The often uneasy relationship between researchers and reporters was warily examined in a symposium sponsored by the California Institute of Technology, October 3, in the Ramo auditorium on the Caltech campus.
"I didn't even know we were dating," cracked Glennda Chui, science reporter for the San Jose Mercury News, as each of the panelists took a turn at deconstructing the morning's metaphor. Were science and journalism either a) married, or b) opposites? Where did their interests coincide, and where did they diverge?
Since the panel of eight included only one scientist, Jacqueline Barton, professor of chemistry at Caltech, the answers were weighted heavily toward what journalism gets out of the relationship. (The panel consisted of Barton; four broadcast journalists -- David Garcia, a science reporter for Fox TV, who moderated the discussion; Tony Dill, a producer of NBC's "The Today Show"; Miles O'Brien, science and technology anchor/correspondent for CNN; and Robert Ferrante, the executive producer of NPR's "Morning Edition"; two reporters from daily newspapers -- Chui and Joel Greenberg, science editor for the Los Angeles Times; and a historian of science, Daniel Kevles, professor of humanities at Caltech, a contributor to The New Yorker and the author of a forthcoming book on the David Baltimore case.)
Panelists mentioned the obvious mutual benefits of the putative "marriage"--science provides the media with stories; science reporting creates an educated public that can make informed policy decisions and ethical choices--before turning to the obvious conflicts and mutual suspicions. O'Brien pointed out that the "gatekeepers" of the popular media usually have liberal-arts backgrounds, and may be ignorant of, or even phobic about, science, while scientists feel the media oversimplify their work, compressing "a lifetime into 30 seconds," as he said, or sometimes even getting it dead wrong. Barton, the chemist, mentioned a notorious cover of TIME that depicted a DNA molecule in glorious color, boldly spiralling in the wrong direction.
But the journalists, particularly the newspaper reporters, also had their complaints. Being importuned by publicity-hungry scientists and public-information officers was one of them. Chui talked about the need to go beyond the sometimes hyperbolic press release--"Go into the lab," she said--and criticized the type of writer who covers AAAS meetings solely by attending the press conferences. Greenberg also warned against "journalism by press release," recalling a headline from his days at Science News: "Lost City in Peru--Never Mind" (hours before press time a staffer had located the "newly discovered city"--on a roadmap).
Historian of Science Kevles described what he called two types of failed science writing. The "wonder-working" approach is, like journalism by press release, uncritical, celebratory, and takes extravagant claims at face value. Its opposite, which he labeled the "diabolical school," is interested not in the content of scientific discoveries, but only in reaffirming a belief that power is increasingly concentrated in the hands of megalomaniacal scientists. Barton seemed particularly frustrated by this latter trend, expressing dismay at a public eager to accept anecdote over science, and to dismiss scientific studies on the basis of funding agency. Kevles pointed out that this wasn't altogether irrational, given recent revelations about tobacco companies' suppression of epidemiologic data. He also remarked that more stories about the scientific process would portray scientists as human beings with failures and successes, and perhaps counteract this tendency to demonize.
But several of the broadcast journalists suggested that wonder-working stories were exactly what they needed to pitch to their editors/producers and to capture the evanescent attention of their channel-surfing audiences. In his keynote presentation, O'Brien outlined three requirements for a successful TV science story: it should appeal to "Joe Six-Pack"; it should feature an articulate and enthusiastic scientist-spokesperson; and it should have plenty of pictures. The entertaining clips from his own CNN features, though not strong on context or analysis, certainly embodied popular and visual appeal. They also reintroduced a point that had arisen during the morning's discussion: Are broadcast science and print science married, opposites, or even the same species?
It was clear that practitioners in both fields shared some imperatives: to fill the news hole, to be "first, but right," to look to their competitors for a kind of peer review (each hopes his or her story will appear in the New York Times --tomorrow). And many cited the same dicey stories on whose veracity and importance they'd had to make snap judgments: Life on Mars; Cold Fusion.
But there were obvious differences. The print journalists on this panel, at least, had much stronger backgrounds in science and science writing than the broadcast journalists, Greenberg coming from Science News; Chui, who has a degree in biology, graduating from the UC Santa Cruz program in science writing and now teaching there herself. And their constituencies differ: O'Brien produces for Joe Six-Pack, but Chui said her Silicon Valley readership is scientifically literate and exacting. (Most panelists, incidentally, said they tried to write so that "their mothers" could understand their stories.)
Whatever other marriages were shaky, the union of technology and journalism seemed firm. The symposium was uplinked via satellite to almost twenty universities and other sites nationwide, who could participate in the discussion. But was there intelligent life out there? Then the questions began to roll in, from Monterey Marine Science Labs, from UC Davis, from Michigan, Cornell, and Clemson. What was the most-neglected story of the last few years? ("Chemistry," said Barton, without thinking twice.) How did the journalists introduce a "trend" story that didn't have a breakthrough event? (Chui talked about "saving string," accumulating details over years until she had a story; Greenberg's editorial board was unusually understanding about the value of long-term stories.) Should public-information officers mediate between journalists and scientists? ("Set it up and get out of the way," said O'Brien; "let the scientists speak for themselves." He also suggested PIOs might help their scientists practice presenting their work, to avoid stage fright.)
Finally a questioner--who, if not a paid confederate of the symposium organizers, should have been--returned to the morning's central metaphor. "If science and journalism are to marry," he said, "what kind of prenuptial agreement should they draw up?" In the thirty seconds remaining the panelists put their thoughts in order. Ferrante, sounding like a veteran of the conjugal and journalistic trenches, said, "Both sides should expect disappointment." Greenberg proposed the following compromise: "You [the scientist] ask if you can see it before it's printed; I say no." But Barton probably had the most useful suggestion. "I'll try to speak English," she said, "and you try to get it right."
Becky Rothenberg is a part-time staff writer for Caltech periodicals, and has published three botanical mystery novels.