I am a scientist. An ecologist. I work on invasion biology, global change, biodiversity—at the points where ecological reality, society, and costs intersect. During my studies, we were told very clearly what matters: publish or perish. So I published, early, extensively, internationally, and in most cases with substance. More than two hundred peer-reviewed papers, several thousand citations, global collaborations. I received two Marie Curie Fellowships: one for my PhD abroad, one for my postdoc, which I am currently doing. In addition, I was awarded an international prize for my work in invasion science.

 

By the standards we were taught to follow, I did everything that is expected of an academic career.

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After my PhD, I then moved back to Germany to spent six years as a postdoc at one of the arguably most renowned research institutes in that country. I was productive, visible, and I thought also successful. And then it ended. Not because I was no longer wanted. But because, according to the law, I was no longer allowed to be employed and at the same time, no one was willing to offer me a permanent perspective. This was when I first realized, that the system uses people intensively as long as they are on temporary contracts and lets them go as soon as they become institutionally inconvenient.

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I accept that and started to write grant applications. Many, both national and international. I developed ideas further, adapted them, refined them, but failed. Sure, some applications were better than others, but what was most devestating were the reviewer comments I received. Constructive? No, not at all. It was only months later that I found out from a colleague that his lab-mate was one of the reviewers and mentioned rejecting me because "I seemed to competitive for him". This shook me, but it was around that time I won the second Marie Curie Fellowship, so I ignored it. Eventually, I continued to prepare another application within one of the most prestigious programs for scientific independence. At the same time, I contacted universities and asked whether they would be willing to host me. The answers were polite, detailed, and sobering: budget constraints, higher-education pacts, long-term commitments, lack of planning security. They wanted to focus in the coming years on maintaining existing structures. Not even if external funding were available. At some point, you begin to understand that these answers are not personal, but systemic, especially when you see who they were currently employing, not as Professors, but as mid-level researchers. 

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Even worse is, that at the same time, I see people being appointed. Colleagues, acquaintances. And I realize that I am no longer angry, but more and more puzzled. Why? Because objectively, some of my own PhD students already perform better on paper than some of these appointees. More output, more visibility, more international experience. And yet others explain career paths, give advice, speak from a position that is not based on disciplinary superiority, but on institutional power. For instance after one rejection, I was told that I was on a good path, but still needed to close some gaps. More independently acquired third-party funding (oh well..). More PhD students (I already had three...). More leadership experience (as Post doc...?). More committee work (aehm...?). More teaching (lovely...), ideally in a way that immediately covers everything. It was kindly phrased, but between the lines, something else was written: my quality was not the problem; my insufficient fit with an ideal profile was—one that is hardly attainable without already holding a professorship.

I replied, kindly, asking if there was any possibilities to engage at that University by means of teaching, course work. Not only as a work to remain connected but to hone my skills and develop my CV even further. The response? I was ignored. Even my follow-up eMail was left unattended. What else could I do?

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I have discussed this a lot, and I mean it: A LOT! I was told that productivity only counts up to a certain point. After that, it is about fit, diplomacy, being liked. And I understand that. No one likes to hire someone who creates conflict. Diplomacy is important. But it must come from a position of disciplinary competence. Otherwise, it means bending yourself for a lifetime and being especially nice to those who often reached their positions more by chance than by merit. But then something dangerous happens: disciplinary competence in the system slowly declines, while adaptability is rewarded. I ask myself: What remains objective once productivity is relativized? Third-party funding. Teaching. I have delivered both. After that, things become surprisingly vague. Then terms like reliability, calmness, fit start to matter. Things that are rarely said openly, but that ultimately carry decisions.

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My dream was always to become a professor, like my parents, like my mentors at University. To teach. To pass on knowledge. To train students. Since my studies, I wanted to return to the university where it all began. Not out of nostalgia, but out of a sense of connection. By now, it is clear that all relevant new appointments there did not point toward me. Not loudly, not openly—but clearly enough. And with that, this dream has quietly come to an end.

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This is not an individual failure. It is a structural problem. Because when a system systematically filters out people who are productive, independent, internationally visible, and strong in their field, it has consequences for the quality of teaching, for the capacity for innovation, and for the intellectual substance of universities. One then has to ask an uncomfortable question: if this is the direction in which science is developing—would inconvenient, visible, outspoken scientists of earlier generations have had any chance today to be heard at all? Or would they, too, have been sorted out as “not fitting”, “not ready yet”, or “too difficult”?

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I am not writing this to discourage anyone. But to get it out of my head and on "paper", so that those that find their way here understand what they are getting into. The decisive question is not whether one is good enough. It is which system that person wants to be good in.

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That decision is best made early. Not only once you realize that you have stopped expecting things to turn out differently.