Universities like to see themselves as engines of progress. We celebrate discovery, innovation and global rankings. We count publications, citations, grants, patents and partnerships. Annual reports are filled with impressive numbers that travel well internationally. But there is an uncomfortable question higher education rarely asks honestly: what difference is all this research actually making in the real world?
Across many universities, research activity has expanded rapidly. More papers are published every year. More conferences are attended. More metrics are tracked. Yet many of the most persistent problems facing society – chronic disease, health inequity, system inefficiency, workforce shortages – remain stubbornly unchanged.
This is not because knowledge is lacking. It is because universities optimise research for metrics, not for impact. In most institutions, success is defined by what is easy to measure rather than what is hardest to achieve.
Publications are counted because they are countable. Citations are valued because they are comparable. Rankings are chased because they are visible. Real-world impact – changing practice, improving systems, reducing inequity – is slower, messier, and harder to attribute, so it is quietly sidelined.
The result is a research culture that is productive, but often disconnected from the real world. Much academic research answers questions that are interesting to peers, funders or journals, but only loosely connected to the problems faced by patients, communities or public services.
Even when research addresses real issues, translation is treated as someone else’s responsibility – health systems, industry, government – and never thought about until after the paper is published and the grant closed. This separation is artificial and damaging.
Take healthcare research. We already know how to prevent many complications of chronic disease. Screening, education and early intervention work. These are not speculative ideas; they have been proven repeatedly across different settings.
What is missing is not further discovery, but consistent implementation at scale. Yet universities continue to prioritise novel interventions over delivery of existing evidence.
A new biomarker attracts more academic interest than fixing broken referral pathways. A complex algorithm generates more citations than improving continuity of care.
Prevention, implementation and systems improvement are often dismissed as “less academic”, despite being where the greatest gains lie for society. The Covid-19 pandemic exposed this disconnect.
Universities produced an extraordinary volume of research at speed. Some of it was invaluable. Much of it was duplicative, underpowered and irrelevant to frontline needs. At the same time, health systems struggled with basic challenges: workforce deployment, communication, logistics and continuity of care. The gap was not intellectual capacity. It was alignment.
The problem is not individual academics. It is the system they work in. Universities send powerful signals about what matters.
Promotion criteria emphasise publications and grants. Research assessments reward volume and prestige. Funding mechanisms prioritise novelty over usability. Young academics quickly learn what is valued and adjust their behaviour accordingly. If impact is not rewarded, it becomes optional and disregarded.
Equity exposes the flaw most clearly. Research outputs tend to benefit those who are already well served: elite institutions, well-resourced systems, urban populations. This mirrors Julian Tudor Hart’s inverse care law – the principle that those who need care the most are often least likely to receive it.
Universities unintentionally reinforce this pattern when research agendas are shaped more by global prestige than local need. If a university’s research improves outcomes mainly for populations that already enjoy good access and care, while leaving high-burden communities untouched, can we honestly claim success?
This is not an argument against excellence or ambition. Universities must remain places of discovery. But discovery cannot be the endpoint. Impact must become part of how excellence itself is defined. That requires uncomfortable change.
Promotion systems must recognise implementation, policy influence, system redesign and sustained partnerships – not just publications. Research funding must value questions of delivery and adoption, not only novelty. Students must be trained to think about real-world application, not just methodological rigour.
Most importantly, universities must stop outsourcing responsibility for impact. If research is publicly funded, its ultimate obligation is public benefit. That benefit does not appear automatically once a paper is published. It appears only when knowledge is translated into practice, systems and outcomes.
This will not be easy. Real-world impact is harder to measure than citations. It takes longer than grant cycles. It requires collaboration beyond academic silos. But difficulty is not an excuse. It is a reason for leadership.
Universities face a choice. They can continue to chase metrics that reward activity rather than change, or they can redefine success around the difference they make to society rather than discovery alone. Because in the end, society does not fund universities to be prolific. It funds them to be useful. And usefulness, in the real world, is the hardest metric of all.
Prof Dr David Whitford is vice-chancellor and chief executive of University of Cyberjaya. He earned a doctorate from Cambridge University and has held leadership roles in medical education. With over 70 research publications on disadvantaged communities and quality healthcare delivery, his academic journey includes positions at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland, in Dublin and in Bahrain, where he established community-based teaching and led postgraduate studies. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
