I remember clearly the afternoon that I was accepted as a PhD student in my dream laboratory: the Antarctic Research Group at Boston University in Massachusetts. But I never did set foot on Antarctic soil or complete a PhD there. Just 18 months after I started my studentship in 2016, the group was rocked by accusations from several graduate students that the group leader, David Marchant, had sexually harassed them during field expeditions. After an investigation by the university, he was fired. (Marchant denied the allegations at the time. Neither he nor his lawyer, Jeffrey Sankey, could be reached for comment.) The rest of my time at Boston University had me in a difficult position. The institute took quick action to mitigate negative impacts on its public perception — taking down the lab’s website, for example. But it guaranteed me and another remaining student funding only until the end of the academic year. And I was often met with intrigue and wariness rather than support from others in the Antarctic research community. Instead of scientific enquiries, I found myself having to field awkward questions at interviews for new PhD positions: had I known beforehand (I hadn’t) and had I been harassed myself (I hadn’t)? I decided to pursue a PhD abroad.
The huge toll of PhDs on mental health: data reveal stark effects
In January 2025, eight years later, I finally defended a PhD in Earth science at the Helmholtz Centre for Geoscience in Potsdam, Germany. This journey has left me with a few suggestions regarding how graduate students can equip themselves with resilience in the face of academic hierarchical structures that leave them open to exploitation, as well as how university programmes can do better by their students. Each year, hundreds of thousands of students start research-based doctorates, entering a precarious system gamed mostly to their disadvantage. The structures and requirements for such degrees vary between countries. But the problems — often stemming from the hierarchical nature of academia — seem to persist beyond borders. Although good mentorship can have a positive effect on career outcomes, in practice, PhD students are too often left to fend for themselves.
My main advice is this: students, treat your PhD as you would a job. This message is often used to counter the academic culture of overwork and the serious mental-health challenges that triggers. I suggest extending the mentality beyond the work itself — for example, to communication. In Germany, I’ve found that relationships across academic hierarchies are often polite but rarely as familiar as they can be in the United States. This formal distance helps people to communicate professionally and openly during scientific disagreements, and avoids the perception of favouritism.
The importance of fostering a network cannot be understated. Networks build resilience. I found it helpful to identify a few key mid- to senior-stage leaders in the field, outside my immediate group and based at several institutions. I turned to them for guidance and opportunities.
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To build a network, attend conferences — in person where possible. Use social media. Write for a society blog. Support and build connections with academic peer groups — today’s graduate workers are the next generation of managers in this academic–industrial complex. Through my networks, I’ve received, and offered, everything from job opportunities to outreach possibilities.
Approaching a PhD like a job also relies on formal structural support. Join a union (if possible) or work towards unionizing graduate workers. Universities should support such endeavours and, in their absence, offer clear terms around the length of financial support for the expected time to finish a degree and its associated outputs (such as publications, a thesis and teaching others). Union-negotiated contracts should ensure safeguards for unforeseen circumstances, holding institutions to account when they act inappropriately.
