Having lived in the ‘Developing world’ or the global ‘South’ for about half of my life, I am very aware of the paucity of research materials available to would-be researchers there. I have welcomed the idea of ‘open access’ publishing with great enthusiasm from my first introduction to the idea. That enthusiasm grew further when I returned to the US in 2009, and found myself in the incredibly luxurious position of having access to Cornell University’s library system. Having such access means that with a few strokes on the keyboard of my computer, I can instantly download decades of relevant journal articles. I can go to any of the more than 20 libraries on campus and check out books for up to a year at a time; and I can order books, typically delivered in a few days, from libraries all over the world, for shorter periods. Many of my colleagues and almost all of the students take this access for granted; they’ve either always had it or have had it for long enough to have forgotten what academic life is like without it. I have not.
In Bogor, Indonesia, where I lived for more than a dozen years, I had access to the tiny library of the Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR, for whom I worked). It was focused on global forestry issues (somewhat less central for an anthropologist); and toward the end of my stay there, I had access to a small number of current electronic sources. This access was still far better than the typical Indonesian researcher. There has not been a significant library tradition in the country; and correspondingly there are few libraries. Those institutions that do have a library have been (in some cases, until recently) poorly staffed with people who have had no library training and few books to manage. Budgets for library acquisitions are practically non-existent, and journal subscriptions similarly. Finding a relevant book or obtaining a reprint has been a significant and unexpected bonus. Similar conditions apply in many countries (see Edmonds 2014, for some comparative access statistics).
The disadvantages rendered by this state of affairs for Third World researchers are difficult to exaggerate. In planning research, the extant research on similar topics remains unknown; when analyzing findings, one cannot compare what one is finding with what others have found; when writing up and trying to publish one’s analyses, one is criticized for not having cited relevant literature. The lack of access to relevant literature functions to exacerbate the gap between research in the ‘West/North’ and that in the ‘South’.
So. With this background, I have welcomed the idea of open access more perhaps than most people. I am now in the midst of sorting out what it actually means in practice, and I thought my experience might be of broader interest. My colleagues, Bimbika Basnett, Marlene Elias, and I have submitted a book on gender and forestry (Gender and Forestry: Climate Change, Tenure, Value Chains, and Emerging Issues), Volume I, to the publisher Earthscan/Routledge. Although most of the book is new material, five of the 18 chapters have been previously published in journals. We arranged with Earthscan to print 500 extra copies of the book, for free distribution in developing countries (funded by CIFOR); and we negotiated the right to post the book on CIFOR’s website nine months after the book is published—to give Earthscan some time to sell it beforehand. Earthscan made it very clear that we would need explicit permission to reprint and publish the five articles on line eventually.
We first obtained permission from the authors of these five articles; and then sent messages, outlining these details, to the editors of the journals asking permission to reprint. In one case, we were sent on to the publisher (Taylor & Francis). The editors of the other four articles responded positively; Taylor & Francis requested a fee of nearly 600 British pounds for the one article. Even they, though, were willing for us to use the article in book form; they balked at the Open Access requirement. As the correspondence continued, we gradually realized that at least one of the other four editors had not noticed the Open Access element in our initial letter. I initiated further communication with this editor—from whose journal we hoped to reprint two articles. He had not in fact realized we were talking about Open Access; and only after considerable discussion did we obtain his agreement (despite his firm personal commitment to the idea of Open Access). The journal’s need for ongoing income was one complicating factor, although this journal was not designed as a money-making proposition—they still needed operating funds. Another issue was that Earthscan would be making money that should by rights have gone to the original publisher. At this point we await further news from the remaining two editors/publishers.
Meanwhile, I was contacted by Elsevier, which is the publisher of World Development, in which I have a recent article. They invited me to pay for Open Access for this (new) article. CIFOR had decided a couple of years ago that researchers should be moving toward Open Access for all their publications. The decision was made by my institution to pay for Open Access in this case. The cost: an exorbitant US$1800. In the course my discussions with the not-for-profit journal editor mentioned earlier, I learned that he had agreed to publish in Open Access an entire special issue of his journal for $200, though the usual fee from his publishing company was $1000 per article. There is definitely little clarity in this evolving world of Open Access.
Prior to getting totally embroiled in this complicated situation, I had personally contemplated its possibilities repeatedly because I participate in ResearchGate and Academia.edu—two repositories for people’s own publications, which are then accessible to other participants. In posting a paper, I was rarely certain whether I was in fact allowed by the publishers to do so. In most cases, I took the risk and posted my own work, hoping that if indeed I was not supposed to, the relevant ‘publication police’ would not notice.
Soon I will be further embroiled. We plan to produce a second volume on gender and forestry, to be called The Earthscan Reader on Gender and Forestry. We have imagined (and still plan to try) reprinting ‘classics’ in the field, and distributing in the same way as we planned for the current Volume I, outlined above. Our dilemma: How do we anticipate how much each chapter will cost us, for budgeting purposes? And can we persuade publishers to let us distribute freely or for minimal sums?
The costs of Open Access, at least many of those passed on to authors, editors, and institutions, can obviously be prohibitive for developing country scientists, researchers and institutions. I agree with Edwards (2014) who urges the development of a ‘Do it Yourself’ (DIY) model to move Open Access forward. Another useful idea Edwards proposes is the development among scholars of a ‘gift culture’, with free sharing of our ideas, plans/designs, research, and findings. She argues persuasively that there is in fact a long history of such traditions among scholars, on which we could and should build. We really need to be figuring out ways to pay for the true costs of actual publication of these materials, while minimizing adverse impacts in a world where financial and informational resources are so inequitably distributed. Charging more for those who have more is one partial solution; persuading governments and donors to pay a larger share is another. Perhaps publishers could agree on a low upward limit for such charges; or seek some other avenue for funding publications than through (often exorbitant) page charges or charging for Open Access. Perhaps the Open Library of Humanities (https://www.openlibhums.org/), of which Edwards write, may be a partial solution. I, for one, will be very grateful if Open Access becomes the norm.
EDWARDS, C. 2014. How can Existing Open Access Models Work for the Humanities and Social Science Research? Insights 27:17-24.