Opinion | Reflecting on yet another year of scientific fraud at the University of Minnesota

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As the calendar year winds down at the University of Minnesota, let’s take a moment to reflect on another landmark year of scientific fraud. In February, neuroscientist Sylvain Lesne resigned after an investigation by the journal Science revealed stunning evidence that he had doctored images in more than 20 papers, including one of the most influential papers in the field of Alzheimer’s research. In May, the Department of Energy terminated a $2 million grant to Sayan Biswas, an assistant professor of mechanical engineering, alleging that he had fabricated data. News of that scandal came shortly after the resignation of Rachel Hardeman, the Blue Cross Endowed Professor of Health and Racial Equity, after disturbing evidence emerged indicating that she had plagiarized a NIH grant application.

At the end of June came yet another blow. A sweeping ProPublica investigation raised serious questions about Nancy Harper, a specialist in Child Abuse Pediatrics at the university, whose aggressive reports on child abuse have allegedly led to small children being taken away from innocent parents who were simply seeking medical care. In one case, a controversial report by Harper even led to murder charges against a day care provider.

One might imagine that a string of scandals like this would trigger some institutional soul-searching. Yet each episode has come and gone with barely a flicker of concern, much less alarm. There has been no public outrage, no faculty protests, no lawmakers demanding reform. In fact, just the opposite: The university has announced that the administrator in charge of “research integrity” since 2024, Joanne Billings, will be promoted to interim vice president for research and innovation.

Is anyone surprised? Last year in San Francisco I met with a veteran investigative health reporter whose work has made him very familiar with the U. He told me that while many institutions have to deal with medical misconduct, the University of Minnesota is part of a small club of universities where fraud and abuses happen so often that scandals simply come to be expected. He wondered if I had any idea why.

It starts with the way that the administration deals with misconduct. By the time neuroscientist Sylvain Lesne left his job at the U, data experts had identified more than 70 “apparently falsified images” in Lesne’s published papers. Yet it took the university 2½ years to complete an investigation, and even then, it recommended retraction of only four of 20 flagged papers. Matthew Schrag of Vanderbilt University told Science, “The University of Minnesota’s inconsistent, incomplete, and delayed actions have seriously harmed their reputation and done a disservice to the field of Alzheimer’s research.”

At least the faculty members who complained about Hardeman still have jobs. Bazak Sharon is an infectious-disease specialist and a former faculty member in the department of pediatrics. His mistake was to disagree with Nancy Harper’s accusation that two children he had seen as a clinician had been physically abused by their parents — a claim that led Child Protective Services to remove the children from their homes. When Sharon put his medical opinion in the children’s records, he was told that he was putting the university at risk of legal liability and was forced to resign.

To me, these stories have an uncomfortably familiar sound. For over six years, I and a group of colleagues tried to get an investigation into the death of Dan Markingson, a mentally ill young man who committed suicide in 2004 after being pressured into a deeply flawed psychiatric drug study over the repeated objections of his mother. Our efforts were blocked at every turn by university administrators. It was only after former Gov. Arne Carlson began speaking out about the case that the state Legislature asked the Office of the Legislative Auditor to investigate. When the office released its scathing report on the scandal in 2015, it noted that it was “especially troubled” by the misleading public statements issued by university leaders and their refusal to acknowledge that the case involved grave ethical issues.

These latest episodes fit into a long pattern of medical misconduct at the U dating back to the early ’90s: the felony conviction of our chair of child psychiatry for research fraud, the FDA disqualification of another faculty member for mistreatment of human subjects and, most notoriously, the ALG scandal (involving the transplant drug anti-lymphocyte globulin) — a disaster that resulted in five years of NIH probation, a $32 million settlement with the Department of Justice, and the exit of 86 faculty members from the medical school. What is most striking about this 30-year record of medical misconduct is that it has continued unabated through so many administrations. The response is always the same: Deny wrongdoing, stonewall reporters, punish dissenters and wait for it all to blow over. If that doesn’t work, mollify the critics with a “task force” or “reform committee” stacked with compliant members.

This approach is effective as a public relations tactic, but it comes with a profound moral cost. First, it tells the victims of wrongdoing that what happened to them doesn’t matter. Second, it does violence to the truth and undermines those who try to defend it. Finally, it corrodes the reputation of the university and demoralizes those who work there. How can a professor keep a straight face while instructing a student not to cheat when both of them know that university administrators protect plagiarists and frauds?

The administrators responsible for mishandling these cases deserve to be sanctioned, not promoted. Otherwise, nothing will change. The moment at which academic integrity comes to be seen as something only for suckers and chumps is the moment at which it will collapse.