A Ph.D. scientist at a top research institution shouldn't have to ask Mom and Dad for help with rent money. But for postdoctoral researchers at Stanford University, financial independence is often out of the question. Until very recently, many Stanford postdocs earned less than $30,000 a year -- a pittance in Palo Alto, Calif., where a studio apartment can go for $1,000 a month. Throw in another $1,000 a month for child care (as many do), and there's not much left over for luxuries like food.
Of course, Stanford isn't the sole bastion of beleaguered postdocs. From coast to coast, from small state colleges to the most prestigious universities in the country, newly minted Ph.D.'s are struggling for respect. "Anywhere there are postdocs, there will be low salaries, low benefits, and confusion," says Mark Siegal, a postdoc in Stanford's biology department. (Click here for a look at the grass-roots movement of postdocs seeking better pay and working conditions.)
And anywhere there's a group of highly educated, highly motivated people willing to fight for change, the situation is bound to get better. Postdocs around the country are airing their grievances, reaching out to administrators, even forming unions. And they're getting results. The progress is especially noticeable at Stanford, where fewer and fewer top-flight researchers feel like second-class citizens.
"Heart-Wrenching" Stories
At Stanford, the tide began to turn in 1999 when a group of disgruntled postdocs decided to speak out. "We took the bombardment approach," says Audrey Ettinger, a postdoc in the psychology department. Along with Mr. Siegal, Ms. Ettinger was one of the most vocal advocates for change. They were among the postdocs who formed the Stanford University Postdoc Association and began writing "heart-wrenching letters to every important person at Stanford," she says.
As is often the case with modern tear-jerkers, poverty was a recurring theme. At the time, the minimum salary for first-year Stanford postdocs was a scant $26,256. For postdocs with five or more years of experience, the minimum was $31,944, nearly $7,000 less than the standard ($38,628) set at the time by the National Institutes of Health. To make matters worse, "minimum" was really just a figure of speech. In a survey released in the spring of 2000, 11 percent of Stanford postdocs said their salaries fell below the minimum.
Money wasn't the only issue. Stanford postdocs -- like postdocs just about everywhere -- were caught in the cracks of the system. They weren't exactly staff members, and they certainly weren't students, at least in the traditional sense of the word. Stanford decided to call them "non-matriculated graduate students," a term many postdocs found insulting. After spending 20-plus years in school and finally attaining a Ph.D., they had thought their "student" days were over.
In this case, terminology really did matter. As "students," they were charged $900 a quarter in tuition. The money came from grants or fellowships -- not directly from their pockets -- but they had to pay taxes on the $900 as if it were part of their salary.
Worst of all, the "non-matriculated graduate students" didn't enjoy the employee benefits extended to the typical deep-fat-fryer operator. Any sick leave, vacations, or maternity leave came solely from the goodness of their adviser's heart. And forget about overtime. They did have health insurance, but it didn't include vision or dental care. And, ironically, the health plan wasn't accepted by Stanford Medical School, the most convenient source for health care.
It all added up to a lot of frustration. In the survey, 43 percent of respondents said they wouldn't encourage other postdocs to come to Stanford. Thirty-six percent said they were very dissatisfied, dissatisfied, or neutral about their own training. (It should be noted that only 12 percent of all postdocs completed the survey.)
Through it all, the postdocs kept on coming. Mr. Siegal, for one, said he was lured by a top-flight lab. "I just took all of the insults that Stanford threw at us as part of the price," he says. Still, the low salaries undoubtedly scared many talented people away, especially those who didn't have wealthy families to support them. "There was a de facto discrimination, and that's what really upset me," he says. "A lot of people just really can't afford to come here."
Getting Results
As dissatisfaction grew, so did the need for action. In addition to writing those heart-wrenching letters and conducting surveys, Stanford postdocs held town meetings and generally took every opportunity to win the sympathies of the administration.
Their timing couldn't have been better. Graduate schools across the country were starting to raise the salaries of postdocs, and Stanford clearly needed to change if it wanted keep up. Just as important, the university had a new president, John Hennessy, and a new provost, John Etchemendy, who seemed especially willing to support the "non-matriculated graduate students."
Things have been looking up ever since. One sign of progress is clearly printed on the ID cards of new postdocs: "Postdoctoral Scholar." Even though they've shed the "student" label, postdocs still have to pay $125 in tuition every quarter. They hope to see that fee drop to zero soon, but it's still a bargain compared with the previous fee of $900 a quarter.
While tuition has dropped, salaries have climbed. As of October of this year, the minimum salary of Stanford postdocs will be $32,500. By the 2003-4 academic year, the minimum will increase to $36,000. And unlike years past, the university will monitor pay to make sure nobody falls below the bottom line.
And, for the first time, Stanford postdocs have a real voice in the administration. The lead voice is Michael Cowan, the associate dean for postdoctoral affairs -- a position that didn't exist two years ago. With Ms. Cowan as an advocate, postdocs have won several major victories. They now have maternity leave, sick leave, vacations, and improved health insurance. They have also submitted proposals for housing and child-care subsidies. "We've managed to address every single issue that the postdocs had," Ms. Cowan says.
In her view, such concessions only make sense. "Stanford recognizes that the postdocs really make faculty productivity possible," she says. "We need to make the best environment to attract the best postdocs. We can't expect them to keep coming here indefinitely."
Of course, some issues need to be addressed a little further. At this time, housing and child-care benefits are still just items on a wish list. And in the last few years, the cost of health insurance has climbed while the quality of coverage has, some postdocs say, steadily declined. "While salaries have increased significantly, they have been offset by higher out-of-pocket costs for child-care and medical insurance," Mr. Siegal says. "There's been much progress in the last couple of years, but much remains to be done."
What do the postdocs themselves think about these changes? Polls conducted in the spring of 2002 reflect some mixed feelings. One positive sign: 72 percent of postdocs said they were satisfied or very satisfied with their careers. On the other hand, 48 percent of respondents said they wouldn't encourage other postdocs to come to Stanford. Mr. Siegal suspects that many of these respondents are disillusioned by the rising costs of living in the area and the perceived lack of benefits. So, even though many postdocs are satisfied with their own careers, they wouldn't necessarily want others to stand in their shoes, he says.
In the end, Stanford can do only so much to keep its postdocs happy, Mr. Siegal says. At some point, the entire system has to change. "There are so many postdocs out there and so few faculty positions," he says. "The situation can't sustain itself."
