In June 2021, a leading national daily declared that “60% of college students in Kerala suffer from depression.” The figure sounded like a public-health alarm bell, widely shared (even Shashi Tharoor shared it on his Facebook account), quoted, and discussed. But behind that headline was a deeply worrying omission.

The psychological study that produced this statistic had never received approval from an accredited ethics committee, which is a basic requirement for any research involving human participants. That lapse, as psychologist Amar Rajan, Founder and Director of Thiruvananthapuram-based Mind Carter, has pointed out in a recent letter published in Asian Bioethics Review, is not, by any means, a minor procedural error, but a fundamental violation of ethical research conduct. It is something that endangers participants, distorts public understanding, and erodes trust in science itself.

Rajan’s letter, most likely the first published paper to formally raise the issue, uses this Kerala study as a case study in what happens when institutions forget that ethics is not an afterthought, but the very foundation on which research legitimacy rests.

Ethics Is Not Red Tape

Every researcher working with human participants, whether in medicine, psychology, or social science, is bound by the Indian Council of Medical Research’s (ICMR) National Ethical Guidelines for Biomedical and Health Research (2017). These guidelines explicitly stipulate that prior approval from an Institutional Ethics Committee (IEC) is required to ensure that a study protects participants’ autonomy, safety, and dignity.

The Kerala study in question, conducted under government order P4/2909/2019/coll.edu, reportedly used highly sensitive tools such as the PHQ-9 and GAD-7 (for depression and anxiety), the UCLA Loneliness Scale, and questionnaires on suicidal thoughts, all of which are designed to probe private emotional states. Conducting such assessments without ethics approval is akin to performing surgery without anaesthesia: technically possible, but morally indefensible. An ethics review is not a bureaucratic hurdle.

It is, instead, a shield that ensures that consent is informed, data is anonymised, and risks are weighed against benefits. Without it, even potentially well-meaning research can cause harm.

When Headlines Outrun Scrutiny

The consequences of this terrible oversight were exacerbated by the manner in which the findings were publicised. During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic -- a period already marked by isolation, fear, and uncertainty -- the claim that “60% of students suffer from depression” spread through mainstream and social media like wildfire. That is a staggering number that, quite understandably, raised many eyebrows.

Numbers, when detached from context, acquire a dangerous authority. Such a figure can (and did) stigmatise students, alarm parents, and mislead policymakers. In fact, it can (and did) shape public discourse in ways that deepen anxiety rather than address it.

Science is supposed to clarify, but when unvetted data makes its way into headlines before peer review or ethical clearance, the line between scientific communication and sensationalism blurs. Trust is the invisible contract between science and society.

People volunteer for research, disclose personal information, and/or accept scientific advice because they believe the process is honest and humane. Once that trust is broken, it is tough to restore.

History offers painful lessons. From the Tuskegee Syphilis Study in the U.S., which withheld treatment from African American men, to the fraudulent Wakefield MMR-autism paper that fuelled vaccine hesitancy worldwide. Each case showed that unethical research does not merely harm participants; it corrodes the credibility of science itself.

Closer home, Kerala has already witnessed its own ethical scandal -- the Johns Hopkins M4N cancer drug trial conducted at the Regional Cancer Centre (RCC), Thiruvananthapuram, where patients were subjected to experimental treatments without their informed consent. Despite media coverage, public outrage, and official enquiries, the then director, Dr M Krishnan Nair, hardly faced any serious consequences. That episode, like the present one, underlined a deeper and truly disturbing malaise: In India, violations of research ethics rarely invite accountability. 

Such episodes show how unethical or dishonest research can outlive its retraction. The damage is not just academic; it is social, generational, and psychological.

Structural Weakness in India’s Research Oversight

India has robust ethical frameworks on paper. The ICMR guidelines and the New Drugs and Clinical Trials Rules (2019) outline clear protocols for review, consent, and monitoring. Yet, as the above-mentioned case from Kerala illustrates, implementation is worryingly patchy. Many government departments and universities either lack properly constituted ethics committees or treat them as ceremonial bodies. Even when committees exist, they often operate without adequate expertise or training in reviewing sensitive psychological or social research.

The confusion deepens when studies are conducted under government orders, like in this case. Institutional heads sometimes assume that official sanction automatically implies ethical legitimacy, a patently dangerous conflation that must be corrected. Ethical clearance is not a matter of authority, but one of accountability.

Psychological research, particularly in areas like depression or suicidal ideation, involves probing the mind’s most fragile zones. Without safeguards, such research can not only re-traumatise participants, but it can also expose them to stigma and discrimination.

A student confiding feelings of hopelessness in what they believe to be a confidential assessment could later find their data mishandled or leaked. In small communities or campuses, anonymity is easily compromised, and the damage can be permanent.

At a broader level, flawed or exaggerated findings can warp public policy. If policymakers act on inflated statistics, resources may be diverted toward the wrong interventions, while real crises remain neglected. The harm there is not just ethical, but structural.

To prevent such lapses, India needs to move swiftly from guidelines to governance. Ethical compliance cannot remain a moral suggestion; it must become a legal requirement.

All human-participant studies, whether medical, psychological, or social, should be registered with a recognised ethics committee before data collection begins.

Journals, media outlets, and government departments should demand proof of ethics approval before publishing or promoting findings. Universities must treat ethics as a core subject and not a footnote, as training researchers to anticipate ethical dilemmas is as crucial as teaching them statistics or methodology.

Violations should attract institutional consequences, including funding suspensions and public censure. Ethical negligence should never be a victimless error; it is professional misconduct.

A Call for Ethical Renewal

Amar Rajan’s intervention is a reminder that ethics is not just a ceremonial preface to science, but the very essence of it. In a time when data circulates faster than deliberation, the need for ethical literacy is more urgent than ever.

Kerala’s ‘60 per cent’ headline should not merely be remembered as a statistical controversy but as a cautionary tale of how easily good intentions can go astray when oversight fails.

For research to serve society, it must be more than accurate; it must be responsible. Because truth, without ethics, is just information. And information, without conscience, is noise.

The author is a national award-winning narrator, writer, and commentator on politics, media, ethics, and public policy, and can be contacted at hari@healthcombine.com