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You probably don’t know who I am. And really, there’s little
reason you should, despite the pin on my lapel that indicates
I’ve received a Nobel Prize.
Perhaps the last Scientist Everyone Knew was Jonas Salk in
the 1950s, when dinnertime discussions centered on the polio
vaccine. A few years later, the name Sabin was a household
word, and people debated the relative value of Salk’s injected
vaccine and Sabin’s oral vaccine.
The public’s interest was understandable. In 1952, almost
58,000 children were diagnosed with polio in the U.S. The
paralyzing viral infection was perhaps parents’ greatest
fear; keeping children healthy their greatest hope. Salk’s
vaccine was the talk of the town because polio was the talk
of the town.
Or maybe the last Scientists Everyone Knew were astronauts
Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, made famous by the space
race of the 1960s and early 1970s. Our very visible competition
with the Soviet Union inspired many kids to study science.
But times have changed. Today’s diseases seem subtle by comparison,
and our scientific achievements are less photogenic than
a boot print on the moon.
Heart disease, diabetes, and cancers affect many more people
in the United States than polio did in the 1930s, ’40s, and
’50s, but there are few comparable images to the heart-wrenching
photographs of once-healthy children paralyzed by a viral
infection—documentation of the ravages of infectious disease
in the developing world notwithstanding.
At the same time, today’s scientific success stories, such
as our understanding of risk factors for heart disease and
diabetes or our new treatments for cancers or for HIV infection,
stem not from a single individual’s achievement, but from
the cumulative advances of many. Who would—or could—carry
the mantle for such work? Even our space program no longer
lends itself to broad recognition of a single astronaut—barring
scandal suitable for the evening news.
But one thing hasn’t changed. Science still can find cures
for incurable diseases, awe us by revealing nearby planets
and distant galaxies, and trigger gee-whiz moments by calculating
the “color” of the universe or uncovering a gene that might
have caused Alfalfa’s stubborn cowlick. In fact, science
today might be more broadly important than ever before. Many
public-policy issues of greatest concern to Americans are
related to science—think global warming, stem-cell research,
alternative energy, and coastal development.
It is our responsibility as scientists and researchers to
inform these debates, not just by publishing our results
in professional journals, but by making the information accessible,
and ourselves available, to the public.
Take, for example, America’s stem-cell debate. At one extreme
are people who believe frozen human embryos are human life
and, thus, research stemming from their destruction shouldn’t
be allowed. At the other extreme are those who believe that
with ample funding, cures would be imminent. How did we get
here?
The designation of human “life” in this debate is largely
a religious issue, and therefore a scientific consensus about
what constitutes “life” is not really germane. At all other
points on the spectrum between the debate’s two extremes,
however, science is applicable. Much of what scientists want
to learn by studying stem cells is very basic: How do these
cells do what they do? What signals control them?
But scientists and others are also keenly aware of the potential
of stem-cell research to influence conditions such as Parkinson’s
disease or spinal-cord injury, either by developing “replacements”
for damaged cells or by harnessing the body’s own regenerative
abilities. Scientists active in the stem-cell debate have
not claimed that such therapeutic applications are imminent,
and yet many people expect quick results.
I suggest that the dichotomy reflects a lack of understanding
of how science is done—and how fast research can progress
to the clinic—on the part of the public, the government,
and the media. And so it is the duty of all scientists to
engage the public, to explain their work and how they do
their work. Getting science before the public, whatever the
topic, should make for a more well-informed population whose
expectations are more consistent with what scientists can
deliver.
As federally funded researchers, we have a responsibility
to communicate our work’s relevance. Given the politicization
of science in recent years (notably in such areas as global
climate change), we must be willing to go a step further
when needed, to get out of our laboratories and speak responsibly
about what is good science and what is not good science.
Most opportunities will be local: volunteering at schools,
speaking to community groups.
I have spoken to many people in many countries about science
and about my science over the last few years. I have encouraged
young researchers to be curious. With the group Scientists
and Engineers for America, I have advocated for a more scientifically
informed government. I have testified before various Congressional
panels to inform that government. I have even subjected myself
to the mock-interview routine of Comedy Central’s Stephen
Colbert.
Scientists and physicians must be engaged with the community.
I’m not sure there will ever be another Scientist Everyone
Knows, but it is in our best interest to ensure that everyone
knows about science.
Agre, James B. Duke Professor of cell biology,
professor of medicine, and vice chancellor for science and
technology, shared the 2003 Nobel Prize in Chemistry. |
