Tax-payer funded research is just that: funded by the taxpayers. But the outcomes of that research are conveyed through papers in academic journals that cost money to access. Why can’t the public view these papers for free?

Through research we discover things about the universe that are fascinating and useful in equal measure. Those of us in universities funded to do this research feel a natural obligation to do our best with the funding available. In part this obligation comes from the purest and most natural desire to do ‘Good Work’. But in part it comes from a sense that the public are expecting us to make best use of the resources they entrust to us. We need to acquit ourselves properly. It is, after all, called a “grant”.

So it is a considerable irony that the public, having provided the funds for the research, and who have an expectation that we academics act responsibly, then cannot read what it is we have done. Which level-headed taxpayer would agree to such terms? To fund university research, but be unable to read the outcomes of that research. It is worth taking a moment to reflect on this deal in juxtaposition to Aaron’s suicide.

Would you donate to a charity that did not publish reports? Would you support an expedition to the North Pole if the explorers never told you where they’d been? Would you commission an artist to make works of art viewable only by the rich?

The announcement this week by the Australian Research Council (ARC) that they will support the open availability of the research they fund is a bold and timely step. There are clauses that limit the impact for the moment, but they may have opened a gate.

Nevertheless, the battle over open access to research rages, essentially between proponents (most researchers) and opponents (much of the publishing industry who would, through acquiescing, self-immolate). This week saw the dreadful story of an activist in this sphere, Aaron Swartz, take his own life. The reasons remain unclear, but his suicide has galvanised the open access community.

To explain these things, let us stretch an analogy. Let us consider artists painting pictures rather than scientists producing papers. If an artist paints, and completes a work, it is expected that the work should be seen by the person who paid for it. If the artist was paid a salary through taxes, the public would expect to see the art. That is reasonable.

How is that to be achieved? Well, the picture would normally be put into a gallery. The owner of the gallery has building expenses and puts on shows with canapés, so they might then charge the public to come and see the art. Now if the public had funded the artwork, they’d say:

 “Wait a second, we already paid for this painting, why are we now paying to see it?”

In retort, the gallery owner would quote the rising cost of canapés. You would try to peer in through the gallery window to glimpse your art. You’d see a bunch of other artists and CEOs in there, but nobody else. And then you’d start thinking:

“This isn’t right – there must be another way. I’m entitled to see what’s in there.”

Traditional publishing of academic papers is a little like this. You pay taxes, which fund research. The outcomes of that research are conveyed to you through papers in academic journals. But you’re not allowed to read those papers unless you pay.

So you suggest an alternative to your artist.

“OK,” you say, “I’ll keep paying you to paint the pictures, but please let’s only send the pictures to the National Gallery, which is free.”

You speak to the gallery and they say:

“We’d love to have the pictures – that’ll be $1,000 for each submission – wall space is at a premium you know.”

You sigh, but you acknowledge it’s better than the alternative. You ask your artist to get out their credit card.

The above analogy is what is described in the research world as ‘Gold Open Access’. A researcher pays to publish an article, which is then forever free. The funds to support this must be found, either from the government directly (which is what’s happening in the UK) or indirectly (by researchers using grant money).

You think a little more and go back to your artist and say:

“Wait, let’s send the painting to a gallery, any gallery. They can charge people for a while, but then after a year, we’ll put up an exact replica outside our house so anyone can see it.”

The artist says:

“The gallery will never agree to that” and you say, feeling optimistic, “Sure they will, if everyone does it and we get the Royal Academy of Arts to say it’s a good thing.”

This is known as Green Open Access – what the ARC just plumped for: a paper is made available to everyone by putting it in a public place called a ‘University Publication Repository’ twelve months after publication. Unless the original publisher of the article objects (which it probably will). In the US, this option is made viable by strongarm tactics of various funding agencies. It will be interesting to see if the ARC does the same?

You have a beer with your artist in a sullen mood. You say:

“It’s all very well us thinking about viewing this painting and that painting, but it’s not enough. What I’d like to do is reuse bits of your paintings (with your permission), like that apple or that tree. But I’d also like to use computers to analyse all these paintings together to spot patterns and track the evolution of painting styles.”

Allowing humans to read articles is important. Allowing them to re-use the research in other things (like presentations, projects etc, or for the generation of economic opportunities) is important. Typically re-use of an article’s content is very strictly controlled, particularly if there is any hint of economic benefit.

This too seems incredible. If we already pay our artist to paint, would it not be sensible to use those creations in the generation of business unfettered by complex licencing arrangements? Even better would be if we allow data mining – digital collation and analysis of data – which is so crucial in today’s complex, data-rich world.

In most cases publishers of scientific articles expressly forbid data mining, even though this is essential for the practice of modern science.

My own view on all this is that there is great power in an artist throwing open their studio to allow the public to see how the creative process operates – so we can see the abandoned canvasses, and the frustration of failure alongside the moment of exhilaration when things work. This “open science” is where you see the process as well as the finished work.

The process can be fascinating and instructive. I was reminded of it when I saw the photos of Francis Bacon’s studio in the recent exhibition of his work in Sydney – photos of piles of paints, of graffiti-strewn walls and half-baked sketches that transformed into great works. In science, too, this is possible with the power of the internet to share the daily activities of a lab, and I think the resulting connection to our funders and the didactic power that gives the work in revealing to students what science actually is, can now be harnessed.

Aaron Swartz, who committed suicide this week, had been under great strain resulting from a lawsuit that arose because he allegedly broke into the private gallery of our analogy. One may sneer at such behaviour. “How dare he try to break in to a reputable gallery – what a vandal – lock him up” you might say. But then you consider what he took out – art you had funded, and forgotten about because it was hidden away. And you temper your condemnation because you are reminded that you paid for the painting, and that it is beautiful.

The text of this article first appeared on the website of the ABC Drum.

Author: Matthew Todd is a senior lecturer at the University of Sydney’s School of Chemistry. View his full profile here.