It’s 3:00 a.m.
A biology graduate student in Hanoi stares at her laptop, one hand nursing a cup of instant coffee, the other scrolling through Google Scholar.
Her final thesis depends on a lot of research—without which she cannot even begin to write a thesis of her own. Not being able to write this thesis means studying this subject again, and facing this problem again.
But not all hope is lost. She finds numerous articles relevant to the topic of her choice. Despite her eagerness, she was met with a neon-yellow paywall demanding $39.95 for access. For each article. That’s more than her weekly grocery budget.
Combining all the papers that she has to cite in her thesis, she’s looking at a whole year surviving of just water.
What does she do? She opens another window, types “Sci-Hub,” pastes the paper’s DOI, and presses enter. In less than two seconds, the paper is hers—for free.
Our world is the world of pirated academic materials: a quiet rebellion against a system that charges $40 for knowledge. But before we either glorify or condemn her, let’s zoom out.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- A paywall too high
- The fight for free knowledge
a. the pirate’s dilemma
b. piracy as civil disobedience
c. the slippery slope of piracy
d. open access movement
e. institutional reforms: a call for subsidizing access
- Conclusion
Read the orignal post knowledge is for sale for more thorough footnotes, discussion and direct interaction on posts.
1. a paywall too high
As a college student and writer, I’ll admit it—I pirate every research paper I read. Why? Because the alternative is financially insane. The idea of paying for even a fraction of the articles I consume would drain my bank account faster than I can say “peer-reviewed.”
PEER-REVIEWED!
It’s not just the principle; it’s the sheer impracticality of it. Journal paywalls expect you to fork over $30-$50 per article. Multiply that by the dozens of papers per semester, and suddenly, you’re not just funding education—you’re funding their corporate retreats in the Bahamas.
And I know I’m not alone. Sci-Hub, often referred to as the “Pirate Bay for Science,” serves millions of people worldwide, making over 88 million articles available annually for free. A 2016 study estimated that over 25% of all academic papers downloaded globally are from Sci-Hub, including downloads from university campuses with subscriptions.
In the U.S., 36% of researchers admitted to using Sci-Hub despite having legitimate access. It’s clear this isn’t just about a bunch of rebellious college students—it’s a global phenomenon driven by the absurd cost of knowledge. When education comes with a price tag this high, piracy isn’t just a choice; it’s survival.
Okay to everyone who votes “No”, there’s a little link at the end of the post that I would really like you to visit. And to the rest of us, let’s continue our discussion.
I hope you hold your breath because we’re going to dive so deep into this topic.
a. the high cost of knowledge
Academic publishers like Elsevier or Springer operate in such an exploitative system that could make even the Mr. Krabs blush.
Imagine if Spotify charged you $10 per song and kept 90% of the profit, leaving the artist—who also happens to be your college professor—practically unpaid. That’s how academic publishing works.
Let’s talk numbers. Subscribing to a single academic journal cost a university tens of thousands of dollars annually.
Elsevier, one of the biggest academic publishers, charges around $10,000 per year for access to just one of its high-impact journals. Now multiply that by hundreds or thousands of journals for a university’s entire collection.
If you’re an individual researcher? You’re looking at $30 to $50 per article—essentially the cost of a nice dinner with your date, instead you’re broke and lonely with a PDF.
Books aren’t any better. The average academic textbook now costs over $100, with some hitting $400 or more. Want a specialized textbook in medicine or engineering? You’re paying rent money.
For students and researchers in developed countries, this is a painful but often unavoidable expense.
Universities in the U.S. or Europe typically absorb these costs, albeit begrudgingly, through institutional subscriptions.
But in developing countries, the situation is dire. Universities in Vietnam, Ghana, or Bangladesh operate on shoestring budgets that make subscribing to Springer’s entire catalog a laughable fantasy.
This isn’t just about students trying to pass exams. It’s about researchers who want to publish work that saves lives.
A 2019 study found that researchers in low-income countries cite fewer papers in their work—not because they’re lazy, but because they can’t access them.
If knowledge is the fuel for innovation, these paywalls are effectively rationing it based on wealth.
Think of it like a global library where the wealthiest visitors get unlimited access while the rest are stuck peering through the windows. The result? A vicious cycle of inequality. Richer countries innovate faster, while poorer ones struggle to keep up, further widening the gap.
The most ironic part? Many of these papers were funded by taxpayer money and other indepedent funding agencies. Public grants pay for the research, but the findings are locked behind private paywalls. It’s like your taxes funding a park you can’t enter without paying a second fee.
But don’t believe what I have to say.
Believe the University of California, one of the top universities worldwide for academic and research excellence, has cancelled its subscription on Elsevier, essentially withdrawing $10 million out of the platform’s bank account.
UC did this because they wanted all research done by its scholars to be freely available to everyone online, without charging extra fees to researchers or the university. Elsevier’s proposal would have kept research behind paywalls while making UC pay even more money, which UC said was unfair and too expensive.
For publishers, the justification is simple: “We provide a platform, edit the content, and distribute it.”
But most of this labor is free. Researchers typically do not get paid by publishers for writing their papers. Their salaries usually come from universities, grants, or other institutions.
Peer reviewers, who evaluate the quality and validity of research papers before publication, generally perform this work voluntarily as part of their academic duties.
The platforms are built on the unpaid labor of academics. Yet, the profits flow entirely to the publishers.
And profits are astronomical. Elsevier reported operating profits of nearly $1.2 billion in 2022, with profit margins over 30%. For comparison, Apple’s profit margins hover around 25%. Elsevier, essentially, makes more profit percentage-wise than the company selling iPhones—the epitome of capitalism.
In this system, the losers are clear: students, researchers, and the institutions that educate them. And when knowledge becomes a luxury, the global pursuit of solutions—to pandemics, climate change, or food security—grinds to a halt.
b. who gets to know?
Imagine a world where every time you wanted to read a book or watch a lecture, you first had to prove your net worth. Oh wait you don’t have to imagine. That’s the global education system you and I are in right now.
It’s not about what you want to learn; it’s about whether you can afford to learn it. Access to knowledge isn’t evenly distributed—it’s gated like a VIP nightclub. And if you’re in the right country with the right credentials (the right amount of money), the bouncer lets you in.
Otherwise, you’re left in the cold, squinting through the window at a blurry PowerPoint slide.
Here’s a fun fact:
86% of all academic publications come from authors in high-income countries.
Meanwhile, researchers in low- and middle-income countries collectively contribute less than 10%.
Not because they’re lazy or less talented (it would be very colonizers-like of you to say so) but because they lack access to the foundational knowledge needed to join the conversation.
Take Sub-Saharan Africa, where only 1% of the world’s research is produced. This isn’t for lack of trying. The region is home to countless bright minds working on critical issues like food security, renewable energy, and public health.
But when access to a single research article costs more than a week’s wages, the playing field isn’t just uneven.
Think of it this way: a region without access to knowledge is like a village with fertile land but no seeds. The soil—talent, curiosity, and creativity—is there. But without the seeds—knowledge and resources—nothing can grow.
This lack of citations often leads to their research being dismissed or deemed “low-impact” by global standards. It’s a vicious cycle: no access means less credible research, which means even fewer opportunities to collaborate or secure funding.
When a doctor in the Philippines can’t access the latest medical research, it’s not just an academic problem—it’s a human problem. Lives are on the line.
A 2018 report highlighted how doctors in low-income countries often rely on outdated or incomplete data because they can’t afford journal subscriptions.
The result? Preventable diseases remain deadly, and medical breakthroughs don’t reach the people who need them most. And it’s not just medicine.
Climate scientists in vulnerable regions—places that are literally sinking due to rising sea levels—can’t access the latest studies on mitigation strategies. Economists trying to solve poverty can’t read the papers on microfinance innovations. It’s like handing someone a map but tearing off the section that shows how to escape quicksand.
In many parts of the world, though, researchers are surviving on intellectual breadcrumbs. This isn’t just about fairness; it’s about wasted potential. Think of all the brilliant minds who could be solving humanity’s biggest challenges but are instead stuck Googling “free PDF download.”
This inequality doesn’t just harm underprivileged regions—it hurts all of us.
The next cure for cancer, the next clean energy breakthrough, the next global economic model could come from anywhere. But if we keep knowledge locked behind paywalls, we’re essentially betting that only the richest countries can solve the world’s problems. Spoiler alert: that strategy hasn’t been working out too well.
Until we break down these barriers, the global divide in knowledge will continue to grow, leaving the world’s brightest minds locked out of the library.
c. the monopoly of knowledge
Let’s talk about gatekeeping for a second—specifically, how it’s playing out in academia.
Academic publishing is the perfect illustration of a monopoly at work. It’s a business model that’s built on access denial—a trillion-dollar racket. In 2019, academic publishers made over $10 billion in profits—more than the combined profits of all the major tech companies.
And what do we get in return? An increasingly inequitable access to knowledge. Over 72% of the world’s scientific papers are indeed locked behind paywalls, making access to crucial research difficult for many.
Now, what’s the impact of this monopoly on innovation? Think of it like this: every time an academic publisher raises the price of a journal or restricts access to research, they’re essentially placing a giant “Do Not Enter” sign on the door of knowledge.
And don’t even get me started on the open access movement. In theory, open access publishing sounds like a beautiful idea: knowledge should be free, open, and accessible to all.
But the reality is far less utopian.
Publishers like Elsevier have started to charge authors for the privilege of making their research open access. This is like paying a toll to allow people to use the road that you already built.
The idea is to let everyone in, but you still have to pay to get there. So now, researchers in developing countries who can’t even afford the original paywall are faced with another financial burden: paying publishers to make their research freely accessible.
At the end of the day, the system is broken. Knowledge is a public good, not a commodity to be hoarded by a select few.
When publishers control access to research, they control who can participate in the global conversation—and who can’t. The gatekeeping of academic knowledge isn’t just a business practice; it’s an injustice that disproportionately impacts the people who need knowledge the most: students, researchers, and communities trying to solve problems with limited resources.
And until we break down this monopoly, we’ll continue to be stuck in an intellectual hierarchy, where only the richest and most powerful get to decide who gets to know.
2. the fight for free knowledge
a. the pirate’s dilemma
Let’s return to the starting story.
You are a student halfway across the world, passionate about your research, burning the midnight oil, but facing a simple, insurmountable hurdle: access to resources.
Now you’re staring at a critical academic paper behind a paywall. The paper holds the key to your research, the one thing standing between you and your thesis, your academic future.
You could ask your institution to foot the bill for the $40 fee, but your university doesn’t have the budget for it.
So, what’s left? You turn to Sci-Hub—the underground network for academic papers that’s become the lifeline for countless researchers, students, and academics who need access but can’t afford it.
This isn’t about people being lazy or trying to cut corners.
It’s not some academic Robin Hood scenario where people are out there hoarding papers for their own gain.
No, it’s about survival.
It’s about the simple fact that in a world where the academic publishing system has been hijacked by for-profit entities, those who need access to knowledge the most often have no other option but to bypass the system altogether. And this situation isn’t hypothetical—it’s happening right now.
In fact, a 2024 study by the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) found that free or low-cost access to scientific publications significantly boosts research output in low- and middle-income countries, with increases of up to 75% observed.
These aren’t people who are simply looking for a shortcut. These are people who are actively participating in the global conversation but are systematically excluded from it because of the high costs associated with accessing critical information.
If anything, their actions are born out of necessity—not out of greed, not out of a desire to cheat the system, but because they are cornered by a system that has stacked the odds against them.
Then, there’s Rachel, a researcher from Kenya, whose work focuses on the effects of climate change on local agriculture. She’s committed to her field, but the research she needs is locked behind paywalls.
“I can’t afford to buy articles on my own,” she says. “But without access to them, I can’t move forward. I can’t build my research. I can’t contribute to the body of knowledge that could help my community. So, I have no choice but to find it through platforms like Sci-Hub. It’s the only way I can keep up with the latest work in my field.”
For Rachel and countless others in similar positions, pirating research papers is not an ethical dilemma—it’s a matter of necessity.
This is about equitable access to knowledge that allows people to solve problems, create innovations, and contribute to fields that affect all of humanity.
When a researcher in a developing country is locked out of key studies simply because they cannot pay for them, the entire academic system falters. Knowledge isn’t just hoarded—it’s weaponized, and those without the financial means to unlock it are pushed to the margins.
In a world where knowledge is power, not having access to that knowledge doesn’t just put researchers at a disadvantage—it can literally end their careers.
We’ve seen stories of grad students who’ve had to drop out because they couldn’t get access to the research they needed. We’ve seen researchers in developing countries fail to make meaningful contributions because they’re left in the dark, unable to access the most recent studies on their subject. These aren’t isolated incidents—they’re the norm for many in academia.
And it’s not just students or researchers from developing countries who are facing this issue.
In the United States and other developed nations, students burdened with massive student debt often find themselves in the same bind. Even with a decent university library, the cost of acquiring the necessary journal subscriptions can be astronomical.
In fact, some studies suggest that researchers in the U.S. are more likely to pirate academic papers simply because of the high cost of accessing them, despite being in a more resource-rich environment.
The conversation around academic piracy is murky, but the motivations are clear: for many, piracy is not a form of theft; it’s a desperate attempt to survive in an academic world where access to knowledge is rationed, commodified, and increasingly out of reach.
is it not a crime to seek knowledge?
b. piracy as civil disobedience
Piracy in the academic world isn’t just a grey area—it’s a loud, disruptive protest. Think of it as a form of civil disobedience, a term that’s usually associated with figures like Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr.
Just like the sit-ins and marches that challenged oppressive systems, academic piracy challenges the status quo—the multi-billion dollar academic publishing industry that holds knowledge hostage, demanding sky-high fees for access.
The reality is that this system isn’t just inefficient—it’s exploitative. And what better way to strike back than with a digital rebellion?
Take the story of Sci-Hub, a name that strikes fear into the hearts of academic publishers and makes heroes out of researchers. Founded by Alexandra Elbakyan, a Kazakhstani graduate student, Sci-Hub was born out of a necessity.
Elbakyan, unable to access the papers she needed for her thesis due to exorbitant costs, decided to create a platform that would provide free access to millions of academic articles. What started as a single person’s act of rebellion quickly became a global movement that shook the foundations of the academic publishing industry.
Sci-Hub’s rise wasn’t just about circumventing the paywall—it was about drawing a line in the sand and saying, “This system is broken, and it’s time we fix it.”
The website became a beacon for those trapped by the high costs of academic journals, often turning to piracy as their only option. What Elbakyan did wasn’t merely a theft of copyrighted materials; it was a direct challenge to an exploitative system that prioritized profit over knowledge dissemination. Piracy in this sense becomes a weapon for social justice.
But the impact of this resistance doesn’t stop at just providing access to millions of academic articles—it has driven systemic change.
Over the years, the debate around open access has gained significant traction, largely as a result of movements like Sci-Hub. Open access refers to the idea that all academic research should be freely available to everyone, without paywalls or subscription fees.
In 2012, the Budapest Open Access Initiative issued a call for action, advocating for a transformation of the scholarly publishing system to promote open access. Fast-forward to today, and many academic journals and publishers—faced with pressure from researchers and institutions—have moved towards open-access models, making critical academic research more accessible to the public.
One of the most significant victories in the open-access battle came in 2016, when the U.S. National Institutes of Health (NIH) announced that all publicly funded research must be freely available within a year of publication.
The growing influence of advocacy groups, the rise of pirated platforms, and the overwhelming evidence of the inequities in the publishing system have all contributed to this shift.
And while open access has a long way to go before it completely overtakes the traditional publishing model, these small victories are the result of resistance against an unjust system—and piracy has been a key driver in that resistance.
Piracy, as disruptive as it may seem, is not merely an act of defiance—it’s a call to action. It shines a light on the deep inequalities embedded in academic publishing, forcing a conversation that was previously ignored. It’s a way for students, researchers, and academics to refuse to accept a system that limits access to knowledge based on the size of your wallet.
In the same way that underground printing presses in the 16th century fought to democratize literature, digital piracy today challenges the monopolies that control the academic discourse.
c. the slippery slope of piracy
When we talk about piracy, we’re not just dealing with an issue of access or affordability. We’re confronting a deeper, more ethical dilemma that questions the very nature of intellectual property and how we value the labor of creators.
While the arguments for pirating academic resources might sound righteous—especially when framed as a fight against corporate greed and academic gatekeeping—there’s an underlying ethical concern that cannot be ignored: Does piracy eventually lead us down a slippery slope where we begin to undermine the rights of creators, authors, and researchers?
At first glance, pirating academic content seems justified.
After all, we’re talking about breaking down barriers that limit access to essential knowledge, particularly when the system is clearly rigged in favor of profit-driven publishers.
But what happens when we take the logic of piracy to its extreme? If we begin to say that it’s okay to access or share materials without the consent of the creators because the system is unfair, where do we draw the line? Could the same logic be applied to pirating other forms of art, music, or literature?
It’s a tricky question. Because while academia may be a unique case, the ethics of intellectual property protection apply to all creators, whether they’re writers, artists, or musicians. If we justify piracy in one space, does that open the door for an erosion of creator rights in others?
The answer isn’t so straightforward. Creators—whether they’re researchers writing a groundbreaking paper or a musician recording an album—invest significant time and effort into their craft.
Intellectual property laws, for all their flaws, exist to ensure that creators have a fair way to protect their work and, importantly, earn a living from it.
When we pirate their work, even if it’s “just” an academic article, we take away that right to control the distribution and compensation of their labor.
The argument that piracy is a form of rebellion against the system can’t entirely escape the reality that we are, in fact, denying creators the opportunity to benefit from their own intellectual contributions.
So, what’s the alternative? How can we strike a balance between advocating for broader access to academic materials and respecting the rights of the creators themselves?
Fortunately, there are several legal avenues that can provide a solution without resorting to piracy—avenues that allow us to bypass the exploitative practices of publishers while still supporting the work of those who create.
d. open access movement
The open-access movement has been one of the most significant challenges to the monopoly of academic publishers in recent years. Driven by the belief that knowledge should be free and accessible to everyone, open-access platforms like arXiv, PubMed Central, and DOAJ are changing the way academic materials are shared. These repositories host millions of research papers, journals, and other academic resources, available at no cost to anyone with an internet connection.
What makes open access so revolutionary is that it shifts the power dynamics in academic publishing.
Traditionally, publishers like Elsevier and Springer hold all the cards, charging universities, libraries, and individuals exorbitant fees to access research papers. These publishers profit from research funded by taxpayers and universities, often denying the public the right to freely access knowledge.
In contrast, open-access repositories are often funded by universities, governments, or other nonprofit organizations, ensuring that the research is freely available to all without restrictive paywalls.
Take arXiv, for example, which has been a staple for scientists and researchers, especially in the fields of physics, mathematics, and computer science. It’s a place where researchers upload preprints of their papers, allowing them to share their work with the world before it’s even officially published.
This approach democratizes access to cutting-edge research, bypassing the traditional gatekeeping of publishers. Similarly, PubMed Central, a repository for life sciences literature, provides free access to millions of articles, helping bridge the gap in global health research access.
The rise of these platforms isn’t just about accessibility—it’s about creating a new, more equitable model of knowledge-sharing that rejects the exploitation of knowledge by commercial entities.
Open access is growing in influence, and as more institutions recognize its value, the movement is gaining momentum. However, there’s still a long way to go, especially in fields like the humanities and social sciences, where open-access initiatives are less prevalent.
e. institutional reforms: a call for subsidizing access
While the open-access movement is pushing boundaries, there’s still a crucial role for universities, governments, and other institutions to play in subsidizing access to academic resources. If we truly believe that knowledge is a public good, then it’s time for institutions to step up and make that a reality for everyone, not just those with the means to pay for access.
Many universities and academic institutions already subscribe to a range of academic databases, but access is often limited to specific departments or to students who can afford tuition. By expanding these subscriptions or providing more equitable access to a broader pool of users—especially in underfunded institutions—universities can play a key role in breaking down the barriers created by paywalls.
Governments also have a critical role to play. Academic research, particularly in fields like medicine, environmental science, and technology, is often funded by taxpayers. However, once the research is conducted and published, the public is often locked out, forced to pay for access to knowledge that they’ve already funded.
If governments were to invest in subsidizing access to academic resources—perhaps through national library systems or direct subsidies to universities—the cost of accessing knowledge could be dramatically reduced. This would ensure that research is accessible not just to those in wealthy countries but also to those in developing regions, where the cost of accessing scientific literature can be prohibitive.
In countries with fewer resources, the ability to access research materials is often limited, meaning that the global pool of knowledge remains restricted. By investing in initiatives like Research4Life or Sci-Hub, which work to provide free or affordable access to research for developing countries, governments can play a pivotal role in addressing global inequalities in knowledge distribution.
And that’s the tragic irony of it all: knowledge—the very foundation of progress—is being held hostage by a cartel of publishers. They’ve turned learning into a luxury, forcing people to choose between staying informed and staying afloat.
Think about it: we live in an era where we can stream an entire library of movies for $10 a month, but to access a single research paper? That’s $40, please—and it doesn’t even come with subtitles.
If we want a future where science leads the way, we need to break down these barriers. Open-access movements are gaining traction, but they’re up against deep pockets and entrenched interests. This isn’t just about money—it’s about power. The power to control who gets to learn, who gets to contribute, and who gets to make a difference.
So here’s the question I’ll leave you with: what kind of world do we want to live in? One where knowledge is a privilege for the few? Or one where it’s a right for all? Because as long as paywalls exist, every breakthrough, every cure, and every discovery comes with a disclaimer: Available only to those who can afford it.
And that, my friends, is the real tragedy of our so-called ‘information age.’
