Cultures of Trial and Error: Engines of Science Correction in the Biosciences—And How They Sometimes Run Out of Steam

JOTE x NanoBubbles present Cultures of Trial and Error: a peer reviewed blog series on error correction in science.

Scientific correction is often imagined as a clear-cut, procedural, and largely self-contained response to error: identify the problem, notify the editor, issue a retraction, update the record, move on. For small, innocent mistakes, contradictory findings, or methodological flaws, this process might as well work as intended. But when correction involves facing allegations laden with social, economic and emotional weight, contested responsibility, institutional silence, or reputational risks, the situation becomes far murkier.

Recent developments—what this blog post series has aptly framed as cultures of trial and error—have challenged longstanding assumptions about how scientific errors are recognized and addressed. From the so-called replication crisis in psychology and the biosciences, to the rise of watchdog initiatives such as Retraction Watch, the sufficiency of traditional quality controls has come under sustained scrutiny (Antonakaki et al., 2025). In the currently emerging meta-research framing, retractions, corrigenda, and institutional investigations are just the visible parts of a largely hidden ecosystem of responses to perceived errors and misconduct. These responses are not merely technical or ethical; they are deeply social and material: they need both humans and non-humans (lab material and records, research data & infrastructures etc.) to come together in the controlled space of a trial specifically designed to produce corrective insight.

This blog post examines one site where that heterogeneous ecosystem was tested and reshaped: the Molecular Biology Society of Japan (hereafter, MBSJ or Society), one of the country’s largest representative bodies of bioscientists. Between 2006 and 2014, the Society was repeatedly confronted with cases of suspected misconduct—each involving distinct pressures, publics, and possibilities for action [1]. I ask: What drove the MBSJ to take on corrective work in their field of research? What kind of service did they see themselves as offering their community and others beyond?

More importantly, each case the MBSJ engaged was blurring the line between error and outright misconduct, making them especially valuable case-studies for Science and Technology Studies (STS) research, which analytically engage with, even invest in, the murky (For a recent review of the STS controversy studies tradition, see Elam, 2024). During this period, the MBSJ experimented with a model of scientific self-regulation that sometimes aligned with institutional norms, and at other times ran counter to them. They weren’t just navigating murky waters—they were actively trying to chart them, drawing lessons from experience and testing ways to secure they would always find their way, or a good way, through them. And, as I will show, they paid a hefty price for it.

In an effort to understand the conditions that make charting a path for scientific correction practically im/possible, while doing justice to the unresolved complexities of the empirical story, I introduce the idea of engines of science correction. This conceptual framework is inspired by Ian Hacking’s engines of discovery (2007), a framework he developed to describe the historically situated mechanisms that drive knowledge production in (what he calls) the sciences of the Human—a category broad enough, in his usage and mine, to include the biosciences, psychology, psychiatry, economics, political science, anthropology, and more. In Hacking, I found not just a language for naming and ordering mechanisms along a sequence, but a generative way to surface the tacit labor, interpretive judgment, and institutional friction involved in how scientific communities attempt to correct themselves.

But naming and ordering, here, are not only critical moves; they are also reparative. As Eve Sedgwick has argued, reparative reading resists the urge to preemptively expose or condemn (2003). Instead, it seeks to assemble meaning and possibility under conditions of partial knowledge, institutional constraint, or even despair, as “the reader has room to realize that the future may be different from the present, [as] it is also possible for her to entertain such profoundly painful, profoundly relieving, ethically crucial possibilities as that the past, in turn, could have happened differently from the way it actually did.” (Sedgwick, 2003, p. 146). It is in this reparative spirit that I approach the MBSJ's story—as an attempt to engage bioscientists not just as subjects of critique, but as colleagues facing somewhat familiar struggles in the science systems we inhabit. Moreover, the concept allows me, in the concluding remarks, to shift into a more autoethnographic register—one shaped by my own participation in projects of critique, repair and service to the STS community.

The MBSJ as a culture of trial and error: initiatives, mistakes, consequences

To explore how engines of science correction operate in practice, I narrate four key episodes in the recent history of the MBSJ. I focus on the period between 2006 and 2014, when the MBSJ faced a series of high-profile cases involving allegations of research misconduct among its members. Each case triggered different responses—ranging from independent investigation to frustrated, chronic anticipation for relevant disclosures, to persistent public interventions and national media engagement—and together, they offer a rare window into how corrective activity emerges, evolves, or falters under pressure. These are not stories of linear reform. Rather, they reveal how access to material and testimony, the authority to assess those implicated, and the legitimacy to draw and communicate a composite perspective, are continually negotiated as corrective moves and how they set precedents, both good and bad, that guide communities from one episode to the next.

From tragedy to agency: the possibility of independent investigation

The episode now known within the MBSJ as the Sugino problem (Mondai, in Japanese) began in late summer 2006, when it became public knowledge that Professor Sugino of Osaka University, who had previously chaired the MBSJ Annual Meeting, was implicated in allegations of data fabrication. The paper at the center of the controversy had been published just a month earlier in the Journal of Biological Chemistry and was co-authored by members of Sugino’s lab at the Graduate School of Frontier Biosciences. It was the co-authors themselves who alerted the university, alleging that certain experimental data had been included in the paper without their consent. Although technical in nature, these accusations quickly escalated due to their broader implications for authorship, hierarchy, and lab management. (For a brief overview in English, see the translated excerpts of the final report by the Scientific Ethics and Research Conduct Committee at the Graduate School of Frontier Biosciences, Osaka University, 2007; and also, for a raw reaction to the case, see Yanagida, 2006b).

The situation deepened into tragedy soon after, when one of Sugino’s assistant professors committed suicide inside the space of the laboratory (Fuyuno & Cyranoski, 2006). This loss cast a long shadow over the local research community, with conversation points raised about how his death exposed the extreme pressure placed on young researchers and the isolation that often surrounds allegations of misconduct (see, for example, this Request by the Graduate Students Community of Kyoto University at an online forum, Onegai: YK Senpai No Fuhō Yori - Kyōtodaigaku Daigakuin, 2006; or, this moving blog post in English by Professor Yanagida, 2006a). Osaka University first attempted to separate its inquiry from media speculation about the conditions of death (Chair of the investigation was quoted at Asahi Shinbun, 2006), and later guaranteed future protections for whistleblowers and complainants (Osaka School of Frontier Biomedicine, 2006).

Not fully convinced by the university’s internal report—particularly its reluctance to grant Sugino the right to appeal—the MBSJ established its own Working Group (WG) in early 2007 to conduct an independent investigation (see Sec1:3–Sec1:4 at the Bulletin No.86 of the Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2007a, pp. 3–4). This move challenged the prevailing assumption that universities alone should oversee error correction. It would later be reported that the WG took just over a year to gain access to materials and testimonies, and to reach a position from which it could present its findings with both authority and legitimacy (Tsurimoto et al., 2009). By publishing its full report in Genes to Cells (the MBSJ Journal), alongside a formal rebuttal from Sugino, the Society reimagined scientific correction as a practice rooted in transparency, dialogue, and fairness, such that extends to cover those who have erred (Sugino, 2009; Yanagida, 2009).

Building reform: The emergence of the Wakate (Young Researcher) Symposia

In the aftermath of Sugino’s dishonorable discharge from Osaka University, the MBSJ sought not only to reckon with what had gone wrong, but to shift the cultural conditions that might allow such problems to repeat. One of the key vehicles for this effort became the Wakate Symposia—a new initiative aimed at cultivating ethical reflection and open dialogue among young researchers at the MBSJ. Launched in 2007 under the stewardship of Professor Kato of Tokyo University, the symposia functioned as both pedagogical experiment and cultural intervention (see the Wakate WG's report at the MBSJ News outlet, “Kenkyū Rinri Iinkai Wakate Kyōiku Wākingugurūpu Kara No Go Hōkoku,” 2007, pp. 9–10). The slogan for the first two iterations of the Wakate was Now Is the Time to Show the Conscience of Scientists—A Collective Reflection on Scientific Misconduct (Ima koso shimesou kagakusha no ryoushin—Minna de kangaeru kagakuteki fusei mondai) (The MBSJ has released full transcripts of the discussions, see Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2007b, 2008).

At the inaugural session, Professor Kato offered a metaphor that would come to shape the spirit of the Wakate series: each lab, he suggested, is like a takotsubo, a clay pot traditionally used as an octopus trap (Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2007b, pp. 27–28). A takotsubo lures the animal in with a false sense of safety and comfort. The implication was subtle but powerful: while the enclosed, familiar environment of a lab can foster productivity, it can also conceal problems—ethical, procedural, or interpersonal. The Wakate Symposia encouraged young researchers to reflect critically on these closed dynamics and to look beyond their immediate supervisors for support and guidance.

Limits of independence in doing corrective work: The Kato Problem

The MBSJ’s effort to institutionalize scientific correction through the Wakate Symposia was soon tested by a deeply uncomfortable turn of events. In January 2012, Professor Kato—who had not only helped frame the Sugino case but had also become the public face of the Wakate initiative—was himself accused of serious misconduct (katolab-imagefraud, a blog by JuuichiJigen, 2012; Normile, 2012). The allegations spanned multiple publications and several years, prompting the University of Tokyo to launch an internal investigation. That investigation, which lasted nearly three years, ultimately painted a bleak picture of systemic abuses of power, questionable research practices, and image or data reuse across numerous publications from the Kato Laboratory.

In contrast to the Sugino problem, the circumstances surrounding Kato unfolded in a markedly different way. While the earlier case had drawn visibility through tragedy and mobilized sympathy within the community, the Kato case was met with silence and opacity. The University of Tokyo conducted its investigation largely behind closed doors, and information remained scarce (The first public acknowledgement came almost two years after the launch of investigation, see President's statement, the University of Tokyo, 2013). The only partial exception to this silence came from watchdog platforms like Retraction Watch, which documented retractions and updates in real time (14 posts between April 2012 and December 2014. I cite the earliest as an example, Retraction Watch, 2012). Still, for the MBSJ, the lack of access to materials and personnel—a key factor that had enabled their independent inquiry into the Sugino problem—made any parallel investigation effectively impossible. As a result, the Society was left on the sidelines, unable to assert the community-based corrective role it had begun to develop in earlier years. Minutes from the December 2012 Board of Directors meeting reveal intense internal debate: members lamented the slow response, questioned whether the Society should issue a public statement, and expressed concern that inaction might erode members’ and public trust. Some acknowledged the limits of the Society’s authority, recognizing that the University controlled all information and insisting that the MBSJ could not proceed without verified evidence (Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2012, online, agenda item 5).

As the Society’s leadership saw no other option but to push for formal updates from Tokyo University (President's statement, the Molecular Biology Society Japan, personal communication, November 8, 2012; President's statement, the Molecular Biology Society Japan, personal communication, August 7, 2013), growing frustration within the MBSJ membership became apparent. Doubts surfaced over the leadership’s apparent inaction and questions were raised about the viability of continuing the Wakate symposia, given that their public face was now embroiled in scandal (Science in Japan, a discussion site for Japanese science [Nihon no kagaku o kangaeru], 2013a, 2013b). The resulting inner debate is a fascinating tale, which I do not have the adequate space to develop as part of this blog post, but I can, at least, direct the curious reader to the full transcript of one MBSJ forum session in 2013 that was held in English (Therein, president Osumi Noriko summarizes the Kato problem for the MBSJ, Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2013b, pp. 5–9).

Past and Parallel Experiences Shaped the MBSJ’s Response to the now infamous STAP Cell case

By early 2014, the MBSJ was again confronted with a major case of alleged scientific misconduct. Allegations had emerged against two publications on the so-called STAP (stimulus-triggered acquisition of pluripotency) cells, a controversial and ultimately discredited stem cell culture technique (For detailed analysis, see Antonakaki, 2019; Meskus et al., 2018). The Society now faced the complex task of selecting its mode of response to a scandal under intense national and international scrutiny, while still managing the unresolved fallout from the Kato problem within its own membership. This placed the Society in a moment of acute institutional tension, where its authority and legitimacy as a corrective agent came under unprecedented pressure (The President's Report for 2013 nicely summarizes the tensions and priorities, in English, see Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2013a).

As RIKEN—the prominent national research organization that oversaw the laboratories where the STAP cell research was conducted—began its investigation at the end of February 2014, the MBSJ took a notably proactive public stance. This time, rather than waiting for updates from the sidelines, the Society issued a series of public presidential statements (Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2014a, 2014b, 2014c). Each urged a thorough and transparent investigation into the STAP cell papers, with particular emphasis on creating the conditions necessary for independent verification of investigatory findings. The implication was that the MBSJ would take on the challenge of independent verification, as they had done in the past, provided that they were given the material opportunity: The initial presidential request to RIKEN (March 3, 2014) can be interpreted as a tactical effort, primarily aimed at indirectly criticizing and pressuring Tokyo University for its opacity and lack of responsiveness. The subsequent requests (March 11 and July 4, 2014) focused on calls for genetic analysis of the STAP cell samples (calls that were emerging inside and outside RIKEN, but were not reflected in the scope and priorities of the first investigation)—reflecting the MBSJ’s belief that, as practicing bioscientists, they could meaningfully evaluate the integrity of an investigative report, provided the raw data and analytical methods were transparently disclosed. This stance is consistent with how the Society had constructed their independent inquiries in the Sugino case, and how they were experiencing the limits of what they could offer in the Kato one.

The flurry of public-facing activity revealed both how much had changed since 2006—and how much had not: The experience of the Sugino case had taught the MBSJ the value of independent, self-directed inquiry. Yet the limits of that independence had already been made painfully clear during the Kato case, and those constraints remained—especially in the Society’s ability to navigate high-stakes controversy without exposing itself to harmful levels of scrutiny, speculation, or backlash. This tension came into sharp focus following the death of Sasai Yoshiki in August 2014. Sasai, one of the co-authors of the STAP cell papers, died by suicide at his workplace—another tragic loss in the history of science correction in Japan and one that sent shockwaves through the community. Again, as in the 2006 assistant professor’s passing, grief and shock quickly gave way to a wave of online speculation. This time, however, the MBSJ came under fire for having possibly amplified Sasai’s despair with their public critique. Just days before his death, members of its research ethics WG and the Wakate initiative had appeared as expert commentators on a nationally televised investigative program by NHK, Japan’s public broadcaster, offering technical rebuttals to the STAP cell claims.

In response, President Osumi issued a public letter to the MBSJ community, firmly rejecting claims that the Society had singled out Sasai or applied undue pressure (Molecular Biology Society of Japan, 2014, online, §3). She emphasized their requests had been procedural and systemic in nature, not personal. Still, the damage had been done: the Society’s earlier emphasis on transparency and accountability had become uncomfortably entangled with tragedy. When President Osumi later convened the forum Maintaining Fairness in Life Science Research at the 2014 Annual Meeting, the tone was noticeably subdued. In her remarks, she invoked Heinrich’s Law—the principle that visible failures are often preceded by numerous hidden risks—not to assign blame, but to highlight the need for collective vigilance in addressing deeply rooted problems (Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2014d, p. 2). Another senior member of the community pleaded in response that,

Although the (Kato) problem caused a setback and left the Society with a sort of trauma, I believe that the Society—as represented by the Board of Directors—should properly come to terms with it. After that, it would be better to have a bottom-up discussion about what kind of programs to create and what the community can do going forward. (Molecular Biology Society Japan, 2014d, p. 12)

Yet by that point, the Society’s appetite for such public visibility and intervention had begun to wane. Interventions vis-á-vis the STAP cell case effectively stopped. Moreover, that forum marked a quiet farewell to the Wakate era altogether. The established mode of MBSJ critique and redress had run out of steam (Cf. Latour, 2004), something that reflects the exhaustion of the previous script for corrective action, without the introduction of a novel one. It begs the question: was it all for nothing?

MBSJ’s Engines of Correction in the Wakate Era

Between 2006 and 2014, at least four distinct engines of science correction operated within the MBSJ. Together, these form the space of the corrective trial—a domain where evidence, interpretation, and legitimacy are actively negotiated amid social, institutional, and communal pressures. Drawing inspiration from Hacking’s practice of naming his engines with imperative verbs and exclamation marks, I offer the following short elaborations in the same spirit:

1. Access material sources and personnel at stake!

Participants in a culture of trial and error require access to the raw materials of laboratory life—data, notes, protocols, and people. This access need not be complete; partial proxies can suffice to construct a meaningful and nuanced understanding. In the Sugino case, the Working Group leveraged their familiarity with the Osaka/Kyoto research community to broker access to both material evidence and personal testimony. They approached the university’s published report as if they were its critical replicators and peer reviewers, systematically comparing its findings with insights they had developed independently.

By contrast, in the Kato case, the University of Tokyo’s informational opacity effectively foreclosed any parallel or independent investigation. Despite high public interest and institutional commitment, the MBSJ’s corrective efforts could not gain traction between 2012-2013. Confronted with this impasse, the MBSJ leadership redirected its energies in 2014 toward RIKEN, hoping that a public, good-faith critique and collaborative engagement in the STAP cell case might serve as a constructive example—one that could encourage the University of Tokyo to adopt a more transparent and cooperative stance as its own investigation reached its final stages. However, the tragic events that unfolded during this period—most notably the suicide of Sasai Yoshiki—and the subsequent handling of blame and responsibility disrupted these efforts. In the aftermath, public interventions aimed at securing access and independently verifying the investigative reports in either case were effectively abandoned midstream.

But, returning to the Sugino case where ‘access’ was achievable—via public disclosures, open data, leaks, or institutional cooperation—it activated a second engine:

2. Assess the measurement at stake!

Correction depends not only on access to materials or testimony but on whether established standards were embedded, assumed, or violated in publications. In the Sugino inquiry, testimony from twenty employees and former students, coupled with lab workflow mapping, exposed mismatches between published findings and (missing) primary data. When this engine fires, it invites the activation of a third:

3. Assess the measurer at stake!

Who conducted the measurement, under what authority, and within what environment? The Working Group engaged directly with Sugino, tracing his lab’s evolution from the mid-1990s into the 2000s. Their report painted a picture of a laboratory increasingly populated by early-career researchers and a steady influx of students, with an often-absent leader due to travel or multiple affiliations. Concerns about managerial style and authorship responsibility influenced both blame distribution and reform imaginations. With engines two and three in motion, a fourth one becomes available:

4. Assess the propriety of actions versus the contents of allegations!

Correction involves judging the seriousness of deviations from norms—were they violations, and was harm done? This engine combines scientific and moral reasoning and underpins decisions about public action. Osaka University might have ultimately dismissed Sugino dishonorably, but the MBSJ saw this as reflecting the gravity of the assistant’s suicide more than a fair assessment of the publication error itself. The Society’s decision to allow Sugino a public response can be seen as partly an attempt to remediate harm in the community, and partly an effort to close the episode with some dignity for the living.

Conclusion

Although the period of the Wakate Symposia has largely faded from institutional memory—and I want to extend a degree of sympathy toward that purposeful erasure—I must admit, as an early-career researcher and a feminist in STS, that the story of the MBSJ’s corrective work has stayed with me. I have tried to learn from it, to “think with it” (as STSers like to say), and to share it outside Japan and beyond the biosciences. After all, placing trust in the wrong person (as the MBSJ did when appointing Kato as a champion of young researchers, only for subsequent revelations to show that he had abused his position and power) is hardly unique. Is it too far-fetched to suggest that this could happen to the best of us—in all domains of life, science included?

In recent years, and while still a doctoral candidate, I have taken on roles such as serving the stsing e.V. community as ombudsperson, and the EASST community as co-chair of its Ethics Committee. These roles emerged at a time when STS itself was being asked—by insiders and interlocutors alike—to turn its critical gaze inward (For a short review see, Antonakaki, 2023). I do not miss the irony—or the precarity—of being appointed myself to positions of ethical stewardship as an early-career scholar in a field newly attuned to its own hierarchies and exclusions. But perhaps that, too, is part of corrective work: learning to hold responsibility while still navigating one’s own vulnerability.

That said, what continues to resonate with me in the MBSJ story is the moral weight of it all and how boldly, even if not perfectly, they attempted to pick it up: acknowledging harm, seeking accountability and thinking which forms of redress and repair could become available after the fact. Those who shepherd early-career paths, ethics training, or integrity initiatives in the sciences carry a quiet, often invisible responsibility: to help shape how communities acknowledge harm and seek to remediate it—not flawlessly, but meaningfully. Science correction can have (as the sociotechnical narratives of many meta-researchers and open access advocates suggest) transformative, even “revolutionary” effects. But—and here is the crux for feminists like myself—if we cannot do reparative work along the way, then it is not our science correction.

Acknowledgements

This blog post benefitted from two thoughtful peer reviews received in July 2025. My co-editors, Candida F. Sánchez Burmester and Mady Barbeitas, also offered gracious, insightful, and encouraging comments on the submitted draft. I am grateful to all four colleagues for their close and generous reading of my work.

I am also deeply grateful to my PhD writing-accountability partner, Adina Dymczyk, for two formative conversations on Ian Hacking’s work (Oct & Dec 2024). These discussions were invaluable in helping me build the confidence to extend Hacking’s concept beyond discovery and into the realm of science correction. I also thank her for thoughtful feedback on an early version of the blog post.

The effort to trace common threads across the three cases of misconduct investigation—and to weave them into a shared story centered on the experience of the MBSJ—would not have been possible without the ongoing support of the post/doctoral colloquium led by Prof. Stathis Arapostathis at the National Kapodistrian University of Athens. Over the past few years, the opportunity to present (as a guest member) each case in detail and receive generous, sustained feedback from the colloquium members has shaped this work in critical ways. I am sincerely grateful to all participants, and to Stathis in particular.

This blog post series has been financially supported by 'NanoBubbles: how, when and why does science fail to correct itself', a project that has received Synergy grant funding from the European Research Council (ERC), within the European Union’s Horizon 2020 programme, grant agreement no. 951393.

Footnotes

[1]: Clarification: The MBSJ continued to face cases of misconduct after 2014; the date range here reflects the period covered by my dissertation research.

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