Conflicts of Interest in Science

How Corporate-Funded Academic Research Can Threaten Public Health

Sheldon Krimsky

• Publisher: Hot Books
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781510736535
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Philosophy & Ethics in Science

30+ Years of Peer-Reviewed Studies on the Corporate Ties and Vested Interests that Influence Scientific Research For over 500 years, groups and organizations with political, economic, and personal interests have successfully exercised influence on the pursuit of scientific inquiry and knowledge. History is replete with examples like the Papal authority muddying research into studies of the cosmos, but far less attention is paid today to the various corporate and special interest groups who, through funding and lobbying efforts, have been able to shape the modern academic and scientific landscape to fit their agenda.In Conflicts of Interest Within Science, author Sheldon Krimsky compiles 21 peer-reviewed, academic articles that examine the complex relationship between the individual scientists conducting research and the groups who fund them. Ultimately, Krimsky's call to action concerns a collective movement among authors, peer reviewers, corporations and journal editors to disclose the sources of their funding. By holding scientists and the groups that fund them more accountable through increased transparency, we as a society can begin to rebuild trust in the integrity of knowledge.

Chapter 1

THE CORPORATE CAPTURE OF ACADEMIC SCIENCE AND ITS SOCIAL COSTS*

SHELDON KRIMSKY

Tufts University, Department of Urban and Environmental Policy

Commercial applications of molecular genetics and cell biology have resulted in a flurry of entrepreneurial activities among academic biologists and universities eager to cash in on the financial side of this technological revolution. The situation is not unique to biology. It is following the path of other disciplines that have formed close partnerships with industry, including nuclear and petroleum engineering, computer sciences, nutrition, electronics, and chemistry. Nevertheless, the current debate that has centered on the commercial ties of academic biologists has been more widely publicized than at any time in the past. Several hypotheses may be offered to explain this phenomenon.

The commercialization of biology occurred rapidly, and considerable media attention was given to the discoveries and the personalities involved. By the time many biologists developed commercial interests, a widely publicized controversy over the safety of recombinant DNA techniques had already taken place. The social and ethical issues associated with gene splicing provided grist for the public’s concern over the commercial activities of its pioneers. The confluence of social and ethical debates with commercialization of science generated a larger public reaction to the latter.

A second explanation centers on the perceived role of biomedical science in society. Unlike other scientific and engineering fields that have developed linkages with the private sector, biological research has been closely associated with public health. The public expectations of this area of research are greater than they are of such areas as chemistry or computer sciences. Moreover, the preponderance of funding for biomedical research comes from social resources. Consequently, in the public consciousness, the conjunction of these factors—namely, the sources and goals of funding—makes the academic entrepreneurs in biomedical science accountable for their commercial activities in ways that other scientists are not.1

However, I would conjecture that the distinction between the goals and funding of biomedical research and those of other commercialized disciplines provides only part of the answer. The types of university—industry relationships in biology are more varied, more aggressive, more experimental, and more indiscreet than they have been in similar historical circumstances. A significant number of new firms in biotechnology have sprung directly out of academia. By contrast, in the microelectronics field, most firms were spawned directly from industries that were recipients of U.S. Department of Defense contracts.2

Another explanation that sets biotechnology apart from other academia—industry partnerships was advanced by Congressman Albert Gore (D. Tenn.). According to the Congressman, in the past there has always been a distinction between pure and applied research in the means by which technology is transferred from academe to industry. Gore observed that, in genetic engineering, “there seems to be no phase of applied research: the discovery of the basic scientists may go directly and swiftly from the laboratory bench in the university into a profit-making venture.”3 As a result of the omission of the intermediate stage, Gore believes that an unusual set of ethical issues results.

An additional factor that helps to account for the vehemence of this issue is that our society has changed. In the post-Watergate period, we have become more sensitive to conflicts of interest. Laws have been passed to protect society from unsavory kinships between the public and the private sectors. Public interest groups monitor corporate influence on government agencies. As a consequence, the public and the media are more sensitive to allegations that public funds are being misused or that private interests are exploiting social resources. Public universities have been sued for violating their mandate to serve the general interest.4 Recent attention has also been directed at faculty misuse of federally supported projects.

The public perception of science, by and large, still portrays the contemporary scientist as a selfless discoverer of truth, despite efforts on the part of sociologists and the media to show otherwise. The marriage of science and Wall Street portends an illicit affair to most people. Perhaps this attitude is an outgrowth of the American Puritan tradition that financial gain distorts truth and values.

Why should we be concerned about what our universities or their faculties do to raise money? For one thing, universities and their faculties are a national resource. Our government depends on the expertise in academe for public policy formation. Second, universities are recipients of substantial government support, which implies some responsibility and accountability.

Much of the debate on the commercial ties of university faculty has centered on a number of issues involving the conflicting missions of business and academe. These include the control of intellectual property, the openness and accessibility of scientific and technical knowledge, the commingling of funds, the ownership of tangible research property, the use of public research funds for private business interests, and the influence of entrepreneurial faculty on the education of students. These are serious issues, and they have been aired to some extent in media coverage, university debates, and congressional hearings.5 Several leading universities have issued guidelines for faculty pursuing commercial interests and have established policies on contractual agreements between the university and the private sector.6

Notwithstanding these initiatives, there is an important side to the problem that the current debate has totally neglected. Even if all the aforementioned problem areas are satisfactorily resolved and the conflict of interests is removed, intense commercialization of biology could result in an enormous social liability. Let me summarize the principal argument in the form of a conjecture.

If a sufficiently large and influential number of scientists or engineers become financially involved with industry, problems related to the commercial applications of the particular area of science or engineering are neglected. The scientific community becomes desensitized to the social impacts of science. This desensitization leads to a conservative shift in attitudes and behavior. The new values emphasizing science for commerce become internalized and rationalized as a public good. The disciplinary conscience becomes transformed. This transformation happens incrementally, without conspiracy or malice. Scientists or engineers with a stake in the commercial outcome of a field cannot, at the same time, retain a public interest perspective that gives critical attention to the perversion of science in the interests of markets.

We are not dealing with a threshold phenomenon. There is no clear stage in the growth of academic-corporate partnerships when the effects I have outlined suddenly become observable. That this phenomenon exists must be inferred from the psychology of individual behavior and from our knowledge of how people’s values are shaped by their institutional affiliation and financial associations.

When the number of faculty involvements are small, the effects on public interest science are not likely to be important. As long as a sufficient number of scientists remain free from corporate influence, there will be a disinterested intelligentsia to whom the public can turn for a critical evaluation of technological risks, goals, and directions.

If my argument is correct, then the individual instances of faculty—industry ties are far less important than the aggregate corporate penetration into an academic discipline and the degree to which the major institutions and leading faculty are involved. It is my contention that, unless we have some quantitative information about the degree of corporate-academic interaction, we cannot appreciate the gravity of the problem.

What can be learned from a study of dual relationships in the area of biotechnology? Suppose we had before us perfect information about the commercial affiliations of academic scientists. What questions would we ask? We might want to know what percentage of faculty at leading universities has a substantial involvement in commercial enterprises. We might look at the extent to which the dual-affiliated academic population participates on public advisory committees or study panels. Unexpected results may be interpreted in several ways. Imagine that the participation is heavy. A skeptic might question whether the peer review process is being compromised by having a substantial number of commercially affiliated scientists reviewing grant proposals. It is inescapable that a diffusion of ideas will take place between reviewers and the institutions with which they are associated. On the other hand, suppose the participation is low. The same skeptic might explain this low participation by arguing that business interests have taken priority over the responsibility of scientists to participate in the peer review system.

Alternatively, there will be those who interpret the results, whatever they might be, as irrelevant to the effects mentioned. Notwithstanding problems of interpretation, I believe that there is some value in understanding the degree to which academia has financial interests in biotechnology.

To investigate the corporate relationships of academic scientists, I developed a data base of university faculty in biology, biochemistry, molecular genetics, and medicine who meet one or more of the following criteria with respect to biotechnology firms: (l) they serve on a scientific advisory board; (2) they hold substantial equity; (3) they serve as a principal in a company. Armed with this data base, which represents a lower bound of involvement because faculty connections to private firms are not ordinarily available, one can correlate this population group with other academic populations comprising leading biology departments; service on committees of the National Institutes of Health, the National Science Foundation, and the U.S. Department of Agriculture; and membership in the National Academy of Science.

This inquiry is not designed to test a hypothesis. Rather, it is designed to suggest a research program. If the degree of the corporate penetration of academic biology is sufficiently high, the next obvious question is: What are the effects of this penetration? I conjecture that these effects will reveal themselves as a shift from a public orientation of science to science for private profit. In the long run, this shift will result in the social neglect of technological abuse. Before I turn to the data, I shall offer some qualitative and historical examples that support the conjecture.

SCIENTIFIC OBJECTIVITY AND INDUSTRIAL INTERESTS

Public policy formation in a highly industrialized society such as ours is a complex affair. It frequently involves input from many areas of expertise. Scientists serve on a labyrinth of public advisory committees, review boards, and risk assessment panels throughout all levels of government. How do we ensure objectivity in the contributions of scientific experts to public issues, particularly where consensus is difficult to find? Recently, the Office of Technology Assessment (OTA) issued a report on biotechnology that made the argument that the dual affiliation of scientists in the academic and commercial worlds is actually more desirable from a public policy standpoint when expertise is needed:

An argument could be made that because the public has supported research in universities, it has a right to know whether a particular university faculty member who is giving testimony, for example, has a consulting relationship with a company that manufactures a particular harmful chemical. The negative side of the disclosure policies is that “objective” information may be judged “subjective” because of guilt by association. If a faculty member’s consulting arrangement with industry is declared openly, it is not necessarily the case that his or her testimony is biased. In fact, the expert may have a more objective view because he or she understands both the research and development aspects of the technology.7

There are two arguments here. The first is that the veil of confidentiality on the commercial affiliation of a scientist testifying before a governmental body would prevent bias against the individual’s presentation. According to the OTA, if the disclosure is required, testimony would not be taken on face value but would be dismissed for reasons of association. The second argument interprets objectivity to mean “multidimensionality.” The implication is that the more affiliations a person has, the more objective that person can be.

The OTA analysis confuses objectivity with eclecticism. There are many advantages in having faculty link up with the private sector. Those advantages include a greater awareness of the full life cycle of science, from discovery to manufacture. But the OTA makes a serious error when it describes the financial involvement of academic scientists in commercial ventures as a contributor to objectivity. The argument fails because of the financial interest. A form of eclecticism that is independent of pecuniary interests could indeed enhance objectivity. Proposals for a disinterested and eclectic intelligentsia have been advanced by a number of social theorists, including the Greek philosopher Plato and the German sociologist Karl Mannheim, both of whom were aware that knowledge is subject to the control of economic interests.

The history of technology provides an abundance of examples illustrating the distortion of objectivity when scientific expertise is beholden to the industrial sector. The causal relationship need not be absolute. We are dealing with a statistical phenomenon that is guided by factors of social psychology. Our conflict-of-interest laws are based on assumptions of human frailty as exemplified by the aphorism “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” It is a mistake, however, to view conflict of interest in terms of conspiracy of conscious design. It is my hypothesis that a sizable academic-industrial association will slowly change the ethos of science away from social protectionism and toward commercial protectionism. The aggregate of isolated individual decisions to go commercial creates a qualitatively new effect. It should be emphasized that the discovery of a problem tells us nothing about the solution. In some cases, it might be wise to live with the problem, to understand its social consequences, and to avoid draconian measures. For the problems outlined in this chapter, I will offer a few modest social antidotes.

Let me begin with a phenomenological exercise to illustrate my thesis. Imagine that you are heavily funded by a company to engage in research. Is it likely that you would publicly embarrass the company by revealing information or posing questions about its technological direction? Most scientists with a conscience would make their viewpoints known to the firm’s directors. But who wants to jeopardize his or her funding by making an issue public? The closer the relationship one has to a firm, the more propriety and self-interest dictates keeping criticisms within the corporate family.

A few years ago, I supervised a policy study involving the chemical contamination of a town’s water supply. The actors included a multinational corporation; town, state, and federal officials; a public advocacy group; and technical people. I chose to do the study for several reasons. First, it served the public interest. Second, it was a useful case for instructional purposes. Third, from a public policy standpoint, it represented a milestone for the implementation of a major federal law. If I had been funded by the corporation in question, that research study would never have entered my mind because of the likelihood the company would not be shown in the best light. If my department had been heavily funded by the company, including possibly graduate student stipends and multiyear grants, it is extremely doubtful that any faculty member would have chosen to study how the department’s corporate benefactor was implicated in the contamination of a water supply, unless there was reasonable assurance that the outcome would not be an embarrassment.

As the financial connections become more remote, the psychological and social factors that limit or restrict freedom of inquiry become less important. A corporate represe...