The conference circuit, once lively with questioning and dialogue, now contends with a new problem: the “ghost academic”.
These are scholars whose names appear in conference programmes and proceedings, whose abstracts are listed, yet who never turn up to deliver their presentations.
They accrue the CV line, but never share the substance.
At first glance, this may seem a minor oddity, a logistical blip among myriad research meetings. But look closer and the phenomenon hints at deeper problems within higher education; changes driven by the mounting pressures of the marketised university.
These invisible delegates are not simply absent individuals, they are symptoms of a system that increasingly privileges the performance of productivity over the practice of scholarship, with worrying consequences for academic life and the exchange of knowledge.
The academic CV arms race
The last two decades have seen universities across the UK, and elsewhere, adopt an increasingly commercial approach to governance and funding. Driven by competition for students, research income, and global rankings, institutions have shifted towards a marketised logic in which outputs, metrics, and performative achievements are central. Performance is tracked through an ever-more elaborate system of audits, league tables, and key performance indicators.
For academics, this means living under the constant scrutiny, whether at a national level as in the REF (Research Excellence Framework), or internally through job criteria and annual reviews. The message is clear: career progression is tied to visible productivity. For early career researchers and established scholars alike, the need to have CVs brimming with publications, conference papers and other outputs has become existential.
The ghost academic emerges
It is within this climate that the ghost academic thrives. The defining feature is simple: the submission and acceptance of a conference abstract, sometimes even the appearance of a full paper in published proceedings, without any intention (or ability) to actually present at the conference. For academics faced with the paradox of decreased funding paired with ever-increasing demands of evidence of impact, having a conference paper publicly available from a conference which was never attended is one way to satisfy the metrics.
By simply having a paper accepted and your name in the programme, you can pad your achievements in your CV and cite the research as being delivered at an international or national event, regardless of whether you gave the talk, fielded questions, or participated in the event itself.
Sometimes, this “ghosting” is genuine. Travel plans change, funding falls through, or illness intervenes. Nobody begrudges a legitimate absence. But conference organisers increasingly report a more deliberate pattern: a growing number of accepted speakers who register for an event in order to secure their place, who don’t respond to follow-up communication and fail to turn up, without explanation. The paper often remains in the official record, granting the appearance of participation with none of the substance.
This is an escalation from another known practice: academics who attend conferences only to deliver their own paper, then promptly depart without engaging in the rest of the event. Ghost academics take it one step further, they do not bother to show up at all.
More than just an empty chair
It might be tempting to dismiss the rise of the ghost academic as an organisational nuisance, an inconvenience for conference planners and session chairs. But the long-term consequences are more profound. Conferences are not just mechanisms to present findings, they are vital spaces for academic exchange, where ideas evolve, collaborations form, and feedback improves research. When “ghosting” becomes common, it devalues these functions, turning conferences into mere career-filling rituals rather than platforms for genuine engagement.
The damage is most acute for those who stand to gain the most from conferences—early career researchers, postgraduate students, and scholars from underrepresented backgrounds. For them, conferences offer spaces to connect with mentors, get feedback on work in progress, and gain visibility in their fields. When speakers don’t show, or when panels are left half-empty, these opportunities diminish.
There is also a subtler, cultural cost: the erosion of academic citizenship. At its best, the academic conference represents a collective endeavour to advance knowledge through dialogue, questioning, and debate. The ghost academic is a warning sign that the culture is shifting from collegiality to calculation, from dialogue to box-ticking.
Rethinking academic incentives
If the rise of the ghost academic is the result of systemic pressures, it follows that only systemic change will address it. First, universities and research funders must reconsider how conference contributions are evaluated. Rather than relying solely on the number of acceptances or proceedings entries, hiring panels and promotion committees should reward substantive forms of participation, such as evidence of engagement in discussion, collaboration with other attendees, or contributions to follow-up outputs.
Some conference organisers are experimenting with stricter attendance and participation requirements: only registered attendees are permitted in the final programme; attendance is tracked; non-attending speakers are required to submit a video or withdraw altogether. Others are moving towards smaller, more genuinely interactive models, which foster engagement over mass participation.
Hybrid and virtual conferences, while easier to ghost, can be designed to promote accountability and inclusion. Live question sessions, post-event fora, and real-time engagement metrics offer ways to ensure that participants are more than names on a slide.
Ultimately, though, the solution must lie in a recalibration of values. As long as academic cultures reward the appearance of productivity over its substance, and as long as institutional structures idolise the performance of output, the ghost academic will remain. We must begin to value intellectual engagement—sharing, questioning, and collaboration, as much as, if not more than, abstract lines on a CV.
The spectre of the ghost academic serves as a potent warning for higher education. At stake is more than just the orderliness of conference schedules or the hassle faced by organisers. What is imperilled is the tradition of lively, open intellectual exchange that has long been the hallmark of scholarly life.
Addressing the rise of the ghost academic will not be easy. It will require courage from individuals to resist box-ticking, from institutions to rethink how they view publication and dissemination, and from the sector to restore the culture of engagement which gives academia its enduring value. Only by doing so can conferences reclaim their status as genuine meeting grounds—where knowledge is truly shared, tested, and brought to life.
Recently, some colleagues and I released a paper about the experiences of neurodivergent PhD students. It’s a systematic review of the literature to date, which is currently under review, but available via pre-print here.
But reading each and every paper published about neurodivergent PhD students provoked strong feelings of rage and frustration. (These feelings only increased, with a tinge of fear added in, when I read of plans for the US health department to make a ‘list’ of autistic people?! Reading what is going on there is frankly terrifying – solidarity to all.) We all know what needs to be done to make research degrees more accessible. Make expectations explicit. Create flexible policies. Value diverse thinking styles. Implement Universal Design Principles… These suggestions appear in report after report, I’ve ranted on the blog here and here, yet real change remains frustratingly elusive. So why don’t these great ideas become reality? Here’s some thoughts on barriers that keep neurodivergent-friendly changes from taking hold.
The myth of meritocracy
Academia clings to the fiction that the current system rewards pure intellectual merit. Acknowledging the need for accessibility requires admitting that the playing field isn’t level. Many senior academics succeeded in the current system and genuinely believe “if I could do it, anyone can… if they work hard enough”. They are either 1) failing to recognise their neurotypical privilege, or 2) not acknowledging the cost of masking their own neurodivergence (I’ll get to this in a moment).
I’ve talked to many academics about things we could do – like getting rid of the dissertation – but too many of us are secretly proud of our own trauma. The harshness of the PhD has been compared to a badge of honour that we wear proudly – and expect others to earn.
Resource scarcity (real and perceived)
Universities often respond to suggestions about increased accessibility measures with budget concerns. The vibe is often: “We’d love to offer more support, but who will pay for it?”. However, many accommodations (like flexible deadlines or allowing students to work remotely) cost little, or even nothing. Frequently, the real issue isn’t resources but priorities of the powerful. There’s no denying universities (in Australia, and elsewhere) are often cash strapped. The academic hunger games are real. However, in the fight for resources, power dynamics dictate who gets fed and who goes without.
I wish we would just be honest about our choices – some people in universities still have huge travel budgets. The catering at some events is still pretty good. Some people seem to avoid every hiring freeze. There are consistent patterns in how resources are distributed. It’s the gaslighting that makes me angry. If we really want to, we can do most things. We have to want to do something about this.
Administrative inertia
Changing established processes in a university is like turning a battleship with a canoe paddle. Approval pathways are long and winding. For example, altering a single line in the research award rules at ANU requires approval from parliament (yes – the politicians actually have to get together and vote. Luckily we are not as dysfunctional in Australia as other places… yet). By the time a solution is implemented, the student who needed it has likely graduated – or dropped out. This creates a vicious cycle where the support staff, who see multiple generations of students suffer the same way, can get burned out and stop pushing for change.
The individualisation of disability
Universities tend to treat neurodivergence as an individual problem requiring individual accommodations rather than recognising systemic barriers. This puts the burden on students to disclose, request support, and advocate for themselves – precisely the executive function and communication challenges many neurodivergent students struggle with.
It’s akin to building a university with only stairs, then offering individual students a piggyback ride instead of installing ramps. I’ve met plenty of people who simply get so exhausted they don’t bother applying for the accommodations they desperately need, and then end up dropping out anyway.
Fear of lowering ‘standards’
Perhaps the most insidious barrier is the mistaken belief that accommodations somehow “lower standards.” I’ve heard academics worrying that flexible deadlines will “give some students an unfair advantage” or that making expectations explicit somehow “spoon-feeds” students.
The fear of “lowering standards” becomes even more puzzling when you look at how PhD requirements have inflated over time. Anyone who’s spent time in university archives knows that doctoral standards aren’t fixed – they’re constantly evolving. Pull a dissertation from the 1950s or 60s off the shelf and you’ll likely find something remarkably slim compared to today’s tomes. Many were essentially extended literature reviews with modest empirical components. Today, we expect multiple studies, theoretical innovations, methodological sophistication, and immediate publishability – all while completing within strict time limits on ever-shrinking funding.
The standards haven’t just increased; they’ve multiplied. So when universities resist accommodations that might “compromise standards,” we should ask: which era’s standards are we protecting? Certainly not the ones under which most people supervising today had to meet. The irony is that by making the PhD more accessible to neurodivergent thinkers, we might actually be raising standards – allowing truly innovative minds to contribute rather than filtering them out through irrelevant barriers like arbitrary deadlines or neurotypical communication expectations. The real threat to academic standards isn’t accommodation – it’s the loss of brilliant, unconventional thinkers who could push knowledge boundaries in ways we haven’t yet imagined.
Unexamined neurodiversity among supervisors
Perhaps one of the most overlooked barriers is that many supervisors are themselves neurodivergent but don’t recognise it or acknowledge what’s going on with them! In fact, since starting this research, I’ve formed a private view that you almost can’t succeed in this profession without at least a little neurospicey.
Academia tends to attract deep thinkers with intense focus on specific topics – traits often associated with autism (‘special interests’ anyone?). The contemporary university is constantly in crisis, which some people with ADHD can find provides the stimulation they need to get things done! Yet many supervisors have succeeded through decades of masking and compensating, often at great personal cost.
The problem is not the neurodivergence or the supervisor – it’s how the unexamined neurodivergence becomes embedded in practice, underpinned by an expectation that their students should function exactly as they do, complete with the same struggles they’ve internalised as “normal.”
I want to hold on to this idea for a moment, because maybe you recognise some of these supervisors:
The Hyperfocuser: Expects students to match their pattern of intense, extended work sessions. This supervisor regularly works through weekends on research “when inspiration strikes,” sending emails at 2am and expecting quick responses. They struggle to understand when students need breaks or maintain strict work boundaries, viewing it as “lack of passion.” Conveniently, they have ignored those couple of episodes of burn out, never considering their own work pattern might reflect ADHD or autistic hyper-focus, rather than superior work ethic.
The Process Pedant: Requires students to submit written work in highly specific formats with rigid attachment to particular reference styles, document formatting, and organisational structures. Gets disproportionately distressed by minor variations from their preferred system, focusing on these details over content, such that their feedback primarily addresses structural issues rather than ideas. I get more complaints about this than almost any other kind of supervision style – it’s so demoralising to be constantly corrected and not have someone genuinely engage with your work.
The Talker: Excels in spontaneous verbal feedback but rarely provides written comments. Expects students to take notes during rapid-fire conversational feedback, remembering all key points. They tend to tell you to do the same thing over and over, or forget what they have said and recommend something completely different next time. Can get mad when questioned over inconsistencies – suggesting you have a problem with listening. This supervisor never considers that their preference for verbal communication might reflect their own neurodivergent processing style, which isn’t universal. Couple this with a poor memory and the frustration of students reaches critical. (I confess, being a Talker is definitely my weakness as a supervisor – I warn my students in advance and make an effort to be open to criticism about it!).
The Context-Switching Avoider: Schedules all student meetings on a single day of the week, keeping other days “sacred” for uninterrupted research. Becomes noticeably agitated when asked to accommodate a meeting outside this structure, even for urgent matters. Instead of recognising their own need for predictable routines and difficulty with transitions (common in many forms of neurodivergence), they frame this as “proper time management” that students should always emulate. Students who have caring responsibilities suffer the most with this kind of inflexible relationship.
The Novelty-Chaser: Constantly introduces new theories, methodologies, or research directions in supervision meetings. Gets visibly excited about fresh perspectives and encourages students to incorporate them into already-developed projects. May send students a stream of articles or ideas completely tangential to their core research, expecting them to pivot accordingly. Never recognises that their difficulty maintaining focus on a single pathway to completion might reflect ADHD-related novelty-seeking. Students learn either 1) to chase butterflies and make little progress or 2) to nod politely at new suggestions while quietly continuing on their original track. The first kind of reaction can lead to a dangerous lack of progress, the second reaction can lead to real friction because, from the supervisor’s point of view, the student ‘never listens’. NO one is happy in these set ups, believe me.
The Theoretical Purist: Has devoted their career to a particular theoretical framework or methodology and expects all their students to work strictly within these boundaries. Dismisses alternative approaches as “methodologically unsound” or “lacking theoretical rigour” without substantive engagement. Becomes noticeably uncomfortable when students bring in cross-disciplinary perspectives, responding with increasingly rigid defences of their preferred approach. Fails to recognise their intense attachment to specific knowledge systems and resistance to integrating new perspectives may reflect autistic patterns of specialised interests, or even difficulty with cognitive flexibility. Students learn to frame all their ideas within the supervisor’s preferred language, even when doing so limits their research potential.
Now that I know what I am looking for, I see these supervisory dynamics ALL THE TIME. Add in whatever dash of neuro-spiciness is going on with you and all kinds of misunderstandings and hurt feelings result … Again – the problem is not the neurodivergence of any one person – it’s the lack of self reflection, coupled with the power dynamics that can make things toxic.
These barriers aren’t insurmountable, but honestly, after decades in this profession, I’m not holding my breath for institutional enlightenment. Universities move at the pace of bureaucracy after all.
So what do we do? If you’re neurodivergent, find your people – that informal network who “get it” will save your sanity more than any official university policy. If you’re a supervisor, maybe take a good hard look at your own quirky work habits before deciding your student is “difficult.” And if you’re in university management, please, for the love of research, let’s work on not making neurodivergent students jump through flaming bureaucratic hoops to get basic support.
The PhD doesn’t need to be a traumatic hazing ritual we inflict because “that’s how it was in my day.” It’s 2025. Time to admit that diverse brains make for better research. And for goodness sake, don’t put anyone on a damn list, ok?
AI disclaimer: This post was developed with Claude from Anthropic because I’m so busy with the burning trash fire that is 2025 it would not have happened otherwise. I provided the concept, core ideas, detailed content, and personal viewpoint while Claude helped organise and refine the text. We iteratively revised the content together to ensure it maintained my voice and perspective. The final post represents my authentic thoughts and experiences, with Claude serving as an editorial assistant and sounding board.
This blog was first published on Inger Mewburn’s legendary website The Thesis Whisperer on 1 May 2025. It is reproduced with permission here.
Professor Inger Mewburn is the Director of Researcher Development at The Australian National University where she oversees professional development workshops and programs for all ANU researchers. Aside from creating new posts on the Thesis Whisperer blog (www.thesiswhisperer.com), she writes scholarly papers and books about research education, with a special interest in post PhD employability, research communications and neurodivergence.
In this post on making international academics spaces truly international, Maha Bali (Egypt) teams up with Laura Czerniewicz (South Africa), Catherine Cronin (Ireland) and Tannis Morgan (Canada) to offer tips for conferences and journals.
Is the title of this piece an oxymoron? Aren’t international academic spaces international by definition? Unfortunately not: “international” too often (one might venture, almost inevitably) means the Global North, and indeed it usually means Europe and the USA. So, for example, announcements at European conferences of international speakers more often than not means those from the US (not even Canada, sometimes). This is a problem for obvious reasons: it perpetuates the skewed geopolitics of knowledge, renders invisible voices, views, and epistemologies from the Global South or even from peripheries within the North. Everyone is the poorer for it.
Much lip service is paid to diversity and inclusion of diverse voices and knowledge, but little action is taken on the ground to truly challenge the status quo. But it is really a non-negotiable in the context of all that technology affords us today. It is unethical to claim to be international and to exclude, in practice, full participation. It is unacceptable to claim lack of awareness of international actors in all fields of knowledge when we have the resources and networks with which to find them. The reputation and credibility of such spaces (organisations, events and publications) is at stake
By academic spaces we mean conferences, workshops, summits, journals, organisations and other academic structures which claim to be international. What follows are practical suggestions for genuine inclusion practices to ensure that international really means international.
Money matters
The issues here are about acknowledging limited access to funding, recognising real costs, and being aware of punitive exchange rates. What can be done?
Ensure that there is funding to bring participants to events. This should be a cost built into the budget of an event, like any other cost. It should prioritize offering funding to those unlikely to be funded by their own institutions or organisations, or who are unaffiliated. Otherwise, an event will be international in theory, but much less so in practice.
Be creative about funding structures in order to enable more people to attend. This could include sliding scales for participation (such as different registration fees), allowing people to pay more for their ticket in order to help support someone else to attend (e.g. via a scholarship fund), funded fellowships (e.g. CC Summit and Digital Pedagogy Lab), etc. See further ideas from Ashe Dryden.
Where speakers are paid to speak at an event, pay real costs. This includes travel to and from airports, visas, incidental costs, etc. Otherwise participants will have to subsidise their participation, usually at their own expense.
When organising accommodation conference special rates, include safe low cost accommodation options.
Be mindful of exchange rates. For example, be considerate when eating out at conferences with colleagues from countries where the exchange rates are unfavourable. Some of us have had meals with colleagues and have been appalled by the cost.
Many of us don’t drink, so when splitting bills, don’t include alcohol. Some of us won’t go out for dinner because of this cost.
Genuine participation
Pay attention to who is invited to speak There has been, thank goodness, a great deal of attention paid to avoiding “manels” (i.e. all-male panels), although these continue. Our focus here is about including voices from the periphery. Think “outside of the box” about who is invited to speak (see point below about going beyond existing narrow networks). Think about who is invited to speak as keynotes, as well as in plenaries and on panels. Who is signalled as being the experts and who is signalled as being there to learn? In addition, make a conscious effort to make space for new voices.
Include a variety of epistemologies and criteria for acceptance. Ensure that criteria are explicit in welcoming and encouraging diversity. One way is to ensure that a Call for Proposals directly cites the work of a wide range of authors. We have seen journal CfPs on issues related to diversity and inclusion that cite exclusively white male authors on the topic. Mind you, any such reference list should be suspect.
Pay attention to roles. Think carefully about the roles. Ensure that the “experts” are not all from the Global North and “participants” from the periphery. Ensure that sessions are organized to ensure participants from the North have multiple opportunities to listen to those from the South, and those from the South can hear each other. In addition, ensure that membership of the conference committee, the core team of key conference organisers, and even the conference chairs is diverse. Diverse does not mean a token person from one or two minority groups, but a representative number of participants across relevant minority groups.
The shape of the programme. Ensure diversity across the programme. We can think of examples of events where all the Global South participants were in one panel or one stream. This is a form of marginalisation. Include a diversity of contributors on boards, and in leadership/facilitation positions.
Formats Small and poorer institutions are unlikely to fund someone to attend an event where the person is not speaking. Events where people go to learn/participate, or Unconference type events, are often unfundable internally — so funding needs to be provided. For many, funding is only available if they are making a contribution that is published in official proceedings, so try to provide them.
Lead times How early is the call put out? Many people in Global South people need longer times to get visas, local funds, etc. There are even instances where an invited speaker has not had sufficient time to get a visa, and thus could not travel to participate.
Language Consider how a variety of languages can be enabled. Some conferences put in place strategies to enable participation, through technology, buddy systems, etc.
Participation guidelines How are the values of the conference (re: safety, inclusion, respect) communicated to participants and others? What avenues are provided so that those who experience exclusion or marginalisation have an opportunity to communicate this to/with conference organisers — before, during, or after the event. The Mozilla Festival (#mozfest) provides one such exemplar of participation guidelines: https://mozillafestival.org/guidelines
Offer onsite childcare options or make your event child-friendly. It is much more complex for parents to travel to international (or really any conference not within driving distance) conferences far from home without the option of bringing their children with them. Yes, this is complicated to arrange. But some events do it, so it is not impossible.
New networks
Disrupt “old boys’ networks” Ensure diverse leaders and organizers. This does not mean token diversity (as in 3-4 non-North people in a team of 20, but as international as you want your event to be), and in roles that allow taking action — not just for image. For example, some of us are on several editorial boards but are never consulted on anything related to diversity or anything else. There are cases of other editorial boards where we do have a role.
Enable social networking Provide opportunities for people to join up and meet one another at events. Offer a local person to host a handful of people at a local restaurant, for example.
Facilitate virtual participation Plan for and design that provisions exist for virtual or hybrid participants and presenters. There are several ways to do this, e.g. see http://virtuallyconnecting.org/ for an effective way of doing this.
Above all, do not just celebrate diversity by paying lip service to it. Recognize that it takes hard work and a rethinking of the way things have been done in the past, and often some degree of discomfort. Learn from other examples. Accept that this will always be an aspiration and keep reflecting on what you do and iterate towards improving it. You are challenging hegemonic world systems of knowledge and it will take time to do it right. Keep involving diverse participants and organizers to choose the ways that they believe will help to achieve this. Useful links
