Storyfolio, 2019
K. M. Huang†
Multimedia on screen
†Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, MA 02139 USA
Introduction
When I was eleven, I was at church one evening for a scouts program. (I would soon realize that I didn't really believe in God, but that's beside the point.) The pastor, with a friendly smile, asked me, "Are you a math and science person or a history and English person?"
I didn’t know how to answer. I was doing equally well in all my subjects at school, and I was learning both Greek and HTML—a human language and computer language—on my own time. Though the question was merely small talk, it stuck with me. Could I be both? Neither?
In 10th grade, I did a research project about botulinum neurotoxin, which is both the world's most poisonous poison (by median lethal dose—1 nanogram per kilogram of body mass can kill someone) and the active ingredient in Botox.
While explaining my findings to visitors at science fairs, I realized that I enjoyed translating science more than as much as I enjoyed doing it. There was nothing like the grin of understanding that appeared on the face of a little 5-year-old who had come to listen. I saw the same look in others who stopped by.
I pieced together the mechanism of this poison into something a 15-year-old with little neuroscience background—me—could understand, and I managed to make it matter to others.
I vaguely knew that there were people who did this type of stuff professionally. After all, someone had to write The New York Times's science articles, the pamphlets at the doctor's office, and Khan Academy videos.
But as I looked into it more online, I discovered that there are people who produce documentaries that explore nature, technology, and society; who curate space artifacts and alchemy instruments; and who turn research into policy.
I didn't find all of them interesting, but this definitely didn't fall into the picture of what I thought science was.
Hypothesis
Could this be the answer?
Problem Statement
The thing about science communication is that if you're a high schooler who wants to learn more about it, doing so (usually) isn't as easy as joining the soccer team or debate club. It's not really A Thing™ in schools.
There's STEAM, and I'm probably biased, but it seems that these collaborations are mostly superficial and fail to do justice to both STEM and art.
There are exceptions: places and people that get real synergy from art and science—the Broad Institute wouldn't be the same without its artists-in-residence, and I've had the pleasure of meeting Reyhaneh Matoukfi and Matteo Farinella, who both make illustrations about life in science and doing science for people.
But for the most part, it feels like a trend full of well-intentioned but shallow efforts.
There's science communication in the form I wanted to pursue, but for different audiences. ComSciCon has workshops across the country for and by graduate students who lead science communication initiatives. The Story Collider has over 50 events per year for people to share evocative stories of how science has impacted them.
But the closest other science communication organization that I’ve found for high schoolers is run by a university in Hawaii.
Methods
I wanted to meet science communicators, and I didn't want other students to face the same obstacles. I had just helped organize my first hackathon, so I figured: Okay, I can repeat those steps with some tweaks and put together an event toward this goal.
On one hand, I hoped this undertaking would grow to something more meaningful than a one-time event, but—in a somewhat contradictory way—I also had no intention to Start An Organization.
I posted a message on the Facebook group for the National Center for Women and IT community and gathered a team of three students from high schools across the state.
Results
At our first event, I remember meeting an eighth grader whose parents had made her come. She was a self proclaimed theatre and art kid, ready to have a really boring day at Science and Us. But she became intrigued when a presenter began talking about using Twitter to communicate her research.
By the end of the day, this eighth grader excitedly applied to join our organizing team and is now our youngest member. A few months later, she voluntarily went to a talk about the science of happiness, which sparked a new interest in neuroscience for her.
The other day, I asked her, “Is neuroscience something you would’ve been interested in before Science and Us?” Her response was, “No way, Jose! Science scared me.” She still loves theatre and art, but has realized that she doesn’t have to choose a side - she can do both.
Discussion
What I see as the successful part of this story isn’t that science has gained another person, but rather that, for my friend, these fields are no longer closed off. Both art and science are equally valid parts of her identity, and she now feels comfortable embracing that.
Science and Us is not trying to promote what many people refer to as STEAM: science, technology, engineering, art, and math. Instead, I want to take a step beyond that. Instead of crossing the boundaries that divide fields, I want to eliminate those boundaries.
I want to live in a world where we don’t feel pressured to fit into a box labeled “science person” or “humanities person.”
I’m concerned that as we hyper-focus on pushing students into STEM fields, we forget about teaching and practicing science communication.
Conclusion
When you communicate a science topic, you’re approaching, breaking down, and explaining a complicated topic. These tools are not exclusive to science, and they help people define and solve problems using varying perspectives and a shared language.
Now more than ever, we need young people with a rich array of perspectives and the ability to share ideas clearly. And this I believe will help us to solve society’s biggest problems.