Researchers typically attempt to fulfill disclosure and informed consent requirements by having participants read and sign consent forms. The present study evaluated the reading levels of informed consent forms used in psychology research and other fields (medical research; social science and education research; and health, physical education, and recreation research). Two standardized measures of readability were employed to analyze a randomly selected sample (N = 108) of informed consent forms used in Institutional Review Board-approved research projects at a midwestern university (...) during the 1987-1988 academic year. Results indicate that informed consent forms are typically written at a higher reading level than is appropriate for the intended population and that there are no consistently significant differences in readability among areas of research or between college student and noncollege student participants. Due to the unacceptably high reading level of the consent forms, one must question whether participants can comprehend the information contained in the consent forms. (shrink)

Several years ago, the University of Minnesota hosted a lecture by Alan Milstein, a Philadelphia attorney specializing in clinical trial litigation. Milstein, who does not mince words, insisted on calling research studies “experiments.” “Don't call it a study,” Milstein said. “Don't call it a clinical trial. Call it what it is. It's an experiment.” Milstein's comments made me wonder: when was the last time I heard an ongoing research study described as a “human experiment”? The phrase is now almost always (...) associated with abuses. Asking a prospective subject to sign up for a medical experiment would probably get roughly the same response as asking him or her to sign up for a police interrogation. It wasn't always this way. In the early days of American bioethics, scholars used the word “experimentation” in the same neutral way that they later began to use “research study” and “clinical trial.”. (shrink)