Thursday, January 31, 2013

"The Large Mudpie Collider": Early Forays into Science


“It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.” –Albert Einstein

            Children have a natural curiosity about almost everything.  Creating scientifically literate and intellectually stimulated citizens starts by nurturing that curiosity and creativity rather than ignoring or belittling it.  My favorite question when I was about three years old was “how do they make roads?”.  I was lucky enough to have parents who had researched the road-making process after the first time I asked this question and patiently explained it to me every single time I asked (which was almost every time I was in the car).  My parents also supported my intellectual development by sending me outside to play.  Once I could explore on my own, I spent much of my childhood outside: exploring woods and swamp behind our house, pushing my sister into the mud, and involving myself in scholarly pursuits such as trying to breed a new species of aquatic monster in a bucket.  Luckily, I had limited results.  What I think these few anecdotes offer is that children are living, breathing, hypothesis-testing machines.  As children, we explore our environment, act on it, and learn from the results.  In effect, you could say that all children are tiny scientists, exploring the vast uncharted lands of the backyard, testing to see if Mom gets upset when they drop their spaghetti on the floor, or burying herself up to the waist in soil and waiting to see if she will grow roots like a tree (I’ll give you one guess which experiment I attempted at age four, with very muddy results).  Preschool and childhood is a time of exploration, informal hypothesis testing, and frenzied, fascinated devotion to topics which we find interesting.  In early childhood, we often have the opportunity follow our own agendas to investigate the world and this freedom encourages us to keep pursing new knowledge.
           
            Unfortunately, when we start our formal education, science becomes less of a “want to” and more of a “have to”.  The imposition of a structured curriculum with a set of rules and grades takes science from an instinctual, exciting pastime to a regimented, restricted routine that may very well turn some students off of science entirely.  In childhood free play and exploration, there may not be an authority figure telling children explicitly that they must investigate this specific phenomenon, or they may not dilly-dally investigating what makes the rocks in the classroom’s potted plants that irresistible red color.  This restriction to defined science curriculum can take the fun out of investigation and make it into just another part of the school day.  Additionally, attaching value judgments (specifically, grades) to children’s scientific curiosity takes much of the intrinsic motivation away.  When children learn what forms of empirical investigation are valued within a classroom, their motivation to achieve the desired grade reward may trump their desire to perform extra (perhaps in their minds, now “unnecessary”) investigation. 
           
            It follows that just as there are ways to decrease young students’ interest in science, there are great ways to increase student investment in science as well.  As I was considering my early years in school, two “great moments in science” stand out for me.  The first moment happened in my fourth grade science class, when we were introduced to circuits and were given some D-batteries, wire, and a tiny light bulb.  Mr. Fudge told us to make a circuit, and to show him how the system worked.  After we made the circuit and explained our design, we were allowed to test different hypotheses with the batteries and circuits.  My attempt to create a “superbattery” from an obscene number of D-batteries was not discouraged, and I can still remember getting a tiny shock from the wire when I accidentally held the copper instead of the plastic coating. The important lesson from his moment is to encourage students to explore as much as humanly (or, in our current educational climate “curricularly”) possible. Pushing students to investigate further is the key. In that place between the known and the unknown, perhaps with the seal of a small electrical burn, a lifelong love of science can be forged.

            The second important moment took place in my first grade classroom, where my teacher, the first feminist I ever knew (with crinkly eyes, salt and pepper hair, and a dry sense of humor that we seemed to appreciate even then), took my class outside to collect falling snowflakes on pieces of green cellophane.  She then preserved them with hairspray and brought us inside to form an orderly line and wait for our turn to learn to use the single class microscope that sat on the counter.  I remember feeling the anticipation as I got closer and closer to the front of the line, to the contraption that I had often seen used on NOVA but had yet to use in real life.  I remember stepping up on the purple plastic stool and hearing Ms. Tillet tell me how to focus the lens.  And I remember that moment of utterly incalculable joy when I saw a single snowflake magnified just for me.  It was like being a member of a secret club, and to this day, thinking of that moment makes me feel as though I could do anything.  Reflecting on these early empowering experiences kept me going in high school when I would pound the table and say “but I haaate physics! When am I going to have to use this?”  Thinking of those moments reminded me that there is discovery and joy everywhere.  If every student, every citizen, had experiences like these in their back pocket for a “science hatred emergency”, scientific enthusiasm would not be a problem.

            When reflecting on the problem of a public that loses its enthusiasm for science before the middle school years, I think it is a science writer’s highest calling to remind individuals why they loved science in childhood. I would give my left pinky to be able to feel that rush of discovery at the microscope for the first time again, but I think that creating that feeling for another person would be just as special. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that an enthusiastic, accessible, and well-written science article can capture the public’s imagination and encourage them to pursue their rekindled interest in science further.  I think that the most important component of a science article that “rekindles the flame” between the reader and science is the enthusiasm.  Readers need to feel that this piece of writing is a “want to read” and not a “have to read”.  Reading our writing needs to be a pursuit, not a duty.  Sucking the enthusiasm and captivating details out of an article puts the reader right back into their first grade classroom, where they might not have been allowed to touch the science table or were told that their method of testing their hypothesis was not the same as the one outlined on the worksheet. 

            In Ideas into Words, Elise Hancock gives some of the most saliently simple advice that I’ve ever read: “Whatever interests you, big or small, will interest a reader.  Count on it” (30).  She then goes on to state the caveat: make sure that you’re open to being enthused.  Hancock’s advice is outstanding.  She encourages us to bring our curiosity to the story.  To dig.  To schlep through swamps, to interview a virologist in her lab, to go where our curiosity takes us; then our responsibility is to take the reader there with an intuitively-written and captivating account of our journey.  As writers, when we experience the thrill of discovery, we can take our readers there with our writing.  The important part of crafting this type of engaging piece is to make the reader want to find out what happens next, to build the world into which they can step and explore (whether it’s a sterile neurosurgery operating suite or a canoe speeding through the murky waters of the Amazon), and to convey your point of view in an elegant but approachable way.  It is important to include this kind of narrative structure, employ imagery and rich description, and make the science accessible to the average reader without “dumbing it down”.  It’s a delicate balance to strike, but if a writer is able to produce that piece, it would be like looking through a microscope for the first time…  

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

"Let my love (for science) open the door..."


“Don't raise your voice, improve your argument."-Desmond Tutu

            I think that the information discussed in the ASR article provides us, as science writers, with a unique challenge.  It is the challenge to overcome the confirmation bias of others in a meaningful way, as well as recognize, combat, and ultimately overcome the biases that exist within us.  When an individual contests scientific ideas, it may arise from a number of different sources: religion, a skepticism of government-funded research, a particular misunderstanding about the concepts associated with a theory, or a number of other areas.  Because humans are creatures that inherently seek to explain, it follows that there are myriad ways to interpret and rationalize a single event or discovery.  As science writers, it becomes our challenge to interest a population in a different way of looking at the world without demeaning them; ultimately, it is to open doors to new ways of thinking without excluding those with different ideas about the world.  That is where the above words become so important.   Understanding that there are many ways of knowing and processing the world is of utmost importance to anyone looking to educate others.  Ultimately, it is understanding that others come to a ‘teaching relationship’ (because, at its core, science journalism is a form of teaching—a form of opening doors and allowing individuals to choose to walk through them or not) with worldviews that may be considered "adaptive" or "maladaptive" by society, and that a teacher has the power to persuade a person to change their views.  Choice is the operative word in this case.  Making a meaningful choice to interpret the world in a certain way is one of the most intimate and personally-significant values a person holds dear.  When we come to the table with this understanding (that attacking an individual’s ignorance about science may actually be attacking the individual), a healthier and more rational consideration of our differences is possible. 

            In the past, a healthy skepticism of science is what has forced scientists to innovate and work to prove different theories.  When we interact with a reader who is skeptical of a facet of science, it pushes us as writers to create the most persuasive and salient argument possible without alienating that reader.  So, I think that writing for skeptical readers calls not for an arsenal of facts and chastisement, but for a change of tactics.  Presenting readers with a point of view and allowing them to pursue that view to an increase in scientific literacy is a great goal, but the reader needs to make that choice.  We can help the reader to walk through the door by making science accessible and compelling, but they must choose to walk across the threshold. This idea not only makes us better science writers and scientists, but better people; people who are aware of the challenges that we face interacting with a diverse population, and who choose to do so anyway, mindful of the rights of others to make their own choices.  Reading this article and participating in the ensuing discussion makes me want to push myself to be a better writer; one who presents the concepts in a fascinating and persuasive manner, but who is always mindful of the audience and what they bring to the interaction.  Reading Ideas into Words has put the idea about a two-way relationship between writer and audience into clear perspective for me.  I want to craft a relationship between myself and my reader—introducing the science, how a discovery shapes my perspective, and providing a “take home” message that they are free to “take” or leave on the page.  Fostering a healthy relationship between myself and my reader begins with respect and the willingness to learn about their point of view, just as I wish my readers to have a willingness to understand my own point of view.

            While it is difficult to introduce science to individuals who prefer to decry it outright, I would maintain that there is a way to show those who are skeptical to the beauty and excitement of science.  As discussed in class, I think that there are few people who reject the entire tableau of science.  People might pick and choose what to believe, and the irony is that the concepts that they may choose to believe or contest may be related in a profound way (such as believing in the existence of germs while denying evolution).  There are ways to appeal to even the most skeptical readers: maybe it’s showing them the basic elegance of how a neuron develops or creating connections to the reader’s life and mental experience that may encourage the reader to continue an exploration of science.  The important thing is to commit to never shutting the door.  

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Scientific Literacy and the Tale of the Malevolent Toaster

                Scientific literacy is necessary for individuals to consider not only new discoveries in the sciences but to process information in an increasingly complex world.   In our society, with its 24/7 access to information, we are constantly bombarded by information that may or may not be true.  An understanding of basic scientific principles may offer us the tools to avoid panicking when the internet presents us with news of a brand-new, certainly lethal “superbug” from a single anecdotal study.   Healthy skepticism is inherent in scientific thinking, and it is something that we could all benefit from.  Scientific literacy presents us with a different way of thinking that stems from scientific inquiry. 
                Inherent in scientific literacy is a basic understanding of the scientific method.  Most students have an introduction to the scientific method in grade school, but how much can we (as politicians, scientists, policy makers, and writers) expect the typical citizen to remember about that one day in their classroom when they learned (perhaps from a film) about the steps of the method?  And yet, the scientific method represents an invaluable tool for all citizens, not just those who spend their time in a lab coat.  The related thought processes that accompany the steps to discovery (careful observation, hypothesizing about an outcome, performing an “experiment”, observing the result, communicating the result) provide an intuitive and controlled framework for problem solving that is often thrown out the window in everyday life.  Take, for example, a recent happening in my house:

Before I returned from winter break, the toaster in my kitchen went on the fritz.  Not quietly, but spectacularly.  The old toaster refused to go peacefully; it burned more pieces of bread than I knew we had in the house, it would emit a loud series of “pings” when it was plugged in, and would sit on the counter when not in use, dormant and radiating malevolence. Naturally, that coincided with the week that every person in my family had a hankering for toast.  I was often awoken in the early mornings by the smoke alarm from a scorched slice of rye and my efforts to make a proper avocado and tomato sandwich on toast were thwarted multiple times by this toaster.  And yet, we kept fiddling aimlessly with the toaster rather than unplug it and get to the bottom of its malfunction. We ended up throwing the toaster out after my father’s frustrated confrontation with it one Sunday morning. 
                Had we been using our scientific literacy, we might have been able to make an observation (the toaster is acting strangely), form a hypothesis (maybe wire apparatus for holding the bread in place is bent, maybe the dial is permanently stuck on the “burn the toast setting), perform an experiment (unbend the wire basket to ensure that the toast pops up in a timely manner), and observe the result (toasted, but not cremated bread).  Now, it goes without saying that problem solving is a part of human cognition, but there is a disconnect (particularly when we are frustrated or puzzled) between conscious, measured, scientific problem solving and “just push all of the buttons and hope that the toaster will toast correctly this time”.  Consciously employing the scientific method for simple problem solving would prevent an individual from throwing said toaster out the front door and into the yard.
                This understanding of scientific principles and the through processes associated with new concepts and scientific literacy will allow citizens to better distinguish fact from opinion.  In a world where opinion is often presented as hard fact or data is manipulated to reflect a specific viewpoint (or group of politicians/lobbyists), the ability to distinguish objective data from subjective details is one of the utmost importance.  An understanding of the difference between fact and opinion will also contribute to an increase in elevated, respectful discourse.  If individuals are able to distinguish facts from demagoguery, they will better be able to use more factual arguments to support their point of view, which may result in fewer exchanges that end with neither side able to articulate a factual point and instead descending into petty exchanges of insults.  Additionally, it is important to understand the science behind our current issues, including but not limited to: global warming, stem cell research, psychological health/psychiatric care, public health/epidemiology, biomedical innovations, and pharmacology and drugs.  Without a basic understanding of the concepts behind these issues, it is difficult to form an informed opinion, which runs counterproductive to meaningful participation in a democracy. 

This is a test of the emergency alert system.

Here's a practice post.