Personal reflections at the end of a 15 year chapter in academic research science.
‘Scientist’ is usually the first word I use to describe myself, and that's probably because throughout my adulthood ‘scientist’ has been not only my job but something of an identity. Hence my exit from academic research this year has felt like a massive transition personally as well as professionally. But as much of a wrench as it has been to leave the lab bench behind me, the data, the evidence, my head and my heart are aligned on this one: in an era that will be defined by how we respond to compounding existential threats, it’s time to find a new way of being a scientist.
Once a scientist...
Scientific research can be such an incredible job to get to do. You’re tasked with observing, investigating and documenting a slice of the as-yet-unknown. You could well be the first – or even the only – person to witness or understand something amazing about the fabric of our world. It was surprisingly easy to lose that sense of wonder whilst immersed in competitive pursuit of the data, publications, funding and accolades that make it possible to keep climbing the career ladder in academia. But now, outside of that environment, I’m grateful to be able to look back with fondness on the tens of thousands of hours I spent planning experiments, tending to colourful flasks of assorted microbes, peering down increasingly fancy microscopes, developing those dreaded Western blots, then processing, analysing and sharing the insights this all generated. I’d really thought that my life in science would stay something like this until a comfortable retirement sometime in the 2060s. But about half a century ahead of schedule, its course started to look very different.
As a researcher studying malaria parasites and later similar types of environmentally-important ocean microbes, I’d felt motivated by the idea that we were making a meaningful contribution to improving lives and preventing suffering. But, catalysed by growing public concern about climate change in 2018, I’d found myself conflicted about the narrative that my research career was a noble pursuit, or something that would ultimately benefit humanity. I’d started to ‘zoom out’ and see the wider context I was working within: one where thousands of scientists had clearly identified imminent, existential threats; one where transforming our societies is the only way to prevent their collapse… but where we’re still struggling to translate knowledge into the action needed to protect life on Earth.
Despite wide acknowledgement of the climate and ecological emergency, and despite rhetoric around environmental sustainability, very little about the culture and daily experience of working in research science was changing around me. It was an uncomfortable paradox that I felt badly equipped to navigate - the new ‘normal’ was, on the surface of it, to accept that we’re facing crises that will profoundly change our lives… whilst simultaneously continuing with our work pretty much unchanged by that knowledge (though perhaps paying a bit more attention to plastic recycling). I found this confusing, especially amongst the research community, who I’d assumed to be in a prime position to understand and respond to what the science was telling us. In their article “No research on a dead planet” my friend Dr Aaron Thierry and co-authors explore why this ‘double reality’ currently prevails: none of us are immune to powerful psychological incentives to minimise or suppress our knowledge and feelings about frightening information, but – vitally – we each do have agency and opportunity to overcome these barriers and start to play a role in creating necessary, transformative change in our systems, institutions and societies.
For me it was feelings of fear, despair and isolation – not of duty nor agency – that first led me to find community as part of environmental social movements. I was especially drawn to spaces where scientists were organising, and all I’ve learned there has evolved my perception of what a scientist’s role could or should be in the 21st century (summarised here and potentially the subject of a future blog post). It empowered me to be braver, to explore how a scientist can make a positive impact within and beyond their job. So, alongside making various transitions in my lifestyle and research direction, I began, initially tentatively, to talk much more openly about the disruption of Earth’s life-supporting systems, my fears and feelings about what that meant for us, and my experiences of taking action in response. At work I attempted to start conversations about how academics might support and accelerate positive transformations, to activate people in leadership positions, to push for accessible and impactful environmental education and to build networks. Beyond the lab, I found many other avenues where a science background together with experience in advocacy and activism could be usefully combined; from facilitating workshops in my local community to amplifying scientists’ warnings through campaigning and direct action.
Despite wide acknowledgement of the climate and ecological emergency, and despite rhetoric around environmental sustainability, very little about the culture and daily experience of working in research science was changing around me. It was an uncomfortable paradox that I felt badly equipped to navigate - the new ‘normal’ was, on the surface of it, to accept that we’re facing crises that will profoundly change our lives… whilst simultaneously continuing with our work pretty much unchanged by that knowledge (though perhaps paying a bit more attention to plastic recycling). I found this confusing, especially amongst the research community, who I’d assumed to be in a prime position to understand and respond to what the science was telling us. In their article “No research on a dead planet” my friend Dr Aaron Thierry and co-authors explore why this ‘double reality’ currently prevails: none of us are immune to powerful psychological incentives to minimise or suppress our knowledge and feelings about frightening information, but – vitally – we each do have agency and opportunity to overcome these barriers and start to play a role in creating necessary, transformative change in our systems, institutions and societies.
For me it was feelings of fear, despair and isolation – not of duty nor agency – that first led me to find community as part of environmental social movements. I was especially drawn to spaces where scientists were organising, and all I’ve learned there has evolved my perception of what a scientist’s role could or should be in the 21st century (summarised here and potentially the subject of a future blog post). It empowered me to be braver, to explore how a scientist can make a positive impact within and beyond their job. So, alongside making various transitions in my lifestyle and research direction, I began, initially tentatively, to talk much more openly about the disruption of Earth’s life-supporting systems, my fears and feelings about what that meant for us, and my experiences of taking action in response. At work I attempted to start conversations about how academics might support and accelerate positive transformations, to activate people in leadership positions, to push for accessible and impactful environmental education and to build networks. Beyond the lab, I found many other avenues where a science background together with experience in advocacy and activism could be usefully combined; from facilitating workshops in my local community to amplifying scientists’ warnings through campaigning and direct action.
... always a scientist?
Overall I’ve been very fortunate to have had a positive experience in moving from knowing about to acting upon the climate and ecological emergency. The reactions of colleagues, friends, family and the wider public along the way have largely been encouraging and motivating, though there have been challenging complexities, tensions and occasional hostility. Amongst the more painful have been in recognising and attempting to counter the inertia that persists within academia – a home I had, maybe naively, thought I’d be effectively-placed to help activate from within. Like many scientists I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with (including the authors of these calls-to-action), I still believe in the potential of the scientific research community, and of universities in particular, to foster and adapt to rapid change in our environment and societies. However, my own attempts to cultivate engagement and action have felt much less constrained – and ultimately more effective – where I’ve been working outside of any academic role, instead acting as a scientist in wider society.
The work I now prioritise focuses on exactly that; bringing the most essential science out of academic silos and into the places it needs to be understood and acted upon. In 2024, those included public and community spaces, local and national government, and, via an innovative educational start-up, some of the world’s biggest corporations. I don’t feel any less a ‘scientist’ having made a leap out of the research spaces that had become comfortably familiar. I’m still discovering, learning, experimenting, analysing and communicating, only now I use different methods in different environments to better align my actions with addressing broader, more urgent questions and challenges. I miss the lab, the students, the microbes and the associated moments of awe that were part of my life as a more traditional academic scientist, but I’m excited by the opportunities and impact that are already part of this new chapter.