In an age where information is abundant, yet misinformation is more so, the role of the science communicator has never been more crucial.
Traditionally, the role of science communication was confined to academic journals, conferences, and educational institutions. Here, scientists would disseminate their findings within the confines of their respective fields, often using complex terminology and jargon that were inaccessible to the general public. But this changed as society demanded greater transparency and engagement from the scientific community. The emergence of digital media platforms and social networking sites facilitated the democratization of information, enabling scientists to communicate directly with the public on a global scale.
And they would disseminate their findings using complex terminology and jargon that were inaccessible to the general public.
See the issue?
You need someone who understand all that mumbo-jumbo and can translate it into something that was clear, accurate, and accessible for the public sphere. Enter science communicators.
Oh, we’ve been around since long before the COVID-19 pandemic (though the pandemic did serve as a catalyst for the innovation in science communication, as the public clamoured for accurate information amidst a deluge of misinformation and conspiracy theories). Although it seems like we were lurking in the shadows of the internet, we’ve been on all platforms leveraging blogs, podcasts, videos, and social media platforms to translate complex scientific concepts into digestible content that resonates with diverse audiences. From traditional forms of media to interactive workshops and citizen science projects, we’ve spent years inspiring curiosity, igniting passion, and empowering individuals to become active participants in the scientific process.
I remember my first foray into ‘science communication,’ although I wouldn’t have labelled it as such. While I had taught people things I knew before (I distinctly remember having ‘school’ with my little brother and our stuffed animals where I was the teacher), this was the first time in a more formal setting. As formal as your 10th grade AP biology class can be.
For those who don’t know what AP classes are, you’re probably not from the USA. Advanced Placement (AP) is a program run by the College Board (the makers of the SAT, a standardized test widely used for college admissions in the USA) that allows you to take special high school courses that can earn you college credit and/or qualify you for more advanced classes when you begin college.
We had largely finished for the year since we had already taken the exam. For extra credit, Ms. Longino had suggested we give a 10-minute talk on our favourite animals, 15 minutes max with questions. To no one’s surprise, I chose sharks. Even then I was known as the shark-obsessed girl, and I had prepared a whole slide show to present to my class. No one interrupted me or talked as I went through their biology and the threats they faced. Hands shot up as I finished, and I spent an additional 30 minutes answering the myriad of questions from my peers.
As the bell rang and the lights were turned back on, I got lots of thumbs up and high-fives from people as they filed out.
“You would be an incredible teacher, Melissa,” my teacher commented. “Have you ever thought of being a professor?”
I tried not to scoff (or laugh) and offend her. “No, I wouldn’t do well in four walls full-time,” I answered. Years later, that part is still largely true – though I’ve made the four walls of my home very conducive of me enjoying being within them. But I should’ve asked Ms. Longino for the lottery numbers because I did end up becoming a sort of teacher: a science communicator.
Chances are, just how we are all scientists, we are all science communicators, too. Explaining to your two-year-old why the sky is blue or how tornados come to be to your twister-obsessed teenager is exactly what us professionals do! We take the complicated science and make it digestible for people who are interested in learning more.
The answer for the first question: When sunlight enters Earth’s atmosphere, it interacts with the various gases and particles suspended in the air, causing scattering in all directions (known as Rayleigh scattering). Blue light scatters more because it travels as shorter, smaller waves. As a result, our sky looks blue!
Tornadoes only form when a thunderstorm has a particular combination of winds. Inside those storm clouds, you've got warm, moist air shooting up, and cooler air sinking down. This mix-up of air creates a kind of swirling effect within the cloud. Although the spinning currents start out horizontal, sometimes they can change direction and start spinning up and down. When that happens, and they reach down from the cloud to the ground, that's when you've got yourself a tornado.
It’s clear that role of the science communicator will continue to evolve in response to emerging challenges and opportunities. I mean, we’ve got a lot going on within the confines of our planet: climate change, scientific discoveries, artificial intelligence, wars, global health threats to name a few… all things that need some explaining! By crafting narratives that resonate with diverse audiences, we will not only disseminate knowledge but also (hopefully) foster empathy, curiosity, and a deeper appreciation for the wonders of the natural world.
Throughout history, storytelling (the very thing science communicators must master) has been the cornerstone of human connection and understanding. It's through stories that we share our experiences, convey our beliefs, and impart wisdom to future generations. From Indigenous Knowledge and dreamings explaining natural phenomena to modern-day documentaries exploring the depths of our cosmos, word of mouth has been humanity’s constant companion in the quest for understanding. Personally, I’m filled with excitement for the stories yet to unfold, and the countless ways they will shape the landscape of science communication.