OpenSkyLab | Blog

There is a growing, uncomfortable silence in the corridors of our universities. It is the silence of mediocrity being stamped with a seal of approval. As an active participant in the scientific community, I encounter this reality far too often, particularly within our specific post-transition academic landscape: the standard of doctoral studies is often woefully inadequate. We are churning out Doctor of Philosophy holders who, quite frankly, do not understand what the PhD behind their name actually signifies. It is time we spoke openly about why this is happening and, more importantly, how we must fix it.

A significant part of this problem is culturally rooted. There is a prevalent mindset, often attributed to a specific kind of pragmatic minimalism found in our region, that prioritises comfort over ambition. It is a desire to find the path of least resistance. Students frequently enter doctoral programmes without a burning question or a drive to change their field. Instead, they enter with a checklist. The current academic system feeds this lack of ambition by codifying the PhD into a game of numbers. The focus shifts entirely to the minimum requirement (usually a set number of articles) rather than the quality or coherence of the research.

This minimalist approach is toxic to genuine discovery. We see dissertations that are essentially stapler theses – a collection of papers, often disjointed or of negligible scientific value, forced together with a vague introduction, defended at the lowest possible standard. The result is that we produce graduates who possess a title but lack a vision. They have ticked the boxes, but they have not pushed the boundaries of human knowledge. Often, these graduates defend topics that are barely connected, lacking the ability to synthesise their findings into a larger scientific narrative. Consequently, we are left with PhD holders with whom we simply don't know what to do. Many leave academia or research entirely, rendering the state’s investment, and the years of time spent by everyone involved, effectively useless.

However, it would be intellectually dishonest to place the blame solely on the students. The failure often begins at the top. In the current climate, many supervisors treat doctoral candidates not as junior colleagues to be nurtured but as tools for metric farming. Supervisors are often chasing points, impact factors, or personal prestige. To them, a PhD student is often just cheap labour, a technician to process data, run simulations, and boost the supervisor's publication count. Far too many supervisors are inexperienced or disengaged. They may have a wall full of titles, but they possess little pedagogical ability or genuine interest in mentorship. They do not teach their students how to construct a project, think critically, or navigate the scientific community. They simply extract work. When a student graduates without knowing how to write a project proposal, how to write a coherent article independently, or how to teach, the supervisor has failed.

This is where we must draw a line. In my own practice as a mentor, I refuse to accept this status quo. A doctorate is not a checklist of tasks; it is the transition from a consumer of knowledge to a creator of it. When I take on a doctoral student, I make one thing clear immediately – meeting the requirements is a byproduct, not the goal. It is not about the number of articles. It is about whether the student has a story to tell. The questions that matter are: Have we actually achieved something? Have we moved the research forward? Is the narrative comprehensive enough to withstand scrutiny? A true PhD trajectory should be cohesive and well-defined. It requires a unified goal where partial studies build upon one another, leading from specific steps to a general breakthrough. This approach is significantly harder. It requires immense effort from the student and, crucially, time, patience, and dedication from the supervisor.

My goal is simple – I want to be able to stand behind every one of my graduates without reservation, and equally, I never want them to be ashamed of me. I want them to leave knowing the things I know now, not just what I knew a decade ago. I want them to be capable of leading their own research teams. I treat them as equals because I am not just training an assistant; I am cultivating a true peer. I am training the person who might one day take over my work. It is no cause for embarrassment if a student eventually surpasses their supervisor in a specific domain; on the contrary, it is the ultimate proof of successful mentorship. The fear that a student might become "too good", which leads some supervisors to withhold information or limit a student's growth, is fundamentally anti-scientific. To achieve this, we must teach more than just technical skills. A doctoral student who cannot communicate their vision is a silenced scientist. If a graduate cannot write a grant proposal, they will struggle to navigate the competitive landscape of modern science. If they cannot teach, they likely do not understand their own subject deeply enough. If they cannot work in a team, they are obsolete, because the era of the solitary genius is over.

I write this having recently successfully habilitated. I am well aware that in the rigid hierarchies of academia, some senior colleagues may dismiss these views as the naive idealism of a newcomer—someone who supposedly lacks the "years in the trenches." However, mere longevity is not a proxy for competence. A long list of titles, functions, or decades of tenure does not automatically transform someone into a capable mentor. Experience is valuable, but only if it is built on a foundation of rigorous standards. It is our principles and our goals, not the length of our CVs or the politics of personality, that determine our worth as supervisors. Doing science correctly requires a mindset that is independent of age, rank, or alliances, and standards must be upheld regardless of the number of letters one has before or after their name.

It is often argued that such idealism is economically naive in a system addicted to metrics. While it is true that grant agencies frequently demand numbers, playing the short game of quantity is a strategic error. Churning out mediocre papers might secure small, local grants, but it effectively disqualifies a research group from the major league. The most prestigious funding bodies are increasingly shifting their focus from simple publication counts to genuine impact and innovation. A lab that produces mediocrity might survive, but it will never lead. To secure significant funding we must offer vision, not just volume.

This philosophy requires patience. It takes longer to train a student this way than it does to push them through a degree mill. But it is the only way to oppose the fast-food culture of modern academia. We are fighting against visionless leaders who prioritise quantity over quality and who blindly worship metrics that say nothing about the true value of research. If we continue to award degrees for the minimum effort, we erode public trust in science. We must commit to raising a responsible generation of scientists who understand that the PhD behind their name is not just a career stepping stone but a commitment to rigour, truth, and the relentless pursuit of knowledge. We must teach them to think, to lead, and to teach others. Only then can we say we have truly succeeded.