The unpaid labor of academic publishing

The Unpaid Labor of Academic Publishing

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Academic publishing is a multi-billion-dollar industry—valued at almost $30 billion globally—propped up by a curious economic paradox: the majority of its labor force works for free. Peer reviewers, editors, and even authors provide their services without direct compensation, supporting publishing conglomerates that report profit margins rivaling those of tech giants. How did this industry, supposedly rooted in the pursuit of knowledge and intellectual generosity, become so comfortable exploiting unpaid labor?

The unpaid backbone of academic publishing is often romanticized as a noble sacrifice in service of the greater good. Yet this narrative glosses over the uncomfortable truth: the system thrives on institutionalized exploitation. As universities slash budgets, tenure lines vanish, and the publish-or-perish culture intensifies, the invisible labor behind each article remains both unacknowledged and uncompensated. This article pulls back the curtain on this exploitative ecosystem and examines how it has been allowed to persist in plain sight.

Publishing’s Free Labor Pyramid

Let’s start with the basics. Academic publishing operates on a system where scholars write papers, review each other’s work, and often serve as editors, all without being paid. Meanwhile, publishers sell these same papers back to university libraries through subscriptions, sometimes charging thousands per journal annually. The labor that fuels this cycle is mostly invisible on financial statements but essential to the business model.

Peer reviewers, typically faculty members or researchers, are expected to volunteer their time to assess the validity, rigor, and contribution of submitted papers. The assumption is that this is part of the “service” component of academic life, along with committee work and advising students. But the demands of peer reviewing have increased significantly, with journals expecting fast turnarounds even as submission volumes soar. Some academics report receiving multiple review requests per week, adding up to dozens of unpaid hours monthly.

Editors fare slightly better in prestige but not in compensation. Only editors-in-chief of major journals sometimes receive stipends, which are still modest compared to their contribution. Most editorial board members and associate editors work for free, managing reviews, coordinating decisions, and overseeing journal direction, often in addition to their full-time academic duties. The prestige attached to such roles may provide career benefits, but these rarely translate into direct financial rewards or reduced teaching loads.

Authors: Paying to Work

The situation becomes even more absurd when we consider the role of authors in this ecosystem. Not only do they write and revise articles for free, but in the open access model—which was supposed to democratize knowledge—they’re frequently charged Article Processing Charges (APCs) to make their work freely available.

These APCs can range from a few hundred to several thousand dollars per article. Top-tier journals such as Nature charge upwards of $8,000 per article. Authors, often reliant on dwindling research grants or personal funds, must pay for the privilege of publishing. In essence, scholars are now both the unpaid labor and the paying customer.

To put it plainly: In what other industry do content creators pay to have their work disseminated, while the platform owners rake in profit margins of 30–40%? And to add insult to injury, many open access journals don’t even provide comprehensive copyediting or promotional support, placing the burden of quality control and visibility back on the authors themselves.

The Myth of Prestige

Part of what sustains this broken model is academia’s prestige economy. Publishing in a “high-impact” journal is a golden ticket to tenure, grants, and promotion. This drives scholars to submit their best work to journals owned by major commercial publishers, regardless of their exploitative policies. The prestige doesn’t come from editorial services or marketing but from the scholarly community itself, which curates, edits, and reviews the content. Yet that prestige is monetized by publishers, not by the scholars who created it.

There’s also a fear factor. Junior scholars are reluctant to complain about exploitative practices lest they be perceived as troublemakers or risk missing publication opportunities. As a result, the system continues to be self-reinforcing, upheld by ambition, inertia, and institutional incentives. The academic treadmill keeps spinning, and most researchers feel they have no choice but to keep running.

The Economics of Exploitation

Let’s talk numbers. According to the European University Association’s 2019 Big Deals Survey, the average cost of publishing a scholarly article in the traditional subscription-based model was approximately $1,700, with prices ranging from about $670 to $3,200 depending on the publisher and country. Yet the actual operational cost—handling submissions, copyediting, typesetting, and online hosting—is often significantly lower. The markup is absorbed as profit.

Elsevier, Springer Nature, and Wiley—the big three—earn billions in revenue and enjoy profit margins that hover around 30%. Compare this to the average margin of S&P 500 companies, which is closer to 10%. How do they pull it off? Easy: outsource the content creation, peer review, and editorial work to academics who are already salaried elsewhere.

In many cases, even university presses, which are ostensibly non-profit, rely heavily on volunteer labor. While their margins are not as egregious, their operations also rest on the unpaid time of faculty reviewers and editors. This raises the uncomfortable question: are even mission-driven publishing outfits complicit in maintaining a fundamentally exploitative model?

The Emotional Labor Behind Peer Review

Beyond the spreadsheets and business models, there’s a human cost. Peer review isn’t just about checking citations or flagging methodological errors. It involves deep cognitive engagement, careful reading, thoughtful feedback, and often diplomatic phrasing. Reviewers labor to ensure the intellectual integrity of published research.

Yet this form of intellectual and emotional labor is undervalued. Review fatigue is real. Many academics report burnout from the rising number of requests and the growing pressure to deliver reviews quickly. The result? Declining review quality, delayed editorial decisions, and increased journal rejection rates.

There’s a quiet resentment growing in the academy—an unspoken frustration that time spent on unpaid peer reviews is time not spent on one’s own research, teaching, or well-being. But saying no feels risky in a hypercompetitive environment. What’s worse, this fatigue is contagious: as fewer people accept review requests, the burden becomes even heavier on those who do.

Who Really Benefits?

The simple answer is publishers. But the reality is more layered. Universities benefit indirectly, as their faculty publish in prestigious journals, boosting institutional rankings. Funders get visibility when research is published. Some academics derive satisfaction and recognition from editorial board appointments.

Still, the biggest winners are the commercial publishers. By extracting free labor and monetizing prestige, they’ve created a business model with negligible overhead and guaranteed supply. It’s no wonder that companies like RELX (Elsevier’s parent company) are publicly traded darlings.

Meanwhile, scholars and their institutions absorb the costs, time, stress, and opportunity loss. Libraries buckle under subscription costs, researchers spend hours on uncompensated tasks, and readers in the Global South are often locked out of access due to paywalls. The public, too, suffers when taxpayer-funded research ends up behind expensive subscription walls.

The Token Rewards Problem

Some journals have tried to compensate reviewers with nominal benefits: certificates, discounts on APCs, or LinkedIn badges. These are gestures, not meaningful compensation. A badge doesn’t pay rent. A discount on an $8,000 APC is still a bill. And being listed as a reviewer rarely translates into institutional recognition or career advancement.

What’s needed is a structural reevaluation, not tokenism. Reviewers and editors provide critical scholarly labor. Paying them would mean acknowledging that intellectual work has economic value, even if it’s wrapped in the trappings of academic altruism. Until that shift happens, token rewards will remain band-aids on a gaping wound.

Exploiting the Developing World

Unpaid labor isn’t distributed equally. Researchers in the Global South often contribute peer reviews and editorial work for international journals, yet receive little visibility, compensation, or opportunity in return. Their labor props up journals that often exclude them from editorial boards or ignore regional research priorities.

The irony is sharp: the global knowledge economy depends on participation from all regions, yet the rewards and recognition remain uneven. And as open access becomes the norm, scholars from lower-income countries are increasingly asked to pay APCs that outstrip their entire research budgets. Efforts like APC waivers help, but they do not address the deeper structural imbalance.

Technology Won’t Fix This—Unless We Make It

Some optimists argue that AI and manuscript management systems will ease the burden. Maybe. But automation won’t fix the core issue: the systemic expectation that scholars should work for free. Technology can streamline processes, but the exploitation will become more efficient unless the value proposition changes.

Moreover, as AI tools grow more sophisticated, publishers are eyeing new ways to further reduce operational costs—possibly even replacing some editorial functions. Instead of paying reviewers, why not use AI to “screen” submissions? Why not rely on algorithmic impact scores instead of human judgment? The future could be even more dehumanized if scholars don’t reclaim control of the publishing process. The ethical considerations of such automation, including algorithmic bias and loss of disciplinary nuance, have yet to be fully reckoned with.

Can This Be Fixed?

There are some glimmers of hope. Initiatives like the Open Library of Humanities and the Subscribe to Open model are rethinking publishing economics. Some universities now explicitly recognize peer review in tenure evaluations. Others are piloting programs that offer microgrants or stipends for editorial work.

But these are exceptions. For real change, academia needs a cultural shift. That means valuing service labor, demanding transparency from publishers, and supporting alternative publishing platforms that align with scholarly values. It also means fighting back against prestige monopolies and educating early-career researchers about their rights. Only through collective action—by scholars, librarians, funders, and administrators—can the system be recalibrated toward fairness.

Until then, the unpaid labor of academic publishing will continue, quiet, invisible, and essential.

Conclusion

Academic publishing has built an empire on the goodwill and unpaid labor of scholars. While the rhetoric celebrates peer review as a cornerstone of scientific integrity and editorial service as a mark of prestige, the economic reality is stark: publishers profit while researchers donate their time, intellect, and effort.

It’s time to call this what it is: systemic exploitation. And it’s not just unfair—it’s unsustainable. If scholars withdraw their free labor, the entire edifice of academic publishing would collapse. That power, though currently dormant, is the key to reshaping a more equitable and just publishing ecosystem.

The question isn’t whether the system will change. The question is who will force it to.

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