The Bureaucratisation of Chinese Research: More Money and Less Innovation – by Zhang Hong, a Biologist at CAS
"The kind of research in China that relies on amassing manpower and resources is much like collecting stamps—the papers it produces are [ultimately] just a heap of rubbish."
The following is an account by Zhang Hong, a biologist at the Chinese Academy of Science (CAS), of a scientific culture being eroded by the infusion of centrally managed resources and overly bureaucratic assessments. Because most critiques of China’s scholarly trends come from the humanities and social sciences, this account by a scientist—successful in his field yet uninterested in “celebrity scientist” fame—is especially valuable in its provenance.
Zhang does not dispute that Chinese research is flourishing in quantitative terms. His concern is a deeper cultural decay produced by “resource-driven research”: the mass mobilisation of academic talent through hyper-bureaucratised funding and assessment, prestigious titles and shiny new institutes. Funding shapes research everywhere, but Zhang’s target is more specific: the concentrated channelling of resources into extravagant research projects controlled by powerful academic “oligarchies” and intellectually aloof committees.
Rather than encouraging “0-to-1” breakthroughs or even “1-to-100” incremental improvements, he caustically describes the system as tending towards “0-to-minus-1”—piling up resources to create impressive-looking “piles of rubbish”. Young scholars, in turn, become more focused on joining well-funded research teams than on pursuing breakthroughs in their own areas of expertise.
Complaints about the bureaucratisation of research are not new. In China’s medical profession, a relentless policy emphasis on publication output has made career advancement for young doctors contingent on meeting research quotas—fuelling paper mills that ghost-write the articles. In the humanities, the exemplar remains the Qing History Project, which marshalled enormous sums of funding and labour to produce a 3.2 million-character history of China’s last dynasty, only for officials to reject the draft in 2023—ostensibly for political incorrectness. The project is still humming along with reduced funding, but still enough to absorb the efforts of many scholars and graduate students.
Zhang is especially scathing about the role of superstar scholars returning to China from elite US universities. These remigrations are usually presented as a boon to Chinese research. Zhang, however, sees their effect as often malign: too frequently driven by vanity and personalised power over enormous budgets at newly formed institutes. The celebrated returnee AI scientist Song-Chun Zhu reportedly claimed that only China would offer him the resources to pursue his vision of AI. Of one such lavishly welcomed returnee scientist, Zhang cites a younger colleague’s bitter question: “How many young people will have to tighten their belts and be left without funding to do research?”
That, for him, is the real strategic loss.
— James Farquharson
Key Points
China’s research culture is being degraded by “resource-driven research” (资源型科研), which prioritises amassing vast funding and manpower over genuine scientific inquiry.
While China excels at expanding upon existing ideas, the foundational “soil” required for truly original, fundamental breakthroughs is becoming increasingly barren.
Lavishly funded projects function like stamp-collecting, producing a high volume of prestigious but virtually irreproducible papers that offer poor value for money.
A vicious cycle exists where researchers secure funding to publish, earning them further resources, which encourages young scientists to simply “hang on to coattails” of influential senior figures.
Because this toxic environment penalises genuine curiosity, Chinese scientific culture is effectively sliding backwards from “0-to-1” innovation to “0-to-minus-1” (0到-1)
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Many superstar scientists returning from abroad exploit the system with “refined” self-interest, demanding exorbitant resources without actively mentoring young talent.
Newly established institutions enable this behaviour through a reckless waste of resources, granting returnees unchecked financial power rather than fostering a healthy ecosystem.
Funding mechanisms pursue superficial fairness by grouping unrelated disciplines together, abandoning the robust, specialised peer review necessary to assess true scientific merit.
The massive influx of bureaucratically managed resources has failed to dismantle old hierarchies; instead, it has spawned new cliques and academic oligarchies that monopolise funding.
“Internet celebrity scientists” project a self-aggrandising “false prosperity”, wielding immense influence over policy whilst remaining entirely detached from frontline laboratory work.
The Scholar
Name: Zhang Hong (张宏)
Date of birth: November 1969 (age: 56)
Position: Academician, Chinese Academy of Sciences; Researcher, Deputy Director, and Group Leader, National Key Laboratory of Biomacromolecules, Institute of Biophysics, Chinese Academy of Sciences; President, Biophysical Society of China (2025–present)
Previously: Researcher (2004–2012), National Institute of Biological Sciences, Beijing; Postdoctoral Fellow, Massachusetts General Hospital Cancer Center (2001–2004)
Research focus: Mechanisms and regulation of autophagy in multicellular organisms
Education: BSc, Anhui University, Hefei (1987–1991); MSc Peking University Health Science Center, Beijing (1991–1994); PhD, Albert Einstein College of Medicine, New York (1994–2001)
RESOURCE-DRIVEN RESEARCH IS WRECKING OUR SCIENTIFIC CULTURE
Zhang Hong (张宏)
Published by “The Intellectual” (知识分子) on 15 December 2025
Translated by Paddy Stephens
Illustration by Gemini’s Nano Banana
I. Resource-Driven Research Is Wrecking Our Scientific Culture.
As an ordinary researcher without an administrative post [没有官职], I interact fairly frequently with young people and am often privy to what they discuss [倾听他们的声音也比较多]. Recently, they have been particularly concerned about two issues: one is the damage done to the research ecosystem by resource-driven research [资源型科研]; the other concerns assessment and evaluation mechanisms.
[The situation with] resource-driven research differs between disciplines; here I am just referring to such research in the life sciences. We can see that, over many years, our country’s investment in scientific research has continued to increase, especially in the life sciences. But if we stop and reflect, how many genuinely original discoveries has China had [in this time]?
At present, there are very few [极少] “0-to-1” discoveries [Note: referring to fundamental breakthroughs]. China has already achieved considerable success in the “1-to-100” range [where scientific innovations are developed and applied]. As a result, we have a constant flow of articles published in CNS [Note: the high-prestige natural science journals Cell, Nature and Science] journals—I believe there have already been several hundred just this year. Chinese scientific research is flourishing, and we should never underestimate the value of “1-to-100” research. However, what the country truly needs to encourage “0-to-1” original discoveries is the right “soil” [土壤]. Yet in recent years, that “soil”—or scientific culture—for producing innovative discoveries has become increasingly “barren”.
Looking at China’s publications, how many come as the result of simply amassing resources [有多少是资源堆积起来的]? By “resources”, I mean funding and manpower. Some papers cost tens of millions, even hundreds of millions to produce; it is by dint of [the vast quantities of] money and human labour they involve that they get published [这种文章的发表，就是靠钱累积起来，靠人力堆积起来]. I am not denying that these things have some value, but China is still a developing country, and spending so much to produce these papers is poor value for money.
Such papers not only waste money, but also crowd out the research funding and scientific “soil” and culture needed for truly original work. These [wasteful] large-scale projects routinely involve hundreds of millions or even billions of yuan. I do not believe that China’s life sciences have reached a stage where it is appropriate to pour vast resources [一拥而上] into these kinds of undertakings.
Of course, large projects such as genomics have made immense contributions to humanity—this is undeniable. But in China, many people are not motivated by the potential for a particular project to revolutionise the life sciences.
Funding worth hundreds of millions or even billions is often allocated without rigorous scientific evaluation and assessment. Some individuals, shortly after returning to China, are able to control tens of millions in funding, while others who devote themselves to original work in the laboratory have extremely limited resources.
Meanwhile, these [projects] that require accumulation of [considerable] financial resources [靠资金堆起的东西] can get published. I have spoken to some journal editors about this, and they have said that such papers are published because journals like to publish them—but [also that] journals should not be used as evaluation criteria. [This] actually makes a great deal of sense.
China’s current problem is precisely that: reviewers—both major names within the field and those from outside—find it difficult to fully grasp the significance and impact of scientific discoveries.
If evaluation is based solely on publications, a vicious cycle is formed. It is by amassing resources [资源堆积起来] that high-profile papers get published, which subsequently bring their authors the recognition and awards that are then used to obtain even more resources.
This not only squeezes out research funding for young people, but also encourages many to imitate the seemingly “successful path” of these individuals. Young researchers come to believe that they too must seek out resources and “hang on to the coattails” [抱大脚] [of powerful patrons], which is why the phrase “hanging on to coattails” has become so common in recent years.
I did my PhD overseas and was away from China for some time. When I first returned, I did not know any established experts [资深的人] within China, and everything depended on my own efforts.
Nowadays, many young people return to China with a very different mindset. They immediately know whose coattails they should “hang on to”, which projects to join, and how to secure funding.
II. The Slide From “0-to-1” to “0-to-Minus-1” Research
This cultural shift in research culture is actually quite alarming.
Even if we walk slowly, so long as we ensure that our steps are in the right direction [and on firm ground], then we know we are moving forward [因为脚步只要迈得坚实一点，即使慢一点，但每一步都能确保是在往前走]. However, if there is an issue with the scientific culture or the “soil”, it could well affect a whole generation—or even several.
Hence, I believe that the culture and “soil” that China is currently cultivating for original [0-to-1] research is actually [degenerating] to “0-to-minus-1” [0到-1].
The distortions resulting from resource-driven scientific research are only continuing to increase.
Recently, when teaching students at China Agricultural University, I cited several research projects that have won Nobel Prizes in recent years. In 2006, Andrew Fire and Craig Mello received the Nobel Prize for discovering RNA interference; [in 2024], Victor Ambros and Gary Ruvkun won the prize for their work on microRNA. All of this research used “C. elegans” [—a roundworm often used in laboratories—] as a model organism, and none of it was resource-driven research.
Their starting point was never the publication of high-profile papers or the acquisition of more funding; rather, they were driven by curiosity or by perseverance in science.
In May, I spoke with Victor Ambros about original scientific research in our country. We talked about how it is very difficult to obtain grant funding for work on C. elegans here, because China always focuses on [questions like]: what would its effect [效益] be? Could it cure a disease tomorrow? Might it increase yields? We always expect something revolutionary, but without the right foundational soil, this is very difficult to achieve.
In technology, we may well be able to “overtake on the curve” [Note: 弯道超车—meaning to follow the same technological path as other countries, pulling ahead when opportunities arise]. However, I do not believe this to be possible when it comes to [developing] scientific spirit and culture. Rather, these must be built gradually, with slow but sure progress [脚踏实地].
“1-to-100” progress is important, but it is the original “0-to-1” discoveries that really determine whether China can prevail in technological competition.
As we focus on the “1-to-100” steps, we also need to have fertile scientific soil, [a sound] scientific spirit, and [the right] scientific culture in order to nurture the “0-to-1” process.
Resource-driven research produces a large number of papers, but how much value do these papers really have?
I do not deny that some programmes play a role in advancing scientific research in our country. I simply believe that our country should not currently be promoting large-scale, purely technical projects in the life sciences that are detached both from the training of young researchers and from the pursuit of “0-to-1” original discoveries.
Resource-driven research also involves amassing manpower [人力上的堆积], with laboratories growing ever larger. Sometimes a single senior PI [Principal Investigator] oversees several labs, and it often becomes a competition over who has the most laboratories.
I have only one laboratory. Although I work extremely hard—arriving at the office before 7:20 every day, constantly reading papers and thinking—I still feel that my energy is increasingly limited. As a result, my laboratory has gradually been reduced in size and now has only around twenty people.
The kind of research in our country that relies on amassing manpower and resources is much like collecting stamps [集邮式]—the papers it produces are [ultimately] just a heap of rubbish [发文章，产生了一大堆垃圾性的文章].
In the past, because of fraud or selective data reporting, some of the results from China’s research could not be replicated. Now our country’s results are irreproducible for a different reason: they require immense manpower and enormous financial investments. [To replicate them would often require] analysis of tens of thousands of omics worth of [biological] datasets and tens of thousands of samples. How are other researchers supposed to replicate this?
I genuinely do not know what the point of this kind of research is.
Although it is often said that impact factors should not be the sole basis of evaluation, the entire system is in fact still dominated by impact factors and journal rankings.
The problem of resource-driven research is growing because the number of people engaged in it keeps increasing. Such misdirection prevents many people from settling down and focusing.
I believe there needs to be an atmosphere and culture in scientific research that allows young researchers to diligently explore and pursue original discoveries in the lab [踏踏实实地在实验室钻研].
Nowadays, many young researchers are very clear that they want resources, and that they intend to take the path of resource-driven research. This is because young people see those with resources and publications—even if some of that research is later proven wrong—still receiving substantial rewards. This is a vicious cycle.
This is why I said at the outset that China’s original scientific research is [moving backwards] from 0-to-minus-1, rather than from 0-to-1. There is no such thing as overtaking on the bend when it comes to cultivating scientific soil, culture and spirit.
In the past, people seemed able to settle down and conduct research for the sake of scientific inquiry itself. But today, when researchers see so many of these phenomena, they feel an increasing sense of unfairness, and many become disheartened. This deserves attention.
Resource-driven research is much like stamp-collecting: it turns money and manpower into stacks of paper [资源型科研用金钱和人力累积出来一些集邮式的文章]. This has the effect of generating negative examples for our scientific culture, evaluation system, and cultivation of scientific talent.
III. The Malignant Effect of Rockstar Returnee Scientists
Some senior scientists returning from abroad have played a very important role in improving China’s research culture and have inspired many young people. Well-known examples include [returnees in] the National Institute of Biological Sciences in Beijing and the Centre for Excellence in Molecular Synthesis at the Shanghai Institute of Organic Chemistry.
However, many others return and take hold of enormous amounts of resources, producing quite negative effects. Very few people dare to speak out about this. When senior scientists returning from abroad engage in resource-driven research, the problem gets more serious.
The country needs senior scientists returning from abroad—it needs their understanding of science, their contribution to building scientific culture, and their cultivation of scientific talent.
But nowadays, many returners do not do these things. With vast resources at their disposal, how much time do they actually spend in the laboratory training young people?
Some people believe that China has plenty of money and [can] simply keep following the path of resource-driven research.
Moreover, I often feel that they hold a particular view: that if they return and a university or institution is willing to provide funding, this is a matter between two parties and has nothing to do with anyone else.
This is a classic example of “refined” self-interest [精致利己主义].
We must not forget: this money comes from taxpayers; scientific culture is China’s scientific culture; and the future of Chinese science lies in nurturing young talent.
Is it truly necessary for China to spend so much money to bring these people back, only for it to be wasted?
They may have dozens of people in their laboratories, yet they themselves are nowhere to be seen in the lab. Some spend their days wielding influence outside [呼风唤雨], all the while occupying vast amounts of resources that could otherwise go to young researchers.
This is a cause for serious concern. It is also a common complaint among many young people.
If these senior scientists are unable to act with integrity [洁身自好] or contribute to the cultivation of China’s scientific culture and soil, their impact in fact becomes highly negative.
Did returners like us not come back to China for precisely that reason: to build a healthy scientific culture?
So there was one occasion that particularly shocked me. I told someone that a well-known senior scientist was about to return to China. Everyone should seriously reflect on the first thing she said to me: “How many young people will have to tighten their belts and be left without funding to do research?”
Some experts have said that certain long-established domestic institutions, including the Chinese Academy of Sciences, are like “Wu Dalang running a shop” [Note: 《武大郎开店》, a cartoon strip from the 1980s satirising corruption and mediocratic incentives amidst reform and opening-up]: unwilling to hire new people stronger [or more talented] than themselves. On this point, I completely disagree.
The reason is that we in the older institutions lack the resources available to many newly established institutions.
Moreover, some people return demanding salaries several times higher than in the US and far more resources than they had there—but what value do they actually create by coming back?
This is therefore not something that should be encouraged. There needs to be a relatively unified national standard and mechanism. We cannot just have each institution acting on its own, granting nearly unlimited resources to those recruited from overseas.
These new institutions seem to believe that because they have power and money, they can give out as much as they like. This is a reckless waste of resources [资源任性].
Those with money and resources must remember that this is state money—taxpayers’ money. It must be spent in ways that help build scientific culture, train young people, and promote original science in China. We cannot abandon these principles or recruit people without any real purpose [为了引人而引人]. Otherwise, the entire research ecosystem will be damaged.
Why do we see increasing complaints from young people about newly established domestic institutions?
These institutions need to engage in self-reflection. They must not always assume that they are right and everyone else is wrong. I believe that if people at other research institutions knew the salaries and resources these individuals receive, they would be shocked.
We need senior scientists returning from abroad, but the goal should remain for them to lead and establish a healthy scientific culture. This should be their proper role, rather than coming to China, wasting resources and doing whatever they please.
In fact, many people who come to China end up engaging in resource-oriented research because they are unable to focus on working in the laboratory.
In my opinion, how a person acts must not contradict what they themselves advocate. This is a point of extreme concern and deep anger for many young people.
Senior scientists returning from abroad really need to adjust their mindset: they should not see themselves as coming to “save” Chinese research, but rather understand what actions would genuinely benefit the healthy development of China’s scientific culture.
They must not assume that because they return and an institution is willing to offer so much money, this is merely a matter between two parties.
It is not!
They must ask themselves: does this money have a positive impact on China’s scientific culture? Does it help to train young people? Does it benefit original research in China, rather than resource-driven projects?
These are questions that they must reflect upon themselves. They cannot endlessly demand salaries several times higher than those in the US.
Newly established institutions do, of course, need to recruit senior scientists, and some senior scientists have indeed played an exemplary role, both in advancing research in China and in training young people.
But there are also a considerable number of senior scientists who continually switch institutions and seek [more] resources [不断地换单位、拉资源]. This is also a point relevant to resource-driven research that deserves attention.
Of course, our country needs them to return, but—once back in China—they must understand where their true value lies. This country is not rich enough to squander resources casually. In fact, many young principal investigators have very limited research funding.
IV. The Urgency of Re-Establishing Genuine Peer Review
The root cause of these problems lies in how research is evaluated [评价导向]. Resource-based research gets published most easily, and publishing good papers is the path to obtaining recognition and more resources—creating a vicious cycle.
Twenty years ago, it could be said that China did not have enough high-level experts in specialised areas, but this is no longer the case.
The review processes for funding awards [基金委的评审] have also led to many problems. For example, when assessing the [candidates for] Distinguished Young Scholars [Note: 杰青, a title with which Zhang was himself once awarded], reviewers from several different fields—such as plant science, ecology, information science, cell biology and biochemistry—are often grouped together.
With people whose disciplines have little relevance to one another put in the same group—for the sake of fairness and impartiality—how does one evaluate such work?
In their pursuit of superficial fairness and impartiality, many institutions are in fact genuinely destroying a fair and just evaluation system.
Our evaluation system cannot focus solely on high citation counts and journals; it must return to assessment by specialist peers. This is the fundamental way to address the problem.
Take, for example, the funding agency’s Category B [Note: funding projects aimed specifically at teams incorporating young researchers] Basic Science Centres awards. The projects themselves are excellent, yet multiple disciplines are lumped together and dozens of reviewers are assembled to assess them.
During the process [of adjudication], participants are required to hand in their phones. They cannot eat in the conference hall or use the bathroom at the same time as another participant. Reviewers are not allowed to discuss the applications. This all appears extremely fair and impartial.
But is it truly fair and impartial?
If you asked me [as a life scientist] to evaluate mathematics or physics, how would I do it? I believe we need to set aside these formal, superficial notions of fairness and impartiality, and return to peer review.
Peer review may have many problems, and these need to be corrected—but such corrections must be made on that basis, without discarding this core principle or its foundation.
V. How Resource-driven Research Feeds Cliques and Corruption
I am always deeply concerned about research culture—it has become far too impatient [浮躁]. This is, in fact, a serious dereliction of duty to the country [对国家极大的不负责任].
Therefore, I believe that acts of fraud aimed at obtaining state resources [for research] should be punished in accordance with the law.
When I travel around to evaluate projects, many are clearly exaggerated, as if each layer is wrapped inside an inflated “blueprint”. Many of their figures are total fabrications [为了数字而数字]; [they do this because] making up figures is the only way to obtain funding.
In reality, many people know exactly where the problem lies, but do not know how to go about reforming it because of a tangled web of vested interests [利益盘根错节].
Small circles and cliques exist everywhere; the crux of fair research evaluation is whether scientific judgement can be upheld.
From the outset, we have constantly complained about the domestic landscape: small cliques [小团体], academic oligarchs [学阀], and academic tyrants [Note: 学霸, in this case not the usual slang for “overachiever”]. We hoped that senior scientists returning from abroad would change the scientific culture—but have they?
I believe they have only led to the formation of even more small cliques.
When a new institution is established, if it cannot tolerate differing voices, it will quickly come under the control of small circles. This [generates] a culture of cliques. Previously there was just one clique, but now more have been created. The clique culture itself has not changed.
This is because they are unable to evaluate other people’s work objectively. Many people believe that those within their own institution—or those with whom they have connections—perform better than others. They rarely cast their gaze beyond this narrow circle [眼光永远在这个范围内].
Therefore, I do not believe many scientists in the life sciences are thinking strategically. If one’s vision cannot extend across the country or reach far into the future, one is not a “strategic scientist” [战略科学家]. Moreover, I do not know where these people get their confidence, thinking they understand everything and can evaluate anything.
If someone believes that they understand everything—and judge everything accurately [什么都可以评价]—this person is no longer within the domain of “science” as properly understood [这个人已经离开科学的本质了]. The life sciences are now divided into such highly specialised disciplines—how could any one person possibly understand everything?
If scientific work strays from the essence of scientific evaluation, it will not succeed. China needs a group of scientists who dare to uphold science and are brave enough to speak the truth.
But science differs from many other fields and industries, because those who are truly doing science are in laboratories, largely unknown to the wider public and the media.
So-called “internet celebrity scientists” [网红科学家] who are constantly active in public are certainly not on the front lines of research. Nor, indeed, are they thinking deeply about scientific problems, because they [are too busy] maintaining their online “internet celebrity” effect [网红效应]. Yet, paradoxically, this group has cemented enormous influence on the research culture and on evaluation. The problem is that these celebrity scientists have no idea how they are actually perceived by others. Many believe that the more resources they control, the greater their scientific authority must be.
To corrupt an individual’s original sense of purpose [毁掉一个人的初衷] is a simple matter: give them resources and honours, and they will inevitably develop delusions of grandeur [他一定会产生幻觉：慢慢觉得自己很重要]. This is human nature. I have seen quite a few such cases. These people are truly pitiable, because they cannot hear genuine feedback or real evaluation.
I hold the older generation of Chinese scientists in the highest regard; they are genuine role models that we should learn from. At a time when the country was so poor, they were able to give up everything and devote themselves to scientific research for the nation’s benefit, regarding it as the highest honour. Nowadays, many people are constantly amassing personal resources and confining themselves to their small circles—how could they possibly become good scientists?
How could they possibly serve as role models for the younger generation? Our country needs genuine role models, not internet celebrity scientists.
Finally, let me emphasise that I am not opposed to large-scale scientific projects per se. I oppose projects that amass money and manpower purely to produce papers of little scientific value.
Chasing superficial new theories, new systems [体系] [of thought], and [coining] new terminology are in reality forms of self-aggrandising false prosperity [自吹自擂的虚假繁荣]. This will be disastrous for the country and the people [祸国殃民], and it will mislead those responsible for formulating science and technology policies.
Perhaps my speaking out will have no impact. But I still feel that somebody needs to do it [还是需要有一些声音出来].
How will all this impact our country’s scientific culture? That will be for history—not online clicks—to decide.
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