{"id":173089,"date":"2024-11-07T10:49:26","date_gmt":"2024-11-07T09:49:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.erasmusmagazine.nl\/en\/?p=173089"},"modified":"2025-12-19T11:27:34","modified_gmt":"2025-12-19T10:27:34","slug":"welcome-to-the-scientific-knock-off-conference-i-feel-cheated","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.erasmusmagazine.nl\/en\/2024\/11\/07\/welcome-to-the-scientific-knock-off-conference-i-feel-cheated\/","title":{"rendered":"Welcome to the scientific knock-off conference. \u2018I feel cheated\u2019"},"content":{"rendered":"

Random topics, poor presentations \u2013 copycat conferences are the latest way unscrupulous companies try to extract money from scientists. We attended one in Budapest, where several Dutch researchers gave talks. \u201cOnce, but never again.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\n\t\n\n<\/svg>\n<\/span>\n\tImage by:<\/span>\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tStan van Pelt<\/a>\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t<\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>

\u201cAt least you\u2019ll be able to say you attended a strange presentation about mobile phones on buses.\u201d Researcher Rand Raheem from Middlesex University (England) tried to laugh off her discomfort as she wrapped up her talk. For twenty minutes, she had discussed the challenges of unstable internet connectivity on high-speed transport such as trains and buses, and the technical solutions for these issues.<\/p>\n

A normal enough topic for an academic conference, if it weren\u2019t for the fact that Raheem was presenting at a specialist neuroscience conference, NeuroTalk Budapest. She wasn\u2019t the only misfit<\/a> in the session titled \u2018Latest Breaking Research of Basic Neurosciences\u2019. The next talk was on the role of bone loss in dental procedures. Even the presentations that somewhat touched on neuroscience were unrelated, ranging from the importance of filler words for sentence comprehension to electrical stimulation of spinal nerves for intervertebral disc recovery.<\/p>\n

Such variation is unusual for conference sessions, which are typically thematically cohesive, allowing peers to meet, discuss, and learn within their field of expertise. Conferences are vital for scientists as places to network, showcase research, and gain new ideas.<\/p>\n

Cash cow<\/h2>

What\u2019s happening here in Budapest? NeuroTalk2024Europe \u2013 the conference\u2019s official name \u2013 is a so-called predatory conference. It\u2019s like unknowingly buying fake Nikes: they look real from a distance but turn out to be low-quality imitations on closer inspection.<\/p>\n

These conferences are a kind of counterpart to the more well-known predatory journals \u2013 academic \u2018predator\u2019 publications mainly serving as cash cows for their publishers. Anyone can publish in them, provided they pay (hundreds to thousands of euros), but without peer review, making their scientific value nil. The publishers profit while scientists (knowingly or not) embellish their CVs.<\/p>\n

Copycat conferences \u2013 often run by the same companies (see box) \u2013 operate similarly. Anyone can attend, provided they pay the (steep) registration fees. The result: a hodgepodge of unrelated content. Public (tax) money is wasted, benefiting only the organiser. It\u2019s nothing less than a new, albeit less known, branch of academic fraud.<\/p>\n

Shady company<\/h2>

Time to take a closer look at this peculiar form of profiteering. The NeuroTalk conference, held last June at a hotel in Budapest, provided the perfect opportunity. Several Dutch researchers were on the programme. What brought them here, and were they aware of this new type of academic malpractice? There was no press accreditation, but by booking a room at the conference hotel, reporting was still possible.<\/p>\n

The three-day event at the luxurious Radisson Blu Beke Hotel was organised by BITcongress, a somewhat shady company from China listed as a suspicious conference organiser<\/a>. Based in Dalian, BIT claims to host conferences in Europe, Japan, and China. Participants are recruited through flattering invitations, asking them to present their \u2018important\u2019 research. Scientists often receive dozens of such emails monthly \u2013 usually filtered into their spam folder (this reporter, a former scientist, also received an invitation for Budapest). These emails often praise the recipient\u2019s \u2018remarkable research\u2019, earning these conferences the nickname vanity conferences. Most researchers who accept don\u2019t realise they\u2019re being deceived.<\/p>\n

Subpar<\/h2>\n\t
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\n\t\t\u2018The conference opening was dismally poor\u2019\n\t<\/blockquote>\n\n\t<\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n

Alexander Minnaert from the University of Groningen accepted such an email invitation, he explained after the last morning session of NeuroTalk, held in the Britannia II hall of the Budapest hotel. The professor of orthopedagogy had just given an enthusiastic presentation on how deafblind children can learn to communicate. \u201cI initially planned to attend an earlier edition in Singapore, but it was cancelled due to COVID. I couldn\u2019t get a refund, so I came here instead.\u201d<\/p>\n

These costs \u2013 between 1,650 and 3,050 dollars per person, according to the website<\/a> \u2013 are covered by his university, he said. Minnaert also combined the conference with a visit to colleagues in the region as part of a research project.<\/p>\n

He admitted that many presentations were substandard. \u201cSince I was chairing a session, I made suggestions to create more coherence, but little was done with them.\u201d The talks were sometimes hard to follow. \u201cThey went in all directions. The conference opening was dismally poor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fraud<\/h2>

At first glance, however, it\u2019s hard to label NeuroTalk outright fraud. Real scientists were present, delivering genuine presentations and voluntarily signing up. The logistics and hospitality on-site were professional, with abundant free lunches and drinks to pamper attendees. Every researcher knows that some small, legitimate conferences can also be weak in content.<\/p>\n

But upon closer inspection and speaking with attendees, clear signs emerged that things weren\u2019t right. These are characteristics noted in other reports on knock-off conferences (recently in Nature<\/em><\/a>), warnings in journals like Science<\/em><\/a> and again in Nature<\/em><\/a>, and on university<\/a> and conference software company websites: \u2018Predatory meetings and how to avoid them<\/a>\u2018<\/p>\n

Consider, for instance, researchers listed on the programme without their knowledge. One of them was trainee anaesthesiologist Marije Wijnberge (Amsterdam AMC). \u201cI\u2019m absolutely not a speaker\u201d, she wrote indignantly when asked about her planned presence in Budapest. \u201cI may have once inquired about it, but it\u2019s ridiculous they put me on the programme.\u201d<\/p>\n

Intentional strategy<\/h2>

This is not an oversight by the organisers but appears to be an intentional strategy. Anyone who responds in any way to an invitation risks finding their name in the preliminary programme, used as bait for colleagues.<\/p>\n

A second red flag: the complete absence of presentation abstracts on the conference website. These summaries help determine which talks are worth attending at genuine conferences. Add to that the fact that the organiser is not a professional association but a vague Chinese company, and that anyone willing to pay can present, and you know something is amiss.<\/p>\n

One last warning sign is how organisers \u2018bundle\u2019 conferences. Alongside NeuroTalk, there were eight other conferences at the Radisson Blu Beke Hotel under BITcongress\u2019 umbrella, spanning topics from cardiology to dentistry, with grand names like Annual World Cancer Congress<\/em> (where Wijnberge was scheduled) and Annual World Congress of Smart Materials<\/em>.<\/p>\n

None of the attendees interviewed knew about this. \u201cI had no idea\u201d, said American surgeon Jenny Choi, attending the Annual World Congress of Digestive Disease<\/em> (AWCDD). According to the on-site organisers, there were about 400 attendees in total, masking the fact that some conferences were negligible. For instance, Choi\u2019s AWCDD had only two sessions.<\/p>\n

Not top-tier<\/h2>

Despite this, Minnaert didn\u2019t consider the Budapest meeting a scam. \u201cPeople always call for more cross-pollination between scientific disciplines. That\u2019s present here. Personally, I found the broadening into medical fields interesting, and I made a few new contacts. After my presentation, someone asked if I\u2019d attend the afternoon session. They wanted to continue our discussion.\u201d<\/p>\n

His colleague Behrooz Alizadeh, an epidemiologist at the University Medical Center Groningen (UMCG), was less impressed. \u201cIf the interdisciplinary aspect were professionally developed, it could be interesting, but it\u2019s not at all\u201d, he said, sitting in a lounge area on the hotel\u2019s first floor. Like many other attendees, the Groningen epidemiologist was unimpressed with the scientific quality. \u201cMany speakers aren\u2019t top-tier in their field, not even the keynote speakers. It mainly benefits their own CVs, which is dubious.\u201d<\/p>\n

Why did he attend? \u201cI wanted to try it out.\u201d Before the conference, he had defensively stated it was a legitimate event via email, but on-site, he was more candid. \u201cThis isn\u2019t the kind of conference I would typically attend, but the organisation covered my registration and one hotel night.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not state-of-the-art<\/h2>

A major reason for accepting the invitation was that he was initially scheduled to speak at the overarching keynote forum, which all four hundred attendees could attend. But this plan fell through. \u201cI was disappointed; that wasn\u2019t what we agreed on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Besides the two from Groningen, a handful of other Dutch researchers were on the programme. Apart from the absent Wijnberge, one was Parkinson\u2019s researcher Ciska Heida from the University of Twente (UT). She explained after her talk that she found the broad programme of NeuroTalk appealing. \u201cMore prominent conferences often invite the usual suspects.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her professional-looking presentation on recent research into how virtual reality and special vibrating socks help Parkinson\u2019s patients walk better stood out compared to many others. These were far from state-of-the-art, often discussing studies from five or more years ago.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s not surprising, considering the average age of the speakers was high, with some already retired. One such speaker was Roberto Avola, a 73-year-old Sicilian professor. He shuffled to the front, sat behind his laptop, and read his slides verbatim, in a heavily accented voice. \u201cIt\u2019s a bit of a retiree event\u201d, Heida noted.<\/p>\n

Cheated<\/h2>

No wonder some attendees felt downright cheated, like Marisol Hern\u00e1ndez from the University of Chile. \u201cI came because I was invited and there were supposed to be interesting talks on leadership and health. But the topics are too varied. At other conferences, you make new connections that are truly useful for academic development. I gained nothing from this conference. I feel cheated.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her visit cost her thousands of euros \u2013 a significant expense for Chilean researchers compared to their Western counterparts.<\/p>\n

Dutch scientists, too, were financially stung. \u201cI fell for it. Now I\u2019m out 1,000 euros\u201d, said Niels, a postdoctoral researcher from Utrecht University, preferring not to disclose his surname. He had initially signed up for NeuroTalk, he recounted by phone a month before the conference, because the website mentioned industry speakers.<\/p>\n

This aligned perfectly with his intended shift from fundamental to more applied research. \u201cI hoped to meet people further along in this transition.\u201d He was unfamiliar with the conference but felt reassured seeing Groningen researchers on the programme.<\/p>\n\n\t

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\n\t\t\u2018\u2018We\u2019ve been organising these conferences for ten years and have invited nearly 100 Nobel laureates\u2019\n\t<\/blockquote>\n\n\t<\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n

He was pressured to decide quickly to get an early registration discount \u2013 another common tactic. \u201cOnly after paying over a thousand euros did I research the conference organisers and found many online warnings. By then, it was too late. I wanted to cancel but could only get part of my registration fee back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Niels paid the 1,000 euros himself, as his department hadn\u2019t covered his registration. \u201cI feel really foolish, but I hope my experience warns as many people as possible about these scams.\u201d<\/p>\n

BITcongress\u2019 local representatives appeared unaware of any wrongdoing. A handful of Chinese staff managed the event logistics over the three days. Mr Liu, one of them, confirmed that scientists indeed receive email invitations and that anyone responding positively and paying the fees is welcome to speak. He presented it as entirely normal.<\/p>\n

100 Nobel laureates invited<\/h2>

According to Liu, the conference aligns with his organisation\u2019s objectives. \u201cMy boss is a doctor and entrepreneur who started these conferences to connect scientists and industry professionals.\u201d How much profit BIT makes is unclear, but with registration fees alone, turnover likely approaches a million euros. The hotel stated that their fees were confidential.<\/p>\n

BITcongress reacted indignantly when I emailed them the criticism of these conferences. \u201cAre you kidding?\u201d, replied Anna Li on behalf of the organisation. \u201cWe have high costs. We\u2019ve been organising these conferences for ten years and have invited nearly 100 Nobel laureates. Speakers value us greatly.\u201d<\/p>\n

50 per cent discount<\/h2>

None of the attendees plan to visit future editions \u2013 in Dublin and Stockholm, according to the programme book. \u201cOnce, but never again\u201d, said UT researcher Heida. \u201cIf I had known this beforehand, I wouldn\u2019t have come.\u201d The same goes for Alizadeh from UMCG. \u201cBut it\u2019s good to experience this for awareness.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the organisers, it probably makes little difference. They\u2019ve already profited. The group photos and names of attendees in Budapest will serve as marketing for future editions, keeping the system going and ensuring continued interest. After all, there are always enough scientists worldwide to approach.<\/p>\n

This reporter soon received another email inviting them to speak at NeuroTalk Dublin. Those registering now receive a 50 per cent discount: 750 dollars. A proposal for a nonsense presentation on the influence of aliens on brain activity was accepted without issue. Registration fees, it turned out, were negotiable. \u201cHow much can you afford?\u201d<\/p>\n\t

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More numerous than real conferences<\/strong><\/p>\n

How widespread is this knock-off business? Concrete numbers are scarce. British researcher Andy Nobes concluded a few years ago that there are likely more knock-off than legitimate<\/a> conferences. A major player, India-based OMICS \u2013 notorious for publishing fake journals \u2013 organises about 3,000 conferences annually. Another known group is the World Academy of Science, Engineering and Technology (WASET).<\/p>\n

OMICS faced a lawsuit in 2016 from the US Federal Trade Commission for its misleading conferences and journals. A judge ultimately fined the Indian company over 50 million dollars. OMICS denied the allegations and counterclaimed for 3 billion euros.<\/p>\n

This publication was made possible with support from the VWN Trip Fund<\/a>. An extended version will appear next year in a book by the author on scientific integrity (Too Good to Be True, Lebowski).<\/em><\/p>\n\n\t<\/div>\n\n\t

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