Grant proposals are written in first-person future, a spine-tingling tense rarely encountered in the literary wild. When done effectively, it can suffuse a text with aspiration and optimism; when done poorly, skepticism or boredom. The voice I hear when I read a persuasive proposal is John F. Kennedy explaining why we should go to the moon: We propose these three specific aims, “not because they are easy, but because they are hard; because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills.” I don’t recommend using this exact line of argument in a grant proposal, but my point is that, as a reviewer, I want to feel inspired.
Inspiration can be hard to come by for neuroscientists these days, as the White House and U.S. Congressional Republicans work to dismantle the biomedical research system in the United States. Research grants have been arbitrarily (and illegally) canceled, federal science agencies such as the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and National Science Foundation have been decimated, and based on the Republican budget proposals, prospects for future scientific funding are dismal. It is especially hard not to think about this gruesome milieu when participating in grant review, a process that is itself under threat from the Trump administration. In this piece, I will explain how NIH grant review looks and feels from the perspective of an NIH study section member, report on changes I have seen in the past few months and make a case for why it’s important that we work to sustain our current scientific review system.
Reviewing grant proposals is not a universally beloved activity. More often than not, it is excruciating. But what makes it even rougher is when the organization for whom you are doing all this hard work “craps in your symbolic oatmeal.” In May, Kush Desai, White House deputy press secretary, told Nature, “Paying so-called ‘experts’ to deliberate bad ideas for hundreds of hours is exactly the kind of waste that DOGE is eliminating.” This is clearly hyperbolical and intended to provoke ivory tower residents like me, but the sad fact is that many Americans probably believe it. So, as one of these “so-called experts,” let me first lay out what actually happens on an NIH grant review panel, or “study section.”
As a standing member of an NIH study section, I review 8 to 10 applications four times a year. These are mostly R01 proposals to provide funding for five years, with annual budgets between $250,000 and $500,000 in direct costs, the money that goes to the lab to support salaries, equipment and supplies. If awarded, the institution then gets roughly 50 percent of that sum in “indirect costs,” negotiated rates that support its infrastructure, administration and other expenses. (If Trump has his way, indirect cost rates will be capped at 15 percent, but that is a whole different issue.) I spend about 30 cumulative hours—4 hours per grant—each quarter reading proposals and writing reviews. The NIH imposes strict conflict-of-interest criteria, so I never review or participate in the discussion of proposals from collaborators or colleagues at my institution.
After I submit my reviews, I read my colleagues’ evaluations of the same proposals. A week later, the entire study section (roughly 30 people) meets on Zoom for two consecutive nine-hour (or longer) days to discuss and score each grant. For this effort—roughly 50 hours per study section meeting—I receive $400 in compensation. Adjusting for inflation, this amounts to less than half the hourly wage I earned as a 16-year-old dishwashing prodigy at the finest Mexican restaurant in central Maine.
So why does anybody serve on NIH study sections when they could earn a higher wage scrubbing away quesadilla cheese? Personally, I am motivated by a sense of duty and a desire to support the scientific enterprise. I see grant review as an important form of community service. Other scientists have dedicated their time to reviewing my grants, and so I should take a turn. I want my own proposals to be evaluated fairly and rigorously, so I try to do the same for others. The process benefits me as well; I have learned a lot from reading, thinking about and discussing other people’s grants, and I believe it has made me a better writer and scientist.
The study section I belong to reviews a broad range of grant proposals related to sensorimotor neuroscience. Many are close to my expertise in basic neuroscience—studies of fundamental biology in model organisms such as flies, mice and monkeys. Others are directly working to improve human health through clinical trials. Sitting on a study section has shown me how the work of basic scientists lays the foundation for developing new therapies. Many of my favorite moments of study section are when these connections are made—when a clinician reaches to understand the significance of a study about neuromodulation in nematodes, or when a basic neuroscientist questions the biological mechanisms that underlie a proposed therapeutic intervention in people.
NIH study sections are among the only spaces in which these interdisciplinary conversations take place. They may not be perfect, but I believe we have a mostly effective system to select scientific projects for funding, and that it is worth fighting to preserve.
D
espite the Trump administration’s supposed focus on improving efficiency, several aspects of study section have recently grown more cumbersome. NIH grant review was completely frozen in the first few months after Trump’s inauguration. Then study sections were canceled at the last minute when the meeting announcements were not posted in the Federal Register, despite reviewers being asked to review grants and prepare for the meetings. These delays and cancellations were a tremendous waste of time and money. Thankfully, that initial phase of frozen study sections has mostly passed. We recently had a makeup meeting to discuss the grants from the canceled March study section. But some proposals disappeared after some grant mechanisms, particularly those designated for underrepresented groups, were canceled.At the forefront of my mind these days as I read and evaluate the future-tense aspirations of my colleagues is whether they will ever come to fruition. Even if we deem them to be significant, rigorous and tractable, there is now a far lower chance that the investigators will receive the funds and that the work will get done. The percentage of grants funded at the NIH was already low; last year, more than 85 percent of grant applications submitted to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke were rejected. The budget being considered in the Senate right now would cut funding by more than 40 percent. There are also certain universities, such as Harvard, Columbia and Northwestern, that are receiving zero federal grant funding right now. Evaluating proposals from principal investigators at these targeted institutions feels particularly tragic.
Scientists are currently debating whether continuing to pour effort into evaluating grants that may never be funded is a waste of time. I concur with the sentiments of my colleague Annika Barber, who was recently quoted on an episode of “This American Life”: “It feels like we’re fiddling while Rome burns, talking about some cool genes, and worms and mice, and all the interesting genome-wide association studies that we could do if money keeps existing.”
But I don’t think administrative delays and funding cuts are a reason to give up just yet. Although other countries around the world have experimented with different review systems, the consensus is that the U.S. system is among the most fair, rigorous and effective. As much harm as a 40 percent cut to the NIH budget would have on scientific innovation, destroying the peer-evaluation system that decides what science is funded would be far worse.
And that is exactly what it appears the Trump administration wants to do. A recent executive order would make it so that “policy-influencing positions” within the NIH could be replaced by political appointees. In other words, the president could directly appoint institute directors and program officers, who would be able to influence funding decisions, potentially warping or overriding peer evaluation. If this happens, and the reviews I basically volunteer my time to write begin to be ignored, I will quit. In the meantime, I’ve added some new tasks to my list of uncompensated duties: pestering my elected representatives, speaking out about the threats to U.S. science, and building community among my fellow scientists, in the hope that we can work together to install a metaphorical screen over our symbolic oatmeal.
