Dr. Philp McMillan,  John McMillan

Nicolas Hulscher felt his stomach drop as another professor walked past his poster without making eye contact. Standing at the University of Michigan epidemiology session, the young researcher watched faculty members deliberately avoid his presentation: a detailed analysis of 240 deaths potentially linked to COVID-19 vaccination. After being rejected for internships by over 50 professors at his own institution, Hulscher had conducted this groundbreaking autopsy research remotely with cardiologist Dr. Peter McCullough. Now, watching his own professors pretend he didn’t exist, he wasn’t experiencing mere academic disagreement. This was something darker: the complete shunning of a researcher whose findings challenged accepted narratives.

“They wouldn’t even look at me,” Hulscher remembers, still stunned by the memory. “My own professors acted like I was invisible.”

What followed would push the boundaries of scientific publishing ethics. The paper emerging from that research would undergo publication, retraction, republication, and another retraction, not because peer reviewers found methodological flaws, but because anonymous online critics demanded its removal. The study, which examined 325 autopsy cases and suggested that 73.9% of deaths showed evidence of vaccine involvement, never received proper scientific scrutiny. It vanished from preprint servers before meaningful peer review could occur.

This represents a seismic shift in how medical research gets evaluated. Papers aren’t being challenged through rigorous scientific debate anymore; they’re being erased before that debate can even start.

The Preprint Revolution Turns Sour

Scientists created preprint servers for one simple purpose: getting preliminary findings out quickly so colleagues worldwide could evaluate, critique, and build upon emerging research. These platforms carry clear warnings that papers haven’t undergone peer review. They exist to speed up scientific conversation, not replace careful evaluation. Yet something strange is happening. Papers addressing certain medical topics now disappear within hours of posting, a phenomenon Hulscher describes as “completely unprecedented in scientific publishing.”

The mechanics are disturbingly simple. Anonymous users on PubPeer, a website designed for post-publication commentary, flag papers they consider problematic. These faceless critics contact journal editors and publishers directly, often triggering formal investigations before any actual peer review takes place. When molecular biologist Kevin McKernan published findings about DNA contamination in COVID vaccines, Taylor & Francis confirmed they launched an ethics investigation within 48 hours of PubPeer complaints, long before scientific peers could evaluate the methodology.

“We’re watching mob rule replace scientific review,” says one journal editor who requested anonymity, fearing professional retaliation. “Papers get tried and convicted on social media before scientists can even read them properly.”

A Predictable Playbook

The assault on Hulscher’s autopsy research reveals this censorship pipeline in stark detail. Initially posted on SSRN (Social Science Research Network) in July 2023, the paper survived less than 24 hours before removal. When Forensic Science International finally published it in June 2024 after formal peer review, it lasted merely six weeks. The retraction notice offered a jaw-dropping explanation: anonymous “members of the scientific community” had declared the paper shouldn’t exist.

This isn’t happening in isolation. McKernan’s DNA contamination paper, published in September 2024, faced investigation within two weeks of publication. Dr. Sabine Hazan, a respected microbiome researcher, has watched four of her papers get retracted following coordinated PubPeer campaigns, attacks she bluntly calls “scientific harassment.” The formula never varies: a PubPeer post appears, the publisher panics, and the paper disappears, sometimes within 72 hours.

The velocity is mind-boggling. Dutch researchers published a paper in the journal Vaccines on June 24, 2021, suggesting certain vaccine risks needed investigation. By June 25, the very next day, the head of the Netherlands pharmacovigilance center had fired off emails demanding immediate retraction. By July 2, the paper was gone. Six journal editors resigned in protest over the retraction, including prominent Mount Sinai virologist Florian Krammer. While Krammer called the original publication “grossly irresponsible,” even he acknowledged the extraordinary speed of its removal raised serious questions about due process.

Quality Control or Something Else?

Those defending these rapid retractions insist they’re protecting scientific integrity. The autopsy study had real problems, critics point out. Independent reviewers examining the same cases concluded only 9.5% showed clear vaccine involvement, not the 73.9% Hulscher’s team reported. An Italian cancer study the authors referenced explicitly labeled its findings “preliminary,” noting the cancer association disappeared when researchers extended the observation period to 12 months post-vaccination.

Fair enough. These represent legitimate scientific concerns that deserve serious discussion. But here’s the problem: that’s exactly what peer review should accomplish, not instant administrative deletion. Weak science should lose to stronger science through open debate, not get disappeared by anonymous complaints. When the journal Food and Chemical Toxicology simultaneously retracts papers while refusing to publish scientific rebuttals, as happened with several vaccine safety studies, they’re not defending scientific standards. They’re preventing scientific discourse entirely.

The money trail makes things murkier. Major publishers openly acknowledge pharmaceutical companies as significant revenue sources. Recent investigations reveal that roughly half of medical journal editors and peer reviewers receive pharmaceutical industry payments. When research threatens products generating billions in revenue, the temptation to suppress rather than debate grows exponentially.

“Follow the money and you’ll understand the retractions,” says a former Elsevier editor who left the industry in disgust. “Big Pharma doesn’t need to control every journal, just the ones that matter.”

Careers Destroyed, Lives Upended

For targeted researchers, the personal toll is devastating. Hulscher describes being explicitly warned he’d “never have a career in science” if he continued his research trajectory. Multiple professors pulled him aside with variations of the same message: stop now or face permanent exile from academia. Friends disappeared. Daily online attacks became routine. “Every single day brings new PubPeer messages,” he explains, describing the exhausting psychological warfare of constant character assassination.

The broader implications are chilling. The journal Science recently discovered that 90% of academic citations to retracted papers fail to mention the retraction, meaning false retractions effectively rewrite the scientific record. With Retraction Watch documenting over 500 COVID-related retractions, we’re witnessing something unprecedented: the retroactive editing of medical knowledge based on political rather than scientific criteria.

Consider what might have slipped through the cracks. Early treatment protocols got dismissed without proper investigation. Safety signals were branded “misinformation” before adequate data existed for evaluation. Japanese researchers recently published a micro-scar study revealing previously undetectable cardiac damage in vaccinated individuals who died suddenly, research that might never have seen daylight if similar investigations had been successfully suppressed earlier.

The Messy Reality

Let’s be honest: not every retraction represents censorship. Some papers genuinely spread dangerous misinformation that could harm patients. The real challenge lies in determining who makes that call and through what process. When anonymous internet critics can trigger retractions faster than qualified peer reviewers can evaluate methodology, we’ve essentially crowdsourced scientific judgment to whoever shouts loudest online rather than those with actual expertise.

The IgG4 antibody research perfectly captures this dilemma. Multiple studies confirm mRNA vaccines trigger unusually elevated IgG4 levels, reaching 45% of total antibodies versus 1-3% following natural infection. Some immunologists warn these antibodies might “facilitate cancer progression.” Others argue these antibodies “maintain strong neutralization capacity” and concerns are overblown. This represents exactly the kind of nuanced debate science needs, conducted openly, with data, through peer review. Instead, papers raising concerns face immediate retraction campaigns while those dismissing risks receive rapid publication.

“We’re creating an environment where only one perspective gets heard,” warns a Stanford immunologist who studies antibody responses. “That’s not science; it’s propaganda with citations.”

Finding a Way Forward

The answer isn’t abandoning quality control; it’s demanding transparency. Retraction criteria should be public. Critics triggering investigations should identify themselves. Scientific rebuttals should appear alongside controversial papers, letting readers judge for themselves. Most critically, papers need time for genuine peer review, not just Twitter pile-ons.

What Hulscher experienced at that Michigan poster session, with professors literally averting their eyes from unwelcome data, has now been institutionalized through PubPeer campaigns and lightning-fast retractions. We’ve built a system where controversial research doesn’t get confronted with better science; it simply gets erased.

Science progresses through disagreement. When papers disappear before proper debate occurs, we’re not protecting public health. We’re guaranteeing that difficult questions never get asked and scientific progress in controversial areas grinds to a halt.

This battle over preprints exposes who controls medical discourse and whether researchers can still investigate questions that powerful interests would prefer remain unexamined. As Hulscher recognized early on, watching certain treatments get promoted while others faced instant condemnation: “Something was seriously wrong with how we were doing science.”

That “something” is medical publishing transformed from truth-seeking into narrative management. The victims aren’t just individual papers or destroyed careers. It’s the scientific method itself, suffocating under anonymous accusers and instant retractions.

The medical community faces a choice. Will scientific discourse be controlled by whoever mobilizes the most online critics? Or will controversial research receive the same rigorous, transparent peer review that has advanced medicine for centuries? The answer will determine whether future researchers dare to ask difficult questions, or whether they’ll simply look away, just like those professors at Hulscher’s poster session, pretending not to see what makes them uncomfortable.