The moment I heard this sentence, tears streamed down my face. Unable to hold back any longer, I broke down in my professor's office.
About three years ago, while writing my thesis, I discovered that a small paper and survey I had presented at a Fudan University symposium in Shanghai had been plagiarized. I discovered the plagiarism because I had spent a month searching for papers similar to my thesis topic, then deliberately reached out to the other person's department to ask if I could cite their work. When I opened it, I realized the survey data inside was entirely transcribed by my own hand. After reporting it to the Ministry of Education and enduring six months of back-and-forth communication, I received an insincere apology letter.
"Thank you for spending so much time and being so thoughtful about my paper."
Below is my previous record
Because someone "unintentionally plagiarized" my published small paper, with approximately 70% of the survey questions being identical in the most critical satisfaction and motivation items, I stayed up several nights comparing them meticulously. I wept in the department office and my professor's office, contacted the Ministry of Education, and discussed it with nearly half the professors in my department—all of whom agreed her behavior was highly inappropriate.
I believe "plagiarism is a small matter, sincerity is everything." What's more, she didn't just plagiarize my survey; she also plagiarized other people's literature. When I pointed this out, she blatantly lied, claiming the version of her thesis she sent me was "an unrevised version before the oral defense," yet the file creation date on the electronic document clearly showed it was created after her defense—meaning what I received was the final version. She looked me straight in the eye and lied.
Furthermore, she said, "I really didn't intend to plagiarize your survey," yet she even attached the survey link from back then. Isn't that the same as saying, "She had a source for the survey but didn't cite it in her own graduation thesis?"
Moreover, when her school received the report, the first thing they did wasn't to reply to me, apologize, or explain. Instead, they went directly to the National Central Library website and changed the records, unilaterally adding my small paper as a literature reference.
But honestly, what infuriated me most was her two high-and-mighty advisors. When the situation first happened, they claimed to be only "nominal" supervisors. The first thing they did wasn't to call and apologize—instead, they called my professor loudly asking, "Is your student a journalist?" "If I make the news, I'll make it too," and "Our school's students just can't compare to your national university students." The worst part was how they shirked responsibility: "If I had supervised her directly, this would absolutely never have happened."
Even after that, to appease that professor's feelings (out of respect for teachers), I spent two hours writing a letter to her, clearly explaining the entire situation and even slightly apologizing for my attitude. But you know what? She completely ignored whether her student had actually plagiarized and only replied with three points. Briefly summarized, they were:
1. Is your survey even usable?
2. Do you, a graduate student, even have the ability to produce a survey?
3. Your entire thesis has logical problems—I'm sure you're aware of it yourself.
After reading that, I was truly speechless. Whether my thesis was well-written is completely unrelated to the accusation of plagiarism. And I'm very clear about it because it was "a homework assignment from my first year of graduate school"—though it happened to have been presented at Fudan University in Shanghai. But now your student plagiarized it for her master's thesis and got away with it?
After repeated requests and reminders, the school finally sent an apology letter. The department administrator said, "The Ministry of Education said to send an apology letter to you," in a very dismissive tone.
Then I received this apology letter that was essentially worthless, along with a perfunctory revised version of the thesis. Let me highlight the key part for everyone: "Thank you for being so thoughtful about my paper and carefully pointing out the areas that need revision." Honestly, I found it quite bitter. I wasn't hurt—I was saddened by the world. A school ranked within the top hundred teaching students and professors like this? I truly learned from her what it means to be shameless.
While dealing with this issue, in addition to being overwhelmed with my own thesis, I collected vast amounts of documentation and got in touch with another NTU graduate student who had been plagiarized. I even discovered that the plagiarist's advisor didn't want to help her, which contrasted sharply with my own department—nearly half my professors were supporting me. This made me develop some sympathy for the graduate student who plagiarized the paper, and I was even more worried that the departmental evaluation of my program might fail because this high-and-mighty advisor would rate us poorly.
When I brought these worries to my professor's office, my professor said, "There's no need to dull your edge for the world's judgment." He knew that my decision to pursue the other person's plagiarism was not because I wanted to harm them, but because I wanted to fight for my own rights. Yet throughout this process, I was worried about hurting the other person and hurting the professors in my department. But my professor told me that if the departmental evaluation failed because of this, it would absolutely not be my fault—it would be because that high-and-mighty professor had too little magnanimity. He told me to feel at ease and just be myself. Hearing this sentence at my lowest point was undoubtedly the greatest encouragement.
Perhaps the sentiment behind this sentence isn't the positive energy you might imagine, but rather a pull that lifted me up in my moment of deepest despair. It's true that we live in a world surrounded by others, and no one can avoid being influenced by them—we're not saints after all. But we absolutely must know what we're doing, understand our situation and where we're headed, rather than giving up the things we love because of external pressure and judgment. Wouldn't that be a betrayal of our most passionate, original selves?
