Volume 47, Number 1, Spring 1999

SO, WHOM CAN WE BLAME FOR DUMB SCIENCE NEWS? JUST ABOUT EVERYBODY...

by Ann Finkbeiner

I don't know whose fault this is--maybe mine--but I just wrote a news story I know was dumb. The story, about some galaxies that are the most distant yet seen, was dumb partly because I've been writing that same story for years, changing only the distances and astronomers' names.

So why write it at all? Not to let me off the hook here, but the dumb-science-news business is thriving, and dumb astronomy news is its shining light. A science news item (biggest black hole found, latest gene found, oldest bone found) too often isn't a story at all; it's just a disembodied fact, a fact without meaning or reason for being, a toothy little photo-op of a fact. And too often the interesting story gets buried.

In my case, the interesting story was a unique observation of baby galaxies. I didn't write that story because the news was released prematurely, before the astronomers knew for sure what they'd seen. The whole astronomical community has a problem with premature release. And when science writers and their editors play along, the result is dumb news.
For example, in the past year:

• A spot of light near a star that might have been a planet was released before the astronomer knew whether the spot was a planet, a background star, or a bad detector.
• The asteroid that might have been on a path to hit the Earth was released before astronomers calculated more than one point of the path or calculated the path more than one way.
• The low number of galaxy clusters that might have revealed the fate of the universe was released before astronomers had confirmed which of those clusters actually were clusters.

These aren't cases of science proceeding in its normal maddeningly incremental fashion, which goes: 1) Hey, look at this. 2) I'm not sure I see it. 3) You're looking at it wrong. 4) Maybe it's this. 5) What happens if I twiddle with it? I could continue, but you get the idea: a long conversation during which minds change. These premature astronomical releases are more like: 1) Hey, what fell on my head? 2) My fellow Americans, the sky is falling.

So who's to blame for astronomical premature releases? Back to my story: I was busy gathering science news, when I heard about an astronomer who had just made an observation that would provide some of the first solid information about baby galaxies. All excited, I went to the astronomer's press conference. But all he said was, he'd seen the most distant galaxies yet. I asked if they were babies. He said he wouldn't know anything about babies until he finished analyzing the data.

I told my editor I wanted to write this story once the data analysis was done, but he said I should write it now, make it a news story about distant galaxies--everybody else would be covering it, he said. So I wrote the dumb story. Next day, disgruntled, I expressed myself to the press officer in charge. "Why release this before they knew what they'd seen?" I said. That's months away, he said, and anyway, the latest most-distant galaxies make headlines, but baby galaxies are too esoteric and never do. He's right, and that's the end of that.

Now who's to blame? Astronomers are: they want to get famous and beat out other astronomers. So are their institutions' press offices, which want publicity. So are their funding agencies, which want research money from Congress. So is Congress, which wants to impress taxpayers--that's you, dear readers. And so--I blush to say it--are editors and science writers, who want sales and scoops. (Not that the rest of the news media don't routinely break newsless news stories just for sales and scoops, the Clinton-Lewinsky matter being the latest--maybe even the benchmark--example.)

But this rush to headlines is risky, and sooner or later will undermine astronomy's credibility. The end of the universe? Heard it before. I recently read a wire report: astronomers found evidence of a supernova that the 13th century Chinese, who were famous sky-watchers, should have seen but didn't record, so maybe the supernova was invisible. I didn't believe it for one minute: Sure guys, I thought, but maybe you'd want to check another set of records.

Notice that what's missing here is what the public wants. I have a touching faith that the public wants real science stories, like these recently run: DNA Studies Challenge the Meaning of Race. Coral Reefs Worldwide Are Bleaching and Dying. Scientists Cultivate Cells at Root of Human Life. And the one I'm going to write in a few months, once the data is analyzed: Baby Galaxies Born As Lumpy Messes. I think the public wants to hear about the nearly-theological evolution of the universe, the intricate game between our genes and disease, the outlandish history of the human family.

And at the very least, the public must be as tired of reading these pinheaded news items as I am of writing them. When I told my editor that the latest most-distant galaxy story was dumb, he agreed; the magazine shouldn't run these things, he said. We writers, editors, press officers, and funding agencies--we who have the mission of bridging astronomers and readers--we're the ones bombing the bridges.

Ann Finkbeiner is a freelance writer in Baltimore, MD. She writes for USA Today and other publications.