The academic system in the Czech Republic (Prague, pictured) lacks a formal tenure track, and junior researchers often move from one fixed-term contract to the next, tied to individual grants.Credit: Getty
While doing my PhD in geotechnical engineering at a small, slow-paced university in Italy, I spent years working in near silence, unravelling the mechanics of tiny clay particles in a laboratory where I was the only student. My first postdoctoral position, in China, presented a sharp contrast, immersing me in one of the world’s busiest research centres, where I studied some of the mechanics behind geohazards.
When I joined Charles University in Prague in 2018 for my second postdoc, I thought I had found the right middle ground. The university was large enough to inspire and assist me in my work, yet small enough to give me space and feel like a comfortable place to work. With a few easy-going senior colleagues and friendly young workmates, my new department quickly felt like an extended family. China had been full of opportunities, but the competition was intense, and I feared that might eventually take a toll on my mental health.
To begin with, I was content in Prague, steadily completing tasks for my supervisor’s project. But soon I grew restless, wanting to carve out my own role in academia — and, in 2020, I won funding to start my own lab. At that point, my comfort zone suddenly disappeared.
When my principal investigator (PI) grant was approved, I expected some form of onboarding, or at least to be given a checklist of procedures I ought to follow. Instead, I felt like the founder of a start-up. I had to work out how to manage project finances, buy equipment, hire students, organize lab space and handle bureaucracy — all while beginning to supervise theses and writing more grant applications. Assistant professors are also typically expected to begin teaching immediately, and I was no exception, so I had to develop entire courses from scratch.
A couple of months in, I was talking to colleagues from across the faculty at an internal workshop on grant opportunities. There were many junior investigators at the session. Like me, they were trying to make sense of a system that did not seem to be designed with newcomers in mind.
We worked in different fields — biology, chemistry and geosciences — but realized that there were many challenges we shared. We had no clear career path: the Czech system lacks a formal tenure track, and researchers move from one fixed-term contract to the next, often tied to individual grants. Advancement depends on navigating the ‘habilitation’ process, a year-long bureaucratic hurdle required to earn the ‘docent’ degree, which involves demonstrating teaching and research competence, and defending a dissertation before a committee of senior academics.
Funding was another source of stress. Without follow-up grants, a junior investigator risks losing not only their research support, but also their position. There’s no bridge funding or coordinated effort to help early-career researchers grow into independent group leaders. In some departments, senior leaders help to fill these gaps, but it’s not something anyone can count on.
Finally, we all lacked formal mentorship, because most senior academics were unaware of the structural obstacles we faced. We had to work many things out for ourselves, and fast.
Creating a support network
A year ago, I joined forces with biologist Jan Mašek and about 15 other junior investigators with similar stories — some of them foreigners like me, some returning after PhDs or postdocs abroad — to launch the Junior Faculty, an association of early- and mid-career academics who are, or are becoming, research leaders in Charles University’s Faculty of Science. Our aim was to help each other navigate the early stages of academic leadership and push for structural improvements that could benefit all junior colleagues.
Our goals are both practical and systemic. We work on challenges such as setting up and running new labs, hiring staff, planning career development, ensuring teaching quality and providing accessible childcare. The purpose is not only to make life more manageable for junior researchers, but also to contribute to a better academic system.
The faculty leadership welcomed the initiative. Since the launch, we’ve been working together to identify problems and propose solutions. The administration has been open to feedback and has supported several of our efforts, including our Junior Faculty Conference, which connected people and built dialogue across career stages.
The Junior Faculty Conference at Charles University, Prague.Credit: Michal Vais
Even more promising, our model is gaining attention beyond the university. We’ve spoken to colleagues at other Czech institutions and also to Czexpats in Science, a non-profit organization that connects Czech researchers abroad with those at home who are interested in launching similar initiatives to tackle issues that discourage those abroad from returning. Perhaps this marks the beginning of a broader grassroots movement — one that could reshape academic culture across the country.
What I have learnt, and what I would recommend
Starting a lab as a foreign early-career researcher in a loosely structured system taught me as much about leadership and collaboration as it did about science. For those facing a similar situation, here are the most valuable lessons I’ve learnt:
Don’t wait for systems to change. Build your own support. If you can’t find institutional mentorship or onboarding, connect with your peers. Chances are, they’re facing the same challenges and might already have useful insights. During my first year, the fastest way to solve problems was through a WhatsApp group of fellow junior researchers. One message — “Has anyone hired a student before? What’s the form called?” — got an answer in minutes. That group effectively became my onboarding manual. It showed me that although institutions can be slow to react, collective peer support can fill gaps right away.
Map out your own trajectory. After my junior grant was approved, the excitement quickly gave way to anxiety: what happens when it runs out? Without a tenure track, continued employment depends on piecing together new projects and meeting ‘habilitation’ requirements, such as supervising a certain number of students and getting enough teaching credits, meeting publication thresholds and writing a dissertation. I made a chart for myself with milestones — when to apply for each grant, when to publish certain papers and when to take on PhD students. It wasn’t perfect, but having a roadmap gave me a sense of direction.
