Double-Blind Review and the Anthropology of Becoming a Scholar

Double-Blind Review and the Anthropology of Becoming a Scholar

When Mentorship Meets Standards

Doctoral students want mentorship. Journals demand standards. Yesterday, one of my students asked me why the two can’t coexist—and I realized this question goes straight to the anthropology of becoming a scholar.

We were in the middle of a conversation about peer review. My student argued that doctoral students should be treated differently in the process, because they are still learning. I countered that unless a journal explicitly creates a separate category with different criteria, all manuscripts are—and should be—evaluated using the same criteria. That is the promise—and the fiction—of double-blind review.

The Promise—and Limits—of Anonymity

In theory, double-blind review erases difference. Reviewers do not know who the author is; manuscripts are judged on their merits alone. In this sense, the system aspires to a kind of epistemic equality.

In practice, however, things are less tidy. Reviewers often infer quite a bit from the text itself: the framing of the argument, the command of the literature, even the tone. These become proxies—rightly or wrongly—for experience. When a manuscript appears to come from a less experienced scholar, some reviewers shift into a more developmental mode. They offer detailed guidance, suggest readings, and try to nurture the argument. Others do the opposite. What is presented as neutral evaluation is, in reality, an interpretive act shaped by tacit assumptions.

An Editorial Experiment

My conversation with my student stayed with me because I have tried, in a different role, to resolve this tension.

As editor-in-chief of a major migration journal, I introduced a student paper section. Instead of subjecting submissions to standard double-blind review, doctoral students were paired with seasoned scholars who would help them transform what I called "a dimond in the rough" into a publishable article, while offering substantive critique. It was designed to be developmental, not merely evaluative.

In theory, it seemed ideal: it acknowledged that doctoral work is part of an apprenticeship and created a space for mentorship within the publication process itself.

The Response We Did Not Expect

In reality, very few students submitted to this section.

Those who chose not to were clear: a publication in a “student” section would carry less weight. It would mark their work as something other than fully legitimate. They preferred to take their chances in the regular double-blind process—even if it meant harsher critiques and a higher likelihood of rejection. It’s worth noting that few articles are ever accepted as submitted; even seasoned scholars regularly face rejections or multiple rounds of revision. The regular process challenges all authors equally, regardless of experience, reinforcing why students seek recognition on the same terms. I would venture that as the number of students who base their dissertation on publications increases, fewer students would choose to publish in a "student section."

Recognition, Not Accommodation

This was an ethnographic insight into the moral economy of academia: doctoral students do not simply seek guidance; they seek legitimacy. And legitimacy, in our field, is inseparable from being judged by the same standards as everyone else.

This is where the apparent difference of opinion between my student and me becomes more complex. My student was right to point out that doctoral students are still learning and that the system can be unforgiving. I am right, I think, to insist that the integrity of peer review depends on common standards.

Peer Review as Rite of Passage

Double-blind review, in this sense, is not just a method. It is a rite of passage.

Like many such rites, it is structured by ambiguity. One is neither fully inside nor outside the community. One submits work expected to meet professional standards while still acquiring the skills to do so. Feedback can be generous or dismissive, transformative or opaque. And yet, it is through this process that one is gradually recognized as a peer.

What, Then, Should Change?

If this is the case, then calls to treat doctoral students differently in peer review may be addressing the wrong problem.

Creating parallel tracks—however well intentioned—risks marking some work as second-tier. As my editorial experience suggests, such distinctions offer support, but at the cost of legitimacy.

A more productive approach may be to shift where support happens. If peer review is primarily evaluative, mentorship must take place elsewhere: in supervision, in writing workshops, in intellectual communities where unfinished ideas can be tested without penalty.

At the same time, we might ask whether peer review itself could be practiced more constructively—not by lowering standards, but by making critique more consistently useful for all authors.

Returning to the Conversation

When I think back to that conversation with my student, I am struck less by the disagreement itself than by what it reveals about the system we both inhabit.

She argued for recognition of doctoral students as learners. I argued for the importance of maintaining common standards in peer review. Both positions capture something real about academic life—but they do not operate on the same level.

Peer review was not designed to be pedagogical. It is a mechanism of evaluation, not apprenticeship. Expecting it to do both places a burden on the system that it can only resolve inconsistently and, at times, unfairly.

This does not make my student wrong. It does, however, suggest that the solution she proposes—treating doctoral students differently within peer review—addresses the symptoms rather than the structure.

If we take seriously the idea that doctoral education is a process of becoming, then the more difficult question is where that process should be supported—and why we so often expect it to unfold under conditions that are, by design, indifferent to it.