Maybe it's just the magic of Oz, a land where the laid-back effervescence of the natives is contagious and a new multiculturalism has pasta topping pasties and tall-blacks almost beating out beer. No matter the reason — or what was brewed with the coffee — the result was the Fifth World Conference of Science Journalists held in Melbourne, Australia, April 16-20.
News from afar
Maybe it's just the magic of Oz, a land where the laid-back effervescence of the natives is contagious and a new multiculturalism has pasta topping pasties and tall-blacks almost beating out beer. Who knows? Or, as the Aussies would say "Who cares, mate?"
No matter the reason — or what was brewed with the coffee — the result was the Fifth World Conference of Science Journalists held in Melbourne, Australia, April 16-20, that was perhaps the most congenial, collegiate, cohesive gathering of reporters since the invention of movable type.
Somehow, someway, a gaggle of cantankerous, contentious, and combative souls who would fight to the death over split infinitives found common ground Down Under.
Even with some 600 delegates from 50 countries, there were few piques of distemper, little grandstanding by media megastars, and no political clashes between haves and have-nots. Indeed, there was remarkable unanimity on most issues: the world is getting warmer, politicians are getting worse, and editors — in whatever culture or language they work — are even worser. More important, there was a palpable spirit of cooperation and collaboration between journalists of the developed world and their counterparts in the remaining two-thirds.
Ironically, to paraphrase another writer who often used Australia as a distant metaphor for hope conquering despair, this is both the best and the worst of times for science journalism. While the trade seems to be hurtling down the tube in the USA, elsewhere in the world it seems to be not only surviving, but, by many measures, thriving.
At least, this is one impression drawn from the Melbourne meeting. The conference, and the World Federation of Science Journalists (WFSJ), the organization that co-sponsored it, have become solid, professional entities of international renown, with the latter now representing some 30 national and regional associations — a remarkable total given that perhaps less than a dozen such organizations were represented in Tokyo 15 years ago.
Admittedly, some of these national groups are quite small in terms of membership and impact, but they represent the growing recognition, globally, that science journalism is a distinct and special field, requiring, if not special skills, then special attitudes and approaches. The true benefit of such meetings is experiencing first-hand how universal those attitudes may be — whether one is a reporter in New York, New South Wales, or New Caledonia.
The difference between, say, the U.S. today, and many parts of Africa and Asia is that the people and the publishers in the latter areas recognize the value of good science reporting and support it accordingly. Of course, many science journalists in these countries also get considerable assistance and substantial sustenance from public agencies, philanthropic foundations, and private industry.
For example, over 100 attendees of the Melbourne meeting were supported wholly or partly by "friends of the conference," funding organizations that ranged from the Academy of Arts and Science of Bosnia and Herzegovina to UNESCO to a host of Australian academic, governmental, and industrial agencies. NASW, too, was a "friend," sending three Laura van Dam Fellows — Emily Sohn, David Wolman, and Betsy Mason. Other NASW members seen there included past-president Deborah Blum and new Associate Executive Director Tinsley Davis, as well as Christine Dell'Amore, Robert Frederick, Robin Marantz Henig, Phil Hilts, Earl Lane, John Rennie, Andreas von Bubnoff, Kate Wong, and yours truly. In addition, and fittingly, many of NASW's international members were there, too: Peter Pockley of Australia; Peter Calamai, Tim Lougheed, and Hannah Hoag of Canada; and Kenji Makino of Japan.
The diversity of attendees guaranteed that cocktail parties were polyglot affairs and program sessions a wonderful blend of ethnicity, nationalities, and oddly accented English.
The Melbourne conference goal of giving voice to the world's variety of science writers was certainly achieved. And many speakers used the opportunity to describe the varying conditions — from dismal to dreadful — under which they must work. Lest others think that Western science is immune to socio-eco-political pressures, author Chris Mooney reprised his riff on the Republican war against reason. His remarks resonated with the international audience, and even the Aussies, who reprinted his remarks one week later in the Sydney Herald.
The conference program managed to touch on almost all the major topics of the day: climate change, loss of biodiversity, alternate fuels, genetic research, etc., but usually with an antipodal accent, e.g., how global warming may hasten the demise of the Great Barrier Reef.
Not surprisingly, the conference organizers, led by the indefatigable Niall Byrne and his partner Sarah Brooker, put together a daily multidisciplinary melange of topical lectures, science and technology panels, professional development workshops, lunch-time press briefings, and outstanding social events that left most delegates sated by both science and canapes. There were also a host of post-meeting field trips to local research sites and facilities. A personal favorite: viewing hundreds of "Little Penguins" make their nightly dash from the surf to the safety of tiny burrows on shore.
The conference also served as a major element in the $2 million peer-to-peer mentoring project coordinated by the World Federation of Science Journalists with support from Canadian, British, and Swedish development agencies, with many current mentors and mentees attending on scholarships from the federation.
And it contributed mightily to advancing the WFSJ's ambitious "twinning program," in which well-established associations partner with newer science journalism associations, particularly those in the developing world. As reported in the last issue of ScienceWriters, one of the first of these partnerships was between NASW and the newly formed Arab Science Journalists Association.
On the last day of the conference, WFSJ Executive Director Jean-Marc Fleury organized a frenetic and funny "speed twinning" session during which a score of national organizations met, matched, and mated — hopefully in long-term partnerships of mutual benefit, such as the match-ups between Japanese science writers and fledgling groups in South Korea, Mongolia, and Qatar.
New associations may also get some help from a booklet published by the WFSJ and introduced in Melbourne. Setting Up Your Own Science Journalists' Association is written Barbara Drillsma, administrator of the Association of British Science Writers. As the book's subtitle proclaims, Drillsma's pragmatic, no-nonsense approach tells aspiring organizers "How to do it, what to do once it is formed, and what to watch out for!" Copies are available from the Federation.
The WFSJ also used the occasion to hold its general assembly and to elect new officers.
For more on this year's event, including hundreds of photos, and a blog where you can comment on the conference or query participants visit this site.
And, finally, London, England, was selected as the site for the 6th World Conference of Science Journalists, in 2009.
Jim Cornell is president of the International Science Writers Association. Send him items of interest — international programs, conferences, events, etc.
The koala in the tree seemed like a good omen
When I learned in January that I would be attending the 5th World Congress of Science Journalists in Melbourne in April, I first thought about all the great stories I could write for my young, animal-loving audience at Science News for Kids. Then, I thought about fun. I decided to stay an extra week to pursue stories and revel in my lifelong dream of visiting Australia.
It was our first morning on southern Australia's Great Ocean Road, and after nearly 10 hours of post-conference sleep in the back of a red, rainbow-striped campervan, Canadian freelancer Hannah Hoag and I woke up under a eucalyptus tree — with a leaf-munching koala on one of the top branches. We cooed at the furry ball cuteness for a while, before taking off in our rented home on wheels. Throughout our week-long journey, koalas would show up again and again to teach us about Australia's charms and its troubles.
Hannah, who I met at the AAAS meeting in San Francisco in February, e-mailed me a month later with news that she would be in Melbourne, too. Within days, she had booked her flight to coincide with mine. I didn't hesitate to sign up for a week on the road with a virtual stranger, and I didn't need to worry. Hannah and I are both in our early 30s, recently married outdoor-fanatics, and equally enthralled by odd products in foreign grocery stores, such as squeezable coffee in a tube. We got along great.
Already, I've written conference-inspired stories for Science News for Kids about the Earth's poles, Indonesia's prehistoric "Hobbit" people, and more. But what I will remember most is one of our first post-conference stops, at the Cape Otway Centre for Conservation Ecology. On 165 acres of land overlooking the ocean, Shayne Neal and Lizzie Corke — both in their late 20s — rehabilitate wild animals that have been stranded or wounded, usually by cars. The Centre, which borders the stunning Great Otway National Park, also serves as a luxury eco-lodge and research center. Lizzie and Shayne bought the land on a whim and built the lodge with their own hands. They were married there last September.
After a tour, the red-headed duo took us outside to feed koalas and wallabies that had been rescued from a devastating wildfire three months earlier. After a decade of relentless drought, bushfires are increasingly common in Australia. In January, a blaze wiped out 95 percent of koala habitat in a nearby area called Framlingham, Shayne says. Thousands of animals died. Hundred more were burnt or orphaned.
As part of a network of volunteers, Shayne and Lizzie took in 10 animals from the fires, including 5 koalas. At first, Shayne and Lizzie were up every few hours all night long to change bandages and bottle-feed goat's milk to the animals. Lizzie proudly showed us the healing hand of Bea, an adult female, who lost two claws on a singed paw. We also met a big male named Hunter whose fur was so badly burned that, for weeks, he had to be hand-dried after rainstorms to avert hypothermia. Ruby, who Lizzie called "the little, pretty one," was not injured, but she was too young to take care of herself.
Like young parents, Shayne and Lizzie haven't slept through the night in years, and they can't take vacations because the animals and the lodge need them. But their energy is contagious, their dedication to the environment inspiring, and we felt as cared for as the koalas were. After the animal feeding, we joined Lizzie and Shayne for a feeding of our own. Over hearty vegetable quiche, local wine, and an apple-berry crumble made with local ingredients, we talked late into the evening about the land, the animals, the drought, the future.
For the rest of our journey, Hannah and I concentrated on surfing, hiking, and exploring. We drove cautiously, and not just because we were driving on the left. Every time we saw a koala by the side of the road, we wondered things like: Do Australians think they're as cute as we do? Does koala-watching ever get old? How many stories can we write about these adorable animals?
It's comforting to know that self-sacrificing volunteers like Lizzie and Shayne are protecting injured koalas and wallabies in Australia, but who's watching out for all of the other troubled creatures around the world? Who is going to nurse them back to health?
Emily Sohn is a freelance writer in Minneapolis, Minn.
Post conference with penguins
"Will I get to see a kangaroo? A koala?" Those were my first thoughts when I learned I had received an NASW travel fellowship to attend the World Conference of Science Journalists in Australia. What immediately followed, of course, were thoughts about professional development, international networking and cultural enrichment. But then my mind went straight back to the exotic animals. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing. I mean, a platypus? Come on!
As I made plans for the trip, I found myself sidetracked by the all-day tours offered on the final day of the conference. I could choose from six excursions, which included such stops as the brand new Australian synchrotron, a brain research institute and a dairy research center where scientists milk wallabies.
All tempting. I quickly homed in on a tour to a sanctuary where endangered native animals are bred for conservation, and sick or injured animals recover at a wildlife health center. There would be kangaroos — and koalas — and platypi — and more crazy-sounding animals like bandicoots, echidnas and Tasmanian devils. A no-brainer, right? That's the tour for me.
But wait, what's this? A tour to an island to see the world's smallest penguins? Everyone knows the best way to make a cute animal even cuter is to make it smaller, so logically, these have to be the cutest penguins on the planet. After several days of waffling, I opted for the Little Penguins.
Our first stop was Australia's newest botanical garden in Cranbourne, which was unlike any other botanical garden I've seen. It was a work of art, evoking images of the landscape's fragile relationship with water and offering instruction on how to conserve the precious resource. Most areas of the country are under some level of water restrictions, and while I was there, climate change was front page news virtually every day.
Next we headed for the coast, crossing a bridge to Philip Island and finally reaching the Little Penguins. Or so I thought. It turns out that in my excitement about the mini birds, I completely missed the fact that we were also going to see — koalas! We were at a sanctuary that protects the 10 or so koalas that remain on the island. While at least one neighboring island is virtually overrun with the iconic animals, many of Australia's koala populations have been stunted by Chlamydia, which sterilizes the females. We were able to get within a few feet of some of the sleepy, fuzzy marsupials which were so enchanting that our tour guide had to herd us back to the bus.
After rushing through dinner, we raced out to the beach. Halfway there we saw the first bunch — an unbearably cute procession of waddling blue and white penguins, barely a foot tall, heading inland to their burrows. They were a bit tubby after gorging at sea for weeks on end and preparing for several days on land without food. The fattest ones would flop down on their stomachs every few feet for a quick rest.
From the viewing platform at the top of the beach, we watched droves of the little birds come out of the water and zip across the beach. Soon the island was echoing with penguin.
I marveled at my luck. The week had been filled with fodder for stories, maybe even a book, and lots of invaluable perspective — being in the minority as an American science writer was refreshing. Colleagues from third-world countries shared their struggles to get science into the news, and in some cases just to be paid for their work. I met dozens of talented, dedicated people from all over the world, including Madagascar's only science journalist, as well as some new friends from my own country. And of course, the Little Penguins. I never would have experienced any of it without the NASW fellowship.
Betsy Mason is science reporter for the Contra Costa Times, in northern California.
Letter From Melbourne
One of my interests in going to Melbourne for the 5th World Conference of Science Journalists was to learn about drought and related agricultural sciences, especially in Australia. I soon discovered that Australia's water woes are far more severe than I thought, and as front-and-center in the minds of Australians as Iraq and Paris Hilton are in the minds of Americans. During the week of the conference in April, newspapers reported on a federal water-management plan under heated debate in Canberra. Corresponding conference sessions covering drought-tolerant plants and weather prediction, as well as a reading by a prominent Australian writer who covers rural issues, were informative and timely.
I also attended a talk entitled, 'coral reefs — going, going, gone?' (The short answer: Yes.) Listening to one of the world's preeminent reef scientists describe the global-scale collapse that is now well under way, I felt moved by his despair. Do the plight and politics of coral reefs warrant more media coverage? Of course, and the speakers did their best to outline what lies ahead. Still, their action-based optimism didn't diminish the aching sense of inevitability.
In fact, the conference was filled with climate-change gloom and doom, in large part because science today is all about that complicated predicament. There were other interesting sessions, sure, about mining technology, pod-casting basics, and neuroscience breakthroughs. Still, much of the week was dedicated to global warming and corresponding research. The scientific realities of climate change added a solemn undercurrent to many of the sessions, even as the presenters dutifully focused on data and methodology.
The best chance for a bit of levity about global warming came the morning of the first day. Attendees awoke to find materials declaring global warming a "hoax" and labeling Al Gore's Inconvenient Truth genocidal. The propaganda, slid under the doors of every hotel guest, was distributed by a group of right-wing climate-change naysayers.
One final parting snapshot: I was washing my hands in the men's restroom at the same time as another conference attendee. Knowing from his presentation that he hadn't been feeling well, I asked: How're you feeling?
"So-so during the day. Not good at night," he replied.
"That's a drag."
"Well I'm not going to be changing my behavior because of it," he said. Then he forcefully disposed of his used paper towel and left.
A non sequitur for the purposes of this article, you might think, but let me explain. As a "journo," as they say in Australia, and especially as a freelancer, I have a bit of a hang-up about socializing at conference-sized events; my home office (read: cave) is just more comfortable. But it's important to put yourself out there. That's why the oddball encounter in the Melbourne Grand Hyatt men's room was so valuable. It reminded me that I need not be insecure about cocktail-hour aptitude because there will always be people out there who're more socially awkward than me.
Even without the chance to make new friends and learn about cool new science, this reminder alone was worth the trip to Melbourne.
David Wolman is a freelance writer in Portland, Ore.
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