When Liz Neeley Thinks About Stories, She Thinks About Her Past
This article follows the events at our inaugural #SCCSymposium, during which we re-examined the goals of science communication, our roles in society as science communicators, and the ways in which we can communicate. We sought to question and critically discuss the ways science communication is done and to integrate non-traditional media and social justice in our practices.
by Liam Scott
Graphic by Mandy Spaltman
Image Description: Diagram summarizing Liz Neeley’s talk on storytelling and sense-making, where word bubbles connect over an open book. Text illustrates how we interact with and interpret our surroundings to give meaning to our experiences: Amidst the chaos of unknown situations, external changes fuel our actions. Our actions reflect our selection of what to attend to, which in turn dictates what we retain and prioritize. What we retain also dictates what we choose to attend to, as well as our resulting actions. Finally, our actions may result in external changes.
Once, Liz Neeley travelled to Iceland, where she encountered waterfalls, geysers, sled dogs… and mishaps. Driving through a blizzard on an ever-shrinking road, she became stuck. After trekking through knee-deep snow and returning to her cabin, Neeley felt compelled to reverse course – the potatoes and gin mustn’t be stranded in the car! The automobile looked like a beetle on a blank canvas. She set off along the long road; rhythm was borne of the crunching of snow beneath her boots; the warm light of the cabin faded and became distant; finally, she looked up. For the first time in her life, Neeley felt the planet smiling upon her. She saw the Northern lights.
This was the story that opened Liz Neeley’s presentation at the inaugural SciComm Collective Symposium. It could have been the introduction to a scientific article about aurora borealis, or perhaps about the sociological implications of celestial events. Instead, what followed was an examination of stories themselves, fittingly initiated by a demonstration of their power. The usefulness of a compelling story is more obvious in a political or commercial context – think of Bernie Sanders’ emphasis on healthcare horror stories during his presidential campaign, or a Hallmark ad that focuses on motherhood and growing up. Of course, describing the world with stories is not just for politicians; this sort of framing can be tremendously useful for scientists, too.
The practice of science is, in fact, persuasive in nature. At the scale of an individual paper, pieces of evidence are laid out to convince the reader to accept a hypothesis. More broadly, the institution of science has acquired social legitimacy by contributing to the public good and by embracing the principles of transparency and peer review. In her presentation, Neeley argued that the place of persuasion in science is immutable. She handily dismantled the information deficit model of communicating science, which suggests that public opposition to science arises from a paucity or total lack of information. In truth, people are not empty vessels waiting to be filled with facts, and the mere provision of information will not grant enlightenment.
Neeley advocates for replacing this paradigm with the risk perception model. People tend to evaluate the array of possible outcomes and their probabilities, and the combination of this calculation with emotions and external pressures is what dictates behaviour. Neeley poses the essential question: “What is that people need in order to arrive at conclusions conducive to productive decision-making?” Bearing in mind the diversity of lived experience and ways of thinking within any audience, there can be no ultimate answer to this question – but a good story can go a long way. It can turn a forgettable subject into something fascinating.
The inadequacy of the information deficit model is apparent in the fields of public health and climate science, where scientists tend to encourage behavioural change by delivering a great volume of information. Usually, this information is hard-earned by dedicated professionals over a period of many years, and some scientists may interpret literary devices as a dilution of their achievements. Others may perceive the invocation of emotional appeal as an introduction of bias into a system that (ostensibly) operates on sheer fact. Neeley’s response is that storytelling should not be conflated with any “unseriousness” or manipulation of the audience; engaging writing can help readers grasp difficult topics while mitigating misinterpretations. (For the skeptics: a peer-reviewed discussion of the place of narrative in scientific writing).
To be clear, worrying about inauthenticity is a good thing. As Neeley noted during her presentation, relaying scientific information is knowledge work, just like research. We science communicators must appreciate the complexity of the science we are sharing, and that is difficult. Further distress is borne of the creativity demanded of us; when communicating to the public, we must be innovative as well as accurate – stories of all kinds, both informative and misinformative, zoom past the contemporary consumer like snowflakes in a blizzard. What will make our work stand out from the rest? Neeley noted that science communication has become something more than a niche subject; it is a survival skill. In an era of widespread dangerous misinformation, the task of making science digestible mustn’t be taken lightly.
The import of effective communication makes its enigma all the more frustrating. There is no neuronal cluster whose activity we can record in order to measure the quality of our stories, nor is there a straightforward, cerebral explanation for decision-making. Neeley is certainly cognisant of this reality, and she was quick to reject the notion that there is one correct approach to storytelling. Human populations have invented a mind-boggling diversity of narrative forms. Griots in the western Sahel, for example, often use musical accompaniment and take inspiration from their immediate surroundings when recounting stories. Métis stories are relayed orally, and they generally implement a nonlinear chronology and impart life lessons to the listener. In the Métis Nation, it is disrespectful to share a story without obtaining permission from the original storyteller – an acknowledgement of the story’s power.
It can be easy to assume that everybody has a near-identical expectation for a narrative’s trajectory. In fact, the idea that every story can be described by one of a handful of archetypes is frequently taught in schools (the most notorious of such Jungian views is that proposed by Christopher Booker in his 2004 tome The Seven Basic Plots, heavily inspired by Joseph Campbell’s idea of the monomyth). This approach to communication, obsessed with orderly fitting-into-boxes, mirrors the traditionalism of music education, wherein every student is taught that the twelve-note scale is absolute. Today, some musicians are garnering attention by deemphasizing the rhythmic and harmonic conventions of the West – one of the author’s favourites of such artists is the Armenian pianist Tigran Hamasyan. Perhaps a similar revolution is in order in the realm of science communication; while the traditional narrative lens is not useless, some breaking of the mould would not be unwelcome.
Neeley closed her presentation with a reminder that our stories are our own. The mood in the audience was intimate and serious when she said, “not every audience has earned your trust.” You don’t have to compromise your vision for other people. The only caveat is needing to respect others’ perceptions and acknowledging the power of their lived experiences. Neeley’s presentation was essentially a call to action: Find your stories and tell them well. Let them be weird. Let them be honest. Proudly share whatever it is that you know.
When Liz Neely thinks about stories, she thinks about the past. What do you think about?
Author Bio
Liam Scott (he/him)
Liam Scott is an undergraduate student and researcher at McGill University, with an interest in human physiology at the cell and molecular level. Research focuses include the link between bacterial infection and cancer, as well as the impact of anti-aging drugs on the cell. Outside of the lab, Liam likes to spend his time bouldering, playing the guitar, and writing about science.
