I went to high school and college at the height of the women’s liberation movement in the 1970s. We knew gender discrimination was a problem—but we were to solve it.
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My father, who was the head of our family, encouraged me to become a doctor. I was the eldest and golden child in our family. I tried my best to please her, graduated at the top of my class and followed in her footsteps and became an academic.
I became a decorated ear, nose and throat surgeon and cancer researcher, recognized for making advances in the field and publishing my work in the most prestigious medical journals. My father promised me: If you are the best, you will get ahead in life.
I was an ambitious young woman who would have been proud of the work I do today. But she had no idea how big a role gender would play in her professional life.
Sexism in science and medicine is not always obvious – but so is equal opportunity.
Sometimes it can be hard to see the barriers that hinder women’s success. Yet, once we recognize them, we know there are ways to remove them.
I’ve been studying sexism in academic medicine since 2019, and I’ve learned from countless interviewees that my experience as a woman in medicine is common. Women are rarely well advised – in fact, when they seek advice from senior faculty, they often do so discouraged From presenting their research papers in high-impact journals, despite making as many scientific discoveries as men. A woman I interviewed described how she wanted to submit a paper to the journal NatureBut his guru tells him that this is unrealistic, and that he should not bother. And the most prestigious journals have few female editors and reviewers, limiting our ability to build our own networks and avenues of publication. When women can’t publish, women can’t get grants. When women can’t get grants, we can’t get promotions and are denied access to the resources needed to do the important work we’ve been trained to do — and want to do.
Publications are the basic currency of success in my field. The number of publications is considered whenever we are evaluated for any professional advancement or honor. The reputation – or “impact factor” – of journals matters, as well as the position of our names on the list of authors. (Even the most accomplished scientists fight over where their names appear in the authorship order and whether they are given the rank of “senior” or “corresponding” author.) Competition for promotion and tenure, awarding grants, and admission to elite professional societies is intense.
The truth is hard to swallow: The gender gap in scientific publishing is real. Compared with men, women publish fewer papers, typically in lower-impact journals, experience longer peer-review times, and are less likely to be credited as co-authors on studies where they contribute – senior authors who decide who is worthy of co-authorship view women as simply “doing their job” while men in similar roles are viewed as legitimate co-authors.
High-impact journals have fewer female editors reviewing these papers. Since publishing affects everything from getting a job to being granted tenure, from being given laboratory resources to being admitted to prestigious societies, preventing women from publishing affects their entire careers.
When I published my first research paper as a medical student, I didn’t fully understand the forces at work. My dear (male) guru chose the magazine to which we should send it. He knew the editor and called him to advocate for our article. Things continued like this when I was in medical school – I would meet with my mentor weekly, and he would critique what I wrote, helping shape the final manuscript. However, he wasn’t just teaching me how to prepare scientific papers. As we worked together, I observed how he consistently leveraged his professional relationships to advocate for the research coming from his group. Yet they never explicitly discussed How He did that, and I don’t know how he built his network. He did not offer to introduce me to his contacts.
Once I was alone—when I was not working directly with my mentor—I made a discovery that had significant implications for preventing and treating cancer. I wrote the paper and sent it to a prestigious journal; He considered but ultimately rejected it. I worked my way up a list of magazines, and finally got published in a good-but-not-great magazine. The work was solid – it has stood the test of time and is often cited as the basis for the development of drugs that have later been approved by the FDA to treat many cancers. Yet, it was not recognized by the editors of prestigious magazines – they had no connection to me, and I did not have the “in” to get it published there.
Why was it so difficult to publish papers based on excellent science? Not only was its reception disappointing, but it also took a very long time (18 months!) from the time it was first submitted to finally being accepted by the journal where it was published. Having the idea, getting funding, and doing the work wasn’t the hardest part – publishing a paper seemed even more challenging.
I finally understood the difference between myself and my male colleagues when I had a completely different experience a few years later.
Women were fighting for these rights long before the women’s liberation movement. Decades later, we continue the fight. Our work is not done yet.
I collaborated on a project with a male colleague at a specialized institution to determine the genetic characteristics of head and neck cancer. I collected high-quality tumor samples while they had access to sequencing and analytical platforms to analyze the results. When the famous head of my colleague’s elite institution found out what we were doing, he joined the team and provided funding for the study. When we were ready to write up the results, this powerful man reached out to an equally powerful man who was on the editorial board of a high-impact journal. They agreed that the work should be published there. This was a stark contrast to my previous experiences; This time, the paper was submitted, reviewed, and immediately accepted. The time from first presentation to acceptance was less than two months. The “toll” I paid for this was sharing the position of senior writer with these people. Although this diminished my role in publishing articles, I understood it as the cost of supporting membership in the scientific boys’ club.
With this particular experience, I felt as if they let me into the locker room temporarily, just long enough for me to get useful publishing tips for the future. Message: It’s not just about the importance of research-who do you know This is what really matters in getting a paper published.
Sometimes it can be hard to see the barriers that hinder women’s success. Yet, once we recognize them, we know there are ways to remove them. We can ensure that women receive the same funding and research support as men; We could pay them equally; And we can take a closer look at whether merit is really the main criterion in scientific publishing.
Publication is the lifeblood of research. If you don’t publish, there’s no evidence you ever did this work – not to mention that career success demands it. Closing the gender gap in scientific publishing will help women scientists advance, and truth be told, our unique approach will help society as a whole. We can draw more attention to the life-saving work women do by ending the “scientific boys’ club” – and encourage the next generation of bright, young science-minded girls to pursue careers in medicine.
Women were fighting for these rights long before the women’s liberation movement. Decades later, we continue the fight. Our work is not done yet.
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Harsh medicine: Why women can’t advance in science and health care By Jennifer Rubin Grandis Available from Johns Hopkins University Press.
