I read a series of valuable articles published in Star Science by Dr. Flor Lacanilao that, I am told, sparked negative and defensive reactions because they discussed how science should be done and how the Filipino scientific community has largely failed in its mission to serve the people. As a Filipino scientist who received his doctoral education in Canada and now works as aprofessor in the US, I have had the opportunity to get a sense of how science is done internationally through many years of research expeditions, conferences and direct contacts with international scientists. The purpose of this article is not to provide a scholarly analysis of how well various countries are doing in science and how they managed to do it. Neither is it meant to be a frontal attack upon the way science is administered or conducted in the Philippines. I am sensitive to the sometimes valid question of whether I have any right to be critical, given my abandonment of mi patria adorada. I would like readers to regard this article as more of a series of anecdotes that will hopefully provoke introspection and discussion among Filipino scientists, science administrators, and the tax-paying public. It is the latter, after all, who pay scientists to do science and who are owed their money’s worth.
There is no perfect system in any country, so this is why, as I suggest in the title, what one sees internationally is a broad range or spectrum  as in the colors of the rainbow  a continuous gradation from "function," albeit imperfect, to complete "dysfunction." By functionality, I mean that the scientific community plays a positive role by generating new knowledge, by subjecting findings to peer-review (submission of scientific manuscripts to refereed journals), through success in having these submissions accepted and published (then read and cited by others in the international scientific community), by accountability for the way tax money is spent, and by serving as the engine of intellectual advancement and economic development.
The consequence of the above is that the lives of university scientists are now very different compared to what they were like in the 1960s, and very different from what most readers of this article may envision. Let me illustrate. When scientists apply for research funding from the US National Science Foundation (NSF), a federal agency, each application is reviewed by six to eight anonymous referees. Their written reviews are evaluated by a panel of 15 or so scientists under the supervision of a program director. Each panel member is assigned to present several proposals to the group. Then, everyone is invited to comment on the strengths and weaknesses of each proposal. The panel ranks the proposals and the program director makes the final decision concerning which ones to fund and how much money to give. The typical funding rate is between 10 and 15 percent  meaning 10 to 15 applications get funded out of every 100 submitted nationwide each time the panel meets (panels meet twice a year). So the very low success rate reflects how little money there is. Having been a panel member myself, I can say that a funding rate of 30 percent would be more fair and would still fund the mosthighly deserving scientists. Nevertheless, the system is such that a proposal of poor quality, submitted by a mediocre scientist, could not possibly be funded. Panels award grants to the "top 10-15 percent" based on the quality of the proposals and the track records of the applicants.
Professors in major universities typically spend more time writing grant applications, doing research, and writing research papers than teaching. This is as it should be  universities do not just teach; they exist for the advancement of knowledge. But the enterprise costs money and virtually all US universities survive financially by charging research grants "indirect costs." What this means is that at the University of California at Santa Barbara, about 45 percent of my NSF grant money goes to the university. In addition, universities pay faculty nine-month salaries, so many of themadd two months of summer salary into their grant budgets. This system greatly increases the amounts individual scientists must ask for and contributes to the low funding rates. All these characteristics lead to my description of the system as "lean"  referring to its lack of fat.
Now, I’ll get to how it is "mean." The young US scientist with a recent Ph.D. degree and a few years of postdoctoral research training faces a formidable challenge. Landing a faculty position involves successfully competing with 50 (or maybe even 100 or more) highly qualified applicants. To become tenured (which means to be made a permanent faculty member) requires research and the publication peer-reviewed research papers of sufficient quantity and quality. Obviously, this requires that sufficient funds be raised to support the research. Therefore, this young person has to be, at the very least, one of the top 10 to 15 percent of US scientists from the perspective of funding agencies. I say "at the very least" because tenure decisions are based on peer review and not on grant dollars alone. The quality and quantity of research publications, teaching and service are scrutinized within one’s department, at higher levelswithin the university, as well as externally by several external referees. Those who don’t measure up are denied tenure and asked to leave; in a few elite universities, only 10 percent of new faculty make it to tenure. I should add, however, that it would be a mistake to think that the unfortunates never move on to live happy, productive lives. There are jobs in industry, small colleges, government agencies, etc. But for those who survive, performing successfully in a system with extraordinarily high expectations, among ambitious, opinionated, ego-inflated colleagues (each at or near the top of their respective fields) can be an enjoyable life  in a somewhat perverted way. However, failure to land a faculty job, denial of tenure, and the demands of the profession even among those who succeed have also led to embittered lives, failed marriages and, in a few instances, shots fired and the SWAT team in the coffee room. Long after tenure, internationally recognized professors who may have already authored leading textbooks and 100 or more scientific papers in their fields still compete in a system that funds 10 to 15 percent of applicants. US science is a meritocracy, geared to support only the best work done by the best people.
Policies may be misguided or could be improved in the preceding examples, but they should be enough to convince readers of a number of things: Being a scientist is not easy; rather, it is a tough, fast-paced, fiercely competitive life, not too dissimilar from the life of a professional athlete or concert musician who must constantly perform at the highest level. This is because the scientific systems in these examples of "imperfect functionality" tend to be lean and mean, and are structured to support the only the "best." The resulting quality control produces what is arguably the best science these countries are capable of. Charlatans tend not to be hired by respectable institutions, are unable to secure government funding to support their work, and are deprived of the opportunity to waste taxpayers’ money. The positive outcomes are seen in how research and development fuel economic growth (there are studies that actually show the extent to which this is so), in how universities have evolved to become "playgrounds of the mind" (to borrow a phrase from Jose Rizal)  where independent scholars concern themselves with global climate change, the current biodiversity crisis, alternative energy sources, stem cell research, or the design of ancient Roman toilets, regardless of what George W. Bush says. And we know from history that from healthy, vibrant and productive scientific communities sprout discoveries that lead to new world-views and such things as light bulbs, penicillin, and computers  like flowers sprouting in a grassy field.
(To be concluded)