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Arguing that governments can pick winners, Professor Chang urges us to reclaim economic planning, not as a token of centrally-planned communism, but rather as the simple reality behind our market economies today:

Capitalist economies are in large part planned. Governments in capitalist economies practice planning too, albeit on a more limited basis than under communist central planning. All of them finance a significant share of investment in R&D and infrastructure. Most of them plan a significant chunk of the economy through the planning of the activities of state-owned enterprises. Many capitalist governments plan the future shape of individual industrial sectors through sectoral industrial policy or even that of the national economy through indicative planning. More importantly, modern capitalist economies are made up of large, hierarchical corporations that plan their activities in great detail, even across national borders. Therefore, the question is not whether you plan or not. It is about planning the right things at the right levels.

Drawing a clear distinction between communist central planning and capitalist 'indicative' planning, Chang notes that the latter: ... involves the government ... setting some broad targets concerning key economic variables (e.g., investments in strategic industries, infrastructure development, exports) and working with, not against, the private sector to achieve them. Unlike under central planning, these targets are not legally binding; hence the adjective 'indicative'. However, the government will do its best to achieve them by mobilizing various carrots (e.g., subsidies, granting of monopoly rights) and sticks (e.g., regulations, influence through state-owned banks) at its disposal.

Chang observes that: France had great success in promoting investment and technological innovation through indicative planning in the 1950s and 60s, thereby overtaking the British economy as Europe's second industrial power. Other European countries, such as Finland, Norway and Austria, also successfully used indicative planning to upgrade their economies between the 1950s and the 1970s. The East Asian miracle economies of Japan, Korea and Taiwan used indicative planning too between the 1950s and 1980s. This is not to say that all indicative planning exercises have been successful; in India, for example, it has not. Nevertheless, the European and East Asian examples show that planning in certain forms is not incompatible with capitalism and may even promote capitalist development very well.

As we have argued before, the current crisis raging through Europe (in large part caused by free-market economics), forces us to reconsider our economic options. More than ever before, now is the time to rehabilitate indicative planning and industrial policy as key levers in our arsenal of policy tools.

Organized by the New Economics Foundation and the Working Group on Climate and Development, the report (in PDF) is actually pretty good and contains much valuable information on climate change and development (that is, once you get past the hype of the press release and its lack of precision in disaggregating climate and vulnerability as sources of climate-related impacts). The participating organizations have done a nice job integrating considerations of climate change and development, a perspective that is certainly needed. More generally, the IPCC suffers because it no longer considers “policy options” under its mandate. Since its First Assessment Report when it did consider policy options, the IPCC has eschewed responsibility for developing and evaluating a wide range of possible policy options on climate change. By deciding to policy outside of its mandate since 1992, the IPCC, ironically, leaves itself more open to charges of political bias. It is time for the IPCC to bring policy back in, both because we need new and innovative options on climate, but also because the IPCC has great potential to serve as an honest broker. But until it does, its leadership would be well served to avoid either the perception or the reality of endorsing particular political perspectives.

Cuteness is a pretty silly criterion by which to assign moral status, though. It's not as if unappealing animals are less intelligent or less sensitive to pain.

And if you have any trouble seeing the absurdity of basing moral judgments on cuteness, it helps to try out the principle in other contexts. (Is it worse to abuse a cute child than an ugly one?)

But I think the biggest reason that different examples of hurting animals for pleasure elicit different reactions from people is not about the types of animals involved, but about the types of pleasure.

One objective difference people might cite is the fact that a desire to eat meat is “natural” while a desire to watch kittens being crushed is not. Which is true, in the sense that our species did evolve to eat meat while a fetish for crushing kittens is an aberration. But using naturalness as a criterion for moral rightness is a dubious move. First, it seems rather arbitrary, from a logical perspective, which is why it's often referred to as the naturalistic fallacy. And second, it would justify some pretty unsavory “natural” urges, like rape and tribalism, while prohibiting other “unnatural” urges, like the desire to wear clothing or to refrain from having children.

The closest thing that I can find to a morally relevant distinction between industrial farming, dogfighting, and crush videos is this: While it’s true that all three acts cause animal suffering in order to give people pleasure, the nature of that tradeoff differs. The consumers of crush videos and dogfighting are taking pleasure in the suffering itself, whereas the consumers of industrially-farmed meat are taking pleasure in the meat that was produced by the suffering. From a purely harm-based perspective, the moral calculus is the same: the animal suffers so that you can experience pleasure. But the degree of directness of that tradeoff makes a difference in how we perceive your character. Someone whose motive is “I enjoy seeing another creature suffer” seems more evil than someone whose motive is “I want a tasty meal,” even if both people cause the same amount of suffering.

And I can certainly understand why people would want to call a crush video enthusiast more “evil” than a person who buys meat from industrial farms, because of the difference in their motivations. That's a reasonable way to define evilness. But in that case we're left with the fact that a person's evilness may be totally unrelated to the amount of harm she causes; and that, in fact, some of the greatest harm may be caused by people whose motivations seem unobjectionable to us. Apathy, denial, conformity; none of these inspire the same outrage as sadism, but they've caused some pretty horrible outcomes. And if you believe that it's wrong to make animals suffer for our pleasure, but you reserve your moral condemnation only for cases that viscerally upset you, like dogfighting or crush videos, then you're falling prey to the trap that Isaac Asimov famously warned us against: “Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what is right.”

This wasn’t the case everywhere. Germany’s standards agency, established in 1887, was busy setting rules for everything from the content of dyes to the process for making porcelain; other European countries soon followed suit. Higher-quality products, in turn, helped the growth in Germany’s trade exceed that of the United States in the 1890s. America finally got its act together in 1894, when Congress standardized the meaning of what are today common scientific measures, including the ohm, the volt, the watt and the henry, in line with international metrics. And, in 1901, the United States became the last major economic power to establish an agency to set technological standards. The result was a boom in product innovation in all aspects of life during the 20th century. Today we can go to our hardware store and choose from hundreds of light bulbs that all conform to government-mandated quality and performance standards.

Technological standards not only promote innovation — they also can help protect one country’s industries from falling behind those of other countries. Today China, India and other rapidly growing nations are adopting standards that speed the deployment of new technologies. Without similar requirements to manufacture more technologically advanced products, American companies risk seeing the overseas markets for their products shrink while innovative goods from other countries flood the domestic market. To prevent that from happening, America needs not only to continue developing standards, but also to devise a strategy to apply them consistently and quickly.

The best approach would be to borrow from Japan, whose Top Runner program sets energy-efficiency standards by identifying technological leaders in a particular industry — say, washing machines — and mandating that the rest of the industry keep up. As technologies improve, the standards change as well, enabling a virtuous cycle of improvement. At the same time, the government should work with businesses to devise multidimensional standards, so that consumers don’t balk at products because they sacrifice, say, brightness and cost for energy efficiency.

This is not to say that innovation doesn’t bring disruption, and American policymakers can’t ignore the jobs that are lost when government standards sweep older technologies into the dustbin of history. An effective way forward on light bulbs, then, would be to apply standards only to those manufacturers that produce or import in large volume. Meanwhile, smaller, legacy light-bulb producers could remain, cushioning the blow to workers and meeting consumer demand.

Technologies and the standards that guide their deployment have revolutionized American society. They’ve been so successful, in fact, that the role of government has become invisible — so much so that even members of Congress should be excused for believing the government has no business mandating your choice of light bulbs.

It is difficult to say if the "failure" of the academics was due to an unstinting belief in free markets or conflicts of interest. Parts of the movie did appear to be trying too hard to prove the point. However, the threat posed by academics earning consulting fees that dwarf their academic compensation, and which might therefore impair their independence, is a real one.

One of the worst was the Ivy League university economics professor engaged by the Icelandic Chamber of Commerce to co-author a report on the Icelandic financial system. He concluded that the system was sound even though there were numerous warning signs. When he was asked how he arrived at his conclusions, he said he had talked to people and were misled by them. One wonders how much of his conclusions were actually based on rigorous analysis.

it is troubling if academics merely become mouthpieces for vested interests. The impression one gets from watching the movie certainly does not fit with the high level of trust in academics shown by the Edelman Trust Barometer.

As an academic, I have often been told that I can be independent and objective - that I should have no axe to grind and no wheels to grease. However, I worry about an erosion of trust in academics. This may be especially true in certain disciplines like business (which is mine, incidentally).

too many business school professors were serving on US corporate boards and have lost their willingness to be critical about unethical business practices. In corporate scandals such as Enron and Satyam, academics from top business schools have not particularly covered themselves in glory.

It is more and more common for universities - in the US and here - to invite business people to serve on their boards.

universities and academics may lose their independence and objectivity in commenting on business issues critically, for fear of offending those who ultimately have an oversight role over the varsity's senior management.

Universities might also have business leaders serving on boards as potential donors, which would also confuse the role of board members and lead to conflicts of interest. In the Satyam scandal in India, the founder of Satyam sat on the board of the Indian School of Business, while the Dean of the Indian School of Business sat on Satyam's board. Satyam also made a significant donation to the Indian School of Business.

Universities are increasingly dependent on funding from industry and wealthy individuals as well as other sources, sometimes even dubious ones. The recent scandal at the London School of Economics involving its affiliation with Libya is an example.

It is important for universities to have robust gift policies as part of the risk management to protect their reputation, which can be easily tainted if a donation comes from a questionable source. It is especially important that donations do not cause universities to be captured by vested interests.

From time to time, people in industry ask me if I have been pressured by the university to tone down on my outspokenness on corporate governance issues. Thankfully, while there have been instances where varsity colleagues and friends in industry have conveyed messages from others to "tone down", I have felt relatively free to express my views. Of course, were I trying to earn more money from external consulting, I guess I would be less vocal.

I do worry about the loss of independence and, therefore, trust in academics and academic institutions if we are not careful about it.

Implicitly two separate debates are being collapsed here and I would argue that we need to separate both. The first one relates to the stability of the internet as an information and communication infrastructure because of the way we collectively use that infrastructure. The second debate is whether ISPs and telecommunication companies should be allowed to differentiate in their pricing between different levels of quality of access, both towards consumers and content providers.

Just as with freedom of speech, circumstances can be found in which the principle while still cherished and upheld, can be adapted and constrained to some extent. To paraphrase Tim Wu (2008), the aspiration should still be ‘to treat all content, sites, and platforms equally’, but maybe some forms of content should be treated more equally than others in order to guarantee an excellent quality of service for all. However, the societal and political implications of this need to be thought through in detail and as with freedom of speech itself, it will, I believe, require strict regulation and conditions.

In regards to the first debate on internet stability, a case can be made for allowing internet operators to differentiate between different types of data with different needs – if for any reason the quality of service of the internet as a whole cannot be guaranteed anymore. 

Concerning the second debate on differential pricing, it is fair to say that from a public interest and civic liberty perspective the consolidation and institutionalization of a commercially driven two-tiered internet is not acceptable and impossible to legitimate. As is allowing operators to differentiate in the quality of provision of certain kind of content above others.  A core principle such as net neutrality should never be relinquished for the sake of private interests and profit-making strategies – on behalf of industry or for others. If we need to compromise on net neutrality it would always have to be partial, to be circumscribed and only to improve the quality of service for all, not just for the few who can afford it.

Separating these two debates exposes the crux of the current net-neutrality debate. In essence, we are being urged to give up on the principle of net-neutrality to guarantee a good quality of service.  However, this argument is actually a pre-text for the telecom industry to make content-providers pay for the facilitation of access to their audiences – the internet subscribers. And this again can be linked to another debate being waged amongst content providers: how do we make internet users pay for the content they access online? I won’t open that can of worms here, but I will make my point clear.  Telecommunication industry efforts to make content providers pay for access to their audiences do not offer legitimate reasons to suspend the first amendment of the internet.

Efforts in at least eight other states to restrict gaming content have been rejected by various courts. Video game makers have the support of various free-speech, entertainment, and media organizations. Nine states also agree, noting California's law has good intentions but would compel law enforcement to become "culture critics" and "distract from the task of policing actual violence." But 11 other states back California, saying they have enjoyed a traditional regulatory power over commerce aimed at protecting children, including such goods as alcohol and cigarettes.

The natural scientific doubt was this: scientists could not say with absolute certainty that smoking caused cancer, because there wasn’t an invariable effect. “Smoking does not kill everyone who smokes, it only kills about half of them.” All scientists could say was that there was an extremely strong association between smoking and serious health risks

the “Tobacco Strategy” was created, and had two tactics: To “use normal scientific doubt to undermine the status of actual scientific knowledge” and To exploit the media’s adherence to the fairness doctrine, which would give equal weight to each side of a debate, regardless of any disparity in the supporting scientific evidence

Fred Seitz was a scientist who learned the Tobacco Strategy first-hand. He had an impressive resume. An actual rocket scientist, he helped build the atomic bomb in the 1940s, worked for NATO in the 1950s, was president of the U.S. National Academy of Sciences in the 1960s, and of Rockefeller University in the 1970s.

After his retirement in 1979, Seitz took on a job for the tobacco industry. Over the next 6 years, he doled out $45 million of R.J. Reynolds’ money to fund biomedical research to create “an extensive body of scientifically well-grounded data useful in defending the industry against attacks” by such means as focussing on alternative “causes or development mechanisms of chronic degenerative diseases imputed to cigarettes.” He was joined by, most notably, two other physicists: William Nierenberg, who also worked on the atom bomb in the 1940s, submarine warfare, NATO, and was appointed director or the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in 1965; and Robert Jastrow, who founded NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies, which he directed until he retired in 1981 to teach at Dartmouth College.

In 1984, these three founded the think tank, the George C. Marshall Institute

None of these men were experts in environmental and health issues, but they all “used their scientific credentials to present themselves as authorities, and they used their authority to discredit any science they didn’t like.” They turned out to be wrong, in terms of the science, on every issue they weighed in on. But they turned out to be highly successful in preventing or limiting regulation that the scientific evidence would warrant.

The bulk of the book details at how these men and others applied the Tobacco Strategy to create doubt on the following issues: the unfeasibility of the Strategic Defense Initiative (Ronald Reagan’s “Star Wars”), and the resultant threat of nuclear winter that Carl Sagan, among others, pointed out acid rain depletion of the ozone layer second-hand smoke, and most recently, and significantly, global warming.

Having pointed out the dangers the doubt-mongers pose, Oreskes and Conway propose a remedy: an emphasis on scientific literacy, not in the sense of memorizing scientific facts, but in being able to assess which scientists to trust.

a list published by the Heartland Institute (which has been sponsored by oil company Exxon) of 500 scientists "whose research contradicts man-made global warming scares" turns out to be nothing of the kind: as soon as these scientists found out what the institute was saying about them, many angrily demanded that their names be removed. Twenty months later, they are still on the list. The fourth example shows how, during the Bush presidency, White House officials worked with oil companies to remove regulators they didn't like and to doctor official documents about climate change.

Mr [Andrew] Baum [of Morgan Stanley] argues that the solution for drug companies is to share the risks of research with others. That means reducing in-house investment in research, and instead partnering and licensing experimental medicines from smaller companies after some of the early failures have been eliminated.

Chas Bountra of Oxford university calls for a more radical partnership combining industry and academic research. “What we are trying to do is just too difficult,” he says. “No one organisation can do it, so we have to pool resources and expertise.” He suggests removing intellectual property rights until a drug is in mid-stage testing in humans, which would make academics more willing to co-operate because they could publish their results freely. The sharing of data would enable companies to avoid duplicating work.

The challenge is for academia and biotech companies to fill the research gap. Mr Ratcliffe argues that after a lull in 2009 and 2010, private capital is returning to the sector – as demonstrated by a particular buzz at JPMorgan’s new year biotech conference in California.

Patrick Vallance, senior vice-president for discovery at GSK, is cautious about deferring patents until so late, arguing that drug companies need to be able to protect their intellectual property in order to fund expensive late-stage development. But he too is experimenting with ways to co-operate more closely with academics over longer periods. He is also championing the “externalisation” of the company’s pipeline, with biotech and university partners accounting for half the total. GSK has earmarked £50m to support fledgling British companies, many “wrapped around” the group’s sites. One such example is Convergence, a spin-out from a GSK lab researching pain relief.

Big pharmaceutical companies are scrambling to find ways to overcome the loss of tens of billions of dollars in revenue as patents on top-selling drugs run out. Many sound similar notes about encouraging entrepreneurialism in their ranks, making smart deals and capitalizing on emerging-market growth, But their actual plans are often quite different—and each carries significant risks. Novartis AG, for instance, is so convinced that diversification is the best course that the company has a considerable business selling low-priced generics. Meantime, Bristol-Myers Squibb Co. has decided to concentrate on innovative medicines, shedding so many nonpharmaceutical units that it' has become midsize. GlaxoSmithKline PLC is still investing in research, but like Pfizer it has narrowed the range of disease areas in which it's seeking new treatments. Underlying the divergence is a deep-seated philosophical dispute over the merits of the heavy investment that companies must make to discover new drugs. By most estimates, bringing a new molecule to market costs drug makers more than $1 billion. Industry officials have been engaged in a vigorous debate over whether the investment is worth it, or whether they should leave it to others whose work they can acquire or license after a demonstration of strong potential.

To what extent can approached to innovation influence the trend line in the graph above?  I don't think that anyone really knows the answer.  The different approaches being taken by Merck and Pfizer, for instance, represent a real world policy experiment: The contrast between Merck and Pfizer reflects the very different personal approaches of their CEOs. An accountant by training, Mr. Read has held various business positions during a three-decade career at Pfizer. The 57-year-old cited torcetrapib, a cholesterol medicine that the company spent more than $800 million developing but then pulled due to safety concerns, as an example of the kind of wasteful spending Pfizer would avoid. "We're going to have metrics," Mr. Read said. He wants Pfizer to stop "always investing on hope rather than strong signals and the quality of the science, the quality of the medicine." Mr. Frazier, 56, a Harvard-educated lawyer who joined Merck in 1994 from private practice, said the company was sticking by its own troubled heart drug, vorapaxar. Mr. Frazier said he wanted to see all of the data from the trials before rushing to judgment. "We believe in the innovation approach," he said.

What seems obvious is sometime just wrong.  This of course is why we actually do research.  So why is it that we shouldn't make what seems to be an obvious connection between these papers and recent disasters, as so many have already done?

First, the Min et al. paper seeks to identify a GHG signal in global precipitation over the period 1950-1999.  They focus on one-day and five-day measures of precipitation.  They do not discuss streamflow or damage.  For many years, an upwards trend in precipitation has been documented, and attributed to GHGs, even back to the 1990s (I co-authored a paper on precipitation and floods in 1999 that assumed a human influence on precipitation, PDF), so I am unsure what is actually new in this paper's conclusions.

However, accepting that precipitation has increased and can be attributed in some part to GHG emissions, there have not been shown corresponding increases in streamflow (floods)  or damage. How can this be?  Think of it like this -- Precipitation is to flood damage as wind is to windstorm damage.  It is not enough to say that it has become windier to make a connection to increased windstorm damage -- you need to show a specific increase in those specific wind events that actually cause damage. There are a lot of days that could be windier with no increase in damage; the same goes for precipitation.

My understanding of the literature on streamflow is that there have not been shown increasing peak streamflow commensurate with increases in precipitation, and this is a robust finding across the literature.  For instance, one recent review concludes: Floods are of great concern in many areas of the world, with the last decade seeing major fluvial events in, for example, Asia, Europe and North America. This has focused attention on whether or not these are a result of a changing climate. Rive flows calculated from outputs from global models often suggest that high river flows will increase in a warmer, future climate. However, the future projections are not necessarily in tune with the records collected so far – the observational evidence is more ambiguous. A recent study of trends in long time series of annual maximum river flows at 195 gauging stations worldwide suggests that the majority of these flow records (70%) do not exhibit any statistically significant trends. Trends in the remaining records are almost evenly split between having a positive and a negative direction.

Absent an increase in peak streamflows, it is impossible to connect the dots between increasing precipitation and increasing floods.  There are of course good reasons why a linkage between increasing precipitation and peak streamflow would be difficult to make, such as the seasonality of the increase in rain or snow, the large variability of flooding and the human influence on river systems.  Those difficulties of course translate directly to a difficulty in connecting the effects of increasing GHGs to flood disasters.

Second, the Pall et al. paper seeks to quantify the increased risk of a specific flood event in the UK in 2000 due to greenhouse gas emissions.  It applies a methodology that was previously used with respect to the 2003 European heatwave. Taking the paper at face value, it clearly states that in England and Wales, there has not been an increasing trend in precipitation or floods.  Thus, floods in this region are not a contributor to the global increase in disaster costs.  Further, there has been no increase in Europe in normalized flood losses (PDF).  Thus, Pall et al. paper is focused attribution in the context of on a single event, and not trend detection in the region that it focuses on, much less any broader context.

More generally, the paper utilizes a seasonal forecast model to assess risk probabilities.  Given the performance of seasonal forecast models in actual prediction mode, I would expect many scientists to remain skeptical of this approach to attribution. Of course, if this group can show an improvement in the skill of actual seasonal forecasts by using greenhouse gas emissions as a predictor, they will have a very convincing case.  That is a high hurdle.

In short, the new studies are interesting and add to our knowledge.  But they do not change the state of knowledge related to trends in global disasters and how they might be related to greenhouse gases.  But even so, I expect that many will still want to connect the dots between greenhouse gas emissions and recent floods.  Connecting the dots is fun, but it is not science.

Jessica Weinkle said...

The thing about the nature articles is that Nature itself made the leap from the science findings to damages in the News piece by Q. Schiermeier through the decision to bring up the topic of insurance. (Not to mention that which is symbolically represented merely by the journal’s cover this week). With what I (maybe, naively) believe to be a particularly ballsy move, the article quoted Muir-Wood, an industry scientists. However, what he is quoted as saying is admirably clever. Initially it is stated that Dr. Muir-Wood backs the notion that one cannot put the blame of increased losses on climate change. Then, the article ends with a quote from him, “If there’s evidence that risk is changing, then this is something we need to incorporate in our models.”

This is a very slippery slope and a brilliant double-dog dare. Without doing anything but sitting back and watching the headlines, one can form the argument that “science” supports the remodeling of the hazard risk above the climatological average and is more important then the risks stemming from socioeconomic factors. The reinsurance industry itself has published that socioeconomic factors far outweigh changes in the hazard in concern of losses. The point is (and that which has particularly gotten my knickers in a knot) is that Nature, et al. may wish to consider what it is that they want to accomplish. Is it greater involvement of federal governments in the insurance/reinsurance industry on the premise that climate change is too great a loss risk for private industry alone regardless of the financial burden it imposes? The move of insurance mechanisms into all corners of the earth under the auspices of climate change adaptation? Or simply a move to bolster prominence, regardless of whose back it breaks- including their own, if any of them are proud owners of a home mortgage? How much faith does one have in their own model when they are told that hundreds of millions of dollars in the global economy is being bet against the odds that their models produce?

What Nature says matters to the world; what scientists say matters to the world- whether they care for the responsibility or not. That is after all, the game of fame and fortune (aka prestige).

While certainly not as big as the ($820B) pharmaceutical industry, $85B is still an awful lot of money, and it’s hard to imagine it not being enough to carve out a research budget from. Yet research isn’t done by entire industries, but by one tier of the value chain — the companies that manufacture and distribute the products.  If they’re not big enough to fund the type of research skeptics are looking for, it won’t be done, so let’s consider some of the bigger players before we make that call.

French giant Boiron (EPA:BOI) is by far the largest distributor of natural health products in Canada – they’re responsible for nearly 4000 (15%) of the 26,000 products approved by Health Canada’s Natural Health Products Directorate. They’re also one of largest natural health products companies globally, with 2010 revenues of €520M ($700M CAD) – a size achieved not just through the success of killer products like Oscillococcinum, but also through acquisitions. In recent years, the company has acquired both its main French rival Dolisos (giving them 90% of the French homeopathy market) and the largest homeopathy company in Belgium, Unda. So this is a big company that’s prepared to spend money to get even bigger. What about spending some of that money on research?  Well ostensibly it’s a priority: “Since 2005, we have devoted a growing level of resources to develop research,” they proclaim in the opening pages of their latest annual report, citing 70 in-progress research projects. Yet the numbers tell a different story – €4.2M in R&D expenditures in 2009, just 0.8% of revenues.

To put that in perspective, consider that in the same year, GlaxoSmithKline spent 14% of its revenues on R&D, Pfizer spent 15%, and Merck spent a whopping 21%.

But if Boiron’s not spending like pharma on research, there’s one line item where they do go toe to toe: Marketing. The company spent €114M – a full 21% of revenues on marketing in 2009. By contrast, GSK, Pfizer and Merck reported 33%, 29%, and 30% of revenues respectively on their “Selling, General, and Administrative” (SG&A) line – which includes not just sales & marketing expenses, but also executive salaries, support staff, legal, rent, utilities, and other overhead costs. Once those are subtracted out, it’s likely that Boiron spends at least as much of its revenues on marketing as Big Pharma.

the standard approach to article preparation is for planners to work hand-in-glove with drug companies to create a first draft. "Key messages" laid out by the drug companies are accommodated to the extent that they can be supported by available data.Planners combine scientific information about a drug with two kinds of message that help create a "drug narrative". "Environmental" messages are intended to forge the sense of a gap in available medicine within a specific clinical field, while "product" messages show how the new drug meets this need.

In a flow-chart drawn up by Eric Crown, publications manager at Merck (the company that sold the controversial painkiller Vioxx), the determination of authorship appears as the fourth stage of the article preparation procedure. That is, only after company employees have presented clinical study data, discussed the findings, finalised "tactical plans" and identified where the article should be published.Perhaps surprisingly to the casual observer, under guidelines tightened up in recent years by the International Committee of Journal Editors (ICMJE), Crown's approach, typical among pharmaceutical companies, does not constitute ghostwriting.

What publication planners understand by the term is precise but it is also quite distinct from the popular interpretation.

"We may have written a paper, but the people we work with have to have some input and approve it."

"I feel that we're doing something good for mankind in the long-run," said Kimberly Goldin, head of the International Society for Medical Publication Professionals (ISMPP). "We want to influence healthcare in a very positive, scientifically sound way.""The profession grew out of a marketing umbrella, but has moved under the science umbrella," she said.But without the window of court documents to show how publication planning is being carried out today, the public simply cannot know if reforms the industry says it has made are genuine.

Dr Leemon McHenry, a medical ethicist at California State University, says nothing has changed. "They've just found more clever ways of concealing their activities. There's a whole army of hidden scribes. It's an epistemological morass where you can't trust anything."Alastair Matheson is a British medical writer who has worked extensively for medical communication agencies. He dismisses the planners' claims to having reformed as "bullshit"."The new guidelines work very nicely to permit the current system to continue as it has been", he said. "The whole thing is a big lie. They are promoting a product."

Are we making a judgment about PepsiCo's science by hosting a blog for them on SB? No. (Nor are we making a judgment about your own research for that matter). Are we saying that they are entitled to have a seat at the table? Yes. Do they know that they are opening themselves us to debate? Absolutely. You may disagree with the substance of their posts (as you do on any other blog). You may even call into question their presence on a public forum dedicated to science. It will be up to them to respond. Better yet, it will be up to them to listen and take actions. The sustainability of this experiment lives or dies in the establishment of a transparent dialogue.

SB, like nearly all free content sites, is sustainable because of advertising. But advertising is itself highly unpredictable, as the last year has shown the industry. And securing advertising around topics like physics and evolution is even more challenging

We started experimenting with sponsored blogs a couple of years ago and decided to market long-term sponsorship contracts instead of sporadic advertising contracts. This is not a new idea: respected magazines have been doing the same thing for years (think Atlantic Ideas Festival going on now or The New Yorker Festival, where representatives of sponsoring companies sit on stage alongside writers and thinkers, or advertorials where companies pay to create content -- clearly marked as such -- instead of just running an ad). We think this may be a digital equivalent.

meaningful discussion about science and society in the 21st century requires that all players be at the table (with affiliations made clear), from all parts of the world, from every sector of society. And ScienceBlogs is where this is starting to happen.