When I was in high school, I had the privilege of participating in a research internship at my local state university through one of their science outreach programs. This was a formative experience for me in many ways. For one, it was my first time working in a lab, which solidified my interest in pursuing a career in scientific research. But it also empowered me to see myself in a science career by opening my eyes to a broader idea of what a scientist can look like.
As a part of this internship, we heard weekly seminars from researchers at the university. Before one week’s seminar, I remember noticing an adult I did not recognize talking to another intern. His arms and shaved head were both covered in tattoos. While the interns were instructed to dress business casual, he wore cargo shorts and a T-shirt. I thought that perhaps this was the intern’s parent or older brother. I sat down in the seminar room and settled in for the talk. Moments later, the speaker was introduced. This speaker was especially acclaimed, having attended various prestigious universities across the country. Then, to my surprise, the casually dressed and tattooed man walked up and began his research talk. This was a very inspirational moment for me. I did not know scientists were allowed to look like this. Seeing a professor who did not fit the typical mold felt like permission for me to outwardly express myself in a more authentic way while still pursuing my career goals.
My experience in this high school internship taught me the importance of science outreach — not only as a way to introduce aspiring scientists to career-relevant experiences, but also to expose them to role models they might identify with in their fields of interest.
Being a fashion-oriented and queer person with a mixed-race background, I recognize that in many ways I do not look like the “typical” scientist. In the past, I have felt discomfort in my differentness. But when I started engaging in science outreach, I realized that — just like the tattooed professor from my high school internship — my differentness was a superpower that could help the next generation see that there are many ways to be a scientist. I hope that students can see me and be inspired to simultaneously pursue an authentic expression of themselves and their dream career.
One of the first moments where I felt like my outreach was having an effect on students was when I was helping a class of high school students with a sheep brain dissection. Living in Florida during the “Don’t Say Gay” hate campaign, I was worried how people would respond to a purple-haired, nonbinary scientist coming into their classroom. Furthermore, high school students are notoriously hard to impress. Indeed, many students were not paying much attention as I went through the lesson. As I began to lead them through the dissection, I heard the beginnings of imposter syndrome coming up already: “I won’t do well on this dissection, but this other student will be good at this because their parent is a doctor.”
It was discouraging for me to realize that some students were already assuming that they would not do well because of their background and lack of familial connection to the biomedical field. But after the lesson, one student who was initially apprehensive and grossed out by the sheep brain told me: “This is actually pretty cool!”
I felt victorious! I was able to win over a notoriously stubborn teenager, helping them feel more comfortable and confident about science.
Now, as I teach science lessons to elementary school students in Baltimore, I am constantly experiencing these heartwarming moments. During the first semester I participated in Science in Action, one of JHU’s Ph.D. student-led outreach efforts, a teacher confided in me that our interactive science lesson was the first time she had seen one of her students smile in the many years she had worked with him. Another semester, I knew that our efforts were helping the next generation see a different version of a scientist when the girls in the classroom called out “Hey Beyoncé! Hey Taylor Swift!” to one of my co-instructors. After that, I started spending extra effort to plan my outfits around these lessons — wearing my bug overalls for our insect-themed lesson or picking out my funkiest pair of earrings — to show kids that they can simultaneously achieve self-expression and career success. Through the hugs they give at the end of our lessons, I can tell that they appreciate it.
This semester, a student confided in me that they had ADHD. “I know many scientists who have ADHD,” I informed them — a fact that I hoped would encourage them to pursue their career interests regardless of their diagnosis. They then told me that they too wanted to be a scientist because they wanted to cure diseases. My encouragement had worked! The next lesson, I noticed them joking about their ADHD while engaging with our slime-based task exploring states of matter. From their amazement at the work we do to find treatments for disease to the way they call out “Bye bestie!” as we leave the classroom, I gain hope that our science outreach efforts are making a positive impact on their lives.
Doing science outreach as a Hopkins biomedical researcher has made me think more deeply about our responsibility to rebuild trust with communities that have been historically harmed by the scientific and medical community. Especially in Baltimore, marginalized populations are distrustful of the institutions that have historically exploited them in the name of scientific progress. As members of the Hopkins community, is our responsibility to work toward rebuilding the trust that our institutions have broken.
Outreach work is not just a charitable thing to do. It is essential for the future success of the scientific enterprise. Engaging with the public strengthens our ability to communicate our work and opens us up to valuable new perspectives.
In contrast, ignoring our responsibility to engage in science outreach has led to public cynicism about science, which encourages the propagation of misinformation, exacerbates barriers to recruiting study participants, and has been used to justify funding cuts to life-saving research.
These consequences damage both the scientific community and the wider community that benefits from our discoveries. I encourage all members of the scientific community to make a larger effort to engage with the public and meet people where they are.
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