Forest Laboratories manipulated antidepressant studies to hide ineffectiveness in children

When Forest Laboratories published studies showing that Celexa and Lexapro worked well for depressed children, psychiatrists began prescribing them. Parents who trusted their doctors filled prescriptions. Nobody knew that the company had buried the studies that didn't reach the same conclusion.

For years, the narrative was straightforward: these antidepressants had been tested in children, found effective, and approved for use. Forest Laboratories, a major pharmaceutical company, presented itself as a responsible corporate actor following proper scientific protocols. The medical establishment accepted their findings. Children across the country took these medications based partly on what Forest had presented as evidence.

The problem was incomplete. The company had conducted multiple clinical trials, and many had failed to show the drugs worked better than placebo in pediatric patients. Rather than sharing all results equally, Forest strategically promoted the handful of trials that appeared positive—even when statistical analysis showed those positive results weren't actually meaningful. The company then marketed these medications directly to doctors and, indirectly, to parents seeking help for their children's depression.

This wasn't speculation or circumstantial suspicion. In 2010, Forest Pharmaceuticals formally pleaded guilty to charges related to this scheme. The company agreed to pay more than $313 million to resolve both criminal charges and civil claims. The guilty plea and settlement represented federal acknowledgment that Forest had deliberately misrepresented its research to regulators and doctors.

The mechanics of the deception were sophisticated. Forest had sponsored Phase III clinical trials—the gold standard for testing drug effectiveness. When results proved disappointing, showing no meaningful advantage over placebo, the company didn't simply announce this neutrally. Instead, they selectively published positive findings while downplaying or shelving negative ones. They sponsored continuing medical education programs that presented biased summaries. They funded speakers who promoted the drugs to physicians. All of this created an appearance of scientific consensus that didn't actually exist.

What made this claim verifiable wasn't guesswork. It was documentation. Internal company communications, trial protocols, and correspondence with the FDA eventually revealed the systematic nature of the practice. Researchers, regulators, and investigators could trace the gap between what Forest knew internally and what it claimed publicly. The guilty plea represented the government's formal conclusion that this gap was intentional and illegal.

The implications extend beyond one company or one drug class. If Forest Laboratories could bury negative pediatric trials for years while promoting marginally positive ones, what does that say about the reliability of pharmaceutical research more broadly? How many other studies sit in company files, never published because their results inconvenience corporate interests?

Parents and doctors make medical decisions based on research they believe represents the full picture. When companies manipulate which studies see daylight, that foundation crumbles. The Forest case demonstrated that even after FDA approval and medical school training, the information reaching those making decisions about children's health could be systematically distorted by profit motives.

The $313 million settlement was substantial, but it came years after the initial deception. Children had already taken these medications based on incomplete information. Doctors had already recommended treatments based on a false consensus. Trust, once broken, takes far longer to rebuild than money takes to pay.