28 | New Scientist | 14 May 2022
Views Columnist
I
AM a person who likes things
to be specific and accurate. In
some ways, this is antithetical
to being a communicator of
science to general audiences.
This requires helping non-experts
understand complex ideas – like
the idea of quantum fields – while
deploying only a small fraction of
the language we professionals use
to talk among ourselves. It means
glossing over details that can feel
fundamentally important. Which
is to say that I regularly have to
grapple with what it means to
talk to people about something
when I know I’m not going to
give them the full story.
I find it easier to be successful
in writing. Here, I can choose my
words carefully, and the “optics”
of the work I am trying to get
across are what I manage to
evoke in the reader’s mind.
By contrast, one of my biggest
frustrations is with how science
is portrayed on television. There,
it seems like a production
mandate to have flashy graphics
and representations of “what
scientists do” that align with
public expectations. The result?
We get a lot of representation of
people (often white men) in white
lab coats, even though many
(perhaps most?) scientists don’t
wear a lab coat of any kind, ever.
For theoretical physicists, the
expectation is that we will have a
chalkboard filled with equations.
For some people that is accurate,
but I dislike the feel of chalk on
my fingers. I much prefer writing
with a fountain or gel pen in a
high-quality, bound notebook.
Part of what ends up being so
off in popularisations of science
is that we continue to get various
versions of the lone genius:
someone sitting at their desk or
working at a chalkboard alone,
thinking important thoughts.
The reality is that – as anintrovert – I wish I got more time
alone. My days are filled with
meetings. Every single member
of my dark matter and neutron
star research group has at least
one per week with me that is
centred on their main research
question. There is a member of my
team who sees me in a meeting
between two and five times a
week. One of those is my group
meeting, where everyone comes
together and shares what they
have accomplished since the
previous week. They take turns
asking each other questions. This
allows us all to learn more andhone our question-asking skills,
which is important for scientists.
I have other regular
appointments that might seem
peripheral and even boring –
including to the participants –
but that are quite important to
the doing of science. These are
the conversations in which we are
planning for the future, navigating
applying for grant money or
lobbying for more grant money to
be allocated so that our discipline
is sustained in the future. Right
now, I am spending a lot of time
on the delayed Snowmass 2021
Particle Physics Community
Planning Process.
This occurs about once a
decade, and involves the US
particle physics community
getting together to determine
what science in this field is
plausible in the coming years
and what experiments – maybe a
new particle collider, maybe a new
telescope focused on dark matter –should be built. The lengthy
report we produce will be read by
a government-appointed group
that will determine what can be
funded for the next decade or so.
Participating in this process is
time-consuming and doesn’t
immediately advance my research,
but it is also a key part of my job.
Ultimately, science is a
collaborative enterprise, perhaps
more so than any other area of
academic endeavour. We depend
on others to get our work done and
interact a lot with other people,
but, again, I don’t think this is
well represented on television.
Instead, we get stereotypes of
weirdos who can’t handle social
interactions, when in fact we
are a collection of weirdos who
navigate social interactions just
fine because our jobs depend on it.
Our work is also often messy.
I don’t just mean that we argue,
though we do. It is also the case
that we often don’t think in pretty
pictures. I wish we could show the
public more often what our work
actually looks like, so that we could
help people understand what
we actually do. At a time when
anti-intellectualism passes for
a mainstream political position,
now more than ever, we need the
public to be tuned into how our
enterprise actually works.
Plus, in my corner of science,
hoodies are a more standard
uniform than lab coats. Shifting
stereotypes about how scientists
look could help younger people
see themselves in us, to realise
that we are everyday people, just
like them. I understand the desire
to dress things up for a bit of
Hollywood drama, but I don’t
think we have to try so hard to
make science seem exciting. What
matters is making sure we are able
to explain why it is exciting. That
is the hard part, and I won’t always
succeed, but I do enjoy trying. ❚“ We get a lot of
representation of
white men in lab
coats on TV, though
many scientists
don’t ever wear one”Science: a team sport Far from the stereotype of a lone genius,
research is very collaborative. We must get better at showing
others what it is really like, says Chanda Prescod-WeinsteinField notes from space-time
This column appears
monthly. Up next week:
Graham LawtonWhat I’m reading
I finished Sara Nović’s
novel True Biz in one
sitting, and learned a lot
of deaf history, including
why American Sign
Language is so different
from the British version.What I’m watching
Baseball season is back,
and I bleed Dodger blue.What I’m working on
Wrapping up a paper
with colleagues on the
unique structures made
by a hypothetical dark
matter particle, the axion.Chanda’s week
Chanda Prescod-Weinstein
is an assistant professor
of physics and astronomy,
and a core faculty member
in women’s studies at the
University of New Hampshire.
Her research in theoretical
physics focuses on cosmology,
neutron stars and particles
beyond the standard model