissatisfying ruling left me confused and unable to let go. I was tired, but not yet done. With academia lacking appropriate venues, I had to find my own way.
whistleblowing
Sending off the indictment was like firing a flare; the last option to signal my distress. All I could do was wait and hope for help. But help would not arrive. Over the next year, I would only grow ever more jaded by the state of modern academia.
whistleblowing
In growing need of clarity, I finally reached out for help, unaware the step would only mark the beginning of a surreal and taxing journey.
whistleblowing
Presenting my findings to a larger audience sent waves through the system. But they swiftly faded after crashing against rocks of denial. If I wanted clarity, I’d have to press on.
whistleblowing
With my supervisor denying an uncomfortable truth, I was locked in place until I finally burned out. I nonetheless persisted, uncovered a smoking gun—and fired the first shot.
whistleblowing
Two years into my PhD and with nothing to show for it, a failing side project (of all things) provided the clue that would bring clarity. Slowly, but surely, a harsh truth emerged.
whistleblowing
As the pandemic swept the world, my PhD project continued unchanged: utterly stuck. Its stubborn refusal to progress slowly took a toll. But despite mental decline, I would ultimately find what caused the problem.