The moment I heard this sentence, tears streamed down my face. Unable to hold back my emotions any longer, I broke down in my professor's office.
About three years ago, I was writing my thesis when I discovered that a small research paper and questionnaire I had presented at a Fudan University seminar in Shanghai had been plagiarized. I only discovered the plagiarism because I spent a month searching for papers similar to my research topic, then wrote to contact that student's department asking permission to cite their work. When I opened it, I found that all the questionnaire data inside were ones I had personally typed up. After reporting it to the Ministry of Education and exchanging messages for half a year, I received an insincere apology letter.
"Thank you for spending so much time on my thesis and taking such care with it."
Below is my previous record:
Because of someone's "unintentional plagiarism" of the small research paper I had published, with approximately 70% identical questions in the most important satisfaction and motivation items, I spent sleepless nights comparing the documents. I shed tears in the department office and my professor's lab, contacted the Ministry of Education, and discussed the matter with nearly half the professors in my department — all of whom felt her behavior was entirely inappropriate.
I believe "plagiarism is a small matter, sincerity is the big one." What made it worse was that she didn't just plagiarize my questionnaire, but also plagiarized other people's references. When I pointed this out, she lied, claiming the thesis version she sent me was "unrevised before oral defense." But the metadata clearly showed the file was created after the defense — meaning what I received was the official version, yet she still lied to my face.
Moreover, she said, "I really had no intention of plagiarizing your questionnaire," yet she attached the questionnaire link from back then. Wasn't that essentially saying, "I had the questionnaire source but didn't cite it in my own thesis?"
Then, after her university received the complaint, 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 unilaterally added my small paper to their references.
But honestly, what really infuriated me was her two arrogant advisors. At the time the incident occurred, they claimed they were only "nominal" advisors. The first thing they did wasn't to call and apologize, but to loudly "ask" my professor "Is your student a journalist?" and "I'll make the news too if this gets out," and "Our school's students just can't compare to yours from a national university." Most importantly, she shirked responsibility: "If I were directing her personally, this would absolutely never happen."
Beyond that, to appease this professor (out of respect for teachers), I spent two hours writing a letter to her, clearly explaining the full context of what happened, even apologizing somewhat for my attitude. But you know what? She completely ignored whether her student had plagiarized or not, and only replied with three points. Briefly, they were:
1. Can your questionnaire even be used?
2. Do you, a graduate student, have the ability to produce a questionnaire?
3. Your entire thesis has logical problems — you should be very aware of that.
After reading it, I was truly speechless. Whether my thesis was well-written or not has absolutely nothing to do with pointing out plagiarism, and I'm very clear about this because it was a "first-year master's course assignment" that happened to have been presented at Fudan University in Shanghai. But now it's been plagiarized by your student for her master's thesis? And she's already graduated?
After repeatedly and insistently pushing, the school finally sent an apology letter. The department staff member said, "The Ministry of Education said to send an apology to you," in a very unpleasant tone.
Then I received this apology letter that was barely worth reading, along with a dismissive revised thesis version. Let me highlight the key part for everyone: "Thank you for being so diligent with my thesis, carefully pointing out the areas that needed revision." I wasn't hurt, honestly. I felt sad for the world — this school ranks in the top hundred, yet I don't know how they produced such students and teachers. But I'm truly grateful to her for showing me what shamelessness really means.
While handling this matter, aside from being swamped with my own thesis, I collected a tremendous amount of documentation and even connected with another National Taiwan University graduate student who had been plagiarized. I discovered that the plagiarist's advisor didn't want to help her, whereas in contrast, nearly half my department's professors stood by me. This made me develop some sympathy for that plagiarizing graduate student, and what worried me more was whether our department's accreditation would fail because of this, due to that arrogant advisor's judgment.
While I was wrestling with these concerns and visiting my professor's office, my professor said, "There's no need to dull your edge for the sake of worldly judgment." He understood that my decision to pursue the plagiarism issue wasn't because I wanted to harm someone else, but because I wanted to fight for my own rights. Yet in the process, I was deeply worried about hurting the other person, and even more worried about damaging the professors in my department. But my professor told me that if the department's accreditation failed because of this, it would absolutely not be because of me, but because that arrogant professor lacked magnanimity. He told me to feel at ease being myself. At my lowest point, hearing those words was undoubtedly the greatest encouragement.
Perhaps the essence of this sentence isn't the kind of positive energy you might imagine, but rather the lift I felt being pulled up from my deepest despair. It's true that we live in a world full of other people's scrutiny, and no one is unaffected by others because we're not saints. But we absolutely must know what we're doing, understand our current state and where we're heading, rather than abandon the things we love because of external pressure and judgment. Wouldn't that be a betrayal of the most passionate version of ourselves from the beginning?
