Communicating Science in Social Contexts

New models, new practices

Donghong Cheng • Michel Claessens
Toss Gascoigne • Jenni Metcalfe
Bernard Schiele • Shunke Shi
Editors

Communicating Science
in Social Contexts
New models, new practices
Editors
Donghong Cheng Michel Claessens
China Association for Science European Commission
and Technology (CAST) Brussels
Beijing Belgium
P.R. China

Toss Gascoigne Jenni Metcalfe

Council for the Humanities, Econnect Communication
Arts and Social Sciences (CHASS) South Brisbane, QLD
University of Canberra Australia
Bruce, ACT
Australia

Bernard Schiele Shunke Shi

Université du Québec à Montréal China Research Institute for Science
Montréal Popularization
Canada Beijing
P.R. China

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Foreword

José Manuel Silva Rodríguez

I am pleased to introduce this book, which I am sure will enhance the dialogue
between science and society—nowadays an important element of the scientific and
technical landscape.
The European Commission is deeply committed to facilitating the dialogue
between science and society and has taken numerous recent initiatives in this
context. Promoting dialogue between science and society or, more precisely,
putting science back into society is one of the priorities of the European Union’s
Seventh Framework Programme, which runs from 2007 to 2013. There are specific
budgets allocated to these activities. In addition, the contracts the Commission
signs for projects of the Seventh Framework Programme require beneficiaries to
‘take appropriate measures to engage with the public and the media about the
project aims and results’. In February 2007, the European Commission adopted a
communication entitled Scientific information in the digital age: Access, dissemi-
nation and preservation with the aim of starting a political debate on the scientific
publication system, which everyone says should be reformed from top to bottom.
All of these initiatives are designed to provide wider public access to scientific
knowledge and ongoing research. The objective is to develop a genuine ‘scientific
communication culture’ in Europe. The ‘scientist in his ivory tower’ is still a reality,
and this contributes to the current wary atmosphere, at least in Europe. This is why
the present book has an important role to play.
However, although information and communication are necessary, they are not
sufficient. There is no magic wand that will make all the existing resistance and
scepticism go away. Scientists should also accept that there are some scientific
developments that people do not want. Researchers should remain aware that better
dialogue with the public could have prevented much of the friction and lost potential
innovations in several research fields, such as nuclear energy, genetically modified
organisms, pesticides, and others. They should keep in mind that they operate in a
public context.

v
vi Foreword

Paying attention to this reality will allow the scientific community worldwide to
improve and enhance the science and society dialogue.

Director-General,
Research Directorate-General,
European Commission
Foreword

Deng Nan

I am very pleased to see this new book of public communication of science and
technology published, and feel pleased and honoured to be invited to write this
foreword.
The constant innovation of science and technology has continued to produce
outcomes to the benefit of mankind, driving human society into prosperity while
giving rise to all sorts of new social demands. Prosperity demonstrates the contribu-
tion of science and technology to human society and is understandable as part of
social progress. In the world today, society demands further advances in many
fields, including the protection of the ecological environment, the appropriate
utilization of resources, the beneficial coexistence of humans and nature, and the
sustainable development of society.
The public and the science and technology community share a need to develop
the public communication of science and technology, to engage the public in sci-
ence, to encourage dialogue and interaction between science and the public, and to
mobilize all sectors of society to join us in the common pursuit.
All these factors show the significance of the impact of science and technology
on society. Based on this understanding, the China Association for Science and
Technology (CAST) will strengthen its effort, as it has in the past, to promote the
public communication of science and technology.
Public science and technology communication has grown into a prosperous
enterprise, accommodating the harmonious development of science with society.
As an enterprise, it is already well beyond discussions within academic circles or
the science communication community. It now attracts broad attention from various
social sectors, and penetrates into the daily life of the public.
Playing active roles in communicating science to the public, science communi-
cators make it their responsibility to nurture and optimize the relationship between
science and society. In carrying out that responsibility, they keep asking themselves
questions, diagnosing problems and trying to solve them by developing new
practices. Their work deserves respect. This book is a record of their dedication to
the task. The editors and authors are from many different countries. Based on their
perspectives on current social contexts, they consider issues of outstanding impor-
tance in science communication from many angles, and propound possible ways,

vii
viii Foreword

means and solutions. Their goal is to bridge science and society, to get the public
connected with science, and to reinforce the harmonious development of human
society.
To write and compile a manuscript of high academic merit is not easy, but it is
a significant contribution to the field. The value of the effort lies in the powerful
and effective exchange of experiences and the communication of ideas. In its own
right, this book will be a specific, value-added contribution, a valuable resource,
and a medium for sharing in the international science communication domain. As
an accessible reference, it will be a positive benefit for practitioners world-wide in
their field work.
Since its foundation, the Public Communication of Science and Technology
Network has devoted much effort to science communication and made profound
contributions to the field. The network runs a website, holds international confer-
ences and publishes books—all of which have greatly advanced global science
communication. This book is a fresh outcome of the network’s endeavours, and
I hope it will be widely shared and exploited.
CAST takes great pleasure in knowing that the China Research Institute for
Science Popularization (CRISP) has been involved in such international aca-
demic exchanges, and firmly supports CRISP’s further efforts in the science
communication field.

Executive Vice President,

Chief Executive Secretary,
China Association for Science and Technology
Foreword

Shane Huntington

Over the past decade, I have fulfilled three key roles that bring balance to under-
standing the practical nature of science communication. First, I work as a senior
researcher at the University of Melbourne. I have published many papers and have
personally acquired about A$6 million in grants in the past five years. Second, I am
co-director and founder of a company that initially consulted on commercialization
and is now a premier supplier of scientific equipment in Australia and New Zealand.
And finally, I have been a broadcaster for a Melbourne-based science radio show
for the past 12 years. This combination allows me to view the problems and oppor-
tunities for science communication from three perspectives: academia, industry and
the media.
The technological and environmental challenges of the 21st century will not be
accepting of the current state of play in science communication. All indications
seem to be that we have a community that is inherently interested in science and
technology, but unable to properly engage with it. Science communication is about
bridging the gap between various sectors. A good science communicator should be
able to facilitate a scientist’s engagement with industry, government, other scientists
and the community. Science communicators need to be extraordinary intermediaries.
Is it any surprise therefore, that with such heavy requirements on this sector we
seem to be failing to achieve the level of engagement that we would like? When I
teach scientists to interact with other sectors, the primary point that permeates our
discussion is always ‘what drives people in that sector?’ In order to communicate
with other sectors we all need to have a solid understanding of what gets the audience
out of bed in the morning.
As science communicators, it is therefore incumbent on us to start this philosophy
at home. The key player for us is the scientist, and we need to listen to what drives
them to achieve. Sadly, in most cases, the communication of science to other sectors
is not a key driving force. This is unfortunate, but in no way restrictive. When I teach
scientists to engage with other sectors, I make it clear that the skills they learn will be
directly applicable to their core activities of research, grant writing and teaching.
Now comes the part where you need to think like a scientist to communicate this
message to them. Scientists hate vague statements. They need something that
resists falsification to some degree, meaning they need to hear solid examples of the

ix
x Foreword

benefits of science communication skills. The ability to communicate needs to be

seen as an important tool in their intellectual arsenal. And, as for any tool, they will
require a set of well-established rules and guidelines for implementation. Such a
system needs to be developed.
Scientists to me are tough customers. But anyone who has worked in retail or
marketing will know that, once converted, these ‘customers’ become your most
vocal supporters. Understanding where the message is coming from is just as
important as how we deliver the message.

Chief Executive Officer,

Quantum Communications Victoria,
School of Physics,
University of Melbourne,
Melbourne, Australia
The Authors

Igor Babou, France

Martin W. Bauer, United Kingdom
Alex T. Bielak, Canada
Massimiano Bucchi, Italy
Cheng Donghong, China
Andrew Campbell, Australia
Michel Claessens, Belgium
Toss Gascoigne, Australia
Harald Heinrichs, Germany
Maja Horst, Denmark
Yves Jeanneret, France
Arlena Jung, Germany
Monika Kallfass, Germany
David A. Kirby, United Kingdom
Joëlle Le Marec, France
Andrea Lorenzet, Italy
Jenni Metcalfe, Australia
Steve Miller, United Kingdom
Guiseppe Pellegrini, Italy
Hans Peter Peters, Germany
Imme Petersen, Germany
Anne Pisarski, Australia

xi
xii The Authors

Shealagh Pope, Canada

Michelle Riedlinger, Australia
Jan Riise, Sweden
Lise Santerre, Canada
Karl Schaefer, Canada
Bernard Schiele, Canada
Louise Shaxson, United Kingdom
Shi Shunke, China
Brian Trench, Ireland
Contents

Foreword ......................................................................................................... v
José Manuel Silva Rodríguez
Foreword ......................................................................................................... vii
Deng Nan
Foreword ......................................................................................................... ix
Shane Huntington
The Authors .................................................................................................... xi
Abbreviations and Acronyms ....................................................................... xvii

Introduction: Science Communication —

A Multidisciplinary and Social Science ....................................................... 1
Cheng Donghong, Michel Claessens, Toss Gascoigne,
Jenni Metcalfe, Bernard Schiele, and Shi Shunke

Part 1 Revisiting Models

1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication:

Commercial Science Needs a Critical Public ........................................ 7
Martin W. Bauer

2 European Trends in Science Communication ....................................... 27

Michel Claessens

3 Words and Figures of the Public: the Misunderstanding

in Scientific Communication ................................................................... 39
Joëlle Le Marec and Igor Babou

xiii
xiv Contents

4 Representation and Deliberation: New Perspectives

on Communication Among Actors in Science
and Technology Innovation ................................................................... 55
Giuseppe Pellegrini

5 Medialization of Science as a Prerequisite

of Its Legitimization and Political Relevance ...................................... 71
Hans Peter Peters, Harald Heinrichs, Arlena Jung,
Monika Kallfass and Imme Petersen

6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age

of Free Flow ............................................................................................ 93
Bernard Schiele

7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science

Communication Models ........................................................................ 119
Brian Trench

Part 2 Crossing Boundaries

8 Before and After Science: Science and Technology

in Pop Music, 1970–1990 ....................................................................... 139
Massimiano Bucchi and Andrea Lorenzet

9 The More, the Earlier, the Better: Science

Communication Supports Science Education ..................................... 151
Cheng Donghong and Shi Shunke

10 Hollywood Knowledge: Communication Between

Scientific and Entertainment Cultures ................................................ 165
David A. Kirby

11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral

Collaboration .......................................................................................... 181
Jenni Metcalfe, Michelle Riedlinger, and Anne Pisarski

Part 3 Developing Strategies

12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering:

the Shift from ‘Science Push’ to ‘Policy Pull’ ..................................... 201
Alex T. Bielak, Andrew Campbell, Shealagh Pope,
Karl Schaefer, and Louise Shaxson
Contents xv

13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways ................. 227

Toss Gascoigne

14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development .......................... 243

Yves Jeanneret

15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication

in Consensus Conferences ..................................................................... 259
Maja Horst

16 So Where’s the Theory? on the Relationship between

Science Communication Practice and Research ................................. 275
Steve Miller

17 From Democratization of Knowledge to Bridge

Building between Science, Technology and Society............................ 289
Lise Santerre

18 Bringing Science to the Public .............................................................. 301

Jan Riise

Appendix: The PCST Network..................................................................... 311

Index ................................................................................................................ 315

Abbreviations and Acronyms

AAAS American Association for the Advancement of Science

BA British Association for the Advancement of Science
BBSRC Biotechnology and Biological Sciences Research Council (UK)
BSE Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy
CAST China Association for Science and Technology
CCME Canadian Council of Ministers of the Environment
CHASS Council for the Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences (Australia)
CMSD Canonical Model of Sustainable Development
CSIRO Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation
(Australia)
CST Conseil de la Science et de la Technologie (Québec, Canada)
CVD Congressional Visits Day (US)
DEFRA Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (UK)
EC European Commission, Environment Canada
EU European Union
EUSCEA European Science Events Association
FASTS Federation of Australian Scientific and Technological Societies
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GM Genetic Modification, Genetically Modified
HASS Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences
LWA Land & Water Australia
NCST National Coalition for Science and Technology (US)
NESTA National Endowment for Science, Technology and the Arts (UK)
NGO Non-Government Organization
NRA National Rifle Association (US)
NWRI National Water Research Institute (Canada)
OECD Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
OMD Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (UK band)

xvii
xviii Abbreviations and Acronyms

PCST Public Communication of Science and Technology

POST Parliamentary Office of Science and Technology (UK)
PR Public Relations
PUS Public Understanding of Science
S&T Science and Technology
SBS Save British Science
SCP Sustainable Consumption and Production
SLB Science Liaison Branch (NWRI)
SmP Science Meets Parliament (Australia)
STC Science and Technology Council (Quebec, Canada)
STEM Science, Technology, Engineering and Medicine
UK United Kingdom
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
US United States
Introduction: Science Communication —
A Multidisciplinary and Social Science

Cheng Donghong, Michel Claessens, Toss Gascoigne, Jenni Metcalfe,

Bernard Schiele, and Shi Shunke

This book is the fruit of a lengthy gestation and equally lengthy work. The editors
first conceived of this project in June 2005 at a workshop in Beijing organized by
the Public Communication of Science and Technology (PCST) Network. Then, at
a January 2006 working seminar in Venice, the main topics and issues were
broached with some 30 experts in science communication from around the world.
The richness of the Venice contributions and exchanges convinced us of the need
for a volume to crystallize the state of the art and to advance knowledge further.
The book is also the product of equally lengthy work that owes a debt to the
research and expertise of the PCST Network, which includes the editors. For nearly
20 years, this informal, international network has been organizing events and
forums for discussion of the public communication of science (see Appendix).
As a multidisciplinary field, science communication has developed remarkably
in recent years. It is now a distinct and exceedingly dynamic science that melds
theoretical approaches with practical experience. Formerly well-established theo-
retical models now seem out of step with the social reality of the sciences, and the
previously clear-cut delineations and interacting domains between cultural fields
have blurred. This work examines that shift, which itself depicts a profound recom-
position of knowledge fields, activities and dissemination practices, and the value
accorded to science and technology.
Simply put, theories about the public communication of science have until now
focused essentially on two aspects: the incapability of the actors and the inadequacy
of the means.
First, the actors: scientists were reproached for remaining enclosed within a
universe of concepts and formalisms that kept them distant from the concerns of
society—which, paradoxically, was being transformed by the discoveries of those
same researchers. This sparked a genuine proselytism to ‘reform’ scientists, so they
would finally learn to communicate with the public in its own language. The rise of
communications as a field naturally impelled many science communicators to
become trainer–educators, teaching communication skills to scientists.
At the same time, the burgeoning multimedia field spurred a new profession of
science media practitioners. They proclaimed themselves as the natural interme-
diaries between the enclosed world of the sciences and a public desperately seeking
answers to questions and concerns. They took it upon themselves to bring science

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 1

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
2 C. Donghong et al.

and society closer, to narrow an ever-widening gap between scientists’ knowledge,

with its inherent power, and public knowledge implicitly subject to it. In this
context, the public communication of science deemed itself necessary to re-establish
a balance and restore a right to speak. But science mediators have not yet received
the full recognition they desire or the proper means they demand.
Every coin has a flipside. On the one hand, science communication is a distinct
research field, with an international researcher and practitioner community that,
among other things, brings together two-yearly PCST conferences. On the other
hand, we observe that the scientific community, while increasingly interested in
communication, nevertheless holds to simplistic ideas, as evidenced in its often
outmoded approaches. Many researchers still feel that promoting science commu-
nication should enhance the public’s scientific knowledge and lead to more gener-
ous budgets for research. The industrial promoters and research managers generally
feel that knowledge invites development support.
Implicit in that view is the notion that well-informed citizens will be more recep-
tive and positive towards new technologies. The reality, we know, is much more
complex. Communication policies and actions remain important but, in certain key
areas, the information is insufficient to convince or rally—which seems healthy on
the whole. Perhaps, in all modesty, those attempting the difficult art of science com-
munication and popularization aspire to participate more in an evolution than a revo-
lution of opinions, by enriching the democratic debate and developing the culture. As
one of us has written: ‘Strictly from the viewpoint of learning scientific knowledge,
if popularization fails, it still makes a huge contribution to its socialization’.1 In the
present context, achieving such an objective would certainly represent success.
Obviously, adequate means are required to fill the knowledge gap and develop
communication skills. So mediators and educators have for a long time—and with
some success—mobilized governments, foundations and associations to dissemi-
nate science as a collective effort, and to garner resources in order to share knowledge
effectively. But there’s the rub—because the knowledge gap continues to grow, the
public still has no say in the matter.
Of course, this timeworn discourse has received ample criticism. For example,
there was the attempt to replace the deficit model (which that discourse originally
defined) with a contextual model that incorporates the operativity of knowledge
associated with interests, concerns or lay expertise, so that the relationship to
scientific knowledge is constructed on that basis. But the contextual model, while
more nuanced than the deficit model, shares the same premises: first, science and
society are conceived as two autonomous spheres, distinct from one another,
and with one prevailing over the other; second, only a mastery of techniques and
communication enable a rapprochement and the regaining of equilibrium.
In other words, it’s necessary to break with linear conceptions of science–society
relationships. Such conceptions postulate the existence of a knowledge situated

1
Schiele, B. (1983). Enjeux cachés de la vulgarisation scientifique. Communication-Information,
V (2–3).
Introduction 3

elsewhere, but demand dissemination if that knowledge is to be shared with the

greatest number and is to benefit society as a whole.
The editors of this work see this rupture taking place. Today, communication is
seen as a necessary (but insufficient) contribution to science and society’s dialogue
to reintegrate science within culture. The social role of science goes well beyond
scientific knowledge and its intrinsic merit; it resonates in the forms and functions
of contemporary organization. Their importance in our modern life means scientific
thinking and activities are not outside culture, but well within it. Science is not
another culture, alien to society. It should be considered as a substratum, a déjà-là,
a base from which meanings elaborate and evolve, in turn yielding a coherent
vision of our actions and our situation, but also our will to understand, to commu-
nicate and to act.
Moving away from the linear deficit model, communication practices and mod-
els are increasingly integrating the diversity of social contexts, the multiplicity of
actors involved and the spectrum of objectives pursued. Witness the multitude of
science events with numerous geographic and social contexts reaching the many
‘general public’ subgroups. Witness the richness of communication models and
experiences, which this work partly reflects. Witness also the scientific community
today becoming aware of the appeal expressed by one of us in 1983: ‘A science
policy depends first and foremost on the policy of scientific communication’.
By way of introduction, these brief words sketch how particular knowledge
relationships form and interact within different situations in the science–society
dialogue, in turn influencing the models and practices of science communication
that are variously explored and applied. Reciprocally, the abundance and flourishing
of science communication models and practices, directly interacting, stimulate this
vital dialogue between the community of researchers and civil society. This is the
guiding theme of this work.
December 2007
Chapter 1
Paradigm Change for Science Communication:
Commercial Science Needs a Critical Public

Martin W. Bauer(*
ü)

Abstract With private patronage, the pressure grows to commercialize scientific

research and its results. The business model extends into the laboratory, and applies
also to communication. The author explores potential risks for science commu-
nication in this changing context. In product marketing and public relations,
hyperbole and sensationalism are normal modes of operation. ‘Innocent fraud’
(Galbraith) and more ‘bullshit’ (Frankfurt) are likely risks with this communica-
tion practice, and those risks call for increased vigilance by knowledge consumers.
The author points to some indicators of the growth of critical publics for science:
the long-term waves of mass media coverage, the cycles of hype and disappointed
expectations, increased scientific literacy, and the displacement of scientific ideology by
sceptical and utilitarian attitudes in high-tech knowledge societies. In this context,
the paradigm of science communication is no longer to deliver public acceptance,
but to enhance public scrutiny of private scientific developments.

Keywords Commercialisation of science, knowledge marketing, public relations,

science attitudes, science communication, scientific ideology
Long live the accomplishments of Enlightenment, Modernity and Globalisation! Thanks to
their outcomes—innovation, science and technology—all citizens in our global city make
use of the information that was once only available to the West and to other advanced
nations. Thanks to the worldwide expansion of Western ideals of democracy and capital-
ism, every citizen in our global city has the potential to have access to the vital utilities of
modern life. Yet, some controversies remain to be answered by the theory of modernity. Do
the promises of these developments fully live up to their expectations? Is the potential real-
ized for all people? Do the developments of science and technology come hand in hand
with perfection of human lives and closing disparities among peoples?
—A young Turkish woman in a postgraduate course essay,
January 2006

London School of Economics, Institute of Social Psychology and Methodology Institute,

Houghton Street, London WC2A 2AE, UK. Phone: 44 20 7955 6864, Fax: 44 20 7955
7005, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 7

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
8 M.W. Bauer

I will make my argument in four steps, starting with a short exposé of the shift from
public to private patronage of science and the commercialization of scientific
research that follows from this. It will be shown that this accentuates some risks of
science communication: maybe more fraud, likely more hype. This trend requires
us to recognise that a public critical of science and technology (S&T) is an asset
and not a problem. The paper ends with some observations on the social location
and trends in sceptical attitudes to science across Europe to make this asset some-
what more tangible.1

1.1 The Knowledge Economy and the Commercialization

of Science

Over the past 30 years, the striking trend in the science–society relationship is the
increasing private patronage of scientific research. Private patronage of science is
historically nothing new (on the contrary, it was probably the normal state of affairs
before World War II). After 1945, generous state funding streams concentrated
research activities in the public research universities of the developed world and
established an ideal of science as a ‘common good’ in the tradition of the 18th
century Enlightenment.
That state of affairs has been reversed since the 1970s. OECD figures for research
and development (R&D) report that industrial R&D is financed by public, private or
charitable sources, including organizations such as the Rockefeller Foundation (US)
and the Wellcome Trust (UK). R&D is performed by industry, universities or govern-
ments. The latter two might be considered ‘public’, although the status of universities
is becoming more hybrid. Most funding for R&D now comes from private sources
and most R&D is also performed by private actors. The world leaders here are the US
and Japan, where respectively 63% and 74% of R&D is industry funded and 69% and
74% is industry performed. This is also the reality across the EU 25, where 55% was
industry funded and 64% was industry performed in 2002, albeit with some variation
among EU countries. Things have changed. Since 1981, overall public funding in the
OECD shrank from 44% to 29%, while private funds increased from 52% to 65%;
research funded by charitable sources grew from 4% to 7% by 2000.
These observations support my first claim: scientific research is increasingly in
private patronage. Many people now talk convincingly about the ‘knowledge
economy’—an economy that is dominated by a transformed, high-tech, R&D-
intensive industry and service sector employing highly educated and creative
people in private research laboratories.

1
Earlier versions of this argument have been presented at the CNR and British Council meeting in
Rome, February 2006; PCST-9, Seoul, May 2006; INNOVACTION, Udine, February 2007; and
the Institut für Wissenschafts und Technikforschung, University of Bielefeld, May 2007. I am
thankful for many helpful comments received on those occasions.
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 9

What for most of the post-war period was considered a ‘public good’—the
universally accessible and valid knowledge about nature and society produced
under state patronage (albeit largely for security needs; Mirowski and Sent 2005),
is increasingly becoming a ‘private good’.
Privatization might have an upper limit (indeed, by 2000 the trend appears to
halt), but an inevitable consequence of private patronage is the commercialization
of science. The managerial model becomes pervasive for both private and public
science. A literature is already emerging that maps the unintended consequences of
this ‘Mode 2’ science (Nowotny et al. 2003). Commercialization of science boosts
knowledge production, but also redirects research in favour of short-term projects
with immediate pay-offs; product innovation and improvement displace ‘blue sky’
curiosity. It turns the remaining public institutions into public–private hybrids, such
as academies with a commercial spin-offs culture, reduces the dominant actor’s
contributions to the open literature, and a policy of secrecy to protect potential pat-
ents sets in (Tijssen 2004). It exerts ‘corrupting’ influences in academic research
and erodes independent capacities in public interest areas like occupational health
(see Krimsky 2003, Greenberg 2007).
Most of these observations on the production of knowledge remain preliminary
and controversial. What seems to be uncontroversial, even taken for granted, is the
universal acceptance of the business model for the communication of ideas. It is
even suggested that business schools are a model of production and marketing of
ideas (Woolgar 2004): ‘knowledge is co-constructed’ in the act of marketing and
networking; and the only bottom line is ‘profit = income exceeds costs’ at the end
of day.
I would like to explore some potentially undesirable consequences of normalizing
this logic of marketing and public relations in the realm of science.

1.1.1 The Implication: Knowledge Marketing

We might ask ourselves: does the commercialization of scientific research have any
implications for science communication? Vacuum cleaners, furniture, carpets, cars,
toothpastes, washing powders and perfumes are very different consumer products
but have one thing in common: they are all commodities subject to the powerful
logic of consumer marketing, a professional expertise that has been in the making
for most of the 20th century. The logic of marketing goods to target groups, by using
advertising and public relations, is extended to knowledge and ideas—the realm of
science. This creates new challenges for science communication.
An example of this trend towards the marketing of knowledge is the recent
image campaign of DuPont, a global biochemical company, under the trademark
title ‘The miracle of science’. Science is not a hidden backdrop to products but
at the forefront of corporate image making. National and international corpora-
tions compete to be associated with the ‘magical’ powers and achievements of
science (see Box 1.1). Never mind the tensions between magic, myth, miracles
10 M.W. Bauer

Box 1.1 An example of advertising of commercialized science:

DuPont 2006
‘The miracle of science: science at work’
● Nourished by science—food

● Structured by science—materials

● Protected by science—health

● Enhanced by science—colours

● Connected by science—communication

(seen at Geneva Airport, August 2006)

and science—the image maker simply ignores the Enlightenment tradition of

demystification of nature, and happily mystifies science with the ‘miracle’.
Economists consider ‘intangible assets and investments’ and refer to the efforts on
R&D and the management of markets. An increasing amount of expertise and effort
is spent to decode market signals and to inform and guide the demand for new
knowledge products.
Under the ‘principle of relative constancy’, advertising expenditure closely
follows the economic cycle, but expands faster in good times and contracts faster
in bad times. Overall, it remains a relatively constant national parameter over
longer periods of time, although there is faster growth of advertising than of gross
domestic product (GDP) in Asian countries (see Chang and Chan-Olmsted 2005).
If the claims about the ‘knowledge economy’ with increasing proportions of
high-tech industry and services are true, and if the principle of relative constancy
of advertising is valid, it follows that the relative and absolute amount of advertis-
ing spent on knowledge-intensive products will increase with economic growth.
Increasing amounts of advertising money will go into the marketing of ideas and
products and the image making of ideas producers. Global advertising expenditure
is already about half the size of R&D expenditure. In 2005, when the world’s adver-
tising spending was US$385 billion, OECD countries spent about US$650 billion
on R&D. US advertising per head is about three times that of EU countries. In the
UK, overall advertising expenditure is 1.4% of GDP, while R&D is just under 2%;
in the US, 2.4% of GDP goes into marketing and 2.8% into R&D (OECD 2004);
Japan spends 1.2% of its GDP on advertising and over 3% on R&D. Much of this
expenditure will shift from mass to high-tech products and services as the sectors
become more knowledge intensive. In the 1980s, Italian high-tech industries spent
between one tenth and one third as much as they spent on R&D to market their
products (see OECD 1992: 114 ff). Even if this proportion stays the same (and it is
likely to increase with competition), the total amount of knowledge advertising will
expand with the expanding high-tech sector. The internet hype and stock market
bubble of the late 1990s is just a recent example of more to come.
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 11

The ever closer association of markets and scientific research is likely to lead to
a clash of ethos. Scientific activity is normatively oriented towards ‘objective truth
claims’, while entrepreneurialism and its marketing logic are oriented towards
market attention and the bottom line of returns—‘true’ is what pays off. The public
intellectual and the private entrepreneur, who both might be scientists, each follow
a different logic.
The logic of the market calls for professional marketing, public relations and
image management. This poses a challenge to science communication, which
increasingly turns itself into ‘science public relations’ (see Bauer and Bucchi
2007). This is not an entirely novel observation (Nelkin 1987), but the transition has
gained a critical mass in the past 20 years.
For the marketers of ideas, the hype and sensationalism deplored by traditional
science communicators are not disqualifications but normal tools to market a prod-
uct. Hyperbole is a calculated trope to manage the attention and expectations of a
market; building sustainable customer relations is a way of designing the hearts and
minds of the public and bringing about the right conditions for new ideas to diffuse
in a context of global competition (some academics invent here a sociology of
expectations; see Brown and Michael 2002).
I recently came across two small pamphlets, which I made compulsory reading
for my students. They explore some implications of the extension of a market
logic to everything under the sun. The titles speak for themselves: Innocent
fraud and On bullshit. The pamphlets pinpoint potential risks also for science
communication.

1.1.2 Risk 1: Innocent Fraud

The last pen-stroke of Galbraith (2004), the American economist and commenta-
tor on public affairs, goes by the title Innocent fraud. Galbraith is uneasy over
the fact that corporate power has become overwhelming and politically uncon-
trollable, and this manifests itself in an Orwellian newspeak (e.g. ‘market
system’ for ‘capitalism’) and the erosion of the critical powers of language. In a
culture that celebrates the pursuit of self-interest over everything else, this trend
leads to a loss of clarity about what constitutes ‘fraud’ and a loss of public con-
trol. Without moral boundaries, enterprising fraud is ‘innocent’, the fraudster
cannot be called to account, and impunity reigns. The only responsibility of
marketers is to themselves, as long as shareholders and stock investments are
being served in the short run.
Galbraith did not have scientific research in mind when he made these observa-
tions. More likely, he was thinking of the creative accounting at ENRON and other
recent scandals of high-octane capitalism. But some recent scientific frauds might
suggest a similar dynamic. Is there a pernicious influence of commercial interests
undermining the integrity of the scientific research?
12 M.W. Bauer

However, there is little evidence of increased fraud in scientific research beyond

the high profile of a few cases, which might exaggerate the problem.2 The problem
of defining misconduct (faking, withholding data, plagiarizing, hiding methods,
chopping up research into the smallest publishable units, and so on) and the ten-
dency of institutions to avoid complex investigations complicate the collection of
reliable statistics.3 However, in a survey of US National Institutes of Health
researchers, one in six admitted to having changed their research design or meth-
odology in response to pressure from their funding source.4 Scientific fraud is rare,
probably underreported, and most prevalent in the biomedical sciences because of
their high stakes in private money, public hope and personal glory.

1.1.3 Risk 2: More Bullshit

The second pamphlet of interest was written by Frankfurt (2005), a moral philoso-
pher, who titled it On bullshit. ‘Bullshit’ is a rather rude English word, which
Frankfurt uses purposefully to underline a serious problem. The text reprints a lec-
ture given to a student society back in 1986, but which resonates more clearly with
the current Zeitgeist. The pamphlet is an example of what scientometricians call a
‘sleeping beauty’: no impact when published, huge impact years later.
Frankfurt’s argument distinguishes ‘bullshitting’ from ‘lying’ on the basis of the
care for truth-value. The act of lying, morally dubious as it is, remains intricately
tied up with the ‘truth’ which the liar tries to hide from an interlocutor, either for
good reasons (a ‘white lie’) or for bad or selfish reasons. The liar consciously mis-
represents the truth. By contrast the bullshitter ignores the value of truth; they do
not care about truth, perhaps because they never did. The bullshitter is cynical to
the extent that they have given up any belief in truth as a regulatory social idea.
Frankfurt distinguishes the lie from bullshit like this: ‘[T]he motive guiding and
controlling it [the bullshit] is unconcerned with how the things about which he
speaks truly are’ (Frankfurt 2005: 55). He then identifies social trends that favour
bullshitting in modern societies:
● The multiplication of situations that oblige people to speak about topics beyond
their knowledge, for example in politics and in professional communication
● The need to opine on everything
● The inflation of knowledge claims, which engenders forms of unspecific scepti-
cism that undermine a residual belief in ‘an objective reality’
● The shift in the evaluation of public speech from an ideal of ‘correctness’ to one of
‘authenticity’ (no matter whether a claim is true, if only it is believed sincerely)

2
See Nature Biotechnology, 24(7), July 2006, 745 ff.
3
See Nature, 445, 25 January 2007, 240 ff.
4
See Nature, 445, 25 January 2007, 245.
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 13

Privatized knowledge production will necessitate professional marketing, and

this is already changing the way science is publicly communicated globally. First
signs in this direction are difficult to ignore. Box 1.2 lists the range of activities
that make science into public events and displays and go beyond the traditional
activities of science writing. While the evidence for fraud as a consequence of
commercialization is inconclusive, the evidence for increasing ‘bullshit’ is more
convincing (Box 1.3).
This is a slow trend and difficult to detect. Public patronage of science favours the
‘re-feudalization’ (Habermas 1962) of the public of science: ‘representation’ and
show in the arena rather than argumentation at the forum; global empires rather
than republics of science. This will affect scientific information by accumulating
small shifts in activity and ethos, slowly but decisively.
Public vigilance and debate are urgently required. How will the public sustain
a critical conversation when scientific information is leaning heavily towards

Box 1.2 Trends in science communication activities

1. Knowledge product marketing via corporate image and myth making
2. Rehearsal of conflict between ‘tool makers’ and ‘salesmen’
3. Professionalization and differentiation: media journalism, public rela-
tions (PR), dialogue experts
4. Conferences and congresses become trade shows for sponsors
5. Product placement with doctors and researchers (presents and perks for
doctors)
6. Scientific event making: AAAS, British Association for the Advance-
ment of Science, science festivals as annual events
7. Defence secrecy replaced by corporate secrecy (pre-patent)
8. New developments as event management (e.g. Human Genome Project)
9. Centralized PR in scientific institutions: ‘everybody goes on message’
10. Professional media officers at every research laboratory
11. Newsmaking for stock market: conflicts over ‘hype’ between PR and the
lab
12. Truth-by-press-conference to short-cut peer review: not only ‘cold
fusion’
13. Decline of independent journalism: infotainment and precarious free-
lancing
14. Science writers make a lucrative career move into PR
15. Science news production increasingly depends on PR sourcing
16. Selective publication: knowledge remains ‘private secret’ until patented
17. Methodology becomes ‘private capital’ rather than public auditing
18. Universities set up ‘cinema liaison officers’; high-tech by Hollywood
19. Scandalization: fraud = news value; ‘bringing down a scientist’ a career
high
14 M.W. Bauer

Box 1.3 From conflicts of interest to fraud

Whistleblower loses job
Consider the case of a British whistleblower who lost his job upon calling the
bluff of the corporate communications officer. Andrew Millar was a labora-
tory bench scientist working at British Biotech, then a relatively new and
striving biotechnology company. Millar told the public and thus shareholders
that a particular line of drug research by his company had little chance of
success. He was fired and described as ‘ill-informed and irresponsible’, sued
for the disclosure of confidential information, and smeared in public. Later,
British Biotech lost the court case and had to pay out £500,000 in damages
(Guardian, 19 June 1999, p. 26).
The centralization of communication
The rector of the University of Hamburg has decreed that all public statements
on science policy emanating from the university should go through the press
office to avoid confusing the public. This policy has been considered by some
academics, not least those in political science, to contravene the principle of
free speech in and out of university (FAZ, 108, 10 May 2007, p. 10).
Do people prefer GM corn?
This is clearly a question open to test. A consumer experiment offered both
conventional and genetically modified (GM) corn in a farm store. Consumers
preferred the GM version, which they were 50% more likely to choose (Powell
et al. 2003). After the paper was published, a controversy arose over the experi-
mental conditions: the two varieties were apparently labelled in a way that was
‘leading’ the experimental results by setting up a demand characteristic. Con-
ventional maize was apparently labelled ‘Would you eat wormy sweet corn?’,
while the GM variety was labelled ‘Here’s what went into producing quality
sweet corn’ (followed by a list of chemicals). This information on product
labelling was omitted from the paper and emerged only afterwards from wit-
ness accounts. Subsequent calls, for example by the British Soil Association and
Professor Jennings, a research ethicist of Cambridge University, to withdraw
the paper were rejected but featured in a debate in the journal that published the
original material. The controversy continues (see New Scientist, 27 May 2006;
Private Eye, 28 September 2007). GM activists on the case are apparently facing
threats of a SLAPP action (strategic law suit against public participation). An
alleged photo of the labels in the store where the experiment took place can be
found at http://www.gmwatch.org/p1temp.asp?pid = 72&page = 1
The elusive stem cell lines of Professor Hwang Woo-Suk
Consider the case of the Korean stem-cell researcher Hwang Woo-Suk, whose
two ‘revolutionary’ papers in Science had to be retracted in early 2000 when it
became clear that most of his ‘revolutionary’ data were fabricated.

(continued)
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 15

Box 1.3 (continued)

Was this a case of an isolated individual failing? Or is there systemic pressure
at work to take risks and fake data because the gains are very high, whereas
the likelihood of being detected is very low? Are there not pressures of
national and international competition to succeed at all costs and to justify
the resources invested?
Failure is no longer a corrective. The system of late-modern research includes
intensified competition, concentration of publication efforts on a narrow range
of top journals and societal expectations of results, which might encourage
misconduct (Kim 2007, Franzen et al. 2007, Greenberg 2007). Krimsky
(2003) argues that biomedical research is particularly prone to ‘corruption’
when facing a conflict of public and private interests because of the erosion of
independent public expertise.

advertising, strategic public relations and propaganda in the service of private

interests? Where can we find the vestiges of a sceptical public to sustain the vigi-
lance needed to the call the bluff on fraud and high-tech snake oil? The source of
quackery is no longer outside science: it is high-octane science itself.5

1.2 The Social Locations of ‘Critical Attitudes’

In the citation from a recent student essay at the beginning of this chapter, I recognise
promising elements of an attitude we need when facing the trends and risks I have
outlined. ‘Do the promises of these developments fully live up to their expectations?’
this young woman from Turkey asks. That science and technology automatically
deliver the common good of society is no longer taken for granted.
Modernism equates S&T with ‘progress’ in the world. This engenders a mes-
sianism that expects S&T to deliver the solutions to all the world’s problems.
Hunger, misery, inequality, war, moral conflict—all the world’s evils will be eradi-
cated by the unconstrained deployment of science to increase food production,
boost productivity to create income for redistribution or consumption, expand
communications technologies, and even recognise the evolutionary basis of morality
and ethics.
This view is that science discovers the laws of nature, technology applies them
to practical ends, and the social sciences make sure that those solutions are accepted

5
This was a very interesting side remark made by Steven and Hilary Rose during their Annual
BIOS lecture given at the London School of Economics in 2007.
16 M.W. Bauer

and replace the old ones. It is not clear whether this ‘linear model’ ever was a valid
description or just good rhetoric for political expediency (see Krige 2005).
Modern science is bound up with technical infrastructure: there is no subato-
mic physics without supercollider installations, no astronomy without high-tech
telescopes, no genetic engineering without gene sequencers, no nanotechnology
without lasers, no brain research without magnetic visualization techniques, and
probably none of these research activities without high-powered computers.
Science and technology are intimately linked up at their shared frontier, which
is marked by the term ‘technoscience’. The technological hold on the world is
hegemonic. In technology, globalization is already achieved. There are few cor-
ners of the world without electricity, telephones or motor cars. Clearly, these are
achievements on a large scale, but the student’s question remains: has all this
lived up to expectations?
After a successful past with only ineffective challenges from the fringes of
modernism (Sieferle 1984, Touraine 1995), the equation ‘Science + Technology
= Progress’ has now become dubious. Science and technology no longer produce
societal progress automatically. Several benchmarks have developed since the
1970s to assess whether scientific achievements constitute ‘real’ progress. Each
of the benchmarks is associated with social actors and social movements who
sponsor the doubts, resist developments and ask the burning questions, and thus
bring S&T under public scrutiny. Individually and combined, they call into ques-
tion the autonomy of science: science, like other societal activities, is accountable
for its consequences. The consumer movement puts product safety on the agenda.
Environmentalism brings the old idea of conservation into the mainstream and
commits everybody to sustainable development. Fairness and equity are written
on the banners of the antiglobalization and world development activists.
Traditional religions reassert statements of human dignity, morality and ethics.
Philosophical ‘Kulturkritik’ renews the allegation of a reification of nature, oth-
ers and self. And finally, economists conclude that ‘science is too important to
leave to the scientists’.
These benchmarks have willy-nilly hastened private patronage and will do so in
the future. The loss of autonomy in scientific practice is both a part of the problem
and part of the solution. There is a loop of mutual reinforcement: critical publics
demand accountability; this challenges the autonomy of science, undermines public
patronage and strengthens private patronage and the commercialization of science
communication; in turn, this requires increased public vigilance to mitigate the
risks of fraud and bullshit.

1.2.1 Historical Variation in Public Attitudes

My research on long-term trends in science communication in the UK (and also

by colleagues in Bulgaria and Italy) shows that annual science reportage can be
taken as an index of the changing public discourse of S&T. We observed that
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 17

2.0

1.5
Promise

1.0

0.5

0.0
Concern

−0.5

−1.0

−1.5

−2.0
1946
1948
1950
1952
1954
1956
1958
1960
1962
1964
1966
1968
1970
1972
1974
1976
1978
1980
1982
1984
1986
1988
1990
1992
Fig. 1.1 The evaluation of science in the UK press, 1946 to 1992: The figure shows the fluctua-
tions of annual averages, (+/-1 SD). The discourse of individual articles is rated on a 5-point scale
between ‘overwhelming promise’ and ‘serious concerns’ (N = 6,083). The data source is Bauer
et al. (1995)

between 1946 and 1992 the intensity of science coverage and its slant varied (see
Fig. 1.1). The intensity of the public conversation about science peaked in the
early 1960s in the UK and probably elsewhere; it declined into the 1970s but has
picked up again since then. This cycle has been evident in the elite as well as the
popular press, but has been clearer in the former (see Bauer et al. 2006, Bucchi
and Mazzolini 2007).
The evaluation of science in this public conversation is tied to an intensity cycle
(not shown here): science coverage increased until 1962, then declined into the
mid-1970s, and recovered through the 1980s and into the 1990s. Depending on
whether one weights the absolute intensity in relation to overall news space, which
increased considerably since the 1950s, the peak of 1962 is regained in the 1990s
or it is not, but the phases remain (Bauer et al. 2006).
Figure 1.1 shows the ‘evaluation’ of science in the UK press. The line of
moving averages shows two phases of something close to an irregular cycle:
more negative coverage into the 1950s, recovering positive coverage in the later
1950s and into the 1960s, more negative coverage again into the 1970s until the
early 1980s (although with erratic ups and downs in the 1970s). Positive cover-
age expands in the 1980s to reach the levels of 1946 again (the data stream ends
in 1992—an issue of funding). The critical climate for science in the semio-
sphere, which the mass media create around us, is clearly a variable, and this
should be an invitation to think about what makes and breaks the climate of
mass mediation.
18 M.W. Bauer

1.2.2 Public Attitudes and the Life Cycle of New Ideas

Haldane, an eminent British biologist of the interwar years, made a suggestion that
is widely echoed in recent discussions and which one might call the ‘Haldane
Principle’: ‘Biological invention… tends to begin as a perversion and end as a ritual
supported by unquestioned beliefs and prejudices’ (Haldane 1925: 49). Haldane
sees a natural cycle in public controversies over biological innovations: what starts
with an initial outcry of disgust (the ‘yuk’ factor) ends as taken-for-granted com-
mon sense, with no questions asked.
My research on biotechnology and public opinion and debate sits uneasily with
such a model. Figure 1.2 shows three data streams of public opinion in the UK
since the early 1970s: the intensity of coverage reached a peak in 1999, with over
1,600 references to ‘biotechnology’ in a single news outlet. The evaluation of bio-
technology shows the initial hype in the early 1980s. The tone sobered in the 1990s,
and became erratic after the ‘watershed’ years of 1996 and 1997, with the contro-
versies over GM crops and foods and the cloning of animals leading into the stem-
cell debates. The poll responses express a general optimism about biotechnology

Salience Optimism UK evaluation

100 1.2
90 1.0
Index 1999 = 100% optimism

80 0.8
70 0.6
60 0.4
Evaluation

50 0.2
40 0.0
30 −0.2
20 −0.4
10 −0.6
0 −0.8
1973
1975
1977
1979
1981
1983
1985
1987
1989
1991
1993
1995
1997
1999
2001
2003
2005

Fig. 1.2 Biotechnology and the British public, 1973 to 2002: The figure shows the rise and
later fall in salience, the cycle of evaluation in the press, and changing public optimism about
biotechnology in opinion surveys for the UK. Salience (the dark bars) is indexed to 100 in 1999,
when 1,666 articles on biotechnology were published in a single quality newspaper source (left
scale). The index of evaluation (the line) shows the deviation from the long-term slightly posi-
tive average: low figures indicate evaluations more negative, positive figures indicate evalua-
tions more positive than average (right scale: mean = 0; SD = 1). The white bars give the
percentage of UK respondents who declared optimistic expectations about biotechnology when
asked in 1978, 1991, 1993, 1996, 1999, 2002 and 2005 (left scale). The graphic is updated from
Bauer (2007)
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 19

(‘Biotechnology will improve our lives in the next 25 years’, as in Eurobarometer;

see Bauer 2007). Public optimism increased into the 1990s and later declined amid
the public controversy over GM food and human cloning in the late 1990s. These
data streams suggest that, in contrast to a cycle from initial disgust to everyday
acceptance, nowadays the initial hype is followed by controversy and more sober
public attitudes.

1.2.3 The Latest Evidence: a Mature Scientific Culture

The European Community has for some years conducted representative surveys of
the populations of EU Member States on the public understanding of science. The
surveys ask adults questions about scientific literacy, their interest in science, and
various items expressing attitudes to science.
For example, respondents’ ‘agree’ or ‘disagree’ answers to the statement
‘Science and technology can sort out any problem’ are a good indicator of an
attitude that invests science with confidence and the power to solve the world’s
problems. In January 2005, 500 people in 32 European countries (including
Turkey) were asked this question, and the result shows wide variations between
countries. In Turkey 12% and in Italy 31% disagreed with this claim, while in
Sweden, Switzerland and the Netherlands disagreement reached 80%.
Disagreement is taken as an expression of a ‘sceptical attitude’. By combining
several claims about science, we create an index of the scientific ‘ideology’
that is normally distributed: the omnipotence of science, the control of side
effects, the provision of a complete world picture, and the rejection of any
constraints (see Appendix 1.1 at the end of this chapter). These claims amount
to a modernist myth of science (see Ziman 1995), a confident worldview that
grants science a privileged epistemic and moral status that affords no con-
straints outside itself.
Most surveys of the public understanding of science are designed to track sci-
ence literacy, and to demonstrate that knowledge is a driver of positive attitudes.
This has come to be known as the ‘deficit model’ of public understanding of sci-
ence: the more you know of science, the more you love it. My analysis, however,
shows that the real story is different—a nice case of falsification of a widely held
belief.
Equally knowledgeable and interested, women tend to be more sceptical than
men, and so are people who are generally more knowledgeable and the older popu-
lation. Those who are very interested in science tend to be less sceptical. Curiously
(and seemingly contradictory), people who see a role for science in the economy,
for technological innovation to develop industry and to improve the environment,
are more sceptical on the ideological tenets of science.
Plotting belief in ideology and the perception of the societal relevance of science
(Fig. 1.3) allows us to profile different ‘scientific cultures’ among European
countries (at least in a very preliminary terms) into:
20 M.W. Bauer

4.0
Mystified irrelevance Mystified relevance
3.8
Turkey
3.6
Italy
Belief in scientific myth

3.4
Malta
3.2
y =–1.09x + 6.53 Estonia Macedonia
3.0
2
R = 0.44
2.8
Lux
2.6
Swiss
2.4
Denmark
2.2
Sceptics Demystified utility
2.0
2.5 2.7 2.9 3.1 3.3 3.5 3.7 3.9
Science is not irrelevant (double negative)

Fig. 1.3 Scientific ideology and the societal relevance of science: The figure plots the values for
32 European countries on two dimensions. The Y-axis shows the average score on ‘scientific
ideology’, the expressed belief in the modern scientific myth. The X-axis shows the average disa-
greement on several items, such as ‘Science and technology does not play an important role in
industrial development’. The data source is Eurobarometer 63.1 of 2005 (data analysis by myself)

● Sceptics who are critical on both accounts (such as the Swiss and the
Luxembourgeois)
● Those who mainly see science in a ‘mystical’ light, far removed from real-world
issues (such as the Turkish and to some extent the Italians)
● Those for whom science is highly relevant but who are also mystified by ideo-
logical claims (such as the Macedonians or the Maltese)
● Those who mainly see science as a demystified utility (such as the Danes)
● This pattern of correlations shows that different types of attitudes, ideological
and utilitarian, combine into cultural patterns that deserve a closer
examination.
Third, we must consider public attitudes a part of the ‘general climate of opinion’—
the scientific culture of a country. Patent applications and scientific publications are
indicators of countries’ scientific productivity. My data show that scientific literacy
increases with national scientific productivity (Fig. 1.4): the more patents a country
produces (on a logarithmic scale), the higher is its scientific literacy. The correla-
tion across Europe is high (r = 0.75; n = 32). However, belief in the scientific ideol-
ogy declines with higher knowledge and higher scientific productivity. Respondents
in scientifically more productive countries distance themselves from the idea that
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 21

0.2
y = – 0.063x + 0.43
R2 = 0.38
0.1
corr (K13 x ideology)

0.0

−0.1

−0.2

−0.3

−0.4
5.0 6.0 7.0 8.0 9.0 10.0 11.0
Knowledge score (K13)

Fig. 1.4 Aggregate level of literacy and the association between individual literacy and scientific
ideology: The X-axis shows the aggregate level of literacy; the Y-axis shows the correlation
between individual literacy and scientific ideology. Literacy is measured on the basis of 13 quiz
items. The data source is Eurobarometer 63.1 of 2005 (analysis by the author)

‘science can solve all the world’s problems’ or that ‘science will one day produce
a complete picture of nature and the cosmos’. The correlation between this belief
and scientific productivity is clearly negative (r = −0.82; n = 32).
My analysis shows that literacy and scientific ideology are negatively correlated
in most countries, and the higher scientific literacy and scientific productivity the
more likely knowledgeable citizens will reject a scientific ideology. Only in a small
number of countries at the lower end of the literacy scale do knowledge and ideol-
ogy have a positive correlation. In all other contexts, this relationship is negative,
and the more negative, the more scientifically literate the society has become. The
‘deficit concept’ of public understanding of science is falsified: the more we know
the science, the less we love it (at least in the terms of the modernist ideology).
Higher science literacy and a sceptical atmosphere come with higher scientific pro-
ductivity. Note that this observation is only of an association; any causal claim
requires further analysis.
This analysis suggests that a highly productive scientific culture does away with
some ideological tenets of science. The coexistence of public scepticism and pro-
ductive research is not only desirable, but already the reality in some places. We
must celebrate this as an asset and not deplore it as a liability or a deficit. A critical
public opinion is not suffering a ‘deficit of literacy or appreciation’, and a critical
public is not a problem but an asset, the value of which remains to be determined.
22 M.W. Bauer

These observations on knowledge, interest and attitudes have implications for a

concept of ‘scientific culture’. We need to consider the changing empirical relation-
ship between variables, and go beyond normative assumptions like those of the
deficit model of public understanding of science. It seems that late-modern scien-
tific culture might well be a complex of high knowledge, sceptical attitudes and
moderate interest (see Shukla and Bauer 2007), and that these are part and parcel
of a productive knowledge society.

1.3 Conclusion

I have argued that science communication faces new challenges, which arise from
the commercialization of research under private patronage. This trend leads us
away from science writing and journalism and into public relations. Science report-
age turns increasingly into public event making for science. This entails specific
risks of fraud and ‘bullshit’ in public communication. While the evidence on scien-
tific misconduct is not conclusive, the proliferation of hype and ‘bullshit’ in science
communication is evident and worrying.
In this changing context, a sceptical public is highly desirable. This is, however,
contrary to the traditional missions of science communication, which are to pro-
mote public scientific literacy and a positive image of science and to generate pub-
lic acceptance of new technology. But a sceptical public is necessary to compensate
for the proliferation of exaggerated claims, hype and ‘bullshit’ on high-tech ideas
and products, so the traditional mission statement seems out of date. The knowl-
edge society needs a public with critical attitudes, as the consumer society needs
consumers with a consumer consciousness. This attitude is necessary but not suffi-
cient to increase vigilance. It needs to be cultivated, maintained, mobilized,
invested, amplified and made to resonate by competent social actors. The various
social movements that set the benchmarks for societal progress have an eminent
role to play here.
Sceptical attitudes to science are more likely among literate women, the older,
and the more knowledgeable in general, while strong interest in S&T news ‘immu-
nizes’ against a healthy scepticism. I have demonstrated that attitudes to science are
not a historical constant; nor are they following a ‘natural’ cycle from initial disgust
to subsequent acceptance. The real path is rather one of initial hype that gives way
to a more sober assessment.
The rejection of the tenets of a modernist ideology of science varies across
Europe as a function of economic development, scientific literacy and scientific
productivity. On a continuum of levels of scientific literacy, the association between
high knowledge and ideological attitudes is increasingly negative. The idea that ‘the
more you know, the more you love it’ is no longer valid. In scientifically highly
productive contexts, familiarity might well breed contempt, or at least discontent.
Sceptical attitudes towards science go hand in hand with a utilitarian assessment of
its importance for society. A mature science culture is a complex of high literacy,
1 Paradigm Change for Science Communication 23

sceptical but utilitarian attitudes, and moderate interest. Patterns of attitudes allow
us to characterise diverse cultures of science in Europe.
A sceptical public that is not awestruck by the new displays of science is a
necessity for knowledge societies. A sceptical public is, after all, the democratized
scientific attitude, the ethos of organized scepticism vested in a literate public
(Merton 1973). Sceptical public attitudes counteract social pressures towards con-
formity and obedience to authority, including that of the technological fait accompli
(Bauer 2008). Scientific knowledge is different from toothpaste, perfumes and
washing powder, and the public communication of science ought not, but neverthe-
less increasingly does, follow the same logic as washing powder marketing and
image making.
By cultivating public conversations that are highly scientifically literate, but
also highly sceptical of the hyperbolic claims of professional knowledge marketers,
we might end up with the kind of S&T that is universally desirable: a ‘common
good’ that is safe, distributed justly, morally sound and dignifying, and environ-
mentally sustainable. However, on the way to this desirable world of ‘motherhood
and apple pie’, we might have to face some dilemmas and controversies. The
community of science communicators might recognise here its new mission: to
empower public opinion to recognise the exaggerated claims of private knowledge
marketing.

Appendix 1.1

Eurobarometer A survey instrument of the EU. In January 2005, conducted a rep-

resentative survey of public perceptions of science in all EU countries and candidate
countries, including Turkey (n = 32,000). I chaired the expert group that constructed
the survey instrument in 2004.
TRIAD Patent Families Per Million Population Patents filed in 2000 in the US, the
EU and Japan. Patents have a close but not perfect link to innovation (some patents
are of no use and many innovations are not patented). The natural logarithm (Ln)
of TRIAD patents per million population is closely related to GDP per capita (r
= 0.80), meaning that increased patenting is associated with decreasing returns in
GDP per head. TRIAD also correlates highly with scientific production measured
as publications per million population (r = 0.86).
Level of Knowledge (K13) A set of items on factual knowledge, the knowledge
quiz. They are in the ‘yes/no/ don’t know’ format, and have been used for many
years to measure literacy in national sample surveys: 13 items in Eurobarometer
63.1 of 2005.
Ideology of Science A set of Likert type items (5-point scale; 1 = agree, 5 = disagree)
using statements that indicate elements of an ideological view of science—a view that
is idealistic and mythical. The original responses to these items were recoded so that
high scores indicate agreement to the statements: Index = (a + b + c + d)/4: (M = 2.97,
SD = 0.823; n = 15,595; Cronbach’s alpha = 0.58).
24 M.W. Bauer

● Omnipotence: ‘Science and technology can sort out any problem’.

● Control of side-effects: ‘New inventions will always be found to counteract any
harmful consequences of scientific and technological developments’.
● World picture: ‘One day science will be able to give a complete picture of how
nature and the universe work’.
● No constraints: ‘There should be no limits to what science is allowed to investigate’.
Interest in Science Respondents declaring that they are ‘very’ or ‘moderately’ in-
terested in either new medical discoveries, environmental pollution, new inventions
or new scientific discoveries.

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The Author

Martin W. Bauer ([email protected])

Martin W. Bauer (Psychology & History, Bern, PhD LSE Social Psychology) direct
the LSE programme in Social and Public Communication and STePS (Science,
Technology and the Public Sphere) which hosts the London PUS seminars. A
former research fellow at the Science Museum and a regular visiting professor in
Brazil (UFRGS & Campinas) he conducts PUS research.
Martin’s publications include Biotechnology—the making of a global controversy
(Cambridge, 2002; with G. Gaskell), Genomics and Society (Earthscan, 2006; with
G. Gaskell); Journalism, science and society—Science communication between news
and public relations (Routledge, 2007; with M. Bucchi); Atoms, bytes and genes—
Public resistance and socio-technical responses (Routledge, 2009). His papers have
appeared in Nature, Science, Nature-Biotechnology, Public Understanding of
Science, Genetics and Society, Social Science Information, Journal for the Theory of
Social Behaviour, Social Studies of Science, International Journal of Public Opinion
Research, Science Communication and DIOGENE (UNESCO).
Chapter 2
European Trends in Science Communication

Michel Claessens(*
ü)

Abstract This chapter reports on current trends in science communication

in Europe in the light of several recent studies by the European Commission.
The author investigates why the European public’s scientific knowledge, as meas-
ured by the surveys, has increased substantially over the past few years. He then
reviews coverage of science in the European media and analyses the relationships
between European scientists and journalists and recent trends in reportage. Noting
that it has become harder to gain public acceptance of scientific and technological
innovations in Europe, the author argues that the science–society dialogue is insuf-
ficiently developed because a genuine communication culture is lacking in the science
and technology sector. This lack may hamper the advancement of the sector.

Keywords Science communication, science journalism, science and the media

2.1 Introduction

In Europe, recent scientific and technological developments in such areas as nuclear

energy, GM (genetically modified) food and cloning have generated a lot of media
coverage, public debates, political decisions—and even fights. This may create a
general impression that the European public is losing confidence in science and
technology (S&T). Some media have published reports about growing anti-science
opinion in Europe.
Against this background, public opinion surveys (Eurobarometers) are carried
out by the European Commission on a regular basis, with the most recent published
in December 2007 (EC 2007a). Dedicated reports published in 1992, 2001 and
2005 show that science and technology are still valued positively in Europe.
Citizens expect a lot from scientific progress. For example, more than 80% of
Europeans are confident that scientific and technological progress will help to cure

Research, Science and Society Directorate, European Commission, SDME 2/1,

Square de Meeûs, 8, B-1049 Brussels, Belgium. E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 27

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
28 M. Claessens

diseases such as AIDS, cancer and so on. Europeans put great trust in S&T: 87%
agree that scientific and technological advances have improved their quality of life,
and 77% believe that they will continue to do so for future generations. Europeans
also want political decisions to rely more on experts’ advice. Interest in S&T
remains high (78% of citizens are very or moderately interested in new scientific
discoveries), although it has decreased since 1992. The proportion of people who
are ‘very interested’ in S&T issues has dropped significantly since then.
The S&T Eurobarometers include the following questions on S&T issues:
Here is a little quiz. For each of the following statements, please tell me if it is true or false.
If you don’t know, say so, and we will go on to the next one.
The Sun goes around the Earth
The centre of the Earth is very hot
The oxygen we breathe comes from plants
Radioactive milk can be made safe by boiling it
Electrons are smaller than atoms
The continents on which we live have been moving for millions of years and will continue
to move in the future
It is the mother’s genes that decide whether the baby is a boy or a girl
The earliest humans lived at the same time as the dinosaurs
Antibiotics kill viruses as well as bacteria
Lasers work by focusing sound waves
All radioactivity is man-made
Human beings, as we know them today, developed from earlier species of animals
It takes 1 month for the Earth to go around the Sun

Results of this knowledge quiz show that, for most statements, a majority answered
correctly (see Fig. 2.1). The average proportion of correct answers reaches 66%, while
that of wrong answers is quite low at 21%. However, one should not conclude from
this that Europeans have a fairly good knowledge of scientific topics, as answering the
quiz at random would give an average proportion of correct answers of 50%.
More interestingly, national averages show that there has been a clear rise in the
number of correct answers to the quiz since 1992. This is the case in practically all
countries surveyed.
This increase is one of the most stunning developments related to science in
Europe. Since the previous surveys in 1992, 2001 and 2002, scientific knowledge,
as measured by the surveys, has increased substantially in most European countries.
Increases of over 15% have been observed in Luxembourg, Belgium, Greece, the
Netherlands and Germany (see Fig. 2.2); among the new EU Member States, the
Czech Republic and Slovenia show a 10% increase in only three years. Sweden
achieved the highest rates of correct answers.
Further analysis of the Eurobarometer data confirms the overall trend towards
higher scientific literacy in all European countries.1

1
M. Bauer, London School of Economics, pers. comm., November 2007.
2 European Trends in Science Communication 29

The Sun goes around the Earth 66%

The centre of the Earth is very hot 86%

The oxygen we breathe comes from plants 82%

Radio active milk can be made safe by boiling it 75%

Electrons are smaller than atoms 46%

The continents have been moving for millions of years 87%

Mother’s genes decide whether the baby is a boy or a girl 64%

Earliest humans lived at the same time as the dinosaurs 66%

Antibiotics kill viruses as well as bacteria 46%

Lasers work by focusing sound waves 47%

All radio activity is man-made 59%

Human beings developed from earlier species of animals 70%

It takes 1 month for the Earth to go around the Sun 66%

0% 10% 20% 30% 40% 50% 60% 70% 80% 90% 100%

Fig. 2.1 Percentage of correct answers to the 13 questions in the Eurobarometer scientific quiz

20
18
16
14
12
10
8
6
4
2
0
LU BE EL NL DE PT DK IT IE FR ES UK

Fig. 2.2 Improvement in the percentage of correct answers to the Eurobarometer scientific quiz
in 12 European countries, 1992 to 2005

There seems to be a contradiction here. While interest in S&T among Europeans

is declining and Europeans claim to be poorly informed on the subject, their
answers to a basic scientific knowledge test show improved results.
After the tsunami in 2005, the percentage of people who understand the move-
ment of continents and tectonic plates seems to have risen by 20%. Analysing the
30 M. Claessens

slight improvement of the Japanese understanding of science between 1991 and

2001, Shimizu (2007) argues that the 1995 Kobe earthquake contributed to the pub-
lic understanding of plate tectonics, but more so among non-college-educated people
than among the college educated. On the same basis, one may argue that media cov-
erage of recent crises in Europe (Chernobyl, mad cow disease, contaminated blood,
avian flu, SARS, nuclear energy, GMOs, etc.) has brought many scientific and tech-
nological concepts and issues onto the public radar and has subsequently raised the
overall public understanding of science in the EU countries.
For those who have left school, newspapers and magazines are an important
source of information about S&T. It is therefore important to gain a better under-
standing of the role of the media as the public’s sources of information about S&T.

2.2 Europeans and Science Information

The Directorate-General for Research of the European Commission launched a

special Eurobarometer survey to explore the role that the media is playing as an
interface in the science domain, helping to increase public support and under-
standing about the need to create a knowledge-based society. Face-to-face inter-
views were conducted in people’s homes, in their national languages, between 10
April and 15 May 2007. The countries surveyed were the 27 EU Member States.
The methodology used was that of the standard Eurobarometer polls managed by
the European Commission’s Directorate-General for Communication.
This recent poll (EC 2007a) shows that television is still the most popular
medium for information. It also has the widest reach. Figure 2.3 shows aggre-
gated percentages for sources of information about scientific research cited
among either the first or second preferred sources. Traditional TV channels lead,
with a total of 47% saying they would like to receive information about scientific
research through that medium. Around a quarter of Europeans prefer thematic TV
channels (27%), the specialized written press (26%) and the general written press
(23%), while radio and the internet share about the same level of importance.
In 26 of the 27 countries, most people’s first choice for information about sci-
entific research is television. Only in the Netherlands would citizens turn to the
specialized press first. Thematic TV channels are outstandingly more popular in
Sweden than elsewhere in the EU, with a rating of 42% in the aggregated table.
The specialized written press is not only the most preferred medium in the
Netherlands (35%), but it also reaches high aggregated percentages in France
(37%), Finland and Sweden (both 35%). As expected, the youngest respondents
have the most favourable views about the internet.
The data show very clearly that there is a link between people’s use and trust of
different media sources. The ranking of media sources by usage and by the level of
trust in them is the same.
Generally speaking, EU citizens are satisfied with the way the media provide
information about scientific research (56%). Almost a quarter express dissatisfac-
tion (24%), and exactly a fifth have no opinion on this matter (20%).
2 European Trends in Science Communication 31

0% 10% 20% 30% 40% 50%

Traditional TV channels 47%

Thematic TV channels 27%
Specialized written press 26%
General written press 23%
Radio 16%
Traditional websites 16%
Interactive websites, blogs, wikis 8%
Interactive TV channels 7%
Podcasts 1%
Information sent by SMS 1%
None of these (spontaneously) 1%
Don't know 5%

Fig. 2.3 Europeans’ preferred sources of information about scientific research

The only country where the majority of respondents declare they are dissatisfied
with the way the media treats this topic is Greece (53%). The ‘don’t know’ rate is
very high in several countries, reaching a maximum of 47% in Bulgaria.
The majority (50%) say that the space the media devotes to scientific research is
sufficient. Around a third (31%) believe that the media does not give research
enough importance. Only a few (4%) of respondents as a whole feel that the topic
gets too much prominence.
Asked about content, most citizens across the EU have a generally positive view
of the way news on scientific research is presented and consider it to be reliable
(65%), objective (63%), useful (60%), varied (57%) and sufficiently visual (57%).
At the same time, they also say it is difficult to understand (49%), far from their
concerns (45%) and not entertaining (51%).
Questioned about what they wanted most in news on scientific research, a large
proportion opt for ease of understanding (38%), information on the actual topic (37%)
and usefulness. Reliability (29%), relevance to citizens’ concerns and objectivity (both
20%) are ranked fourth to sixth. There is a need to improve the ease of understanding
of scientific information in the media, as this aspect is the most important for people.
Virtually one in every two respondents says scientific news is difficult to understand.
Most prefer that scientists (52%) rather than journalists (14%) present scientific
information (Fig. 2.4). A striking finding of the survey is that one in five respondents
replies spontaneously that they would like scientists and journalists to present scien-
tific information together (20%). Europeans who prefer scientists as presenters argue
that this approach is more trustworthy (61%) and results in more precise information
being made available (60%). Objectivity is cited in third place (39%).
Europeans who prefer journalists to present scientific information mention most
often the assumption that people would understand the content more easily (70%).
Other reasons, such as objectivity (23%), usefulness in citizens’ everyday life
(19%) and diversity (18%), are cited significantly less often in this context.
32 M. Claessens

By journalists
and scientists
together
20%
By scientists
52%

It's the same

9%

Don't know
5%
By journalists
14%

Fig. 2.4 Scientists vs. journalists as sources of information about scientific research

2.3 European Scientists and Communication

The increasing impact that science has come to have in society has paved the way
in recent years for a more fluent dialogue between the scientific community and the
general public. Because the EU is providing increasing funding to research and
innovation, the Directorate-General for Research has decided to gain a detailed
understanding of the issues, variables and constraints faced by European researchers
when communicating with wider audiences (EC 2007b,c). To this end, in-depth
telephone interviews were carried out with a sample of 100 researchers who have
participated in projects funded by the European Commission’s Research Framework
Programme, based on the excellence of their scientific work. Researchers from all
Member States and representing a broad spectrum of scientific fields were interviewed
in order to adequately reflect different subgroups. The field work and data reporting
were undertaken between the end of April and mid-June 2007.
Only 20% of scientists interviewed have an active relationship with the media,
although most have been sporadically or very occasionally involved in some way
in communicating to a wider audience. Those scientists who currently take an
active role believe that it is their moral duty to do so. There appears to be a signifi-
cant willingness to create dialogue and partnership with the media to achieve better
coverage of science as the key to improving the public’s perception of scientific
culture and its benefits. Despite these good intentions, it is worrying that so few
senior scientists are involved in explaining topics that are vital to everyday life,
because the scientific community depends on outside support to allow it to continue
to make significant advances that benefit society.
The survey shows that there is a clear misunderstanding between the media and
the scientists. The great majority of scientists interviewed (just over 90%) recognise
2 European Trends in Science Communication 33

an obvious mismatch between what scientists want covered in the media and what
media people regard as newsworthy. It seems that, for many scientists, explaining
science in general and the scientific method are more important than the short-term
dissemination of the results of their work. Although groundbreaking research
results are likely to interest the media, there is great potential for scientists to be the
interpreters of the day-to-day events that affect people’s everyday lives, but that
potential does not seem to have been fully harnessed by either side.
For a scientist to feel comfortable in the science–media dialogue, there is a need
for trust between the scientist and the media contact. However, scientists believe
that this trust is best achieved through face-to-face contact, which means that estab-
lishing it remains difficult. This suggests that to improve communication between
scientists and the media there is a need to find a more immediate and feasible
mechanism to allow trust to be established.
Scientists understand that the media have the power to influence the public, but
also believe that the media have a responsibility to educate the public rather than
simply respond to popular interest areas. Thus, according to scientists, the way to
improve the coverage of science and the public’s perception of science is for the
media to be provided with the ‘right’ scientific messages and commit to disseminat-
ing them. The scientists show a lack of realism in their view that the media can
perform a purely didactic role and are not driven by the need to attract viewers,
readers and listeners by being responsive to their interests.
Scientists report that they are often discouraged by the barriers they face in their
efforts to disseminate the results of their work more widely. According to a survey
published in June 2006 by the Royal Society, 70% of UK scientists believe that
‘funders of scientific research should help scientists to communicate with the non-
specialist public’ and 46% of them do not ‘feel well equipped to engage with the
non-specialist public’ (Royal Society 2006). The goodwill shown by many is
pushed to its limits by difficulties that to some extent stem from the lack of profes-
sional recognition for those scientists who are successful at communicating their
work to the public. In a community that rewards specialist publications and does
not emphasise the need for general communication, it is obvious that scientists lack
funding to support specific communication measures and lack time to communicate.
To compound these systemic barriers, there is a skills gap: scientists often find it
difficult to find the right language to communicate to the wider audience.
Many scientists recognise that there is a fundamental difference of approach in
media reporting and scientific reporting, and suggest that this leads to frustrations
on both sides. A key issue is that the media are thought not to understand the basis
of the scientific method or its culture, including the timescales required to achieve
results and the fact that the results are then only valid until proved otherwise. If the
focus of media interest were on scientists interpreting everyday occurrences, rather
than purely on the release of research results, this would not be a barrier. However,
it may be that some scientists are not reaching their potential because they believe
that the public is not really interested in science.
It also seems that many researchers feel intimidated by TV broadcasting and are
more comfortable with written media. If this apprehension is not dealt with through
34 M. Claessens

specific training, it will reduce the potential of science to reach wider audiences:
TV has mass audiences, and visual images significantly aid comprehension.
Many researchers, particularly those from the 15 ‘old’ EU Member States, report
that the fact that their work is funded by the EU generates little media interest, so
they do not try hard to include the source of their funding in their communications.
This situation is different in some of the smaller and newer Member States (in
Eastern and Central Europe), where EU research funding is perceived as more
newsworthy. In the older Member States, it is vital to adapt messages to the national
context, for example by highlighting national benefits.
It is important to note that there are no significant differences in the views of scien-
tists by nationality, but that there can be differences where scientists were previously
working under a communist regime. In addition, age seems to be a factor. Scientists who
have been working in former communist countries, as well as the older generation of
scientists (those around the age of 60 + years), seem to be more distrustful of the media
because they are very aware of sensation-seeking behaviour. In contrast, younger gen-
erations seem to be more open and are particularly aware of the force of the internet.

2.4 The Communication of Science: Born of Fashion?

Public understanding of science, science communication and the science–society

dialogue are today major issues in Europe. They are on the agenda of virtually
every meeting of the EU’s research ministers in Brussels. This prominence origi-
nates, at least in part, from reported low levels of scientific literacy and highly pub-
licized resistance to S&T developments such as nuclear energy, stem cell research,
cloning, GMOs and nanotechnology.
As a result, European scientists are now encouraged, urged and even obliged by
research funders to communicate their research more effectively. Science commu-
nicators are now recognized and acknowledged by most research organizations as
professionals and are expected to bridge the gap between the scientific community
and the public, as summarized in the so-called ‘gradient model’ put forward by
Hans-Peter Peters.2 The model (see Fig. 2.5) assumes that, while there is a continu-
ity of activities between scientific production and science popularization, there are
also various constraints and obstacles (institutional, cultural, and so on) that make
science communication difficult. As an example, when an astrophysicist refers to
the ‘Big Bang’, he or she does not have in mind the same thing as the layperson.
Nevertheless, the gradient model implies that improving both the scientists’
communication skills and the public’s scientific literacy should allow a better
science–society dialogue in Europe.
However, there are two sides to every coin. According to the study carried out
by the Royal Society (2006), a quarter of the British scientists surveyed considered
that popularizing science and engaging with the public had a negative impact on

2
Pers. comm., January 2007.
2 European Trends in Science Communication 35

Communication skills >>> <<< Scientific literacy

Science

Science Public

communicators

Fig. 2.5 The gradient model: bridging the gap between the scientific community and the public?

Scientists Journalists

Fig. 2.6 The stellar model: a chain reaction develops in the media and ‘enlightens’ the public

their professional evolution. Moreover, as reported from the European Commission

survey of researchers (EC 2007b), scientists too often see journalists as mere
‘spokespersons’. They expect the media to just ‘cut and paste’ their words. As a
result, scientists are keen to train themselves in science communication; they
believe that this will enable them to ‘package’ their work in a form immediately
digestible by journalists, hence discouraging detailed, in-depth investigations.
The real relationships between scientists and journalists are better described by
a ‘stellar model’ (see Fig. 2.6). According to this model, a scientist responsible for
a breakthrough will inform a few journalists, who will subsequently report on the
achievements and, it is hoped, trigger a sort of chain reaction (journalists are keen
to follow up each other’s stories). In turn, this will send a lot of information to the
public, who at the end of the process are expected to be ‘enlightened’.
However, scientists should acknowledge the fact that the media follow their
own rules on how to communicate, including on how to communicate science.
For example, it is difficult to avoid the ‘star’ system in media coverage of science.
On the other hand, one should expect to see at least as much reporting in the
media on scientific ‘stars’ as on stars in football or in popular music.
Despite a growing interest among European scientists in science communication
and media reporting, Europe still lacks a genuine communication culture between
the scientific community and the public. While communication of every kind is on
36 M. Claessens

everyone’s lips, we are still far from the genuinely ‘intelligent’ communication
promised by the advent of the ‘knowledge society’. Technologies—first and foremost
the internet and the mobile phone—may be partly responsible for this paradox.
Having pervasive ‘means’ of accessing and exchanging information creates the feeling
that we are communicating better. While this is no doubt true in so far as society is
spontaneously generating new and creative initiatives, much remains to be done
when it comes to the various levels in established institutions and organizations.
Rather late in the day, the world of science is now also in the grip of this commu-
nication fever. If nothing else, there is certainly a demand for S&T information!
The 2005 Eurobarometer established that very clearly: Europeans want information
on S&T, they want to be involved and they want to participate in decisions. The infor-
mation supply is growing, albeit timidly and not without ulterior motives coming into
play. However, many scientists wrongly view communication as the magic wand that
will remove at a stroke all the doubts people have about new S&T. Also, but in this
case with good reason, effective science communication is seen as a means of attract-
ing extra funding for research. Of course, the danger is that funds will go to the most
effective communicators rather than to the most excellent researchers.
Scientists are encouraged or even obliged to inform audiences about what they
are doing, but they also have an imperative to listen. Researchers these days must
understand the social context within which they operate: what people worry about,
what they expect or need from science, what they do not want in their lives. In short,
the ivory tower is no longer an option.
Communicating is truly an imperative in a democracy, if one is to build trust and
legitimacy for activities funded in great part by the public. It is also a simple ques-
tion of common sense: there are so many exciting developments and the public
should be informed about them.
In a report published in June 2007, EURAB, the research advisory body of the
European Commission, encourages researchers to interact more with civil society
and communicate science (EURAB 2007):
Researchers should remain aware of how the actions of the past have generated negative public
perceptions of research today (as in issues arising from nuclear energy, GMOs, pesticides) and
that better dialogue with the public either directly or via the societal actors could have prevented
much of the friction and lost potential innovative developments in these research fields.

To avoid lost opportunities and suspicion about R&D in the future, the report
urges more societal engagement and open dialogue on emerging research fields,
such as nanotechnology and therapeutic food additives.
As stated in the report:
European publics are not questioning the scientific information as much as they are actu-
ally questioning the institutions generating it (a lost confidence in business, government
and academia). Research is seen to be good when it solves problems and is relevant to
people’s lives—when research is useful to society, and not just in an economic sense. Too
often though, researchers are perceived to be addressing issues that the public may not
necessarily consider as beneficial to society. Researchers work in systems that are rational
and instrumental, and have a tendency to assume that society behaves likewise. But society
does not always behave rationally, and in certain sensitive areas, researchers should keep
in mind that their systems operate in a public context.
2 European Trends in Science Communication 37

References

EC (European Commission) (2007a). Special Eurobarometer report: Scientific research in the

media. Brussels: European Commission.
EC (European Commission) (2007b). European research in the media: The researcher’s point of
view. Brussels: European Commission.
EC (European Commission) (2007c). European research in the media: What do media profession-
als think? Brussels: European Commission.
EURAB (European Research Advisory Board) (2007). Research and societal engagement, final
report, 07.013, Brussels: EURAB.
Royal Society (2006). Science communication—Survey of factors affecting science communica-
tion by scientists and engineers. London: Royal Society. Retrieved from http://www.royalsoc.
ac.uk/downloaddoc.asp?id = 3074
Shimizu, K. (2007). Japanese survey of the public understanding of science and technology: Review
of results, impact and recent secondary analysis. Communication at the International Indicators of
Science and the Public meeting organized by the Royal Society, 5–6 November 2007, London.

Further Reading

Bauer, M., Allum, N. & Miller, S. (2007). What can we learn from 25 years of PUS survey
research? Liberating and expanding the agenda. Public Understanding of Science, 16(1),
79–96.
Bodmer, W. (1985). The public understanding of science. London: The Royal Society.
Cheng, D., Metcalfe, J. & Schiele, B. (Eds.) in collaboration with Claessens, M., Gascoigne,
T. & Shi, S. (2006). At the human scale: International practices in science communication.
Beijing: Science Press.
Claessens, M. (Ed.) (2007). Communicating European research 2005. Utrecht: Springer.
EC (European Commission) (2002). Report of the expert group benchmarking the promotion of
RTD culture and the public understanding of science. Brussels: European Commission.
EC (European Commission) (2005a). Europeans, science and technology. EUR 21722, Brussels:
European Commission.
EC (European Commission) (2005b). Social values, science and technology. EUR 21721,
Brussels: European Commission.
Okamoto, S., Niwa, F., Shimizu, K. & Sugiman, T. (2001). The 2001 survey for public attitudes
towards and understanding of science and technology in Japan, NISTEP report no. 72, Tokyo:
National Institute of Science and Technology Policy.
Stocklmayer, S., Gore, M. & Bryant, M. (Eds.) (2001). Science communication in theory and
practice. Dordrecht: Kluwer, Academic.

The Author

Michel Claessens ([email protected])

Michel Claessens was born in 1958 in Brussels. He has a PhD in physical chemistry,
and has worked successively at the Free University of Brussels (Department of Orga-
nic Physical Chemistry) and at the Erasme Hospital in Brussels (Department of
Radiology) during non-military national service, and then in the biotechnology and
chemical industries. He has also been a freelance science journalist since 1980.
38 M. Claessens

Michel joined the European Commission in 1994. He is currently deputy head of the
Communication Unit in the Directorate-General of Research. His main responsibilities
concern the organization of major conferences and the Eurobarometer surveys on sci-
ence and technology. He is also the editor-in-chief of research*eu magazine on
European research, and teaches science communication at the Free University of
Brussels.
As a scientific journalist and writer, Michel has published 250 articles and six
books on several aspects of modern science and technology. He is also a member
of the scientific committee of the PCST Network.
Chapter 3
Words and Figures of the Public:
the Misunderstanding in Scientific
Communication

Joëlle Le Mareca(*
ü ) and Igor Baboub

Abstract With the development of museums and centres of scientific and

technological culture, research on their audiences and on visitors to exhibi-
tions have multiplied. Studies of audiences’ acceptance of science museums
have long questioned the importance of prior scientific education, of the level
of knowledge gained, of relative representations of a given subject, and of the
visitor’s familiarity with a particular area of science. However, there has never
been any questioning of levels of knowledge of social, institutional and media
models of communication, although that knowledge is constantly used by visi-
tors. Visitors continue to give credit to science museums for being able to put
them in contact with scientific spaces, even when a large part of what is being
displayed evokes a space of advertising rhetoric and media communication. At
the heart of popularization discourses and public debates about science and the
different forms that its media coverage can take, the authors notice the recurring
mobilization of an argument, or rather of a figure: that of the audience. They
briefly present the three main forms this mobilization can take, show that public
debate can itself be represented as a figure of discourse, and then draw out all
the possible consequences of these invocations of the audience and question
their meaning.

Keywords Debate and discourse on science, figures of the public, media, museums,
popularization, public, television

In France, the 1980s were the starting point for an uninterrupted series of creations
and renovations in the fields of museology and technological and scientific

a
Laboratoire ‘Communication, Culture et Société’, Ecole Normale Supérieure Lettres et
Sciences Humaines, 15 parvis René Descartes, 69342 Lyon cedex 07, France. E-mail: joelle.
[email protected] Phone: 33(0)4 37 37 62 75. Fax: 33(0)4 37 37 60 24
b
Laboratoire “Communication, Culture et Sociéte”, Ecole Normale Supérieure Lettres et
Sciences Humaines, 15 parvis René Descartes, 69342 Lyon cedex 07, France. E-mail: igor.
[email protected] Phone:33(0)4 37 37 62 75. Fax: 33(0)4 37 37 60 24

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 39

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
40 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

exhibitions.1 Those transformations are of course deeply linked to the strengthening

and the diversification of actors and structures involved in the transmission of sci-
ence.2 They also go hand in glove with the rise of a ‘debate’ about socio-scientific
questions and the relationships between science and society (political debates,
debates and controversies organized by the conventional media, calls for action,
and protests by militant groups on many issues).
However, even if synthetic overviews of this open and complex ‘milieu’ of
social communications about general sciences is extremely useful, we advance the
idea that understanding the phenomenon of the audience for science requires us
first and foremost to take an interest in the heterogeneous and differentiated char-
acter of that milieu. The institutional space of the museology of sciences is itself
socially heterogeneous, and its heterogeneity is growing. We could choose to see in
this space a positive dynamic process—a general encouragement of opening up,
development and exchange. However, if we examine closely on the one hand the
way the public reacts to this heterogeneity and on the other the expectations differ-
ent actors in media productions about science have about the audience, we have no
choice but to note a great misunderstanding.
There is a misunderstanding by visitors who want to play their role as the audi-
ence of science, and more generally of knowledge-transmitting institutions (it is
imperative to know how to be a ‘good’ audience of the bodies producing science
and views on science in order to develop a distinctive relationship to science). This
misunderstanding concerns the many bodies which in their discourse on science
invoke figures of the general public that have no basis in empirical reality, and more
fundamentally are not based on a model that could be shared by those who are in a
position to be an audience and those who are in a position to address the
audience.
Our objective in this chapter is to discuss the tension between audiences’ develop-
ment of competence in criticizing the media, and the reinforcement of instrumen-
talization of communication by the media professionals: a naive conception
inspired by the old model of communication as a transmission process proposed by
Shannon and Weather in 1948.
Certainly, the borders marking social spaces are very porous; and current tenden-
cies lean towards contesting differentiation principles on all spatial scales, both in

1
Among these renovations and creations can be noted the opening of the first regional science and
technology cultural centres; in 1986, the inauguration of the Cité des Sciences et de l’Industrie
(the Science and Industry Centre); the renovation and opening of the Grande Galerie du Muséum
(the Great Gallery of the Natural History Museum); the renovation of the national museum of
technology; the renovation of some of the exhibition spaces of the Palais de la Découverte (science
and industry museum in Paris); and, currently, the progressive renovation of some of the regional
natural history museums.
2
These include new statutory obligations for academic researchers; professional networks of sci-
entific mediation; the mobilization of mainstream education movements through the actions of the
Petits Débrouillards (Kids who know the ropes); the creation of scientific discussion groups; the
Fête de la Science; and the creation of the Université de tous les savoirs (University of all
knowledge).
3 Words and Figures of the Public 41

the academic world and in the modes of organization and social action.3 But 30
years of research into the practices and representations of visitors to science centres
and museums has shown that audiences are constituted through the perception of
the differences between social spaces—through strong awareness of the specificity
of spaces (physical or symbolic) in which they exist as a ‘public’. The more profes-
sionals attempting to organize social communications on science try to deny or to
open frontiers by de-differentiating political, media or academic spaces, to ‘break
down barriers’ and open up to a larger public, the more the invited audiences must
use all their energy and skill to understand which space they find themselves in,
who is speaking, who is acting, and in which temporal frame.
What empirical elements can we use to assert the reality of this phenomenon?
What are its extent and its importance in the ensemble of observations on the
changing relationships between science and society?

3.1 The Audience in Speech

With the development of museums and centres of scientific and technological cul-
ture, studies and research on the audiences of those centres and on the visitors to
exhibitions have multiplied. The results observed within this framework were com-
pared to work carried out on the cultural practices of the French,4 on people’s atti-
tudes and opinions in regard to science,5 on the production and reception of media
discourses about science,6 and on the social practices and communication linked to
science.7 We will not repeat here the numerous results that have been published and
discussed; we will, however, take the time to recall a few, with the aid of which it
will be possible to reflect on the importance of the effects of borders and of a

3
With regard to the principles of distinction and division that structure French social space,
Bourdieu has commented on the tendency to deny the existence of social classes while somewhat
paradoxically affirming the existence of a very large middle class, and has shown that wherever
homogenization is offered, while differences are present, they rest on a redistribution of the prin-
ciples of division and distinction. In a completely different register, and with an opposite goal in
mind, Laplantine tried to challenge the representation of cultures as greatly differentiated entities
linked to physical territories, in order to focus more closely on the phenomena of crossbreeding,
circulation and networking. This current in academic research, the seductive qualities of which are
felt well beyond the field of anthropology and which claims an anti-conformist character, is none-
theless perfectly in sync with the promotion of de-differentiation principles held by actors of the
construction of a globalized economic space.
4
See further the surveys conducted by the Département Etudes et Prospective (the Department of
Prospective Studies) of the Ministère de la Culture (Ministry of Culture): Donnat (1998, 2003).
5
See Europeans, Science and Technology (2005, June). See also Boy, de Cheveigné and Galloux
(2002).
6
Babou (2004); see also de Cheveigné (2005).
7
Schiele (2005); see also Royal Society (2006).
42 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

communication and media culture in the relationship of audiences to science and to

cultural institutes of science and technology.
Visitors to scientific and technological exhibitions feel a sense of belonging to
the audience in different ways. Here, we are not saying merely that there are not
one but several audiences; in other words, that there is a diversity of different audi-
ences. The academic and professional communities have reached consensus on that
point. However, this concern to recognize the diversity of audiences misses an
essential phenomenon: it reduces the complexity of the ‘audience’ element to a
series of categories. Speaking of ‘audiences’ often amounts to designating a variety
of categories, which obviously do not necessarily coincide with the sociodemo-
graphic categories of the census. For example, we can talk of audiences of young
people, tourists, regular visitors, families, schoolchildren, workers, and so on.
Here the case is entirely different: there are several ways for visitors to feel that
they are really members of an audience.
For example, in an exhibition on so-called ‘socio-scientific’ topics—in other
words topics that essentially concern problems and debates that mobilize scientific
arguments with important social consequences (such as environmental issues)—the
visitor can undoubtedly feel that he belongs to the audience of the visited establish-
ment, but can especially perceive himself as the audience of discourses that are
widely dealt with in many social spaces, particularly in the classical media, such as
the press and television. He is then confronted as a member of the audience not with
his ignorance of science, but with his helplessness as a witness to all the standpoints
and views displayed in all public speaking spaces.
But in an exhibition on topics that are obviously categories created by the scien-
tists (a discipline, for example, or a truly scientific discovery or event), more than
anything one can feel unscientific, an ignorant beneficiary of the act of transmission
from those who know to one who does not know.8 The visitor feels himself being
in the institutional space of learned knowledge.
Depending on circumstances, the space identified by the visitor and in respect to
which he situates himself is the general space of discourse, the place of the debate
about sensitive socio-scientific topics (including the media), or the venue of popu-
larization where she comes into contact with the scholarly world. What the visitor
expects and the manner in which he takes a stand as a member of the audience vary
greatly according to the space where he believes himself to be.
Thus, while visitors feel they are incompetent and have difficulty understanding
a scientific exhibition at too difficult a level, it is rare for them to criticize the exhi-
bition, saying rather that it was ‘not for them’ or that they did not ‘feel at home’
with it. Yet at an exhibition with a scientific theme which presents works of con-
temporary artists that they do not understand, visitors can express criticism and
irritability, because in this case it is the works of art that are out of place (‘We are
not at Pompidou Centre here!’).

8
See Fouquier and Véron (1985).
3 Words and Figures of the Public 43

Criticism is also expressed when other elements of the exhibition are manifestly
out of place, as is the case in certain exhibitions co-produced with commercial
partners that use the museum-related space to present products that are or will be
on the market (technological innovations, for example). Conversely, criticism is not
voiced about spaces expressly dedicated to commercial partners, no more than it is
about clearly identifiable shops inside museums: the places can be adjacent under
the same roof, but they nonetheless constitute very different spaces. It is the visibil-
ity of the boundary that makes this proximity acceptable. However, what is intoler-
able to visitors is the confusion when the exhibition space, as a cultural and
institutional place, is taken over by outside agencies.
The importance of these boundaries is played down or even denied by many
professional practitioners of institutional and cultural activities who would like to
develop the opening up of scientific spaces, using intermingling and hybridization
of genres when drawing up museographic discourses. Thus a growing number of
communication professionals coming from different sectors play a part in the
design teams and bring with them conceptions of culture, communication and audi-
ence that are in conflict with cultural, scientific or patrimonial principles. The logic
behind opening up and hybridization also plays a role in production (there are
numerous partners and a sharing of institutional territories) and in communication
(different communication ‘functions’, such as reception, being subcontracted to
professionals and companies).
Consequently, we are faced with a highly paradoxical situation: in the name of
a policy of opening up and mixing genres that is thought to benefit the greater pub-
lic, one develop productions that demand of visitors the increased mobilization of
media culture and institutions, of a culture of communication and enunciative
logic.
Studies on audiences’ acceptance of science museums have long questioned the
importance of prior scientific education, of the level of knowledge gained, of rela-
tive representations of a given subject, and of the visitor’s familiarity with a particu-
lar area of science. This concern is especially obvious in the care taken to organize
different levels of readings in exhibitions to take into account visitors’ existing
knowledge and representations. However, there has never been any question of lev-
els of knowledge of social, institutional and media models of communication,
although this knowledge is constantly used by visitors to situate themselves within
heterogeneous enunciative dispositifs,9 and visitors continue to give credit to sci-
ence museums for their capacity to put them in contact with scientific spaces, even
when a large part of what is being displayed evokes a space of advertising rhetoric

9
An adequate English translation of this term, or rather concept, does not yet exist. When we talk
about ‘communication devices’ or ‘discursive devices’, we are bearing in mind the Foucauldian
idea of the communicational/discursive ‘dispositif’. Quite frequently, however, we have either
joined the term dispositif to the expression, or used it on its own, as it is the only word available
that can encompass and convey all that we intend it to express. For a detailed explanation, see
Foucault (1975).
44 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

and media communication. For visitors this knowledge is a requirement; their need
for it is greater than their need to master actual scientific knowledge, because it
conditions the possibility of existing as an audience.
For example, an exhibition on economics at the Cité des Sciences included a
game, designed by financial partners, in which visitors made choices in their man-
agement of a budget. Some visitors identified a rhetoric imitating the didactic reg-
ister, but clearly intended to promote behaviour favourable to banks and insurance
companies. To maintain the credibility and trust they have in museums as institu-
tions of legitimate scientific knowledge, visitors interpreted the presence of these
elements in the exhibition as a concession made to the financial partners, since the
development of a discourse in which these partners so overtly promoted themselves
clearly showed that the museum could not be suspected of having ‘hidden’ it in the
exhibition. This made it possible within the exhibition to distinguish a promotional
space, about which the visitors did not feel concerned, from the institutional space
they wished to continue to trust at all costs.
The effects of borders also play a role, not only in visits to the exhibition, but
also in the surveys themselves. If visitors very willingly answer sociologists who
ask them questions in museums, it is because the space where they find themselfs
when answering is the same as the one in which they exist as the audience of an
institution of scientific culture: a relationship with science and knowledge is at
stake. On the other hand, in certain museums, service and product providers who
are sometimes external to the museum space question audiences ‘lent’ by the
museum to external studies and research organizations that conduct surveys.10 Once
again, such museums minimize the importance of the media and institutional
knowledge of the visitors surveyed, and misunderstand what it means to be a mem-
ber of the audience.
Studies and research projects therefore develop very detailed descriptions of
certain characteristics of the public of science museums (attendance figures,
structure of attendance, knowledge and representations of people whom the
museum addresses), but do so using a model in which the relationship with the
audience is linear, and which is significantly more simplistic than the model
visitors create in order to establish their own relationship to the museum, to sci-
ence, or to institutions. The data yielded by the studies are used by the museums
to develop ‘personalization’ strategies; in this way, offers and services for very
specific categories of the public are developed. Visitors also develop ideas of
personalization, but from a reverse viewpoint. This means that personalization
becomes the opposite of what it means in marketing—an adaptation of products
and services to highly differentiated targets. What we refer to as personalization
from the visitors’ point of view, even if they never use the term, is rather the
great attention paid to intentionality and the enunciative dimensions of

10
At the Cité des Sciences et de l’Industrie (City of Science and Industry), the LUTIN labora-
tory (UTC, Paris VII, Cité des Sciences, CNRS) carries out surveys on people recruited among
the public in order to test technological innovations (concerning neither museums nor scientific
culture) originating in research and development.
3 Words and Figures of the Public 45

communication. Great effort is made to understand who is speaking and what

they are saying, and this effort is an answer to the enunciators’ supposed com-
mitment to the intention of saying something to ‘someone’, who can be the pop-
ulation as a whole.
What causes us to assert so strongly the importance of visitors’ sensitivity to the
enunciative dimensions of the discourse? Mainly two elements:
● On the one hand, as the exhibition is a communicational device in a public
institution, visitors do not make a ‘custom’ of it in the sense of a personal
appropriation, but they place themselves in a situation of communication. We
have detailed this communicational dimension of visits extensively in other
papers.11
● On the other hand, visitors feel very directly, in their own bodies, the bond
between commitment and discourse: in the case of exhibitions, they go to the
place of the exhibition and move around inside it. The idea of a construction
of meaning through the act of physical movement within an exhibition has
been extensively commented upon.12 But these attempts often focus on move-
ment as the operator of a combinatorial analysis of signs. We have developed
elsewhere the hypothesis of an equivalence between the commitment in a
practice through movement and its expression in discourse, basing ourselves
on the comparison between expographic and televised discourses.13 Until now,
we have focused on the production of discourses. We noted that a television
crew going to a laboratory is not the same thing as a researcher from that labo-
ratory going to a television studio: the movement is not the same, and it reveals
legitimacy relationships that give rise to the presence of the laboratory space
on the television screen in the one case, and the television studio in the other.
For the expographic discourse, the movement to the museum of objects
belonging to the laboratory is also not the same thing as the exhibition of a
substitute (photograph, model) made by the museum. Once again, we have
reversed legitimacy relationships that in the exhibition are visible through the
presence of elements belonging to other spaces, in the case of objects brought
to the museum, or from the museographic media space in the case of museum-
made substitutes.
We can extend this model of analysis to the movements of the audience, bearing
in mind that its members define themselves as relinquishing any writing
activity.14 Audiences inscribe nothing or, if they do, this activity takes place in
spaces that are carefully identified or circumscribed as such (visitors books,
forums, etc.). Control over the conditions of enunciation and of the place of
inscription of the public’s voice in the discourse is felt to be infinitely stricter

11
See in particular Le Marec (2005).
12
See the introduction by Eliseo Veron in Veron and Levasseur (1983).
13
Babou and Le Marec (2003); see also Babou (2004).
14
See Le Marec (2006).
46 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

than the control of the conditions of enunciation and inscription space of exhibition
partners from outside the museum (financial partners, communication profes-
sionals, etc.). But the audience’s action of inscribing nothing is part of the con-
struction of the scientific discourse: there is a cultural consensus often expressed
by visitors around a vision of the scientific discourse as legitimate, ratified (‘We
can’t just say anything’), that implies adhering to mechanisms of exclusion of
non-legitimate speech. The feeling of ‘non-authorship’ experienced by the audi-
ence places it in the position of receiver, but also in the position of an active
witness of speech control, experiencing trust and being in the position of dele-
gating competence to the institution. Although the audience’s act of going to the
place of the exhibition does not appear to inscribe anything, it effectively con-
cretizes the specific place of the audience in the discourse. Therefore, for the
public there is a true physical commitment to inscribe nothing and, because of
this, also a great attention to commitments perceptible in the discourse through
enunciative heterogeneity.
It is this sensitivity to commitments in the discourse, where the commitment is
physically felt by the visitor, that is expressed by the attention to symbolic spaces
in which he is located as an audience, and by an intense mobilization of media and
institutional culture that helps him understand where he is and in front of whom.
Among adolescents and young adults, we have noticed serious dangers of misun-
derstanding: while there is an obsession with attendance and learning things with
scientific content, these visitors develop a culture of criticism of mediations, rhe-
torical and communicational processes, because the mobilization of that culture is
made necessary by the proliferation of actors and bodies taking part in cultural and
media productions about science.
In regard to this, one might worry about the professional communication sec-
tor taking over the aesthetics of enunciation widely exploited by the commercial
communication sector.15 Going back to personalization, we underlined that visi-
tors sought to learn who was involved in the discourse and with what intentions:
the institution (be it cultural or scientific) and its representatives, individuals,
partners, etc. But we can expect communication professionals who play a part in
the museum to seize on the idea of highlighting interpersonal relations between
potential visitors and identified ‘representatives’ of science or scientific culture.
However, visitors can then decode such staging as advertising strategies that
reveal the fact that the real enunciator who is addressing them is a publicity
agent.

15
For example, advertisement posters for banks frequently show close-up shots of faces of indi-
viduals looking the passer-by in the eye and saying to them: ‘Christine Dubois, 35 years old,
counsellor’. This type of advertising mimics the designation of personalized communication rela-
tions between bank counsellors and passers-by considered as potential clients. But obviously no
one is fooled: everyone knows that it is not Christine Dubois who wants to address passers-by in
this way, but that an advertising firm is staging a type of personalized communication. We can
guess that the communication is either promoted by the bank as a customer service, or is a guar-
antee for the people that the bank wishes to attract.
3 Words and Figures of the Public 47

3.2 Audience in the Text

At the heart of popularization discourses and public debates about science and the
different forms that its media coverage can take, we notice the recurring mobiliza-
tion of an argument, or rather of a figure: that of the audience. We will briefly
present the three main forms this mobilization can take, and then we will see that
public debate can itself be represented as a figure of discourse. We will then draw
out all the possible consequences of these invocations of the audience and question
their meaning.
First and foremost, the audience can be directly present, and therefore represented
as a discursive actor in media communication and discursive devices (televised debates
between audience representatives and researchers, interviews of medical system users
or representatives of associations, street interviews, and so on).
Second, whether the audience is or is not directly present in media communica-
tion devices, the actors who play a role can address the audience by presenting it as
a real or imaginary interlocutor. Consider this example, taken from the introduction
of a televised popularization news magazine hosted by a well-known 1980s French
scientific journalist: ‘Just like me, you are probably asking yourself this simple
question: “Why does matter exist?”’16 Despite the absence of a studio audience, the
presenter’s use of the pronoun ‘you’ designates the audience he is addressing.
Fictitiously, he creates a place for it in his opening remarks. Meanwhile, this simple
‘you’ has a very important rhetorical role, in so far as it legitimizes the communica-
tion relationship that the programme will then set up between the journalist, the
spectator, science, and the world: there are questions that ‘everybody’ asks, and
which it is important to answer. These questions receive contradictory answers,
provided by different bodies—scientific and religious. The role that the journalist
takes on, for the good of the public and to help develop its representations, is to
distinguish between rationality and dogmatism or obscurantism.17 This type of
questioning of the audience, of the materialization of its presence in media dis-
course, can appear in different forms: pronominal forms, looking at the camera, the
journalist’s body language and gestures, camera movement, etc. Thus designated,
the audience can be an individual subject or a collective subject, these two possible
bodies of ‘the audience’ being indistinctly linked by the pronominal form or by
looking at the camera.
Finally, we can observe the audience being mobilized by verbal statements made
in its name, thus transforming it not into an actor or media discourse recipient, but
rather into a ‘reason’ legitimizing the discourse or the action. For example, this is
the introduction to a website linked to the French Ministry of Research and which
deals with radioactivity:

16
Laurent Broomhead in ‘Objectif demain: les anti-mondes existent-ils?’ [Objective tomorrow:
Anti-worlds—do they exist?], news magazine broadcast on 12 December 1979 on television chan-
nel Antenne 2.
17
Babou (2004).
48 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

To the physician radioactivity is indissociable from the adventure of atom exploration. For
the engineer it constitutes an unlimited source of energy; for the researcher, as for the
doctor it is an extraordinary diagnosis tool. But for Mr. or Ms Everybody (the man or the
woman in the street) it is above all a source of fears, some legitimate, others unfounded.
The objective of the site www.laradioactivite.com is to reveal the real nature of radioactiv-
ity to Mr. and Ms Everybody… Mr Everybody, lost in a torrent of contradictory informa-
tion, has difficulty separating the wheat from the chaff, legitimate worries from irrational
apprehensions. It is this website’s ambition to bring him the true and accessible informa-
tion he needs. It is with this in mind that its authors have tried to objectively describe
existing problems, dangers of radioactivity, and the solutions put forward by engineers
and physicians.18

In this example, the expression ‘Mr. or Ms Everybody’ legitimizes the existence of

the website and the popularizer’s project. It allows them to qualify the type of prob-
lem allegedly encountered by the audience. This drafting of a fictitious actor-recipient
authorizes them to construct a situation of mediation between audience perception of
radioactivity presented as erroneous, and the reality supposedly known thanks to the
engineers’ objectivity and answers. Never mind the fact that the sociology of public
opinion in regard to science has abundantly shown that in industrialized societies with
high levels of education, such as French society, people’s opinions about science are
not led by irrational fears but by critical demand:19 there is no need to refer to the sci-
entific knowledge of society. In fact, speaking in the name of the audience quite often
means expressing an opinion or common sense supported by nothing.
To these three possible statuses of audience mobilization in media discourse
should be added the complete absence of reference to the latter, or the different sta-
tus combinations that complexify the discourses and dispositifs that can be observed
and described. We should also clarify the manner in which portrayals of the audi-
ence figure evolve with time, what the physical places or institutional positions that
accompany those evolutions are, and how media supports play a role in this
process.20
The staging of the public debate—the last possible configuration in the mobiliza-
tion of audience figures in media discourses about science—is particularly interest-
ing. On the one hand, it can elucidate for us how different media structures conceive
public debate, while public debate itself constitutes a historical construction which
structured the birth of the media (particularly the press) and one of its important
social functions: to allow the expression of different actors and the confrontation of

18
Retrieved on 14 September 2007 from http://www.laradioactivite.com/fr/site/pages/PresentationSite.
htm. This website has been realized through the contributions of several researchers and spokesper-
sons of the CNRS (National Centre of Scientific Research), the CEA (Atomic Energy Commission)
and the IN2P3 (National Institute of Nuclear Physics and Particle Physics), following support
received from the Museum National d’Histoire Naturelle (National Museum of Natural History). It
has benefited from a grant from the Ministère de la Recherche et des Nouvelles Technologies
(French Ministry of Research and New Technologies).
19
Boy (1999); see also Boy (2001).
20
We conducted research on these processes in different media. See Babou (2004), Le Marec and
Babou (2004) and Babou and Le Marec (2003).
3 Words and Figures of the Public 49

their ideas. On the other hand, debate is a form of social discourse brought forward
by another social discourse: media discourse. Therefore, staging the public debate
on science in the media operates with a double mise en abyme, which imposes atten-
tiveness simultaneously on the actors called on to be present and on the types of
mobilized discourses, particularly the forms of legitimation of the argument.
Without going into details of the different results of the analyses conducted on
exhibitions, in the press or on television in regard to this, we can nonetheless out-
line the general tendencies.
Our first observation is that controversy or debate between scientists is rare, espe-
cially on television, where the dialectical basis of the production of scientific knowledge
is only rarely shown. The second noteworthy aspect is that scientific exhibitions, when
they deal with socially sensitive topics (genetically modified organisms, radioactivity,
etc.), do not directly refer to opposing figures; references to social debates on these
subjects are generally ‘enclosed’ in spaces exterior to the actual exhibition, and take the
form of a ‘press review’ that is parallel or preliminary to the exhibition. In a nearly
symmetrical manner, these two types of media confirm an idea of opposition between
science and society: science being a space of certainties and society a space of debate,
the two do not meet in their discursive methods. The press seems to constitute an inter-
mediary communication device (dispositif) in so far as arguments between scientists or
questioning of scientists by some civil society actor or other are frequent. Let us
remember, however, that ‘the’ press (just like ‘the’ television, in fact) is not a uniform
communication device (far from it), and that we observe that each media institution
possesses specific ‘reading contracts’, privileged ways of presenting the different
relationships possible between the universes of journalism, science, the audience and
such and such a theme.
If we leave the sphere of controversy to look more specifically at representations
of the audience in the media, we observe yet again an opposition between television
and exhibitions. In scientific and technological exhibitions it is very rare to find
members of the audience identified as such, in contrast to television, where repre-
sentatives of civil society are regularly invited to appear or ordinary citizens are
filmed. Some exceptions exist, however, and we will be able to see that the modes
of argument legitimation they mobilize are very comparable to those of television.
In ‘Le train du génome’,21 shortly before the exhibition’s opening, a video moni-
tor showed images of a series of individuals (professional actors), presumably cast
to represent the diversity of the French population. They showed a young man, a
grandfather, a North African, a woman, and so on. Each one of them, filmed in a
medium shot against a neutral background, asks a question of the type: ‘Is it right
to create identical human beings?’ and ‘Will we have cloned babies in the future?’.
These questions are clearly meant to incarnate questions on people’s minds. Just as
with street interviews produced by television channels, or the choice of actors ‘rep-
resentative’ of the audience appearing on the set of a programme of debates about

21
Travelling exhibition in a train that travelled through 20 cities in France from 18 October to 23
November 2001.
50 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

science and medicine, there is still no mention of the conditions in which these
questions were collected, analysed and selected. We are dealing here with socio-
logical common sense, illustrated through a screened sample of individuals, visu-
ally as varied as possible in order to represent the ‘mass audience’. While television
can call on representatives of associations (the sick, opponents, etc.), we notice that
exhibitions generally exclude all actors, including groups, who speak on behalf of
a profession, a commitment or a responsibility. In the case of the genome train, this
sociological common sense is equally at work in the sample of questions claiming
to represent the diversity and generality of the public debate. The simulated posi-
tion of the audience is that of a questioning addressed to experts by laypersons ani-
mated by a pure need for information, and not by the assertion of values or scientific
concepts.
The two registers (the ‘sociological’ sample and the range of questions) are not
referenced in any attested empirical reality. If an inquiry was indeed made, it was
not used to enrich the information presented in the exhibition.22
This pretence of sociology and interest in public debate is paradoxical on two
levels. On the one hand, it operates within the universe of representations of science
as the accepted space and reference necessary to truth. On the other hand, it
addresses real visitors in the flesh—actual members of an audience that is locally
personified in the exhibition. It is surprising that the communication contract
implicit in the exhibition as a cultural genre is not taken into account, as here it
functions as a double system of values: the truth of assembled knowledge (the
museum is an institution of knowledge) and the authenticity of objects (their status
is specified on cards designating their link to the reference universe of their origin).
Other museographic devices—dispositifs—considered as ‘participative’ stage an
action of the visitor and allegedly include in the debate process.23 In almost all the
exhibitions visited, public debate is valued: it is presented as very open and involv-
ing every citizen. There is a sort of positive injunction to participate that addresses
visitors directly. Yet, in most of the cases observed, no sociological knowledge is
called on to do so. When the social sciences are mobilized, for example in the
framework of a survey conducted by a CNRS research laboratory at the end of an
exhibition at the Cité des Sciences,24 the visitor gives information that will really be
cultivated and analysed, but in the framework of a dispositif that has not been prob-
lematized in the expographic discourse. The form of the ‘debate’, as well as of
suggested questions, has a significance which belongs to a space other than that of

22
After the exhibition ended, the producers (Aventis and the Pasteur Institute) had Le Monde
newspaper publish a full page of advertisements highlighting the number of visits and some results
of an exit survey of visitors.
23
In ‘Genes and ethics’, an exhibition at the Parc d’Aventures Scientifique de Mons, we find a
fictional dispositif called ‘The theatre of controversies’, which shows filmed actors playing roles
that illustrate a typology of ethical positions described in a work by Dominique Mehl. The audi-
ence is invited to vote by moving over sensitive surfaces. Dominique Mehl was not, however, a
member of the exhibition scientific committee.
24
The exhibition was titled ‘Des gènes et des hommes’ [Of genes and man].
3 Words and Figures of the Public 51

the exhibition. It is not a question of exchanging arguments, at the risk (for mem-
bers of the audience and opposing experts) of having to travel or to change their
positions, or even at the risk of seeing a complete disagreement. The social sciences
and humanities are explicitly present here at the level of the actual conception of
the exhibition and thus they intervene, but in a minor role, to exploit the visitor in
their turn as he completes the survey on an interactive terminal.
Through these different examples, we can see that the call for public debates as
a figure of media discourse on science is not based on scientifically constructed
sociological or communicational knowledge. Everything happens as if common
sense were sufficient to take up public debate as a means of recognition. If this is
not surprising in the case of television, we can only be concerned when this com-
mon sense recurrently plays a role in scientific exhibitions. On the other hand, in
the end it is fictional forms that stage the public debate. This is all the more para-
doxical in the case of exhibitions, in so far as the audience is physically present but
is not involved as an actor.
Many other examples and observations could be given to illustrate the different
methods of representing the audience and public debate in media discourse on sci-
ence. It would also be necessary to look for other incarnations of this figure of the
audience in political discourse or that of scientists. Daily contact with the issue and
actors in the field of ‘science and society’ gives information about how the audience
is mobilized as a figure of the discourse legitimizing action. Often presented as the
pole of irrationality, the audience is what justifies taking a stand and action; however,
it does not require a scientific approach to be known and understood. With the excep-
tion of some researchers in social sciences who work on public opinion about science,
most of the time the incantatory mobilization of the audience is based on a simple
discourse of opinion. Perhaps it is precisely the absence of precise knowledge of the
audience on the part of most actors that makes it such a source of legitimacy.
The research we have been able to conduct on figures of the audience in media
discourse about science has the advantage of pinpointing legitimacy relationships
that exist either between actors within media space, or between the media and its
exteriority. When studying discourses about science on television or in museums—
and we can no doubt generalise to other media types—we notice that the mobiliza-
tion (or lack of mobilization) of the audience as figure of discourse is far from
uniform over time. For example, French television in the 1970s was able to dis-
pense with references to the spectator when presenting scientific themes. At the
time, it was considered that science spoke for itself or at least that it was fully
legitimate in regard to television, so journalists and hosts of popularization pro-
grammes did not need to stage their own mediatization operations. Discreet on the
screen, humble in front of researchers, they could not mobilize their ‘instruments’
of privileged contact with the spectator: at that time, eyes were rarely trained on the
camera, just as the pronoun ‘you’ was sparingly used to address the audience. The
audience was simply not staged in the media discourse.
On the other hand, when science began to no longer be the object of a consensus
as plainly as it had been, or at least when it was no longer considered by television
a faraway and unreachable space that one must respect, television journalists and
52 J.L. Marec, I. Babou

hosts began to assert their legitimacy by appearing on the screen, either in the
framework of interviews with scientists or alone on the set. They could then be seen
designating the spectator as the recipient of their discourse.
This change in the most common forms of enunciation corresponds to the
beginning of the 1980s in the context of the arrival in power of the left—a time
when French government was mobilizing on the theme of the dangers of ‘anti-sci-
ence’. Whether the anti-science arguments were real or manipulated by the politi-
cal power is of little consequence. What matters is that at that time the state
implemented a vast policy of action in favour of communication on science, and
that scientists, universities and the field of scientific and technological culture ral-
lied in this direction. Training programmes in scientific communication were
established, ‘the little shops of science’ were replaced by ‘CCSTIs’ (centres of
scientific, technological and industrial culture), the Cité des Sciences opened its
doors, and so on. At the same time, the professions of journalism evolved, espe-
cially in the television industry, and the balance of legitimacy was tipped over. We
moved from a television mainly filmed by former producers of the ORTF (the
French radio and television broadcasting office) who trained in cinema and docu-
mentary production, to a generation of journalists–hosts–producers of their own
programmes. Popularization, which had been until then mostly the field of docu-
mentary reports, followed this trend and became a scientific performance accepted
as such, often produced on the set by celebrity hosts. All this seems to have created
a favourable context for the staging of the audience on television.25
In exhibitions, the process of staging the audience differs, even if in its enuncia-
tive forms we can see ‘mechanisms’ that imply legitimacy fields comparable to
those that operate in television.
All of these observations help us understand that the presence of the audience in
discourse does not necessarily correspond to a particular interest in its positions, its
expectations, its questions, or the ways it conceives relationships with the media or
scientific institutions. If we can link the legitimacies of the actors that play a role
in the process of communication about science and in the enunciative forms of
media discourses, this does not necessarily mean that the presence of figures of the
audience in those discourses would signify that those audiences, or even public
opinion about science, were being taken into account. First of all, as we have seen,
this is because the actors of popularization or of discourse about science in the
media do not display a particular interest in those human and social sciences that
draw up knowledge of the audience, the public debate or public opinion. Finally,
we can legitimately interpret the existence of figures of the audience in media dis-
course about science not as the mark of legitimacy of its consideration but, on the
contrary, as proof of its existence as a category of discourse called up by actors
when they wish to dismiss all public debate: a simple rhetoric of democratic debate
would work as a functional substitute for taking it into consideration.

25
For a synthesis of this entire movement, and a bibliographic review, see Babou (2004). See also
Veron and Fouquier (1985).
3 Words and Figures of the Public 53

The recurrent presence of figures of the audience in public debate, and the insistent
injunctions to civic debate, are no doubt a sign of a loss, of a failure of democracy to
organize a public dialectic on science. Roland Barthes explained that every time a
social practice emerged, it then turned into a sign. Today, he would say perhaps that
every time a social practice disappears, it turns into a sign.

3.3 Conclusion

We hypothesize that the phenomena we observe as much in the case of the audience
(growth of cultural criticism in regard to media and communication) as in that of
discourses (staging of the audience and of public debate) proceed from the same
trend—the field of professionalized communication’s progressive gain in auton-
omy. No doubt, although it was initially thought of as a means of connecting an
audience to scientific content in the paradigm of popularization and transmission,
this now autonomous communication builds its own spaces, organizes symbolic
relationships and arranges its actors. It is part of an increasing number of media-
tions and of a heterogeneity of frames of discourse and cultural productions about
science.
One of the consequences of this process of becoming autonomous is the impor-
tation of norms and values that are exogenous to both scientific and cultural institu-
tions. It is decidedly even more necessary and topical, on a theoretical plan, to
relinquish the paradigm of popularization and transmission. At the same time, it is
advisable to question the social and epistemological significance of such shifts in
boundaries, actors and languages.

References

Babou, I. (2004). Le cerveau vu par la télévision [The brain seen thorough television]. Paris: PUF,
198.
Babou, I. & Le Marec, J. (2003). Science, musée et télévision: Discours sur le cerveau [Science,
museum and television: A discourse on the brain]. Communication et Langages, 138, 69–88.
Boy, D. (1999). Le progrès en procès [Progress on trial]. Paris: Presses de la Renaissance.
Boy, D. (2001). Les attitudes des Européens à l’égard de la science [Europeans’ attitudes in regard
to science]. Report for the European Opinion Research Group, INRA, Direction Générale de
la Recherche, Brussels.
Boy, D., de Cheveigné, S. & Galloux, J.-C. (2002). Les biotechnologies en débat [Biotechnologies
debated]. Paris: Balland.
de Cheveigné, S. (2005). Le discours des médias sur le thème de l’environnement [Media discourse
on the topic of the environment]. In M.-C. Smouts (Ed.), Le développement durable, valeurs et
pratiques. Paris: Dalloz/Armand Colin.
Donnat, O. (1998). Pratiques culturelles des Français Enquête 1997 [Cultural practices of the
French Survey 1997]. Paris: La documentation Française.
Donnat, O. (Ed.) (2003). Regards croisés sur les pratiques culturelles [Mixed views on cultural
practices]. Paris: La documentation Française.
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Europeans, Science and Technology, 224 Special Eurobarometer, 63.1 (2005, June). Retrieved 29
October 2007 from http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/ebs/ebs_224_report_en.pdf.
Foucault, M. (1975). Surveiller et punir [Discipline and punish]. Paris: Gallimard.
Fouquier, E. & Véron, E. (1985). Les spectacles scientifiques télévisés—Figures de la production
et de la réception [Televised science shows—figures of production and reception]. Paris: La
Documentation Française.
Le Marec, J. (2005). La relation entre l’institution muséale et les publics: Confrontation de modèle
[The relation between the museal institution and the public: Confrontation of models]. In
Musées, connaissance et développement des publics [Museums, knowledge and development
of audiences]. Paris: Ministry of Culture and Communication, 103–121.
Le Marec, J. (2006). Public, inscription, écriture [Public, inscription, writing], Sciences de la
société, 67, 145–161.
Le Marec, J. & Babou, I. (2004). La génétique au musée: Figures et figurants du débat public
[Genetics in the museum: Figures and extras of the public debate]. Recherches en
Communication, 20. Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses de l’Université catholique de Louvain.
Royal Society (2006). Science communication: A survey of factors affecting science communica-
tion by scientists and engineers. Retrieved 29 October 2007 from http://www.royalsoc.ac.uk/
downloaddoc.asp?id = 3074
Schiele, B. (2005). Publiciser la science! Pour quoi faire? [Publicizing science! Why do it?]. In I.
Paillart (Ed.), La publicisation de la science: Exposer, communiquer, débattre, publier, vulgar-
iser. Grenoble: PUG.
Veron, E. & Fouquier, E. (1985). Les spectacles scientifiques télévisés [Televised scientific pro-
grammes]. Paris: La Documentation Française.
Veron, E. & Levasseur, M. (1983). Ethnographie d’une exposition [Ethnography of an exhibit].
Paris: Georges Pompidou Centre.

The Authors

Joëlle Le Marec ([email protected])

Joëlle Le Marec is a professor at the Ecole Normale Supérieure Lettres et Sciences
humaines, Lyon, France. She conducts research on museums and their publics and
on social communications in relation to knowledge in society (in libraries, labora-
tories, the cultural field, etc.). In 1989, she created a team dedicated to evaluation
in the Department of Exhibitions at the Cité des Sciences et de l’Industrie. Joëlle
joined the university in 1997, and with Igor Babou established a research team on
communication, culture and society.
Igor Babou ([email protected])
Igor Babou is assistant professor at the Ecole Normale Supérieure Lettres et
Sciences humaines in Lyon. After a career as a media professional, he now works
in the field of communication science and media studies. With Joëlle Le Marec,
Igor works on science and society studies within the ‘Communication, Culture and
Society’ laboratory.
Chapter 4
Representation and Deliberation: New
Perspectives on Communication Among
Actors in Science and Technology Innovation

Giuseppe Pellegrini(*
ü)

Abstract Since the 1980s, a large body of analysis in communication and political
science has emphasized the importance of activating spaces for public discussion,
not only on political issues but also on themes of strong public impact, such as
the effects of techno-scientific innovations. Challenge for political transformation
is crucial for the concurrent changeover from representation to deliberation in the
realm of techno-scientific innovation. In the traditional decision-making processes
of representative democracy, all the points of view and interests of civil society
are not necessarily—indeed, almost never—represented and considered. This
means that representation is always partial, and the arguments of those who will be
affected by particular innovations are not part of the debate serving to orient deci-
sions. By contrast, the deliberative model of democracy is founded upon public dis-
cussion and the exchange of arguments. Representative and deliberative democracy
are strictly interdependent, and it is misleading to consider the two terms as being
in opposition to each other. Rather, considering them as terms in the same equa-
tion is much more conducive to effective management of the relationship between
techno-science and society.

Keywords Communication, deliberative democracy, representation, techno-scientific

innovation

The pace of techno-scientific innovation and the pervasiveness of its products raise
new issues for policy, especially in a period when it is increasingly difficult for a
small elite of decision makers and experts in the Western democracies to take deci-
sions affecting the lives of citizens. Today the public is more aware and expert at
formulating questions on issues of strong public impact and areas on which the
products of techno-scientific innovation have major effects.

Department of Sociology, University of Padua, Via Cesarotti, 10/12, 35123 Padova,

Italy. E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 55

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
56 G. Pellegrini

In the face of the challenges raised by innovations such as biotechnologies,

nanotechnologies and communications technologies, it seems necessary to find
new methods for their governance. It is consequently important to investigate how
the need to take decisions on highly complex issues in the area of science and
technology (S&T) can be reconciled with the demands for public involvement
increasingly typical of the democratic societies, especially in Europe and the US.
Given that this challenge has been taken up by a number of countries in recent
years, a lively dialectic has arisen between democratic systems that privilege rep-
resentative procedures and systems that introduce various forms of public discus-
sion typical of deliberative democracy to involve the non-expert public.
In this chapter, I argue that this challenge for political transformation is crucial
for the concurrent changeover from representation to deliberation in the realm of
techno-scientific innovation. At the same time, it is misleading to consider the two
terms ‘representative’ and ‘deliberative’ as being in opposition to each other.
The argument advanced and explored in this chapter is that deliberation is par-
ticularly worthwhile in dealing with uncertain techno-scientific innovation impacts
because it tends to improve the outcomes of decision making. If deliberation is suc-
cessfully handled, it will also lead to better knowledge and to confidence in discus-
sions for future decisions, but at the same time it is also important to place
appropriate emphasis on representative democracy, legitimacy and responsibility.

4.1 Representation and Techno-Scientific Innovation

Historically, processes of techno-scientific innovation since the middle of the last

century have been governed within so-called representative democracies through
close relationships between the political decision-making system, techno-scientific
experts (particularly scientists) and business. The instruments with which to under-
take scientific research and to develop the products of innovation have long been
discussed in these three domains in relation to more or less shared concerns, but
with rising tensions due to power relations that change according to events and the
evolution of knowledge.
From a functional point of view, representative democracy uses the mechanism
of delegation, whereby voters transfer decision-making power to their elected rep-
resentatives. The latter, as a rule, have managed research policies and the govern-
ance of innovation mainly by relying on the opinions of experts. For example, after
World War II decisions about the mature phase of so-called ‘big science’, such as
the construction of colossal nuclear physics laboratories, were taken with no need
to consult local communities or civil society organizations. Such decisions were
considered legitimate, in that they were useful and necessary for the progress of
science and were based on a mandate received from the electorate.
This type of innovation governance was characterized by a so-called ‘techno-
cratic drift’—a political orientation in which the power of experts in matters of great
public importance decisively conditioned public decisions. That orientation was
4 Representation and Deliberation 57

based on the conviction that experts possess an objective knowledge able to solve
not only specifically technical problems but social, political and economic ones as
well. The technocrat, therefore, is suspicious of transparency and democratic discus-
sion, and considers political conflict to be a ‘consequence of ignorance’ (Radaelli
1999). At the same time, because techno-scientific issues of public importance had
increased in number and complexity, the experts and the public decision-makers
expressing this technocratic orientation acquired considerable power in determining
responses, but also in formulating society’s demands for innovation. This orientation
long characterized the governance of techno-scientific innovations. And today it is
still apparent in various countries where it is inconceivable that other forms of
knowledge expressed by citizens or civil society organizations could stand on the
public stage as points of view alternative or complementary to those of scientists and
experts. Again, from the point of view of knowledge and power, this relationship
between science and democracy lays bare two systems: a self-referential system
based on the possession of certain and ‘true’ knowledge, and a system centred on the
aggregation of preferences and on the principle of participation by citizens via the
vote, which is often more important than the decision to be taken. In recent years,
there have been many situations in which these two attitudes have strongly opposed
each other.
The proponents of the technocratic option grant remarkable authoritativeness to
expert systems and the truths of S&T. In his book The descent of Icarus, Jaron
Ezrahi describes the phenomenon well, stressing that contemporary democracies
have used science as a cultural resource to establish mechanisms considered scien-
tific by society (Ezrahi 1990). The reference is to the so-called ‘scientificity of
political life’. In this view, the scientific community has furnished a method for the
functioning of science and at the same time for the functioning of society. The com-
munity of scientists, it is argued, is an idealized political collective founded upon
internal consensus, and in which common agreement arises on scientific truths.
Historically, this view has even deeper roots in the origins of modern society, and
it is based on the need to ensure social integration by means of a method grounded,
not on authority, but on intersubjectively constructed and validated knowledge, on
an expertise still today considered more objective than others. Polanyi (1962) also
depicted the community of scientists as an ideal and democratic collective, a sort
of perfect republic. Likewise, in an article from the same period (‘Science and
democratic social structure’), Merton (1968) maintained that the manner in which
science is conducted is what makes scientists ethically credible, so that today
scientists are idealized above all by the media.
This idealized view of science is one of the bases of the research policies devel-
oped since the end of World War II. One famous document testifying to the doctrine
is Science, the endless frontier, a report submitted by Vannevar Bush to President
Roosevelt with the precise intention of emphasizing that the alliance between scien-
tists and governments had brought great benefits during the world war (Bush 1945).
Great discoveries and inventions had been achieved in that period, and at the end of
the war there should be no return to a model of autonomous science released from
a relationship that involved financing but at the same time government control.
58 G. Pellegrini

In other words, Bush wanted to create and to maintain a stable relationship, inspired
by a liberal conception of science as a privileged community financed by public
resources, so that scientists could advance knowledge towards unknown ends always
legitimated by an implicit mechanism of delegation. All this would involve a tacit
accord among society, decision makers, scientists and enterprises.
It is evident that the system of techno-scientific knowledge represented a stable
form of power able to condition the choices of numerous nation-states and orient
their processes of technological transfer. But from the 1970s onwards this stable
and diffused consensus weakened, and the alliance between scientists and decision
makers entered crisis following many emergencies, most notably alarms concern-
ing the bio-life sciences and the climate. Moreover, the growth of movements to
protect the environment, human rights, women and medical patients, driven no
longer by the political elites but from the bottom up, expanded the spaces for par-
ticipation in political life.
To a large extent, techno-scientific innovations and their impact have revealed
the difficulties of contemporary Western democracy in securing public trust in sci-
ence, and the breakdown of cohesion among the social actors that must take impor-
tant decisions in this area. Bearing witness to this are the results produced by
disciplines that have made democracy one of their main objects of analysis: politi-
cal science, international relations, political philosophy and the philosophy of law.
Put extremely briefly, for some time a theoretical clash has been in progress. On
the one hand are conceptions and models of democracy informed by radical ver-
sions of representative democracy based on the thought of Schumpeter (1942).
These emphasize the importance of competition among political–economic elites
and the action of stakeholder lobbies. On the other hand are democratic forms
founded upon participation and deliberation with the active contribution of citizens.
These derive from the thought of Kelsen (1966). The concept of representative
democracy has been strongly criticized by several commentators, and for various
reasons has revealed all its shortcomings in the area of techno-scientific innovation.
I now discuss those reasons with a view to making a dialectical comparison with
recent developments in deliberative democracy.

4.1.1 Rapidity of Change, Progress, Communication

The speed and complexity of technological change in recent decades has prevented
science from developing a coherent and complete explanation of it, and from fur-
nishing certain answers to applied problems: What will happen if we use these
antenna masts for mobile telephony? If we use such and such medicine? If we con-
struct a high-speed railway line? If we modify the genetic make-up of this species?
Our ability to induce enduring and sometimes irreversible changes is more
advanced than our ability to foresee the effects of our actions. Moreover, the rela-
tionship between laboratory and market has grown increasingly close. And from the
communicative point of view as well, science and technology have become so
4 Representation and Deliberation 59

closely interconnected that they are beginning to form an indissoluble whole. These
various factors have led to the birth and development of so-called techno-science
(Longo 2001).
The idea of technical and scientific progress that will solve humanity’s problems
of hunger, unhappiness and so on has entered grave crisis. Slowly, but evidently, the
idea of meliorative progress has declined as we have witnessed ever more problem-
atic situations in the rich and industrialized West. For example, the ability to modify
life, to solve health problems and to discover new medicines has not prevented
increases in depression, addiction and the stress-related illnesses typical of Western
societies. And environmental emergencies such as global warming due to the indus-
trialization of almost the entire planet are among the negative effects of the careless
use of the products of S&T. Therefore, science and technology no longer embody
the myth of beneficent progress. Instead, an ambiguous, double-faced image of sci-
ence emerges, in which the dark side consists of negative effects that often involve
broad segments of the population and are manifested in unexpected ways.
Globalization has afforded unprecedented access to communications. However,
while it is true that a hitherto inconceivable number of individuals and groups can
not only access information but also communicate their opinions or reach others
across the world in real time, is also true that the large majority of the world’s popu-
lation does not yet have daily access to a telephone or even to electricity (Held
1995, Giddens 1999). Therefore, although the potentialities of communication are
badly distributed, they allow access to, and therefore assessment of, the activity and
knowledge of others, and the consultation of materials that in the past were only
accessible on printed paper or through personal contacts. And all this without the
intermediation of governmental authorities. From the point of view of democracy,
we live in an increasingly global world which has modified the values and norms
that traditionally unified entire social groups within the nation-states. For this rea-
son, it is not easy to confine certain choices about innovations within national
boundaries; research on stem cells, cloning for therapeutic purposes and the use of
nuclear energy are cases in point. It follows that these and other techno-scientific
innovations throw into crisis the democracies founded on the idea and law of the
nation-state, whose range of action is restricted, as a rule, to a delimited territory
from which it draws the necessary legitimation (Habermas 1998).
The globalization of the past decade, however, has not produced an economi-
cally, culturally and politically homogeneous society. Rather, it has reawakened a
sense of local identity that had long lain dormant. Consequently, globalization has
produced and exacerbated unexpected phenomena of diversity and inequality.
The globalized world comprises various levels—local, regional, national and
continental—which often generate disputes and complicate decision making, given
that some innovations extend beyond such levels. Decisions on the use of stem cells
for research may be taken at national level but be in conflict with those taken by
neighbouring states in which the citizens can freely state their preferences.
Likewise, a refusal to adopt a nuclear-based energy programme for safety reasons
clashes with the presence of potentially dangerous nuclear power stations in an
adjoining country.
60 G. Pellegrini

In the past 50 years, the function of representative democracy—understood as

the system of principles, values, rules and procedures that arose from the forma-
tion of the European states after the wars of religion in the 17th century and from
the great bourgeois revolutions, with their social pacts on welfare—has diminished
to such an extent that it is now largely symbolic. The causes of its decline are well
known: the globalization of production and investments; the dependence of gov-
ernments on global financial markets, with a consequent loss of control over the
levers of economic policy; the cancellation of the social contract between capital
and labour; the exponential growth of migratory flows and the formation of an
enormous mass of human beings devoid of rights because they have no citizenship
status; and the fragmentation of societies that only regain unity through images in
the media, which are now the most real locus of politics and trigger processes of
spectacularization and personalization.
Amid all these changes, citizens have scant chance of affecting decisive choices
about the products of innovation.

4.1.2 The Role of Scientists and Uncertainty

The ideals put forward in the literature of the 1960s, which extolled the qualities of
an independent class of scientists extraneous to economic interests, have rapidly
dissolved now that so many scientists have become outright economic operators,
with partisan interests and public stances in which they resemble more entrepre-
neurs than experts motivated by the pure search for knowledge. A celebrated case
is that of Craig Venter, promoter of one of the most important research programmes
in genetics as the scientist/entrepreneur heading Celera Genomics. The history of
the past 40 years has dramatically cast doubt on the neutrality of science, highlight-
ing that the choice is not just between its beneficial and harmful uses, but also
between acceptance and rejection of a scientific discovery or a technological inno-
vation. The image of science as a two-faced Janus, the bringer of good or evil
according to the intentions of those who use it and the contexts in which it is used,
and therefore in itself neutral, is thus no longer current.
The problem of the limits of science does not arise only in the fields of biology
and genetics. In the case of information and communication technologies, too, it is
increasingly permissible to wonder whether everything that is technically feasible
is also socially and politically acceptable, ethically admissible and legally legiti-
mate. It is clear that the role of independent experts in exerting constructive influ-
ence for the public good is no longer guaranteed by the principles of a representative
democracy, which founds its decision-making on the certain opinions gathered by
those who make choices on behalf of voters. Obviously, decision makers can no
longer respond to these demands in close accord with industry and the advice of
scientists. The renewal of policy is therefore crucial and urgent, especially when
one enquires as to which actors can or must contribute to the public debate on
techno-scientific issues.
4 Representation and Deliberation 61

Although science warrants special interest in modern democratic societies, it evidently

cannot be released from the guarantees that the rule of law has imposed on all the
democratic powers—especially in this contemporary age, when science and knowl-
edge exercise a power able to condition the rights of citizens and profoundly alter
economic equilibria. If the notion of an independent science conducted in pursuit of
the public good has broken down, the myth of a harmonious scientific community is
also disintegrating, given that one frequently hears differing and sometimes contra-
dictory opinions from scientists on issues of significant public impact.
Another major change concerns the uncertainty acquired by scientific knowledge—
uncertainty that has become radical and constitutive for two main reasons. The first is
that the laboratory of science is today somehow represented by the world as a whole
(Latour 1987), and therefore by society at large. This is due to the ‘amplification’ of
science’s products and procedures brought about by its alliance with the market. The
extension of innovations therefore reduces the capacity (which was always limited)
to predict their effects. In this situation, facts are increasingly uncertain, the scien-
tific community often seems divided, and the values under discussion substantially
differ. The other reason is that, despite the importance of these issues, the system of
norms lags behind the accelerated techno-scientific developments: a further factor
that generates uncertainty.
What is proposed as an alternative? The turning point in recent years has been the
advent of a broader participatory model. Attempts have been made to encourage
broader dialogue among the scientific community, the institutions and citizens in
order to bring out their opinions so that constructive discussion can be possible and
diverse discourses can merge. This therefore requires a new definition of democracy,
whereby the challenges raised by techno-scientific innovations can be managed.
Democracy today cannot be founded solely on the prevalence of a majority, for there
is a risk that only one language will predominate. This would be the language of
techno-science, from which we would objectively draw the consequences for our
civil and democratic life, without the uncertainties contained in the black boxes of
science, and without different positions being confronted and discussed effectively.
In other words, it is essential to seek to understand how science and democracy
can be reconciled today. What meanings and what possible actions are available to
policymakers in the democratic states when innovations increasingly invasive of
health and the environment must be managed?

4.2 Deliberation

When investigating the reasons for the crisis of contemporary representative

democracy in managing techno-scientific innovation, and with particular regard to
communication among the actors concerned, one soon encounters developments in
so-called deliberative democracy. Since the 1980s in the US, and subsequently in
Europe, a large body of analysis in political science has emphasized the importance
of activating spaces for public discussion not only on political issues but also on
62 G. Pellegrini

themes of strong public impact, such as the effects of techno-scientific innovations.

In the traditional decision-making processes of representative democracy, all the
points of view and interests of civil society are not necessarily—indeed, almost
never—represented and considered. This means that representation is always par-
tial, and the arguments of those who will be affected by particular innovations are
not part of the debate serving to orient decisions. By contrast, the deliberative
model of democracy is founded upon public discussion and the exchange of argu-
ments. The deliberative process therefore proceeds through rational and impartial
discussion, and it is democratic in that it is grounded on the principle of giving
voice to the interests of the citizens and actors affected by the certain and uncertain
consequences of techno-scientific innovations.1
Deliberation therefore consists of a complex set of processes (Held 1995,
Giddens 1999) that are bound to alter the structural configuration and institutional
arrangements of existing political systems. I consider in this chapter, in particular,
the discussion-based and inclusive nature of the deliberative approach, dealing with
its strengths and weaknesses but not going into details on individual procedures
experimented with around the world in recent years.
The main purpose of ‘deliberative arenas’ is not to decide, but rather to encour-
age open discussion among actors with important interests in the subject being dis-
cussed. These practices are deliberative in that they emphasise the importance of
superseding elitist forms of decision making and the democratic mechanisms
founded upon majorities obtained by aggregating preferences. It is therefore a para-
digmatic form of democracy that disputes the legitimacy and effectiveness of
decision-making processes based on representation of the electorate. Implicit
within it is a denunciation of the weakness of traditional democratic systems when
complex decisions must be taken on controversial issues. And this objection also
applies in cases where policymakers, together with scientists and enterprises, have
taken decisions strongly resisted by the entire population at the moment of their
implementation. Environmental conflicts over the construction of dangerous waste
disposal sites and protests over the construction of infrastructure such as high-speed
railway lines are two well-known examples.
Deliberative practices are mainly processes of communication used to activate
relational links that extend beyond the normal mechanisms of power between elected
and electors, decision makers and scientists, to address new controversies of great
public concern, such as cloning, GMOs and the patenting of genetic material. The
discussion in this chapter refers to deliberative democracy in the strong sense given
to it by Elster (1998), Cohen (1997) and Habermas (1998), for whom the exchange
is based on arguments put forward with criteria of validity. In this case, comparisons
among arguments may also produce a change in the actors’ attitudes during the delib-
erative process, as has been apparent on several occasions (Bobbio 2002).

1
I refer to the group of deliberative procedures which, in various forms, and with the varying
involvement of experts, non-experts and decision makers, have been used in recent years to manage
phenomena of techno-scientific innovation. For a classification of these procedures, see Rowe and
Frewer (2005).
4 Representation and Deliberation 63

The discussion thus far has shown that, in a more general sense, deliberative
democracy is intended to deal with the crisis in institutions and democratic prac-
tices by introducing new dialectical forms to evince the reasons for particular
choices, and to extend as far as possible the array of objections concerning the
effects of decisions. In regard to techno-scientific innovation, I believe that there
are two areas of particular importance in which procedures of deliberative democ-
racy have contributed significantly to resolving decision-making deadlocks: gov-
ernance for the citizens, and communication.

4.2.1 Governance and Citizenship

The challenges raised by the products of techno-scientific innovation cannot be

countered in the absence a model of enlarged regulation predicated upon govern-
ance. This is a system that associates the conventional state/market binomial with
the role and participation of a civil society organized at national level, and eventu-
ally at global level as well. From this perspective, the theorists of deliberation
propose the adoption of inclusive and pluralist models of citizenship able to man-
age, through negotiation, the diverse cultural and normative attitudes expressed by
the members of an increasingly diversified and complex society.
Given the new and growing demands that severely test the decision-making
autonomy of the traditional democratic systems, the proposal is to promote a
techno-scientific citizenship characterized by the enforceability of rights and the
creation of opportunities to participate in the discussion phase with a view to deci-
sion making (Frankenfeld 1990). The most characteristic examples concern the role
of patients’ associations in decisions about the allocation of research funding and
the selection of priorities, and the broad movement of computer users who collabo-
rate with software producers in the production of new IT tools.
Those most critical of these processes stress the difficulty, for the modern
democracies, of responding appropriately to an increasing number of demands. For
the proponents of deliberative practices, this is instead an assumption of responsi-
bility that, vis-à-vis a particular problem, also involves broad strata of society in
identifying possible solutions and in finding the necessary resources.

4.2.2 Communication and Deliberation

If the relationship of governance with citizenship raises many interesting topics

for reflection, its relationship with communication is no less important.
Communication, in fact, is one of the bases of a democratic state: communication
among institutions, political associations and citizens; communication among the
various institutions themselves.
In the perspective of deliberative democracy, it is vital that the sphere of the
political institutions should not be perceived by citizens as a separate body behaving
64 G. Pellegrini

incomprehensibly and unpredictably. On this conception, communication is a res

publica, a good of public interest. It must be possible to communicate and to interact
with the state through effective tools accessible to all, especially when issues of great
public concern are involved. This is the case for questions such as whether GM
foods should be placed on the market; where it is best to process radioactive waste;
what measures should be taken to combat global warming; or whether research on
embryonic stem cells for therapeutic purposes is ethically admissible. These are
some of the issues on the media and political agenda, and on which important deci-
sions are taken by means of the mechanism of political delegation.
And the same applies to the relationships between citizens and the mediatory
associations of representation, which in democratic countries take the form of
political parties. Only transparent communication ensures that citizens can select
their representatives in a conscious and informed way, control and direct their
activities, and, in general, freely and responsibly exercise their rights to participate
in the formation of the general will.
The form of deliberation described here takes place on the public stage through
the use of the many instruments, with almost limitless potential, which today enable
exchanges in real time. This mode, characterized by easy access, concerns the prac-
tices of ‘discursive democracy’ described by Dryzek (1990) as increasing the
opportunities for connection among various actors while respecting their roles as
decision makers and citizens—as those who must somehow control and promote
sensible demands. Besides these potentialities, one must also consider the forms of
control that the communication media may produce through their invasion of the
private sphere and their conditioning of social and commercial relations and of
learning processes.
The facile optimism apparent in the claims of the theorists of deliberative democ-
racy has been harshly criticized on grounds that have a certain cogency. Although
deliberative democracy, by relying on dialogue and participation more than on media-
tion and political representation, may give rise to a different relationship among the
actors of techno-scientific innovation, between governors and governed, at the same
time it may create some general problems, which I now briefly discuss.
The first problem concerns effects. Deliberative procedures have at times been
disappointing in their outcomes: that is, in their capacity to enable real influence to
be exerted on the choices of decision makers. The empowerment activated by delib-
erative arenas, in fact, provokes frustration in participants when their opinion is not
considered during the public debate. While it is true that the procedures typical of
deliberative democracy are not necessarily intended to produce decisions, they may
nevertheless generate expectations in the individuals and associations involved
(Einsiedel and Eastlick 2000).
A second problematic area is resources. The correct organization of deliberative
procedures, whether local or national, requires a wide array of capabilities, large
amounts of funding, third-party bodies and experts on participation. On summing
these resources, there are those who argue that the costs exceed the benefits.
Moreover, only recently have governments or local public administrations begun to
invest in the management of controversies by means of deliberative procedures.
4 Representation and Deliberation 65

Third, there is the question of participation. Citizens generally tend to delegate

to politicians and experts the task of taking decisions on complex techno-scientific
issues, often claiming that their involvement is pointless because they lack the
necessary knowledge. The concern of citizens is normally aroused when problem-
atic and controversial situations occur. In these cases, typified by the NIMBY (not
in my back yard) syndrome, deliberative procedures are able to activate participa-
tion only in regard to specific and localized issues. It is more difficult to attract the
attention of civil society actors to more general issues of a national or suprana-
tional character.
A fourth problem is the weakness of deliberation procedures. Given the difficulty
of organizing occasions for participation that aggregate all actors representative of
the general public, it may happen that the discussions and the instruments used are
not neutral in the sense that they permit open and frank debate. Moreover, there is a
serious risk that such procedures may involve only citizens, organizations and insti-
tutions already experienced in public debate, sidelining a silent majority of subjects
who do not normally have access to public discussion. In other words, the proce-
dures may become manipulatory and instrumental to undeclared purposes, or they
may produce unwanted effects. All of this confirms that the management, control
and evaluation of effective public arenas are complex undertakings that require the
deployment of various skills and the impartial conduct of the process and contents.
A final problem concerns the pertinence of deliberative practices. Can these
forms of discussion be used to resolve conflicts and disputes, especially those
concerning the most controversial issues? For critical commentators, there is no
certainty of success in this regard. They stress that some issues require a different
form of communication among actors. More institutional means must be found, lest
conflicts degenerate and deadlocks arise, with the consequence that processes of
techno-scientific innovation are no longer manageable. It is not by means of open
debate that situations of impasse can be resolved. Rather, recourse must be made to
third-party bodies or to superordinate institutions credible to the contenders. This
is the case in debates about the adoption of infrastructures with a strong impact on
local communities, where intransigency and paralysis often arise. Deliberative pro-
cedures are not a panacea.

4.3 Conclusions: Beyond a Useless Dualism

The critical aspects I have discussed derive principally from the widespread percep-
tion of representation and deliberation as elements in a dualism—if not, indeed, as
two entirely antithetical processes. After briefly discussing the strengths and weak-
nesses of the two approaches in democratic regimes, I shall stress that they should
be regarded as strictly interdependent. I argue, in fact, that it is misleading to sus-
tain the representation/deliberation dualism, because it strengthens the idea that
science and society are separate worlds—that society is some sort of inconvenient
interloper between politics and science. To insist on this polarization, maintaining
66 G. Pellegrini

the terms on different planes, prevents valorization on the one hand of the respon-
sibility of the decision makers and the institutions, and on the other of civil society’s
vivacity and ability to raise pertinent issues and to contribute to the public debate.
Considering them as terms in the same equation is much more conducive to effec-
tive management of the relationship between technoscience and society.
In a representative democracy, citizens periodically elect representatives who
exercise power on their behalf through the institutions of parliament and govern-
ment, with no constraints on their mandate. While citizens dissatisfied with their
representatives’ action on techno-scientific innovations may decide to change them
at the next elections, citizens have scant real power to affect their representatives’
choices and are not empowered to revoke their mandate. Hence, in order to com-
plete this democratic system, deliberative procedures can be used to implement
relational systems. Those procedures are important in so far as they are able to pro-
vide a reference framework for the action, identities, and individual and collective
interests activated by problematic situations and controversies. The problem of
deciding whether to use the procedures and who should promote them remains.
At present, they are most often sustained by civil society organizations and to a
lesser extent by the institutions.
Again in regard to deliberation, the processes of conflictual action produced by
citizens and organizations should not be assessed negatively. They are deemed use-
ful by scholars because they constitute a field of tensions and contrasts in civil
society that enables the inclusion of new sectors of the population in citizenship,
and they stimulate institutional innovation (Geuna 1998). Mention has frequently
been made of a democratic deficit in innovative techno-scientific processes, but the
problem is instead a lack of harmonization between the representative and delibera-
tive dimensions. For example, in a regime of representative democracy, the state
should act as the regulator of public goods and the protector of collective interests.
In theory, the state’s task is to regulate the market, seeking to moderate the increas-
ing power that it has wielded in recent decades. It is evident, however, that eco-
nomic interests have much greater power than the regulatory and protective function
performed by the public administration. This is why a vigilant civil society—also
thanks to deliberative procedures such as citizens’ juries or consensus conferences
focused on issues of great public impact—can curb the influence of powerful eco-
nomic and political actors. Obviously, not all citizens are willing to take up the
challenge of participation and involvement, but current experiences in various parts
of the world testify that the commitment of civil society organizations is able to
foster these processes of involvement—even if they are restricted to forms of
consultation—and activate virtuous processes that are repeatable over time.
Three factors are crucial in sustaining the fruitful relationship that can be estab-
lished between representative and deliberative democracy. The first is the defini-
tion of objectives. If, as I mentioned at the outset, one of the shortcomings of
institutional relationships within representative democracy is that questions are
formulated that do not match the interests and needs of citizens, it is difficult to
avoid fierce conflicts if there are no spaces for consultation, discussion and delib-
eration. Certain techno-scientific innovations, given their powerful influence over
4 Representation and Deliberation 67

collective life, cannot be managed without the attentive involvement of significant

stakeholders. This space of involvement and participation in which to clarify the
goals to pursue will be more effective, the more it is possible to forestall the fre-
quent attempts of politicians to delegate the responsibility to decide, relieving
themselves of the burden of awkward decisions and relying on the opinions of
experts or on forms of direct democracy such as referendums, which shift the
problem onto citizens without an appropriate process of discussion and opinion
formation. In this sense, the exercise of deliberative democracy allows the involve-
ment of citizens in the definition of public policies and, ultimately, heightens their
awareness of problems of far-reaching importance.
Under what conditions can close integration between representation and delibera-
tion be achieved? The first requirement is a democratic context where there are
opportunities to listen and to conduct institutional and informal discussion, where the
issues to be treated are consequently selected by general consensus, and where delib-
erative processes take place with the contribution of effectively neutral bodies,
whether public or private. For these conditions to come about, it is above all necessary
that the public institutions do not resort to normative solutions, but instead work on
the framing and discussion of problems. For example, the proposal to install an incin-
erator for urban waste cannot be put forward on legal grounds alone; rather, it should
be accompanied by a process of communication that considers, besides the legitimate
interests involved, the level of public debate in a particular area—the purpose being
to foster appropriate discussion and decision making.
Finally, what actors should be involved? Who decides, and how, the subjects to
be included in discussions about techno-scientific innovations? Such matters obvi-
ously cannot be decided by technicians and scientists alone, or by firms. It is the
duty of the political system to mediate among the parties to protect the public inter-
est, extending participation to other actors as well. But which other actors?
Obviously, there is no single answer, but rather a set of criteria that enables a correct
balance to be struck between making a utopian attempt to involve all citizens on all
issues and restricting discussion to a few powerful experts. When selecting the
actors, it should be expressly recognized that new technologies must be used to
construct a more mature relationship among the state, citizens, firms and civil serv-
ice organizations, privileging the direct beneficiaries and placing the citizen at the
centre—as envisaged, for that matter, by numerous democratic constitutions.
In this manner, more effective use can be made of the places of representation that
generally constitute the first level of the political mediation, where different demands
and interests, normally particularistic and corporative, are elaborated before they are
introduced into public discussion with non-experts. To resort at this point to deliber-
ative procedures is a risky undertaking, but it is not demagogic, and does not involve
the addition of even one more element in the mosaic of opinions. It should always
be borne in mind, however, that the opinion of the non-expert does not stand at the
same level as the opinions of experts and institutions. One cannot be so ingenuous
as to ignore the different levels of information and the different capacities to influ-
ence decision-making processes. And, as powerful and authoritative scientists or the
market seek to impose their points of view, the only antidote against uniformity of
68 G. Pellegrini

thinking and unilateral decisions is to strengthen channels of information and democratic

consultation. In this way the credibility of the actors involved can be evaluated, and
the interests that they represent made more transparent.
To conclude: there is no ‘first’ and ‘second’ between representative democracy
and deliberative democracy. Rather, the deliberative approach with all its various
procedures should be conceived as a historical necessity that completes representa-
tive democracy. While not every issue can be resolved through dialogue, and citizens
do not have to decide everything, it is no longer possible to imagine that all commu-
nication on decisions should concern only experts and politicians.

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4 Representation and Deliberation 69

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Schneider, S. (2000). Political portals and democracy. Threats and promises. iMP on-line.
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Thompson, J. B. (1995). The media and modernity. A social theory of the media. Cambridge:
Polity Press.
Toffler, A. (1995). Creating a new civilization. The politics of the third wave. Atlanta: Turner
Publishing.

The Author

Giuseppe Pellegrini ([email protected])

Giuseppe Pellegrini has a PhD in sociology, and teaches methodology of social
research at the University of Padova, Italy. His current research focuses on the
sociology of science, citizenship rights and public participation, with a specific
focus on biotechnology issues. He is the coordinator of the Science and Citizens
research area at Observa—Science in Society. He is a member of the EASST
(European Association for the Study of Science and Technology) and of the Society
for Social Studies of Science (4S). His most recent book, Biotecnologie e cittadi-
nanza (Biotechnology and citizenship), was published by Libreria Gregoriana
Edizioni in 2005.
Chapter 5
Medialization of Science as a Prerequisite
of Its Legitimization and Political Relevance1

Hans Peter Petersa,*(*

ü ), Harald Heinrichsb, Arlena Jungc,
Monika Kallfass **, and Imme Petersend
a,

Abstract Sociologists have diagnosed an increasing ‘medialization’ of science—that

is, an orientation towards the mass media, with the consequence that media criteria
become relevant within science. The medialization of science is seen in this chapter as
a consequence of the medialization of politics. Based on empirical surveys of German
researchers, public information officers of science organizations and decision-makers
in the political-administrative system, as well as a hermeneutical analysis of German
press coverage, the authors analyse the manifestations and political impacts of medi-
alization in the public communication of scientists and science organizations. Two
biomedical fields—stem cell research and epidemiology—are used as case studies.
Results of the empirical analyses support the hypothesis that the medialization of

a
Program Group Humans–Environment–Technology (INB-MUT), Forschungszentrum Jülich,
52425 Juelich, Germany
b
Institute for Environmental and Sustainability Communication, Leuphana University Lüneburg,
21314 Lüneburg, Germany. E-mail: [email protected]
c
Institute for Science and Technology Studies, Bielefeld University, 33501 Bielefeld, Germany.
E-mail: [email protected]
d
Research Centre on Biotechnology, Society and the Environment, Medicine and Neuroscience
Section, University of Hamburg, 20251 Hamburg, Germany.
E-mail: [email protected]
* Phone: 49 2461 613562, Fax: 49 2461 612950, E-mail: [email protected]
** E-mail: [email protected]

1
The following primary researchers participated in the international survey of biomedical scientists,
the results of which we refer to in this chapter: Sharon Dunwoody and Dominique Brossard
(United States), Steve Miller (United Kingdom), Suzanne de Cheveigné (France) and Shoji
Tsuchida (Japan).
This chapter was originally published in German in Renate Mayntz, Friedhelm Neidhardt, Peter
Weingart and Ulrich Wengenroth (Eds.), Wissensproduktion und Wissenstransfer—Wissen im
Spannungsfeld von Wissenschaft, Politik und Öffentlichkeit, transcript Verlag, Bielefeld, 2008. We
thank transcript Verlag for its generous approval of this translation and permission to reprint it in
this volume.

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 71

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
72 H.P. Peters et al.

science, in so far as it guides the public communication strategies of scientific actors,

increases the chances of scientific actors being noticed and taken seriously by the
political-administrative system. Effects are seen in a contribution to the legitimization
of science by reinforcing the perception of its social relevance and in improving the
chances of scientific expertise becoming effective in policy-making.

Keywords Legitimization, media constructs of science, media contacts of scientists,

medialization, political impact of science coverage, public relations of science

5.1 Introduction

The medialization of politics is regarded as one of the central changes in the political
process in the modern ‘media society’ (Schulz 2006, Vowe 2006). A number of
related developments can be understood in this context: the prevalence of media-
constructed reality, the key importance of media in conveying political ideas to vot-
ers, and the orientation of political communication actors to the ‘logic’ of the media
(Sarcinelli 1998). To begin with, medialization has consequences for the manner in
which politics are presented. The political output is addressed primarily to the mass
media and the central criterion for success is a positive response in media coverage.
The question, however, is whether the changes brought about by medialization are
limited exclusively to the way politics are depicted, or whether they also affect con-
tent. From the outset of the discussion concerning the consequences of the growing
media orientation of political actors and voters, fears have been voiced that we could
be moving towards a world of media-induced appearances and the dominance of
symbolic politics. In short, this would be a situation in which medialization affects
the substance of politics, decreasing the quality of political work (Sarcinelli 1989,
Kepplinger 2002).
Imhof (2006: 201 ff) has identified, as a consequence of medialization, an
increasing concentration of power in actors that use public relations (PR) strategies
to affect the political arena. He links the success of media-response oriented non-
governmental organizations (NGOs) to their early adaptation to the conditions of
the media society. Meanwhile, however, established actors have compensated for
the initial advantage gained by NGOs in terms of media response ‘by adapting a
successful newsworthiness-oriented manner to the media’s logic in the selection,
interpretation and “staging” of events’.
Weingart (2001) looks at medialization with respect to science. He sees, as a
consequence of this phenomenon, an increase in the orientation of science to the
media, which is due to the increasingly close connection of science to its social
context. According to Weingart, in concrete terms, this is done in order to increase
the legitimacy of science and influence political decisions (e.g. to support large-
scale research), as well as to rally public support for claims in intrascientific dis-
putes (e.g. disagreements about priorities).
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 73

As in the case of politics, the question arises here of whether medialization

merely influences the public presentation of science and scientific knowledge, or
also has repercussions on research and the knowledge it produces. The latter case
would imply limitations on the autonomy of science and—also analogous to the
discussion of political medialization—may threaten scientific quality. Weingart
(2001: 249) makes the assumption that, in addition to the strengthening and profes-
sionalization of science PR based on corporate models, there are also influences on
decisions in the research process and on the ‘core of knowledge production’.
According to Imhof’s thesis, as the medialization of politics increases, there is
also increased pressure on institutions that are dependent on politics to follow suit
with their own medialization; those institutions use the media to reach their
addressees within the political system more effectively and to hold their attention.
In this way, the parallel medialization of different parts of society—such as politics
and science—creates a new, indirect link between those areas through their orienta-
tion to the media.
Thus, this is the central thesis of this chapter: the medialization of politics com-
pels the medialization of science as a precondition of, first, its legitimization and,
second, the political effectiveness of scientific expertise. Phenomena indicating
adaptation to the expectations of the media will be shown to exist in the interface
between science and the media and, as a result, this media orientation offers an
opportunity for science to influence politics.
In the ‘Integration of scientific expertise into media-based public discourses’
(INWEDIS) project, some of the phenomena that we expected to find according to
our thesis were examined more closely, using the biomedical fields of stem cell
research and epidemiology as examples: first, the adaptation of science to the
requirements of media communication on the part of science organizations and sci-
entists; second, the media construct of science (especially those aspects concerning
the legitimacy of scientific claims to validity as a basis for political regulation); and
third, the paths of media influence that science may potentially give access to the
political process. To this end, some 400 German stem cell researchers and epidemi-
ologists were surveyed by mail, 20 interviews with heads of PR departments of
scientific institutions were conducted, 240 newspaper articles about stem cell
research and epidemiology were analysed hermeneutically, and some 40 represent-
atives of the political-administrative system were interviewed.2
Because of their relevance to public health, the biomedical research fields of epi-
demiology and stem cell research both receive high levels of media attention and, for
different reasons, have political relevance. While epidemiological knowledge forms
the basis or legitimization for political regulation, the issue in stem cell research—in
so far as stem cells from human embryos are used—is the political regulation of
research itself. On the one hand, stem cell research has come into conflict with social

2
The surveys of both the scientists and the PR heads were carried out using international compari-
sons; however, for reasons of space, this article deals only with the results obtained in Germany.
The survey methodology is documented thoroughly in the final report for the project, which is
available online at http://hdl.handle.net/2128/2887.
74 H.P. Peters et al.

values (protection of embryos); on the other hand, it is considered to be an important

research field in which Germany cannot be permitted to lose its place among world
leaders in the technology.
In the hermeneutic media analysis, we can see the crisis in the relationship
between science and its social context in the case of stem cell research, and the dif-
ference between that research and epidemiology, which is an example of an unprob-
lematic normal case of the science–society relationship. However, this difference is
rarely visible in the PR survey, the decision-maker interviews or the scientist sur-
vey. In our assessment, this can be attributed to the fact that the ‘crisis situation’ is
limited to a very specific research area. It is no longer noticeable as soon as empiri-
cal findings reconstruct the dominant pattern of media relationships (as is the case
in the PR and decision-maker questionnaire) or the scientific community of stem
cell researchers (only a very small part of which is composed of researchers work-
ing with human embryonic stem cells) is surveyed as a whole.

5.2 Adaptation of Science to Media Communication

5.2.1 Media Logic: Selection, Recontextualization and Framing

The media (or journalism, to which we limit ourselves in the following discussion)
construct reality according to specific rules. Traditionally, those rules are described
using the concept of ‘news factors’, which presumably guide journalistic selection.
According to this concept, events mentioned in media reports are selected on the
basis of, for example, geographical, political and cultural proximity; surprise; relat-
edness to a topic that has already been introduced; prominence; personalization;
conflict; success; or damage (as seen in Schulz 1976, for instance).
The concept of news factors is useful as a heuristic description of the attention-
criteria of journalism. But one has to agree with Imhof (2006: 204) that any descrip-
tion of media communication based solely on the ‘gate keeper’ model of selection
criteria misses the mark with respect to the media construction of reality. However,
news factors can also be interpreted in an extended sense as rules of construction—
the rules according to which journalistic representations create relevance for the
public, in which appropriate contexts are created or emphasized. But even in this
broadened interpretation of news factors, central processes of journalistic meaning-
construction escape from view. Those processes are discussed using the terms
‘recontextualization’ and ‘framing’ (see, for example, Knorr Cetina 1981 and
Dahinden 2006). These concepts imply that events take on different meanings
depending on the context and on the specification of the general meaning structure
of which they are presented as an instance (Gamson and Modigliani 1989).
In Kohring’s (2005) variety of system-theoretical media theory, science jour-
nalism is conceptualized as an observation of science according to rules that are
different from those of the system being observed. For Kohring, journalism is a
socially differentiated capacity for observation from which the binding character
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 75

of media constructs results (for example, for politics). The decisive rule of selec-
tion according to Kohring is multi-system relevance. In other words, scientific
events selected for news coverage are those that are deemed likely to generate a
response in the social context of science, such as those considered to have medi-
cal, political, legal, economic or moral implications.
One of the consequences of this conceptualization of journalism is that journal-
ism is seen not as a transmitter of knowledge but as a producer of knowledge.
Observation of society results in media constructs, which represent a specific type
of knowledge about the world that is influenced by the media logic. However, jour-
nalistic ‘observation’ is based on interaction with actors that have authentic access
to the observed system. In concrete terms, what this means is that journalists inter-
view scientists and provoke responses that would not have occurred in the absence
of the journalistic enquiry, and that journalists refer to PR materials that are targeted
for use by the media.

5.2.2 Institutionalization of Media Contacts as an Element

of Leadership Roles

In its observation of the science system, science journalism is highly dependent on

scientists and organizational science PR. For this reason, scientists and science PR
take part in the creation of media constructs, just like journalistic information
sources in other fields. Of course, they are by no means objective informants;
rather, they allow their interests and goals to influence their self-representation as
well as their portrayal of particular problems (such as the risks of smoking, in the
case of epidemiology). Both on the organizational level and on the level of the
individual scientists in both research fields, a high degree of media-related com-
munication activity can be observed. Each year, PR offices in German universities
and research centres commonly issue several hundred press releases and respond to
hundreds of journalistic enquiries.
More than two-thirds of the German stem cell researchers and epidemiologists
surveyed had contact with journalists within the past three years (Table 5.1), mostly
through interviews. About one-third of the scientists can be said to have had more

Table 5.1 Frequency of Media Contact in the Past Three Years

Stem Cell
All (%) Researchers (%) Epidemiologists (%)
No contact 30 34 22
1–5 contacts 38 38 39
6–10 contacts 12 10 16
More than
10 contacts 21 19 24
100 (n = 390) 100 (n = 261) 100 (n = 129)
Note: Apparent errors in addition are due to rounding.
76 H.P. Peters et al.

or less regular contact with the media (more than twice a year). Epidemiologists
had somewhat more frequent contact with the media than stem cell researchers,
which can be attributed to the high degree of relevance of epidemiological research
both to individual health-related behaviour and to public health and risk policy.
Apart from this, both groups of researchers differed surprisingly little in their views
of and experience with the mass media.
Experienced (older) scientists and those with a higher level of scientific produc-
tivity were over-represented in our sample, compared with all the epidemiologists
and stem cell researchers in German research facilities. This resulted in data that
overestimated, to a certain extent, the average degree of experience with the media
among all researchers. If one compares the frequency of media contact from our
sample with an older survey taken from a broader disciplinary spectrum of scien-
tists (Strömer 1999: 32), nothing indicates that the two research fields that we stud-
ied are extreme cases in terms of the extent of media contact. Also, considering the
similarity of results in both research fields, we suspect that the basic findings of our
scientist survey can be generalized, at least in the field of biomedicine, with the
exception of a very limited number of topics in which a crisis exists in the relation-
ship between science and its social context.
Scientists seldom contact journalists on their own initiative. Two previous stud-
ies sought to determine which side initiated contact—scientists or journalists. The
results consistently indicated that 80% to 90% of the talks were initiated by journal-
ists, while only a small percentage were initiated by scientists, and an even smaller
percentage by third parties (Projektgruppe Risikokommunikation 1994, Peters and
Heinrichs 2005). However, the circumstances of contact are somewhat more com-
plicated than can be ascertained by the simple question of who initiates contact.
Even though contact between scientists and journalists is usually initiated by jour-
nalists, it is often the case that institutionalized PR activities are involved—through
press releases, presentations on websites, or referrals based on non-specific journal-
istic enquiries to PR offices.
The extent of media contact with scientists is not influenced primarily by subjec-
tively perceived ‘costs’ and ‘benefits’, or by affective advocacy or rejection of such
contact. Rather, it is dependent on the status of the scientist as measured by the number
of scientific publications, and by whether the scientist occupies a leadership function
as a project/group leader or head of an organizational unit or department. The relative
independence of subjective factors indicates that willingness to have contact with the
media is an institutionalized part of the leadership role within science. It is apparently
expected that scientists with a leadership role will maintain contact with the media.
A surprisingly high percentage (42%) of the surveyed scientists who have had
contact with the media regarded it as beneficial to their scientific careers, while
only a small percentage (3%) considered it to be damaging. The rest saw either no
effect (30%) or ambivalent effects (24%). If one considers this subjective estimate
by those surveyed to be accurate, it follows that media visibility or expected media
interest in candidates is among the implicit decision criteria for people within
organizations who are responsible for selecting and promoting scientists, extending
grants of support, selecting cooperation partners, and so on.
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 77

Because scientists are members both of scientific communities and of science

organizations, the question arises as to which of those contexts is more important
for the regulation of relationships with the media. Does the career-promoting effect
arise because media contact boosts a scientist’s reputation within the scientific
community, or because science organizations regard that media orientation as a
positive factor in addition to scientific reputation? Below, we discuss the relative
relevance of the scientific and organizational contexts.

5.2.3 The Influence of Scientific Norms

Previous studies of the relationship between science and the mass media found
indications that the norms of the scientific community tended to discourage media
contact by scientists (for example, Dunwoody and Ryan 1985). Unlike those stud-
ies, our survey did not indicate a basic negative sanctioning of media contact by the
scientific community. Only a quarter of the surveyed scientists named ‘incompati-
bility [of media contact] with the scientific culture’ as an important concern in pos-
sible media contact (see Table 5.2).
In a question about the motivating/demotivating significance of eight possible
considerations against and eight considerations for media contact, two oppositely
formulated items were included that made reference to the expectation of possible
reactions by colleagues: ‘Possible critical reactions from peers’ and ‘Enhanced
personal reputation among peers’. By combining the reactions to these two items
in an index, one can make the assessment that considerations about how colleagues
would react were irrelevant for nearly half (47%) of the surveyed German scien-
tists, and that otherwise motivating/demotivating influences from the expected
reactions of colleagues are basically equally represented (motivating for 18% of
those surveyed, demotivating for 21%, ambivalent for 14%).
Interestingly, the expectation of a negative reaction by colleagues is only weakly
associated with the extent of scientists’ contact with the media (Kendall’s tau-b =
0.11, p < 0.05)—a further indication that scientific norms are not essential barriers
to media contact. However, one of the few less clear differences between the two
scientific communities is evident here: among epidemiologists, the association is
significantly stronger (tau-b = 0.27, p < 0.001) than among stem cell researchers
(tau-b = 0.03, n.s.). This is probably because epidemiologists fear criticism from
colleagues mainly on the basis of medical ethics and not on the basis of scientific
norms, as is the case with stem cell researchers.
However, scientific norms are far from irrelevant in attitudes towards communi-
cation. Aside from the influences already mentioned, some of which are motivating
and some demotivating, scientific communication norms create expectations about
the ways and means of journalistic representation. In our survey, 82% of the scien-
tists stated that the ‘risk of incorrect quotation’ was a cause of serious concern in
contacts with the media. The statements ‘Journalists should be guided by scientific
peer review standards when selecting topics and sources for their stories’ and
78 H.P. Peters et al.

Table 5.2 Significance of Scientists’ Motives and Considerations in Possible Contacts with the
Media
Stem Cell Epidemiologistsa
Alla (%) Researchersa (%) (%)
Possibility of negative publicity 55 57 52
Loss of valuable research time 56 58 52
Unpredictability of journalists 80 80 80
Possible critical reactions from peers 35 38 28
Possible critical reactions from the
heads of department or organization 42 44 38
Possible critical reactions
from the public 47 53 35
Incompatibility with the scientific
culture 25 25 27
Risk of incorrect quotation 82 82 82
Increased visibility for sponsors
and funding bodies 84 86 80
A more positive public attitude
towards research 97 98 95
Enhanced personal reputation
among peers 32 30 35
Enhanced personal public reputation 44 42 47
Fulfilled responsibility to account
for the taxpayer’s money 58 61 52
Influence on public debate 89 89 90
A better educated general public 95 94 96
Enjoyment of interacting with
journalists 15 14 18
(n = 397) (n = 266) (n = 131)
a
Percentage of those surveyed that considered the corresponding factor ‘very important’ or ‘some-
what important’ in the decision to make contact with the media (more than one entry possible).

‘Scientists should communicate research findings to the general public only after
they have been published in a scientific journal’ met with emphatic agreement
(mean values of 1.0 and 1.1, respectively, on a five-step rating scale of −2
‘strongly disagree’ to + 2 ‘strongly agree’). The majority of scientists would like
to see journalistic science reporting held to scientific quality-control standards. The
PR survey showed that scientific publications are also an important basis for
organizational PR. One reason for this is that science journalists consider scientific
publication (especially in well-known journals) to be an event worthy of media
coverage. However, a further reason is that press offices themselves face the prob-
lem of how to assess the quality of the scientists’ work within their own organiza-
tions. They do not want to risk damaging their organization’s image by associating
it with research of dubious quality.
As in earlier studies (see Peters 2008), our survey indicated that scientists
request to check stories in which they are quoted which is rejected by journalists as
an encroachment upon their autonomy. The statement, ‘Journalists should permit
scientists to check stories in which they are quoted prior to publication’ was
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 79

received with almost unanimous strong concurrence (mean value of 1.7 on a rating
scale of + 2 to −2). This demand can be understood as an attempt to instrumentalize
journalism for the attainment of the communication goals of the scientist or organi-
zation cited. However, it can also be seen as a transfer of intrascientific communica-
tion scripts (that is, as an analogy to the proofreading of scientific publications).
The implications are that the scientists are the authors and that they relegate jour-
nalists to the role of pure information brokers.
In summary, in both the research fields studied, the norms of the two scientific
communities do not generally discourage media contact; rather, they are either
neutral or ambivalent towards such contact. However, the scientific culture leads to
expectations about the ways and means in which science is publicly presented and
about to the role of scientists in relation to journalism.

5.2.4 The Organizational Context of Public Communication

in Science

As our PR survey showed, science organizations—especially through their PR

offices—have a significant influence on how the media cover research (see Baerns
1990):
● They produce and disseminate their own content to media editorial departments
and journalists by means of press releases, press conferences and exclusive
information.
● They increase the visibility of their scientists to journalists and encourage the
scientists to be in contact with the media.
● They manage media queries to the organization and, when necessary, forward
them to scientists who seem to be suited to handling them.
● They observe and regulate—usually in subtle ways—direct contacts between
scientists and journalists that occur without their involvement.
Of course, all these processes work selectively. In other words, the PR department
controls the representation of its organization so that the interests of the organiza-
tion are promoted. These consist above all of the general legitimization of the
organization in the eyes of those on whom it is dependent (both politically, in terms
of regulation, and financially, for support), increasing the organization’s position in
various markets (e.g. training and research services, third-party funds), and exercis-
ing influence on political decisions relevant to research.
Depending on the organizational leadership’s and PR staff’s implicit media
effect models, a number of communications goals result. General goals are a high
media presence, a positive image and the development of a characteristic organiza-
tional profile or the establishment of a ‘brand’. Specific goals include the marketing
of services, the representation of the organization’s positions in the public political
dialogue (issues management), and attitude and behaviour change of the population
(e.g. through education on health risks). The way these goals are ranked varies from
organization to organization.
80 H.P. Peters et al.

Scientific successes that are attributed intrascientifically to specific individuals

form the basis of the proof of performance of research organizations, especially of
non-university research organizations that cannot refer to the ‘educating’ function
as a primary or supplementary legitimizing activity. The close integration of scien-
tists into organizational PR is indicated, for example, by the high percentage of sci-
entists (69%) who said in our survey that they had provided information to their PR
department in the past three years.
According to their answers, nearly a third of the surveyed scientists require the
approval of their science organization before speaking to journalists. Rules that
require scientists to obtain approval for contact with the media, or that require them
at least to notify the PR department of pending or completed press contact, are
intended not so much to prevent such contacts as to ensure that they are conducted
in accordance with the interests of the organization. Generally, press offices make
efforts to motivate scientists to increase contact with the press rather than hinder it.
The influence of the organizational context on media contact with scientists is
somewhat weaker in universities than in non-university research organizations and
university clinics. This is confirmed by the fact that for university scientists the expec-
tation of a critical reaction from the organization is less important in the decision about
whether to make contact with the press, and by the fact that they are significantly less
often required to obtain approval for media contact. In clinics, there is generally a more
careful attitude towards the media than in universities and non-university research
organizations. Scientists in clinics are somewhat less likely to consider contact with the
press advantageous to their careers, and in the interviews with public information offic-
ers of clinics it was more often mentioned that it was necessary to avoid media atten-
tion. One reason for this is the relevance of medical ethics in the work of university
clinics; for example, raising unfounded hope in patients through overoptimistic media
reports of new therapies is regarded as ethically wrong. Another reason is that the
threat of scandalous media reporting of possible malpractice or controversial clinical
studies is greater for university clinics than for other research organizations.
The current situation of PR in research organizations is characterized by a para-
digm shift that can be understood in the context of the ‘managerial revolution’ in
German universities described by Maasen and Weingart (2006). However, that
transformation is not limited to universities; rather, it includes the entire research
landscape. In the field of PR, there is strong evidence that PR is no longer seen as
a fulfilment of a generally understood ‘obligation of science to actively provide
information to the public’—that is, as a duty or service to the public—but rather as
the consistent pursuit of organizational strategic goals, which is analogous to PR’s
role in the corporate world. Terms such as ‘research marketing’, ‘brand develop-
ment’ and ‘branding’ are common in the current parlance of public information
officers. The goal is no longer simply to ensure ‘good press’, but—in the sense in
which Merten (2000) defines PR as a ‘process by which desirable realities are con-
structed’—to sharpen a precisely defined media image of the science organization
that meets the anticipated expectations of the state funding bodies, and that at the
same time is attractive to customers in the markets for education, consulting, health
and R&D services.
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 81

To attain this strategic goal, it is necessary to fine-tune the way the organization
presents itself, which is ultimately only possible with central control over all public
communication and a commitment by all the members of the organization to adhere
to its public communication policies. Such attempts to centralize media communi-
cation push against limits—especially in universities—created by the high degree
of autonomy afforded by law and tradition to professors and heads of institutes, as
well as by the competing loyalties of researchers who feel predominantly obligated
not only to ‘their’ university or research institute, but also to their scientific com-
munity, potential clients, a political mission or an interorganizational collaborative
project.

5.2.5 Acceptance of Media Communication as a Separate Arena

The PR survey revealed that anticipated media expectations constitute key selection
criteria for PR departments. Otherwise, successful PR would not be possible.
Public information offices emphasize the rules of the media when dealing with sci-
entists, leading to one of the relatively few typical conflict patterns indicated in the
surveys. In the main, PR departments promote acceptance of the ways journalists
work, and select scientists for their PR work partly based on the scientists’ accept-
ance of the media’s rules of the game.
Despite occasional frustrations, the interaction between scientists and journalists
is usually relatively tension-free. In line with earlier German findings (summarized
in Peters 2008), our survey indicates that, on the whole, the interaction between
scientists and journalists runs smoothly, and that the resulting journalistic coverage
enjoys a high degree of acceptance. Of the scientists who had contact with the
media in the past three years, 77% characterized their experience as ‘mainly good’,
while only 3% considered it ‘mainly bad’. The remaining 20% believed that good
and bad experiences were relatively balanced. The generally positive evaluation of
contact with the media is evident not only in the general assessments, but also for
specific interactions and across a broad range of individual aspects of the interac-
tion (see Table 5.3).
Scientists’ evaluations of interactions with journalists, being for the most part posi-
tive to ambivalent and only occasionally negative, indicate that in most cases journal-
ism does not seriously offend the central criteria of the scientists acting as sources.
Despite conceptual discrepancies with journalistic practice pertaining to the commu-
nication model and the consequent normative expectations, communication with the
media is pragmatically successful, according to the scientists we surveyed.
Apart from scientists accepting the expectations of the media, the main reason for
the generally positive assessments is that reporting by the media in most cases serves
scientists’ pragmatic communication goals, even though that reporting might violate
scientific communications norms. In a list of eight motives for making media con-
tact, the one attracting the highest level of agreement was the goal of creating ‘a
more positive public attitude towards research’ (see Table 5.2). This corresponds to
82 H.P. Peters et al.

Table 5.3 Summarized Assessment of Personal Media Contacts in the Past Three Years
Stem Cell
Alla, x– Researchersa, x– Epidemiologistsa, x–
I was able to get my message
out to the public 0.9 0.9 0.8
The journalists treated me with
little respect −1.2 −1.2 −1.2
The information I gave was
inaccurately used −0.8 −0.9 −0.6
The journalists asked the
right questions 0.5 0.5 0.4
I felt unsure when talking
to the journalists −1.1 −1.1 −1.0
My statements were distorted −0.9 −0.9 −0.9
The journalists really listened
to what I had to say 0.7 0.7 0.8
I received favourable publicity 0.8 0.9 0.7
The most important information
I gave was omitted −1.2 −1.3 −1.1
Talking to the journalists was
pleasant 0.9 1.0 0.7
My research was well explained 0.7 0.7 0.5
The journalists asked biased or
unfair questions −1.2 −1.2 −1.1
(n = 274) (n = 173) (n = 101)
Note: Only scientists with personal experience of the media were included in the calculation.
a
Mean values on a five-step scale, from −2 (‘strongly disagree’) to + 2 (‘strongly agree’).

the PR goal of legitimization; however, the PR offices of science organizations inter-

pret this general goal specifically—as the legitimization of their own organizations.
Probably encouraged by PR, scientists base their assessment of their contact
with the media on whether the contact had the intended persuasive effects (e.g. in
legitimization), and the mostly affirmative journalistic coverage of science seems
to have these desired effects, according to the scientists themselves. The feared or
actual violation of specific scientific criteria, particularly the criterion of accuracy,
is apparently secondary in their view. The surveyed public information officers
confirmed, for the most part, the predominantly affirmative characterization of sci-
ence—indicated, for example, by the fact that investigative science journalism is
not very common. The PR officers also pointed to the readiness of the media to
accept PR material (e.g. press releases) relatively uncritically and sometimes even
without reference to its source.
Previous studies indicated that many scientists considered science-related media
communication as an ‘extension’ of intrascientific communication. The alternative
to this is the belief that media communication about science is an independent
arena, in which specific rules—different from those of intrascientific communica-
tion—apply (see Peters 2008). Scientists’ astoundingly high level of satisfaction
with science reporting, despite the inner logic of the media and the dominance of
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 83

the legitimizing goal in media communication, is best explained by the second

model (media communication as its own arena). For organizational science PR, the
applicability of this model is obvious. However, we suspect that this model is also
the pragmatic basis for the way in which most scientists with media experience deal
with the media.

5.2.6 Effects of the Medialization of Science

The medialization of science and the related professionalization of organizational

science PR have a number of consequences for science’s self-representation, and
consequently for the public image of science and scientific knowledge. The selec-
tion and construction of topics offered to the media within the framework of proac-
tive PR, as well as reactions to media requests, simultaneously meet two central
criteria:
● The anticipated expectations of the media as a prerequisite for an opportunity for
publicity
● The goals of scientific communicators, based on their interests in legitimization,
profiling and political impact
A likely direct effect of the medialization of science, as opposed to a hypothetical
condition of non-medialization, is an increase in the public presence of science.
Increased media presence is aided by:
● A reduction in the journalistic effort because of journalistic work done in
advance and the proactive ‘push’ strategies of scientific PR, which allow for
savings in the production of science-related media content
● Better adaptation of scientific topics to journalistic rules of selection and con-
struction (that is, ultimately more attractive scientific topics for the media
audience)
A truly surprising observation is that for many actors, including most of the scien-
tific public information officers involved in the study, an important goal is a mere
mention in the media as frequently as possible (as long as it is non-deprecating).
There is a forced presumption that media presence in the ‘media society’ is a uni-
versally effective indicator of social relevance. This assumption also follows from
Kohring’s (2005) concept of journalism.
A second effect of medialization is the use of non-scientific frames of reference
in scientific self-representation. In the field of biomedicine, a ‘relevance’ construc-
tion based on practical applications and corresponding non-scientific benefits
seems obvious, and was consistently confirmed by the surveyed press officers. The
hermeneutic analysis of media reporting on epidemiology indicated that epidemiol-
ogy is characterized as a legitimate basis for political regulation (see below). To this
extent, political connectivity exists for a self-representation of epidemiological
research that is focused on practical effects. In addition to being a relatively simple
84 H.P. Peters et al.

adaptation to the media’s attention rules, focusing on practical use has the advan-
tage, from the perspective of science organizations, that they can legitimize them-
selves not only with research successes (which do not interest everyone) but also
with the prospect of practical benefits.
A particular image of science is portrayed when research is selected based on
the rules of media attention and organizational legitimization (through the benefits
of application and direct relevance to patients), or when emphasizing potential
practical relevance in the presentation of basic research. This creates the impression
that biomedical research is strongly oriented towards patient interests, rather than
to the scientific goals that it has set for itself. The tendency to present science as a
process driven by an orientation towards practical problems may also exist in other
areas besides biomedicine.
Indeed, stem cell research is a scientific field that is currently dominated by
other images of science. Here, the hermeneutical media analysis identified three
main meaning patterns, in which science is constructed as either ‘sport’, ‘guild’ or
‘hubris’(see Jung 2007a for more details):
● The ‘sport’ pattern relates to the competition between national teams of scien-
tists. Scientific success is implicitly presented in this pattern as first place in a
competition, rather than as progress in knowledge acquisition or as a solution to
practical problems.
● Science as ‘guild’ refers both to processes of intrascientific self-regulation (for
example, in dealing with the scandal involving South Korean cloning researcher
Woo-Suk Hwang), and to conflicts of interest between science and society (such
as the acceptance of research using human embryonic stem cells).
● In the ‘hubris’ pattern, fantasies of the omnipotence of science emerge as a threat
to basic social values, and scientists are portrayed as irrational and unscrupulous.
The function of such meaning patterns, analysed here using examples from stem
cell research, is to transform scientific complexity into a form that connects to the
everyday culture of modern Western societies through abstraction from factual
complexity and respecification of science on the social and normative levels. This
results in the inclusion of the audience, in the sense that each person will be located
on either one side or the other of a social relationship.
For the purposes of self-representation, sources of scientific information selec-
tively connect to meaning patterns used by the media that create a positive image
of the participating scientists and science organizations, or that imply political sup-
port for the research. In addition to the application perspective that we have already
mentioned, this is especially the case with the sport pattern. Association with that
pattern can be used to indicate a success (for example, so that a ‘world record’ can
be touted). But the sport pattern can also be used to demand political support by
referring to the competitive disadvantages of the German ‘team’ compared with the
international competition, due to handicaps created by political constraints.
The PR interviews identified further content-related selectivities derived from
organizational interests. For example, organizational science PR is not interested in
legitimizing science in general, but rather in legitimizing its own science organization.
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 85

Results of research produced in the social context of scientific communities that cross
organizational borders are appropriated by science organizations and represented as
their own achievements. This creates a specific public construct of science—differing
from science’s own self-image—in which science organizations are regarded as the
producers of knowledge.
While in the scientists’ survey we found some evidence of a medialization of the
research process, the PR survey did hardly indicate that this form of medialization is
specifically catalysed by the public information offices. To the extent that conflicts
involving the public acceptance of research topics or methods were discussed in the
interviews, the surveyed public information officers mostly sided with scientists, and
stated that they used the communication means at their disposal to defend the right to
conduct research and would not shy away from conflict with the public if necessary.

5.3 Political Effects of the Media’s Thematization

of Scientific Topics

5.3.1 Legitimacy of Scientific Knowledge and the Autonomy

of Science

The picture painted by the surveyed public information officers, of a predominantly

affirmative journalistic treatment of scientific topics as the rule, corresponds to a
high level of social trust in science. In public opinion surveys, science is regularly
shown to enjoy more public confidence than politics and economics. What is note-
worthy about this is that the difference in the levels of trust is not primarily due to
a belief that science is more competent; rather, it can be attributed to the assumption
that science is independent of interests and oriented towards the common good
(Peters et al. 2007). The result is that with ‘normal’ scientific topics there is essen-
tially little appeal for critical investigative journalism, which generally focuses on
contradictions between partial interests and the common good.
The fields selected as case studies—stem cell research and epidemiology—
differ in how they are portrayed by the media. Reporting about epidemiology
corresponds to the affirmative default. Although public conflicts occasionally
arise in epidemiology over the validity of scientific knowledge or the practical
results that can be obtained from it, the legitimacy of the science is not called into
question. In contrast, in reporting of research using human embryonic stem cells,
the issue is the reconstruction of a research field in which a crisis in its relation-
ship with its social context has developed because of tensions between the expec-
tations of researchers and social values (see Jung 2007a,b).
The image of science constructed in articles about epidemiology corresponds
to the traditional expectation of science as a producer of safe, objectively true
knowledge that is a legitimate basis for political regulation. The fact that scien-
tific knowledge, at a given point in time, is limited and uncertain is not perceived
86 H.P. Peters et al.

as a ‘crisis’ of science; rather, it results in a demand for more and/or better

research. Scientific knowledge is sometimes called into question in articles about
epidemiology. These articles refer to factual contradictions in statements by dif-
ferent scientists, weaknesses in method, and the distorting effect of external influ-
ences on the process of knowledge generation, but the critique is directed at
concrete research and not at the science per se (in fact, the ‘idea’ of science is
defended in these articles). Finally, political interference in the scientific process
is criticized, underscoring the legitimacy of the autonomy of science.
In summary, the analysis of the epidemiology articles showed that, in certain
respects, science occasionally has a credibility problem, but that simultaneously the
authority and legitimacy of science—as a form of knowledge, as a process through
which to obtain knowledge and as an institution—are reinforced and supported.
In the political arena, this image of science has two key consequences. First, it
strongly suggests that the political-administrative system should consider epidemiologi-
cal knowledge as a basis for health-care policy regulation, underscoring the political
relevance of science. Second, it demands respect for the autonomy of science, in so far
as it delegitimizes political interference in the process of knowledge generation.
Conversely, the constructs of science (‘sport’, ‘guild’ and ‘hubris’) that are
present in reporting of stem cell research imply, to a certain extent, the necessity
and legitimacy of political regulation of research. None of these meaning patterns
contests either the importance of scientific knowledge or the responsibility of
science to generate knowledge; however, the implication is that constraints on sci-
ence have to be defined according to the interests of society. Applying the hubris
pattern, it is necessary to protect society from scientists’ fantasies of omnipotence.
In one variant of the guild pattern, the autonomy of science is legitimized through
self-regulation (for example, as seen in the Hwang scandal). In another variant, as
in the hubris pattern, political control of science is seen as necessary to the extent
that the interests of science are perceived as being opposed to those of society.
Finally, the sport pattern implies political support of stem cell research in order to
make the German ‘stem cell team’ internationally competitive.

5.3.2 ‘Mechanisms’ of Political Effectiveness

According to the thesis of the medialization of politics, media reporting is an impor-

tant orientation framework for politics. In our survey of decision-makers in the
political-administrative system, especially of those responsible for subjects related
to health care, we sought indications of whether and in what form the media pres-
ence of scientific actors and scientific knowledge had effects that either contributed
to the legitimacy of science or to the use of scientific knowledge in policymaking.3
The institutionalized effort invested in media observation—in the form of press
summaries and timely monitoring of news agency press reports—and the intensity

3
This is addressed in more detail in Heinrichs and Petersen (2006) and Heinrichs et al. (2006).
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 87

of personal media use among decision-makers underscore the high significance

attached to media reporting in the political-administrative system.
The relationship between politics and the media has been intensively
researched from the perspective of an influence of politics on media reporting
(see, for example, Palmer 2000). However, the decisive question about whether
decision-makers orient themselves to the media and the effects this has on the
political process is much less the subject of detailed research. In our interviews
with decision-makers, five general functions of the mass media in the political
process could be identified, in addition to the public depiction of politics men-
tioned above:
● Topic monitoring and early warning. The decision-maker interviews confirm, in
agreement with the agenda-setting theory (Shaw and McCombs 1977), a high
degree of influence of media reporting on the attention structure of politics. In
the view of decision-makers, detailed and timely monitoring of topics that fall
within their areas of responsibility or specialization, especially topics involving
political competitors and other relevant actors, ensures the connectivity of their
own activities and also fulfils an early warning function.
● Media resonance as political success and relevance indicator. Media reporting
provides feedback on political activities. Observation of media coverage is a
way to monitor success, in which the criterion of success is media resonance.
Optimization of political activities vis-à-vis media response, made possible
through media feedback, primarily affects the presentation of political initia-
tives. It is also likely that fields of political activity are adjusted as a result (for
example, political initiatives that do not get a response are abandoned, while
fields of political activity that elicit a high response are sought out) and, possi-
bly, political positions may also be changed. An interesting implication of equat-
ing a high degree of (positive) media response with ‘success’ in politics is that
the same criterion is probably also applied to other actors. Thus, in the political-
administrative system, actors that appear frequently in the media (with good
press) are seen as especially successful and ‘relevant’.
● Repertoire of arguments and rhetorical devices. The media reflect discourses
about issues, so a media archive is a documentation of issue culture (Gamson
and Modigliani 1989)—in other words, an inventory of cultural elements, such
as events, dates, metaphors, frames and symbols associated with a specific issue.
Politics draws upon the elements of issue culture in order to generate effective
messages for public communication.
● An image of society. Decision-makers use journalistic observations of society
(Kohring 2005) to make inferences about the condition of society outside the
political realm. Politically, this type of observation serves as a barrier against
surprises; it allows problems to be identified before they become virulent and
present a possible threat to legitimacy. In addition, the image of the condition of
society created by the media can be used as a basis from which to assess whether
new themes and initiatives would be ‘connectable’ to the general public or the
realm of civil society and find resonance there.
88 H.P. Peters et al.

● Factual information and opinion formation. Finally, the interviews indicated

that, among decision-makers, the media provide background information for
individuals and assist in opinion formation. Supporting opinion formation
among media audiences is a general media function. However, when the media
recipients are decision-makers, the individual formation of opinions by this
political elite is presumably politically relevant.

These five general functions of the media for politics also create opportunities
of political impact for media references to science or for arguments based on
scientific knowledge. Scientific knowledge communicated through the media
can trigger political activities with the agenda-setting effect, which is viewed
partly as a problem because it can result in inconvenient pressure for action.
When science organizations, scientific experts or scientific fields are mentioned
in the media, those remarks are very likely to be interpreted by the political
establishment as an indicator of social relevance. Scientific experts and argu-
ments that are present in media content are sometimes co-opted in political
rhetoric. Social scientific expertise in the media contributes to the drawing of a
‘picture of society’. Finally, scientific knowledge could potentially be inte-
grated into the political process via opinion formation among individual deci-
sion-makers. The advantage in relevance of scientific knowledge conveyed by
the media lies in the fact that, because it has been subject to media logic, it is
already sociopolitically recontextualized.

5.4 Conclusions

The empirical findings described in this chapter reflect the situation at a point
in time and, as such, cannot directly support the thesis that science is subject to
increasing medialization. However, we found a number of empirical indications
that support the idea of a medialization of science: the high value accorded,
both within organizations and among individual scientists, to science-related
media communication; the institutionalization of media contact and its linkage
to leadership roles; and the adoption of media logic for self-representation,
resulting in a relevance construction based on non-scientific references. In
addition, there are indications of effects of medialization on scientific knowl-
edge production postulated by Weingart (2001), which we have not explored
further in this chapter.
We examined the tendencies towards medialization in two biomedical research
fields: stem cell research and epidemiology. The essential difference between the
two fields, determined by hermeneutical media analysis, is that the media meaning
structures in which stem cell research is reconstructed—especially those concern-
ing its use of human embryonic stem cells—provide a partial legitimization of the
political regulation of that field of research, while the coverage of epidemiology
universally supported its right to autonomous research.
5 Medialization of Science and Political Relevance 89

Because politics are medialized, the media presence of science (which is

strengthened by its own medialization) has political effects. This is based, for the
most part, on the following facts:
● The presumption of sociopolitical relevance is linked to the media presence of
scientific actors, events and arguments.
● Science produces media-accessible events to which politics can connect.
● Media reporting makes arguments derived from scientific knowledge accessible
(if necessary, by journalistically recontextualizing and honing them). Those
arguments contribute to opinion formation among the political elite and are
picked up in political rhetoric.
Political effects are associated, first, with the legitimization of science or science
organizations. The critical aspect for legitimization is not ‘trust in science’; public
opinion surveys, our survey of press officers, and the hermeneutical media analysis
all concur in confirming a high degree of social trust in the institution of science.
The factor critical to legitimacy is the sociopolitical relevance of science or science
organizations. Adaptation to media logic specifically requires the emphasis of non-
scientific references in self-representation. Furthermore, in the political establish-
ment’s reception of the media, media presence is interpreted as an indicator of
relevance. Therefore, the medialization of science contributes to its social
legitimacy.
Secondly, adoption of media logic creates opportunities to integrate scientific
expertise into policymaking. The special considerations in providing scientific
expertise through media reporting (instead of directly through scientific evaluations
or expert commissions) are:
● The media’s typical sociopolitical recontextualization
● The implicit relevance assessment related to the selection process in reporting
● Broad and easy accessibility resulting from dissemination by the media and
from journalistic processing (this final aspect can enhance the status of decision-
makers on the periphery of issue-centred policy networks that are not involved
in direct communication)
Professional science PR has an interesting role in the medialization of science. One
might expect that, as the interface between the public and the media, it adopts pub-
lic expectations and catalyses them into organizational goals. However, the empiri-
cal evidence points almost exclusively to effects on public self-representation, and
hardly to effects on the core of knowledge production. On the contrary, the PR
officers emphasized the right of science to autonomy. Therefore, scientific PR is a
strategy for maintaining autonomy, in the sense that it decouples the media con-
struct of science or the image of science organizations from the internal practice of
knowledge production. That is, it produces a differentiation between the intrascien-
tific or intra-organizational self-image and the public image. However, the gap
between the intrascientific practice and the public self-representation cannot
become too wide without running the risk of being journalistically ‘uncovered’ and
thus creating a legitimacy crisis.
90 H.P. Peters et al.

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The Authors

Harald Heinrichs ([email protected])

Harald Heinrichs PhD is a junior professor at the Institute for Environmental and
Sustainability Communication, Leuphana University Lüneburg, Germany. He is
working in the field of sociology of science, technology and environment, with a
special focus on theories and methods of communication, participation and coop-
eration for sustainable development. Harald’s recent projects include ‘Media,
Expertise and Political Decision-Making’, ‘Climate Change and Tourism’ and
‘Communication on Climate Change and Coastal Protection’. He is co-editor of the
International Journal for Sustainability Communication.
Arlena Jung ([email protected])
Arlena Jung PhD is a sociologist at the Institute for Science and Technology
Studies, Bielefeld University, Germany. Her main areas of research are communi-
cation between different social areas, in particular science, politics, the mass media
and the public; sociological theory, in particular systems theory; phenomenology;
and theories of the public and mass media.
Monika Kallfass ([email protected])
Monika Kallfass MA is a social scientist with the Humans–Environment–
Technology Program Group at the Forschungszentrum Jülich, Germany. Her
research has focused on public communication about science and technology, for
example in the IN3B (Inside the Big Black Box) project, which was funded by the
European Union.
Hans Peter Peters ([email protected])
Hans Peter Peters PhD is a senior researcher with the Humans–Environment–
Technology Program Group at the Forschungszentrum Jülich, Germany, and Adjunct
Professor for Science Journalism at the Free University of Berlin. His research deals
with the formation of public opinion on science, technology and the environment
under the conditions of a media society. He focuses on the interactions of journalists
92 H.P. Peters et al.

and scientific experts and on the impact of scientific knowledge on public under-
standing of technical innovations and global environmental change. Hans Peter is
particularly interested in cross-cultural research. His recent projects have dealt with
‘Climate Change in the Public Sphere’ and the ‘Integration of Scientific Expertise in
Media-based Public Discourses’. Hans Peter is member of the scientific committee
of the PCST Network.
Imme Petersen ([email protected])
Imme Petersen PhD is a cultural anthropologist at the Research Centre on
Biotechnology, Society and the Environment (BIOGUM), Medicine and
Neuroscience Section, at the University of Hamburg, Germany. She has been work-
ing in several research projects on the societal, cultural and ethical dimensions of
biotechnologies. Currently, Imme is working in a research collaboration, funded by
the European Union, called ACGT (‘Advancing Clinico-Genomic Trials on Cancer:
Integrated Services Improving Medical Knowledge Discovery’).
Chapter 6
On and about the Deficit Model in an Age
of Free Flow

Bernard Schiele(*
ü)

Abstract This chapter shows that the notion of the ‘deficit model’ of science
communication, which emerged in the post-war context, manifests a certain con-
figuration of the science–society relationship, as well as a particular modality of
scientific knowledge production—one that was primarily characterized by funda-
mental research. Its function is mainly ideological, as much justifying the type of
knowledge highlighted as being an intermediary between science and the public
sought by the media. The relegation of the deficit model, beginning in the 1980s,
corresponds to a transformation of knowledge production, which was henceforth
subject to the relentless pursuit of innovation. Adapting to this new role of science
entails a resocialization of the actors. This happens through new and emerging pat-
terns that can be adopted and which give the actors a socially valued way to engage
in science–society interactions.

Keywords Deficit model, contextual model, ideology, science, social actor,

society

For all intents and purposes, the history of the relationship of sciences1 and society
can be summarized as an exponentially growing integration, starting from the early
convergence of the Renaissance, reinforced during the Industrial Revolution, and
indelibly sealed by the fast-paced acceleration of scientific development in the 20th
century (De Solla Price 1963). Today’s ‘knowledge society’ is its natural, homoge-
neous outcome. Thus ‘science links up with modernity, with the emergence of
so-called modern societies’ and their evolution.
Until now, ‘progress appeared as the product of what could be called the effect of
science, that is, an imposed representation of nature and society that was increasingly

Interuniversity Research Center on S&T, Faculty of Communication, University of Quebec

at Montreal, PO Box 8888, Centre-ville Station, Montréal, Québec H3C 3P8, Canada.
Phone: 514 987 3000x4573, Fax: 514 987 7726, E-mail: [email protected]
1
I have chosen to refer to ‘sciences’ in the plural to reflect the diversity of fields and practices.

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 93

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
94 B. Schiele

moving toward scientific knowledge’ (Fournier 1995: 7). This ‘effect’ came to infuse
everyday life for everyone, such that sciences—as Moscovici (1976: 22) pointed out
over 30 years ago—‘invented and proposed the major part of objects, concepts, analo-
gies and logical forms that we use in our business, political or intellectual tasks’. The
relentlessly debated questions about access to scientific production proved an inherent
part of this integration movement, as the questions reappeared and were reformulated
in a succession of contexts. Thus, attention came to focus less on those persistent ques-
tions than on the successive forms they adopted.
With this in mind, this chapter examines one such question, that of the deficit
model, in two contexts of the ‘sciences–society’ relationship: first, the context that
was explicitly formulated and self-imposed as the dominant theoretical model (this
was roughly the period from the end of World War II to the early 1980s); and second,
the period from the 1980s to the present, which saw its relegation and a search for
replacement models. My inquiry here deals less with the theoretical validity of the
deficit model—a question that I feel remains open—than the conditions that made it
possible and, concomitantly, those which today serve to stigmatize it.
This chapter is divided into three parts: first, a brief history recalling that sciences
and science disclosure have long trod the same path together; second, based on two
earlier texts, an examination of the impact of scientific development (basic research)
and media on the discourse of sciences dissemination in the public sphere; third, a
look at the evolution of that discourse in terms of current transformations of the
context of scientific production (Gibbons et al. 1995, Nowotny et al. 2002).

6.1 Historical Signposts

While sciences and society were originally dissociated—to state things simply—
sciences and sciences disclosure were mutually confounded. Science was dissemi-
nated in and by its self-constituting movement, with the help of vernacular
languages adopted by a fledgling scientific community to convey knowledge, and
via the secret renunciation that surrounded alchemy, astrology and occultism.
Progressively, secretly sharing among themselves and the general public, the scientific
sages opted for exchange and the ensuing multiplier effect it made possible. Thus,
the constitution and presentation of science to the public went hand in hand.
Fontenelle [1686] 1990, signalling the Enlightenment with his Entretiens sur la
pluralité des mondes, marked the start of the public dissemination of sciences,
which we today call the ‘public communication of science and technology’ (PCST)
but which has also been known as ‘science popularization’, ‘parallel school’, ‘sci-
ences disclosure’ and so on (Jacobi and Schiele 1990). In creating a ‘new genre’,
presenting scientific discoveries to the reasoning 17th century man, Fontenelle
essentially meant that he was ‘not a stranger to Science, nor the sage a stranger in
the City’ (Mortureux 1983: 110). Fontenelle’s project anticipates ours, even if the
term that denotes this practice and enables this type of social organization did not
yet exist (nor, a fortiori, did PCST).
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 95

I do not propose to give a broad-brushed history of the public dissemination of

science and technology (S&T). However, I will recall two of its major conclusions.
First, the growing role that PCST played from the 18th century demonstrates the
importance of the social function revealed by Fontenelle. As Meadows (1986) points
out, PCST became a social necessity from the time that the generalization of the quan-
titative approach (formalization) in all domains covered by scientific research pro-
voked both a closure of knowledge and a differentiation of scientific fields. Second,
well before they sought autonomy and specificity, the activities of public presentation
and dissemination of sciences were progressively self-affirmed as distinct practices of
scientific exchange. The treatment of science by 19th century newspapers and maga-
zines, with their series on science and their reader-attracting ‘science wonders’ col-
umns, is illuminating in this regard (Raichvarg and Jacques 1991, Bensaude-Vincent
2000). Moreover, this movement of progressive integration of sciences and society was
clearly a factor in the development, diversification and professionalism of these prac-
tices. And, while the role of media was already significant, it was only with the rise of
mass media after World War II that PCST practices (then called ‘popularization’)
would join a discourse that justified and legitimated them (Schiele 2007).

6.2 1945–1975: The Affirmation of Basic Research and the Rise

of Mass Media

In the early 1960s, two discourses—later subsumed under the ‘deficit model’ moniker—
infused the social debate. The first of these, essentially reflecting a consciousness-raised
awareness of the role of science’s productive forces and its structuring effect on society,
placed science literacy, which was highly regarded, head to head with literary culture,
qualifying one as progressive, the other as retrograde. The second discourse, coming from
the media field, set three categories of actors in relation: at one extreme of the cultural
spectrum, the scientists (and other creators of culture); at the other, the general public (the
consumer of culture); and, between the two, the ‘intermediaries’ whose function it was to
fill the gap separating the creators from the consumers.
These two discourses devolved from the development of basic research, which
revealed all its formidable potential in the development of the atomic bomb during
World War II. Exemplifying the two discourses, respectively, were C. P. Snow in
England, and A. A. Moles and J.-M. Oulif in France.

6.2.1 The Deficit Model Formulated in a Science Field

Perspective

In the early 1960s, Snow [1959] 1974 theorized what would later be called the defi-
cit model by contrasting two cultures, scientists versus others, separated by a ‘gulf
of incomprehension’. Snow saw the situation as simple: on one side, the rising
96 B. Schiele

science culture, with its system of gratifications; on the other, the literary intellectu-
als and non-scientists, essentially relegated to the social aspect. However, he railed,
‘[i]t is the traditional culture, to an extent remarkably little diminished by the emer-
gence of the scientific one, which manages the western world’ (p. 11). Hence, ‘the
scientific culture really is a culture not only in an intellectual but also in an anthro-
pological sense. That is, its members [have] common attitudes, common standards
and patterns of behaviour, common approaches and assumptions’ (p. 9).
As Snow would have it, this prods scientists beyond their values, their religious
convictions or even their basic social milieu to adopt convergent ways of thinking.
Contrary to this, the literary intellectuals ‘still like to pretend that the traditional cul-
ture is the whole of “culture” ’ (p. 15), while having no inkling of the depth, the
complexity and the beauty of the scientific edifice:
Their attitudes are so different that, even on the level of emotion, they can’t find much com-
mon ground… In fact, the separation between the scientists and non-scientists is much less
bridgeable among the young than it was thirty years ago… It is not only that the young sci-
entists now feel that they are part of a culture on the rise while the other is in retreat. It is
also, to be brutal, that the young scientists know that with an indifferent degree they’ll get a
comfortable job, while their contemporaries and counterparts in English or History will be
lucky to earn 60% as much’ (Snow [1959] 1974: 4, 17).

In Snow’s defence, the physicists—his ideal-type of scientist—were then in the

forefront of the scientific and public scene. In other words, the idea of the deficit
model was formulated at a time when a particular conception of research, namely
basic research, was becoming generalized and synchronized with the avowed interest
in knowledge itself, for its own sake, for its inherent wonder and promising poten-
tial. The movement valorizing basic research had begun well before, in the efferves-
cent spirit of the Enlightenment, and museums such as the Palais de la Découverte
in Paris and Chicago’s science museums were already highlighting and valuing sci-
entific knowledge for its own sake. As stated by physician Jean Perrin, creator of the
Palais de la Découverte: ‘We first wanted to familiarize our visitors with the basic
research that created science’ (quoted in Rose 1967: 206 and freely translated here);
it was only later that ‘utilitarian research’ would replace ‘pure research’.
So the deficit model described by Snow depicts an idealized representation of
sciences, but also a crystallization of values and attitudes of the relevant social
groups and, more generally, of how they perceive themselves and how they relate to
the other social groups and to society as a whole. It’s a dual relationship: cognitive
(observing a form of knowledge and culture) and social (valuing and justifying a
way of organizing knowledge production). Thus, the deficit model could also be
understood as a certain configuration of the ‘sciences–society’ relationship, with
science embedded in a particular way in the social aspect. Today, as new production
modes develop, one can certainly expect new forms of entrenchment (see below).
It is interesting to note in passing that Snow is happy to denounce a growing gap
between scientific and literary culture, to the detriment of the second, without propos-
ing any way out of the crisis, whether this would be to plead for a more dynamic
teaching system (taking the example of the US) or to signal the emergence of a ‘third
culture’, namely the human sciences, ‘concerned with how human beings are living
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 97

or have lived,…such as the human effects of the scientific revolution’. ‘It is probably
too early to speak of a third culture already in existence [but w]hen it comes, some of
the difficulties of communication will at last be softened: for such a culture has, just
to do its job, to be on speaking terms with the scientific one’ (Snow [1959] 1974:
70–71). One therefore hopes that the human sciences can play the same role of media-
tion in the knowledge field as do the ‘intermediaries’ beset by the media.

6.2.2 The Deficit Model in a Perspective of the Mass Media Field

After the war, newspapers renewed their interest in covering scientific information,
which was then in demand and characterized by a generalized optimism. The tech-
nologies in medicine, energy, transportation and communications that had developed
through the war effort were transposed into civilian use and helped to spur an
economic and social change in post-war society. This was the beginning of what we
tacitly call les trente glorieuses (Fourastié 1979).
However, researchers who hitherto had been very active in the public dissemina-
tion of sciences—such as the French science community, which had played an
important role in the creation of the Palais de la Découverte in Paris in 1937
(Eidelman 1988a,b)—and who had been partly reduced to silence during the war,
saw their role disputed by the science communication professionals. Meadows
observed that it was during the wartime hostilities that journalists took over from the
scientists—an outcome of the ‘growing complexity of the knowledge concerned’
(Meadows 1986: 400). Thenceforth, the abstract physical universe could no longer
be decoded from common experience. Someone was needed to describe this formal
universe and explain its meaning to everyone else, who would no longer have to
master a complex arsenal of concepts. And the public audience for science had to be
enlarged: traditional knowledge and know-how were deemed inadequate to deal
with practical and intellectual tasks, thereby halting the penetration of spin-offs from
the achievements of scientific and technical knowledge. To fully express Moscovici’s
meaning (1976): the genesis of a new common sense, henceforth science-driven,
merged with basic social preoccupations.
Amid Snow’s keen observations, Moles and Oulif (1967) echoed this movement
and its accompanying discourse. They denounced a split in society and proposed to
close the gap through the ‘mediation’ of a ‘third man’, an ‘intercessor’ whose func-
tion consisted of assuring ‘optimal communication at low cost’ between a small core
of scientists and a majority of consumers. This posture designates the media as
the natural mooring site of that mediation; its corollary is an intention to maximize the
exchanges. Moles and Oulif also kill two birds with one stone by qualifying the
mediation by its self-specifying practice. In so doing, they demonstrate on the one
hand the rise of the power of the mass media and their interests, and on the other
hand, more generally, the media’s strategic positioning (since science popularization
at that time represented a challenge for society). Moles and Oulif’s model is exem-
plary, portraying and condensing a diffuse but full representation of the role of
98 B. Schiele

media. The same movement occurred in the US: ‘By the early 1960s, four major
groups had responded to the post-war demand for popular science, each for its own
reasons. Each group—the commercial publishers, the scientific organizations, the
science writers, and the government agencies—defined “public understanding of
science” in slightly different ways to serve their own needs’ (Lewenstein 1992: 62).
This representation is still active in the media field.
With the rise of the power of the media, the media practitioners sought, often
successfully, to be in the forefront of the public scene, moving closer to the scientists—
sometimes with the tacit support of the scientists themselves, who basked in the
image purveyed—to become confined in a world of concepts and formalisms that
kept them distant from the concerns of a society whose transformations, paradoxi-
cally, sprang from the application of discoveries by those same researchers. These
media practitioners (science journalists) were perceived and still see themselves as
the natural intermediaries between a world of science closed unto itself and a query-
ing public with concerns and questions desperately unanswered—a public whose
disparate, disjointed knowledge prevents it from comprehending the changes to
every aspect of its life and, consequently, prevents it from forming opinions based
on their implications. The media’s communication of sciences thus became neces-
sary to re-establish a balance and restore a right to speak.

6.2.3 Media Critique

6.2.3.1 Window Dressing

As soon as the demand for media to restore a genuine right to speak was affirmed,
it was disputed (Schiele and Jacobi 1988, Jacobi and Schiele 1990). For Roqueplo,
media communication became reduced to a ‘show of the practice of sciences’. It
accredited the ‘spectacle, or show, of content’ by the mediation not to the objective
relationship between theory and practice, but to the exhibition of the ‘subjective
competency of men of science put on show’. Thus, the media offered a dual show:
that of science ‘content’, and that of ‘the authority that legitimates this content and
its integration’ in ‘the field of daily experience’ of the reader, the listener or the
spectator (Roqueplo 1974: 110). They produce a ‘window dressing’: behind the
window, very visible but apart, are ‘the actors and the products’; in front of the window,
kept at a distance, is the public. He concludes that the media leads at best to repre-
sentations of knowledge, but never to a true appropriation.
But denouncing the ‘window dressing’, while reinforcing the non-reducibles of
the deficit model, itself demands caution. As a true defender of a science answerable
only to itself, Roqueplo remains enclosed in a concept in which sciences and society
are two separate entities. From his angle of approach, the referential is the prior
knowledge produced by scientists. It can only degrade or degenerate when the media
seize upon it, with a lingering question on the extent of the knowledge gap. The facts
would have us oppose media at school. Suddenly it is no longer possible for him to
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 99

conceive that media are operating symbolically, especially on a level other than that
of knowledge dissemination (but not necessarily excluding it). Moreover, his
approach is based on a scholastic conception of scientific knowledge, which sees the
retention of rudimentary knowledge inculcated at school as the indicator of science
culture.
Up to now, this robust school model has largely inspired general studies on
science culture, such as those conducted by the National Science Foundation (until
recently) and the European Commission (EC). It is not surprising that the general
conclusion of these studies points to the public’s low yet improving level of science
culture. It should be added, however, that these surveys have been enriched over the
years with questions about ‘interest’ in S&T, directing attention to such topics as
‘trust’ that cover a much broader spectrum than the simple retention of knowledge.
The chosen parameters are habitually summarized as knowledge of basic science
vocabulary, a certain mastery of the scientific method, and an awareness of the social
impacts of S&T (Miller 1983, Miller et al. 1997).

6.2.3.2 Confinement in Average Culture

The role of media has also been broached in another perspective. For Maldidier and
Boltanski (1969) and Maldidier (1973), the cultural work of PCST must be grasped
at the focal point of a particular form of cultural property and conditions of inherent
appropriation, themselves a function of conditions that may or may not modulate
social mobility. To understand what is meant by ‘average’ culture—that which is
produced and disseminated by the media—they would have us abandon the tradi-
tional distinction between internal analysis (the content of the cultural product) and
external analysis (the production conditions, consumer characteristics, and so on).
This caesura prohibits the use of information about the public to understand the
characteristics of the product, or, inversely, favours only content analysis.
For them, the term ‘PCST’ negatively denotes its object; that is, in relation to
a superior culture of which it is merely a degraded form. The notion of average
culture avoids such a trap. It means cultural products for members of the middle
class that fulfil their expectations and interests by aligning the intentions and
constraints of producers of those goods to the interests of the middle class, the
principal consumer. Average culture therefore reinforces everyone in their aspira-
tions for learned culture through products that demand no prerequisite skills or
prior learning to be assimilated. Those products, with their equivocal features as
substitute products, create an allodoxia, a phenomenon of false cultural recogni-
tion—unlike products of learned culture that reach restricted groups composed of
‘individuals with prior cultural competencies that pose and presuppose in a quasi-
explicit way the elliptical or allusive character of the messages disseminated’
(Maldidier 1973: 5).
For Maldidier and Boltanski, the expectations and interests of the public derive
from earlier school training and not, as scientific communicators would suggest,
from a need to know suddenly intensified by the acceleration of scientific progress.
100 B. Schiele

They also immediately defined PCST as an extracurricular activity, an offshoot of

the position it held in relation to teaching. Its consumption results from the align-
ment or (more frequently) dis-alignment between the cultural capital and intellec-
tual, cultural and social dispositions (Bourdieu 1979, Bourdieu and Wacquant
1992), between the aspirations to scientific knowledge and the level attained in the
hierarchy of scientific competencies. In the majority of cases, we are interested in
PCST in so far as it maintains a professional mobility.
In showing that PSCT consumers mostly belong to the upwardly mobile or
stable middle classes, Boltanski and Maldidier drew a relationship between the
appropriateness of the content proposed and the aspirations of consumers. But far
from permitting the middle classes to accede to scientific culture, PCST only
offers an artificial culture, an approximate, incomplete knowledge. Amid this
interplay, the science communicators who, with minimal constraints, take on the
task of transmitting to a general public the scientific notions they consider vital
to understanding current sciences encounter real difficulties. They must either
disseminate scientific knowledge to a relatively limited public, or else communi-
cate general information to a general public. Hence a two-edged discourse: pes-
simistic but lucid as to the public’s interest in science knowledge; optimistic but
utopian in reference to the general public’s need for scientific knowledge. Science
communicators hold contradictory proposals because they cannot know if their
activity truly responds to a social demand. Instead, they evaluate their activity
against the necessity for PCST, but without really being able to define it or say
what it should be.
These critiques of the media’s capacity to fill the gap between sciences and
society, while pertinent, are nonetheless normative. They are part of a closed
circle of understanding that is delineated by the media themselves and the
sciences field itself. It is interesting to note in passing that most of the American
work on this question during this period also continued to use this perspective
on the media and the scientific field. Works on the responsibility of journalists
are significant in this regard (Friedman et al. 1986, Goldsmith 1986, Nelkin
1987).

6.2.4 The Deficit Model—a Working Ideology

The question of the deficit model, taken epistemologically, is raised in the social
conjuncture where it exists and exerts a presence, and not in abstracto. In this case,
the post-war years can be characterized by two phenomena:
● The first was the emergence and formation of a social group in the media field,
namely science journalists. In hindsight, we know they were part of a larger
movement of autonomization of practices in disseminating sciences in the public
sphere. We now refer to ‘science communicators’ to express the diversity of their
expertise.
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 101

● The second was obviously the acceleration of professionalism in the scientific

field2 and the corresponding training of a social group: scientists attached to the
apparatus of basic research (mainly the universities). This professionalism move-
ment was already well under way from the 1930s, but it was mostly after World
War II, having demonstrated the social necessity of the research, that the pace
quickened. The movement was spurred by the model, observed by Vannevar Bush
[1945] 1970, that valued excellence in basic research—a model that held sway in
the US and elsewhere up to the mid-1970s.
If, as shown by Eidelman (1988a, b), the professionalism of the research was accom-
panied by a parallel development in science museums to disseminate this type of
culture (the Chicago World Fair in 1933, the creation of the Palais de la Découverte
in 1937, and so on), the predominant role in communication that scientists played at
the turn of the 1930s was no longer possible at the end of the war. As we have seen,
journalists replaced the scientists during the war and held on to that role afterwards.
In any case, both these social groups presuppose an exteriority of sciences, outside
the realm of the public and the literary intellectuals. The science communicators
showed they were the only ones to build a rapprochement with society, while the
scientists, bearers of the future, entered into future human sciences to fill a gulf that
the literary intellectuals could not even understand.
As I have noted, the affirmation of a social necessity of sciences corresponds on
one level to the redeployment of productive forces, and on another level affirms the
communication of sciences with an expansion of the means of communication. The
idea of the deficit model thus has more to do with the professionalism (or, in the case
of the scientists, a new phase of professionalism) of two social groups demanding
their domains, their places, and their own legitimacy (Bourdieu 1980). So two move-
ments each led to the formation of specific devices and, correlatively, the establish-
ment of a symbolic distance between them, and between each of them and the other
groups of social actors with whom they interact. The deficit model idea characterizes
the coincidence of these two movements, which is why the question of the deficit
model as posed until now has been ideological, and not theoretical.
This ideological perspective was the one adopted in most of the work conducted
up to now. According to Bauer et al. (2007), who opt for a critical approach, the defi-
cit model hinges on two analogies. The first links the necessity of a science culture
to schooling: knowledge of sciences (science literacy) must be part of the each per-
son’s knowledge kitbag, just like knowing how to read, write and count (basic literacy).
The second analogy states that in a democracy, to be heard and contribute effectively
to decision making, a voice must gain mastery of the political process and its
apparatus (political literacy).
Thus the deficit model attributes lack of knowledge to an undereducated public—
a public with a deficit of scientific capacity. This creates on the one hand a constant
demand to beef up science education and introduce support programmes to develop

2
The question of the professionalism of the research is a domain in itself. A past summary suffices
for our purposes here.
102 B. Schiele

science culture, and on the other the disqualification of a public deemed doubly
ignorant by those who hold to a technocratic approach. For them, the deficit in
science capacity sets rolling a deficit in democratic capacity: the public is excluded
from participation in decision making on questions about S&T (Bauer et al. 2007:
80, passim).
Similarly, if ‘knowledge sharing’ is highlighted,3 for Wynne (1995) the real
objective is to perpetuate a power relationship based on the recognition of science’s
authority: ‘A common thread has been anxiety among social elites about maintain-
ing social control via public assimilation of the “natural order” as revealed by science’.
In the field of ‘science policy’, the deficit model therefore reinforces the natural
tendency of institutions to deem ‘pertinent’ and ‘realizable’ only that which meets
their ends and fits their structures (Wynne 1991: 111) and to reject out of hand that
which eludes. So they tend to perpetuate such discourse, in this case the discourse
of science on the world, and within a particular social relationship. That relation-
ship (between scientists on the one hand and the public on the other) is primarily
unilateral, in the sense that one speaks (the learned sage) and the other listens (the
public). It is also a totally unequal relationship between an organized institution and
dispersed individuals, with actor one speaking on behalf of its collective being and
the other listening as an individual (Lévy-Leblond 1994: 38).
Another weakness of the deficit model has always been that it considers
knowledge for knowledge’s own sake, independently of its conditions of production
and application (that is, without its boundary conditions), so the framework that
knowledge inhabits is not even envisaged (Ziman 1992). But quite obviously, as we
have just seen, the deficit model is itself the expression of a modelling of certain
conditions of production and application of scientific knowledge, and that modelling
involves the modalities of public valorization. Equally obviously, the deficit model
masks the fact that scientific knowledge is never complete, totally consistent or
coherent (Wynne 1995). For example, the question of whether or not ‘psychology’
merits the status of science derives from contradictory conceptions of ‘science’. ‘In
other words, “science” is not a sharply defined and special type of knowledge, which
only starts to be misrepresented and misunderstood outside well-defined boundaries
by people who simply do not know any better’ (Ziman 1991: 100).
The boundary between sciences and society and the corresponding one
between knowledge and lack of knowledge are today even more blurred than
Ziman might suppose: the deficit model is in a ‘bitter crisis’, less because its
intrinsic limitations have been demonstrated than because its ideological reason
for being now lacks purpose. The conditions of scientific production have
changed, and new means of communication have overwhelmed the mass media’s
sphere of influence.

3
Certainly, the reshaping of the spirit of the Enlightenment is still palpable in the project of dis-
semination of sciences: the preoccupation—disinterested or not—to achieve a true sharing of
knowledge is not insignificant. But to debate it here would require a development greatly exceed-
ing the space allocated to me.
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 103

6.3 1980 to the Present: The Free Flow of Knowledge

6.3.1 Two Introductory Remarks

Revealed by the influence of mass media, the communications utopia progressively

replaced that of the Enlightenment, starting in the 1970s (Breton [1992] 1997). It
first came into its own in science museums: communicating with visitors took prec-
edence over all other considerations. The San Francisco Exploratorium and the
Ontario Science Centre in Toronto both opened in 1969 and were the precursors of
this trend reversal. Note, incidentally, that the thrust of ‘new pedagogies’, which
were very active at that time, also saw the pedagogical relationship first and fore-
most as a communication situation. Starting in the 1980s, the Bodmer Report
(1985) was first in a long series that saw communication as the means and the end.
The report roundly pummelled the knowledge gap, so dear to the deficit model,
pleading for a rapprochement of scientists and public by diversifying the means and
situations of communication to foster contacts between the two groups, and was no
longer fixated solely on elevating the level of knowledge of the public as a whole.
Another trend also in play was the progressive relegation of fundamental research
to an ancillary role. It is this second trend, along with the advent of a communica-
tions utopia, much more than the media critique or the demonstrated limits of the
school model—at least that’s the hypothesis of advanced work—that ultimately
destabilized the deficit model and its corollary, the concept of public understanding
of science (in its restrictive sense). The deficit model was replaced by a participatory
logic that values citizen input and advocates open dialogue with scientists, in keep-
ing with contexts and circumstances, to refurbish the image of a science whose
contribution to progress was now considered problematic (SCST 2000). The ques-
tion remains whether these are the real issues today.

6.3.2 Producing Knowledge Today

The increasing integration of sciences and society in recent decades has led to the
establishment of a splendid apparatus for the production, storage, treatment and dis-
semination of knowledge with a view to specifying it, completing it, questioning and
rejecting it. The apparatus works almost in real time, thanks to frequent interactions
between researchers, laboratories, networks and countries made possible by new
information and communication technologies. The OECD (2002: 249) notes that
this direct confrontation of work results:
…became characterized mainly by the increase in international exchanges in the very highly
intensive sectors of research–development, by the increased circulation of technologies within
multinational corporation networks and by the rise in science and technology cooperation.

The cooperation is reflected in the relentless increase in publications co-signed by

authors from different countries. The proportion rose from 14.3% in 1986 to 31.3%
104 B. Schiele

in 1999 (OECD 2002: 51–52). This integration, however, now depends as well on a
knowledge production systematically placed at the service of innovation, considered
to be its prime source and likewise that of socio-economic development. Noting a
reversal of the dynamic, Castells (1996) concludes that the quest for innovation
today takes precedence over the quest for knowledge, which tends increasingly to be
produced in a context in which potential spin-offs are the sole interest.
There are at least three consequences of this new conjuncture. First, ‘the knowledge
society is characterized, certainly, by an exponential growth in knowledge, a mix of all
disciplines, but even more, by a reconfiguration of production modalities and manage-
ment’ (CST 2002: 22). The ‘problems to be solved’, the ‘needs of the economy and
society’, the ‘uses of technology’ thus overdetermine the scientific excellence offering
or the technological performance (Valenduc and Vendramin [1997] 2003).
Second, as Gibbons et al. (1994: passim) observed, this recomposition of the role
of research brings in its wake a ‘diversification of places of knowledge creation’, a
‘heterogeneity of intervenors’, a ‘multiplication of exchange networks’, an ‘increased
contextualization of research’ and an ‘increase in scientists’ social responsibility’.
The ‘knowledge dynamic itself’ is now ‘marked by internal heterogeneity, growing
diversification and the more transitory character of the production and dissemination
devices of knowledge’. This results in the progress of the research itself—which has
to operate with a veritable archipelago of disciplines, to use Jean-Marc Lévy-
Leblond’s metaphor, and with a range of supporting actors and institutions. Add to
this ‘the increasingly imperative contextualization not only of knowledge but in its
production too’ (Limoges 1995: 2), and:
[n]ew organizational forms emerge, new types of centres, networks, teams, associations of
researchers and other participants…whose existence may be relatively brief…Reduced reac-
tion time, decentralized decision-making are typical of these groups created around a prob-
lem and which do not survive its resolution (Limoges 1995: 9).4

Third, universities and other places of knowledge production, in the direct line of
such changes, are invited to create ‘a strongly innovation-oriented environment

4
This dynamic of current research must be re-examined in a wider perspective. On this topic,
Cadix (2007: 94) states: ‘the R&D structure of major groups worldwide has greatly evolved over
the last 15 years, the share of pre-competitive research having increased significantly. This evolu-
tion signifies that enterprises have progressed autonomously in the field of scientific knowledge,
leading to a kind of privatization of knowledge’. In 2006, ‘for the first time’, emphasizes Greco
(2007a), investment in R&D exceeded US$1,000 billion (synopsis produced from OECD data
(2006), National Science Foundation (2006) and R&D Magazine (2006) ). In his view, this trend
reflects an evolution initiated 20 years ago and marked by three events: increase in R&D invest-
ment, faster growth of investment in the private sector than the public sector (ratio 2:1), and transfer
of bipolar research (Europe and North America) towards research that is at least tripolar with the
arrival of Asia (Indo-Pacific) (Greco 2007a: passim). This demonstrates that basic research, while
still playing a determining role, is increasingly deployed in the aforementioned systematic of
innovation, which of course reveals the economic logics. And it is these logics at work in the social
aspect which force the recomposition of the field and its practices and finally set them in motion—
by circumscribing its margin of autonomy, and by stamping their mark on the forms and modali-
ties of knowledge production.
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 105

where dialogue between…Education and Industry develops naturally,…a milieu…

that facilitates the production and use of knowledge’. It is also suggested that they
add a dissemination component to their research and training mission, so that the
scientists involved in communication techniques can participate in a dialogue with
the public. This is the objective pursued by the Scientific Communications Act of
2007 (HR 1453), adopted by the US House of Representatives (Greco 2007b).
So the question of boundary between the scientific field and society, which we had
thought resolved, rears its head again. While the emphasis on basic research had in
essence self-enclosed the scientific field unto itself, the reversed polarity (that is, hav-
ing other actors intervene as part of the process) forced it open and questioned its
monopoly on legitimate authority. A scientific problem will of course receive a sci-
entific answer in the scientific field, but the intermeshed interests of the actors retransmit
a kind of ‘authorized talk’ as much as a ‘talk of authority’ (Bourdieu 1975).
Herein lies the current issue. The norms and practices of scientific rationality do
not operate alone (if they ever did); nor do they any longer suffice to dissociate inte-
riority from exteriority. Certainly, scientific participation always implies recognition
of truth as a central value of the methodological canons that define rationality
(Bourdieu 1975). And it is certainly in and by its self-regulation mechanisms, as in
any other area, that the scientific field co-interacts with other contexts. However—
and this is an important ‘however’—the contemporary qualitative leap springs from
the magnitude of interactions between the contexts and the intricatio of their
co-evolution (Nowotny et al. 2002). Suddenly contemporary society is marked by
pluralism and diversity, a rise in complexity and uncertainty (Friedman et al. 1999),
and greater openness of ‘systems of knowledge production’. This evolution, which
brings a ‘reconfiguration’ of the role of ‘knowledge’ and ‘actors’, de facto restores
a place to ‘context’, until now denied by the prevailing objectivism:
Pre-existing contexts and deep social substructures, influence science-before-the-event, just
as its future impacts anticipate science-after-the-event. The setting of priorities and the pat-
terns of funding are not self-evident or self-referential; rather they are the result of complex
negotiations in a variety of contexts, where expectations and vested interests, unproven
promises and mere potentials play a role (Nowotny et al. 2002: 20).

However, the instantaneity and the volume of exchanges enabled by information and
communications technologies not only transform practices in the scientific field, they
are now a fact of life for society as a whole. Suddenly, this transversal and heteroge-
neous lay expertise in communication bites into the mass media’s capital of authority,
overwhelmed as it is, notably in the PCST field, by the de-multiplication of contexts
precisely where communication is deployed (Breton and Proulx 2002).
The valorization discourse on fundamental research is now receding, its associ-
ated representations, notably the deficit model, declining in symbolic effectiveness
and operativity accordingly—whence comes a renewed questioning of the relevance
and validity of those representations. At the same time, the diversification of infor-
mation sources reducing the mass media’s impact on society are being viewed anew,
and their capacity to fill a knowledge deficit is now jeopardized by a generalized
access. But before scrutinizing the replacement models, we must consider the impact
of current transformations on the organization of work.
106 B. Schiele

6.3.3 Common Work Conditions

The evolution of the conditions of research work must be understood relative to

those that govern the working world. In the dynamic of current massification, there
is no distinction between the researcher’s working conditions and those of the
employee or worker. Researchers toil under the same shingle—at the whim of bur-
geoning or shrinking demand that determines whether their expertise is needed or
not. ‘Faced with a highly competitive and volatile economy’, says Rifkin, viewing
the situation in the US:
[m]any companies are paring down their core labor pool and hiring temps in order to be able
to add and delete workers quickly in response to seasonal and even monthly and weekly
trends in the market.
…Even scientists who, by virtue of their expertise, are widely thought to be immune to job
insecurity in the high-tech knowledge economy are being reduced to temp work. On
Assignment Inc, a temporary agency specializing in leasing scientists to companies ranging
from Johnson & Johnson to Miller Brewing Company, has more than 1100 chemists, micro-
biologists, and lab technicians ready to lease around the country…The federal government
has begun to follow the lead of the private sector, replacing more and more full-time civil
servants with temps to save on overhead and operating costs’ (Rifkin: 1995, 192, 193).

Certainly, places exist where the image is still ‘competency’ and ‘legitimacy’. But
amid this dire trend characteristic of the third industrial revolution, it is becoming
increasingly the exception, according to Rifkin, to guarantee permanent jobs to a
substantial number of researchers. For Rifkin, the new technologies mean an eco-
nomic system reorganized through the massive use of modern technologies—
automation—with a concomitant reduction in labour. The wave of re-engineering
and automation answers a need to increase productivity in a globalized economic
context. It translates daily into the laying off of increasing numbers of qualified
workers, including scientists. This often leaves the sole perspective of the future as
a succession of temporary jobs (Rifkin 1995).
This recomposition of the work sphere, Rifkin continues, also pursues a second
objective: ‘the movement toward contingent workers is part of a long-term strategy by
management to cut wages and avoid paying for costly benefits like health care, pen-
sions, paid sick leave, and vacation’. This leads some observers to ask if such an evolu-
tion will not ultimately ‘reduce employee loyalty’—who are we kidding?—adversely
affecting the business community down the road (Rifkin 1995: 191). There is growing
uneasiness about the question of values in this new environment: substituted values,
since they replace those that should be promoted in order to imagine a life in research.

6.3.4 Ongoing Acculturation

Such a dynamic stimulates the production of new knowledge, increases exchanges

between research teams and intensifies the production of new goods and services, but
it demands prior development of new skills and abilities, individual and collective.
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 107

In this spirit, Bauer (1998) showed that the times when the ‘sciences–society’ rela-
tionship was reformulated also reaffirmed the need for a science literacy, and that the
two happen (through long economic cycles and structural adjustments) to emerge
from crisis when the potential for innovation in S&T is in full swing. According to
Bauer, the social valuing of S&T that accompanies the social debate characterized a
requirement for acculturation to new competencies.
No one will dispute that innovation and mastery of S&T changes cannot be the
product of a minority, however well educated it may be. They depend fundamentally
on a collective competency. ‘The capacity of a population with insufficient science
and technology culture to act and react became…distinctly lessened’. And this
‘capacity for action and reaction’ is exercised in all ‘places of decision’ (CST 2002:
28). Each must be able to judge the quality of abundant and multiform information
from its source, and then sort, evaluate and integrate it to extract useful knowledge
or arrive at a decision (CST 2002: 5, 2 passim):
The rapid advances in research raise many questions in terms of impact, acceptability, ethics
and law. The answers to these question don’t come solely from science and technology
activity. Citizens are called upon, there again, to exercise their critical judgment and enter
into the new relationships with the sciences.
Indeed we go from a culture of sciences, with all its certainties and objectivity, to a culture of
research, with the risks, complexity and uncertainties that characterize it (CST 2002,
25–26).

In this perspective, PCST would fulfil a dual function: on the one hand a destabiliza-
tion of knowledge and the abilities till then required for entry into the scientific field
and the workforce (a critical step in deconstructing an obsolete knowledge relation-
ship), and on the other hand a function giving value to the emerging competencies
(a positive step in establishing a new relationship). So the whole debate on the effect
and limitations of the deficit model and its replacement by a discourse on the con-
textual model (or any other substitute model) in the PCST field can be seen as an
adjustment of the function and reformulation of the discourse without actually
deconstructing the ideological operativity as such.

6.3.5 Referential Shift: Which Science Literacy Today?

To examine this question, let’s first return to the notion of science literacy, noted
several times but not yet fully examined. This notion should be handled circum-
spectly, since it is ‘like general culture and culture in general’: like content, it draws
on a determinable body of knowledge and competencies; as process, it designates
their transmission via agents—the media among others—which means evaluating
the scope, effectiveness and penetration. But to limit oneself to these two aspects
‘is to forget that culture, be it general or scientific, primarily involves collective
representations, and more precisely categories of thinking, symbols, values and
models’ (Fournier 1995: 7). As such, science culture—in the fashion of culture—is
a complex of signs and meanings embedded in the devices of values, attitudes and
108 B. Schiele

meaning that come to crystallize practices. Thus defined, science culture refers to
a societal context (Jantzen 2001), to ‘all the modes whereby a society appropriates
science and technology’ (Godin et al. 1998: 2) and, individually, to a person’s atti-
tudes, knowledge and skills (Schiele et al. 1994). In summary, this definition refers
to the collective and individual dispositions on which are based the interpretations—
and more generally the meaning—that the social actors give to their real, antici-
pated or imagined actions when they adopt a posture in a given social situation (in
which they are called upon to participate or which they envisage doing).
Recent work (Bauer et al. 2007) points to three moments in time when science cul-
ture has been questioned. Initially limited to assessing the knowledge of basic scientific
concepts considered to be known and mastered by the public, the objective widened
until it encompassed the relationships between sciences and society. Beginning in the
1960s, it sought to measure science literacy. The National Science Foundation, the
American Association for the Advancement of Science and others were compelled to
intervene on this level. In successive studies by Science and Engineering Indicators
(Washington D.C.), the assessment of knowledge of the ‘scientific method’ and mastery
of ‘scientific reasoning’ left no lingering doubt as to what they considered important.
After 1985, the main consideration was attitudes (public understanding), and since 1990
the operative for assessment has been trust in science.
So the surveys have gone from a limited understanding of science culture,
reduced to disjointed elements of factual knowledge (Miller 1983), to a questioning
of its symbolic and operative aspects. On the one hand, this means questioning the
modalities of society’s distancing from itself, and thence one of the forms of exte-
riority whereby ‘it becomes visible to its members’ (Quéré 1982) in a given situa-
tion; on the other hand, it is a questioning about the interactions between the fields
of action in which the social actors evolve (for example, the logics at work in the
interactions between associative experts and activists). While science literacy was
seen at the beginning as the product of an exteriorized method, and deferred to a
subjectless statement, it now involves contexts in which actors and situations evolve
and adopt postures to speak about the objects they are dealing with. Today’s knowl-
edge is increasingly produced in a context of and with a view to optimization.
Interest in its intrinsic value blurs into the value of its potential operationalization.
These aspects certainly interact with each other, but we can nonetheless question
which one really depicts the ‘sciences–society’ relationship. Is it merely superficial
discourse? Partly! In this case, Bauer5 attributes a dual process: the acculturation to
new skills, and the relegation of others deemed outmoded. Is it in terms of knowl-

5
However, let us enlarge the angle of approach a little: to speak of the ‘sciences–society’ relation-
ship is reductive. There is no ‘one’ ‘sciences–society’ relationship at any given moment, but a
conjuncture of co-occurring relationships, interacting with each other. Bauer’s work sheds light on
only one of these components. Moreover, there is no reason a priori to think that these different
relationships inter-articulate with each other to form a coherent whole. Various discourses can
coexist, which explains why social actors sometimes have one opinion about science while
researchers have another. For example, the growing interest in the environmental question, an
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 109

edge and the assimilation of modes of reasoning inherent in scientific thinking? Or

does it concern the formation of the social identity? If that is the case, what is the
ideal type of identity sought or desired in a given situation? On this precise point,
Forgas defines social identity as:
…an individual’s knowledge that he belongs to a certain social group together with some
emotional and value significance of his membership. In other words, an individual self-
image and self-concept may be thought of as, to some extent, dependent on his group mem-
berships, and in particular, on the differentiation which exists between his own group and
others (Forgas 1981: 124).

Sennett (2006: 7) continues in the same vein: ‘as a general rule identity concerns not
so much what you do as where you belong’. To put it another way, the appreciation
of competency is certainly a necessary indicator, but is not enough. The knowledge
and skills in themselves—the fact of knowing this or that, or knowing how to do this
or that—have meaning only in keeping with the social context where they operate,
the situation in which they are mobilized, such that those situations are experienced
by the actors, and the type of social inclusion that emerges.
Therefore, the social function of PCST has less to do with the dissemination of
knowledge, the coming together of scientists and the public, or democratic participa-
tion in a society dominated by S&T than it has to do with the values mobilized to
give value to a type of social identity sought and, by corollary, the adoption of a par-
ticular posture as much related to knowledge as its implementation. It is this interi-
orization of a social relationship with the sciences, much more than the mastery of
specific knowledge, that really counts (without excluding its necessity, of course),
for it is the dispositio—the manner of imagining, thinking and projecting oneself in
a situation of appropriation, production and knowledge use—that achieves the
potential.

6.3.6 Conditions of Emergence of New Values

These various aspects of the contemporary situation show that the strategies and
means habitually deployed by PCST no longer fulfil the task in a society that has
become at once more complex, more fluid and constantly subject to change—a
direct consequence of its profound dynamic—and whose underlying values are
recomposing rapidly.
The transformations in the work sphere are altering the values traditionally
associated with it. They are also changing the relationship with knowledge

awareness-raising of man’s impact on the environment, illustrates the coexistence of opposing

discourses among the actors. In a society responding to the dynamic of innovation, man is faced
with the risk of a ‘technician’ evolution; but, while simultaneously inventing ways of using knowl-
edge, he equally strives to measure and counter ‘the effects … of his handiwork’! (Jantzen 1996:
26, passim): two logics—among others—operating in tension; both in the social dimension.
110 B. Schiele

passed down from the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment6 saw knowledge as

constitutive to the individual subject: the acquisation of knowledge—a voluntary
effort—transforming the knowing subject, enabling one to go beyond one’s
original condition, to tear away, to transcend it. Man was defined in terms of
intrinsic qualities, in terms of an ‘interiority’ that determines his ‘personality’.
The role of the school and all processes of dissemination of culture consisted of
‘training’, an act of education on the ‘self’, and not in ‘informing’, since it is this
‘interiority’ which is the objective and challenge of education and culture. They
are not reducible to the transmission of a quantity of know-how, abilities, com-
petencies or information about sciences or any other domain, but to an interior
‘modelling’.
Elsewhere, but in the same vein, there is the researcher (the ideal type of Snow
and Bush) in his laboratory but also in a quest to ‘go beyond’, not only to extend a
specific knowledge but more especially to transcend himself, since discovery
means projecting oneself beyond a given state of knowledge deemed insufficient.
In and by this process, which leads to discovery, he seeks to attain a higher level of
understanding (that is, awareness)—an effort that completely engages the researcher.
‘We know’, wrote Bachelard [1938] 1970: 14), ‘compared to earlier knowledge, by
destroying ill-made knowledge, by surmounting that which, in the mind itself,
forms obstacles to spiritualization’.
Before, in the mindset of the Enlightenment, to value and promote the sharing
of a science culture was to have the public participate in this metaphor of the man
‘acting within’. It was understood that this provoked encounter with knowledge
would alter man’s perception of science and its relationships with society as he
came to know more, that access to a certain knowledge of sciences transforms him,
that he becomes an ‘other’. ‘The classic humanist man’, wrote Breton, ‘is a man
directed from within’. This conception sketched out such notions as ‘depth of feel-
ings’ or ‘riches of the interior life’. In discovering the ‘subconscious’, Freud helped
nourish this concept of the human being as ‘acting from within’ (Breton 1997: 54).
And this powerful metaphor was now opposed by the accompanying effects it had
impelled and set in motion.
The paradox of the utopia of the Enlightenment can be summarized this way:
today’s society has retreated from the values it helped to create and build, since its
organizational mode no longer serves them. Instead it helps to erase them. Even the
ideological derivation of the deficit model remained subject to this metaphor—a
metaphor that now rings false since it is no longer in sync with the conditions that
affirm today’s rising values.

6
For Laïdi (1999: 15–16; freely translated), the Enlightenment yields three principles: ‘The first
is that of mastering the destiny of the Man of Reason … The second is that of going beyond,
tearing away from his original condition to transcend oneself, to surmount and achieve the uni-
versal…The third, finally, consists of believing and thinking that History has a meaning, that
History is oriented, thus reinforcing the idea that men are beholden to the events they live, and
they can orient them towards their objectives and their finalities’.
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 111

6.3.7 Recomposition of the Identity Relationship

What are those rising values? A first line of reply comes from Breton’s analysis, in
which he showed that the new communication utopia provides an ‘alternative meta-
phor’. ‘Modern man is first of all a “communicating being”. His interior is fully
exterior’. And the messages he reacts to are not from a ‘mythic inside, but rather
from his “environment” ’ (Breton 1997: 55, passim). The ‘communicating’ man is
wholly overdetermined by his environment. ‘He draws his energy and his vital sub-
stance not from his own inner depths, but from his capacity, as an individual “con-
nected” to “vast communication systems”, to collect, to process, to analyze the
information needed to live’ (Breton 1997: 56). The advent of a communication uto-
pia as symbolic horizon therefore offered social actors a framework of interpreta-
tions of changes that would affect them, notably in the work world, starting in the
1970s—a framework that enabled the adoption of an identitary posture, recomposed
around this alternative metaphor, mobilizing new norms and soliciting new rules in
the daily interactions of participating actors (Weber [1920] 1967).
A second line is proposed by Sennett (2006). His analysis revealed a dissolu-
tion, or at least a considerable weakening, of the social link due to the evolving
conditions of production and work. Sennett is very careful to state that his analysis
deals only with certain firms (those most likely to benefit from leading-edge tech-
nologies) but points out that they are the ones that set the tone for organizational
change. He shows that the end of the Bretton Woods accords in the early 1970s,
which ultimately freed up capital, accompanied by a major international move-
ment of those firms and the creation of new financial tools, translated into a radical
transformation in the power relationships of enterprises to the benefit of investors
and to the detriment of the frameworks that had hitherto ensured its development
and operation. By wagering on short-term results, investors, indifferent to the
culture of the organization, speeded its transformation. Increasingly at the whim
of the marketplace, organizations had to become more dynamic, more flexible and
able to change: ‘Stabilty seemed a sign of weakness, suggesting to the market that
the firm could not innovate or find new opportunities or otherwise manage change’
(Sennett 2006: 41).
The ever-burgeoning communications revolution (computerization) added its
own thrust to this accelerating movement of ‘creative destruction’ (Schumpeter
[1942] 1975). It is characterized first by a rapid deployment of automation, a faster
flow of activities, and time compression, with constant demand for ever shorter
response times to remain competitive; and second by a reduction in middle manage-
ment now considered superfluous: ‘No group is being harder hit than middle man-
agement. Traditionally, middle managers have been responsible for coordinating the
flow up and down the organizational ladder. With the introduction of sophisticated
new computer technologies, these jobs become increasingly unnecessary and costly’
(Rifkin 1995: 101). Why? Because communication technologies providing com-
plete, unequivocal information at all levels of the organization simultaneously
reduce the middle-level coordination work: ‘e-mail and its derivatives [diminish] the
112 B. Schiele

mediation and interpretation of commands and rules verbally passing down the
chain of command’ (Rifkin 1995: 101).
The result is a new form of centralization (Sennett 2006: 4–43) and at the same
time greater flexibility, the most obvious effect of which is the modulation of pro-
duction and externalization sequences. These changes clearly alter the organization
of work, but to an even greater extent they affect the work experience of the individ-
ual social actor, and ultimately everyone. Suddenly, the interiorization of once-valued
attitudes, skills and competencies blunts their once-valued meaning. The effort
becomes obsolete, just as the modes of appropriation and mobilization of knowledge
formerly needed to perform now outmoded tasks no longer have currency. For exam-
ple, with widening automation, learning new skills takes on a whole other meaning:
As automation spreads, the field of fixed human skills shrinks. Fifty years ago, holding a
conversation with a machine about one’s bank account would have seemed a sci-fi fantasy;
today it’s taken for granted. Here again appears the idealized new self: an individual con-
stantly learning new skills, changing his or her ‘knowledge basis’. In reality that ideal is
driven by the necessity of keeping ahead of the machine. (Sennett 2006: 44; by ‘new self’
Sennett refers to the new idealized ‘me’, a social actor, obliged to compose and adapt to
changes over which he has little power.)

The new social actor, unlike the earlier one, is flexible and mobile. He does not envis-
age a lifetime career in the same organization; he shuns dependence and keeps his
distance from the state providence that institutionalized it, preferring to self-manage
his children’s education, his retirement investments and his medical coverage. In a
way, he is a perpetual freelancer, maintaining an active extended network of relation-
ships, without which his margin of manoeuvre would be reduced! At his task-oriented
job, his mindset lets him pass readily from one task to another7 (Rifkin 2000, Sennett
2006: 44–50, passim). And what he has to know in order to do it is self-referencing.
For what comes next, no problem, he’ll start from zero. When asked what knowledge
is required to go from one job to another, Sennett replied ‘Each time you start a new
job, you need to fake it’.

7
‘This new way of working permits what management-speak calls the delayering of institutions.
By outsourcing some functions to other firms or other places, the manager can get rid of layers
within the organization. The organization swells and contracts, employees are added and dis-
carded as the firm moves from one task to the other. The ‘casualization’ of the labor force refers
to more than the use of outside temps or subcontractors; it applies to the internal structure of the
firm. Employees can be held to three- or six-month contracts, often renewed over the course of
years; the employer can thereby avoid paying them benefits like health care or pensions. More
workers on short contracts can be easily moved from task to task, the contracts altered to suit the
changing activities of the firm. And the firm can contract and expand quickly, shedding or adding
personnel … Taken together, these three building blocks of institutions—casualization, delayer-
ing, and nonlinear sequencing—shorten the organization’s time frame; immediate and small tasks
become the emphasis … Socially, short-term task labour alters how workers work together’.
(Sennett 2006: 48–50).
6 On and about the Deficit Model in an Age of Free Flow 113

6.4 Rethinking ‘Sciences–Society’ Relationships in the Current

Context

Lévy-Leblond (1994: 41) pleaded to reverse the perspective ‘for a problematic of

science and technology enculturation aimed at changing society’. This would involve
‘changing the science we do, its organization and its orientations’. In fact, it is the
transformations of society—partly due to constant interaction with science—that
change the organization and orientation of society, which changes the conditions of
its enculturation, not the reverse.
That is why there is something surrealistic about asking researchers today what
they think are society’s expectations, without reference to the conditions of their
vocation, neither mentioning it nor comparing it to other conditions elsewhere. How
can we now mention ‘sciences’ without bringing in ‘society’ (as in the deficit model)
and not reify the idea of a distinction between ‘science’ and ‘society’ as if they are
radically dissociated from each other. The argument may be that this is well known
and that talking about ‘sciences’ and ‘society’ today leads nowhere, that it is but a
handy artifice of language. In any case, the studies measuring the extent of the dis-
tance between or rapprochement of public researchers and the science public are
misleading. They re-actualize a spontaneous conception that produces, maintains
and perpetuates the effect of a social distance between scientists and the rest of soci-
ety that is refuted by present transformations (Bourdieu 1979). (But this spontaneous
concept has promise, explaining in part why the applied policies to develop and val-
orize science culture have, until now, always fed into the deficit model as a concep-
tual framework and general principle of action.) So there’s some work cut out ahead:
to deconstruct these distance effects because they mask reality.
In this new perspective, it is useful to recall that the legitimacy of scientists to
undertake risky research is more in question since they are no longer the sole
contractors or participants. In short, one-way communication is no longer possible
because henceforth this new organization of research will work with a generally
more educated, more aware and alerted public (SCST 2000). Also, in a society over-
determined by sciences in which researchers are heading off in all directions, we can
heartily anticipate a raft of debates and controversies. Amid all this, we must ask
whether the future knowledge society will be a pacified society.
Whatever the future holds, new instances of negotiation (national or suprana-
tional) will be necessary to manage opposing discourses and instigate some sort of
cooperation. Raising the educational level makes it necessary to invent the instances
and processes of negotiation, in which knowledge dissemination comes into its own
once it is linked to the issues and challenges. These will be new places of ‘action–
dissemination’ that associations, pressure groups, NGOs and others try to establish
in working to crystallize tensions. And this criss-crossing of actors and interests will
surely scrutinize and question the status of sciences. All in all, this recomposition of
the public role, dispersed into various interested or mobilized publics, will force a
cohabitation of legitimacies, with arbitration becoming one of the real issues of our
society.
114 B. Schiele

However, while the public is increasingly present in the debates, this is undoubt-
edly also because the myth of ‘progress’ no longer operates as before (exit the
Enlightenment). The public is ambivalent. It doesn’t necessarily run counter to
sciences or scientists. It is neither reactionary nor obscurantist. It simply considers
that scientific progress does not necessarily mean enhanced well-being and better
quality of life. That is why it hopes, and is finding ways, to be heard. While it is
natural for researchers to want to share with the public their passion for scientific
knowledge and truth, even to alert public opinion in certain circumstances today,
such undertakings can only reconcile the interests of actors nurtured on other logics
and engaged in other systems of action.
From this flows a co-extensive evolution of the conception of PCST and its role.
The intrinsic theoretical limitations of the deficit model, conceptualized as a transi-
tive communication relationship (scientist → media practitioner → public), clearly
illustrate the difficulties of going from one conception of scientific culture to
another. Today’s interest is less in knowledge for its own sake than in its uses, and
the heterogeneous array of participants in the debates will force PCST to refocus on
the activities, competencies and skills of the actors, the situations they are part of,
and the postures they assume, as well as their convictions, attitudes and values.
Finally, the time has come to go beyond the opposition between ‘sciences’ and
‘society’ because it does not sufficiently acknowledge that sciences are not ‘else-
where’ but ‘within’ our society’s organization. It is time to act and ensure that the
current context of producing scientific knowledge renders a one-way communication
null and void, dispels a now outmoded discourse, and admits once and for all that an
ambivalent public is neither obscurantist nor anti-science, but certainly more critical
since it feels that progress is no longer the answer. And it is time to recognize that the
new media enable flexible forms of organization and action and a self-organizing
effect that we are only beginning to understand.
If the contextual model, which is now replacing the deficit model, represents the
new reality of scientific production and its dissemination in the public sphere, the
conditions of possibility required in order to pose the question of the contextual
model as a theoretical problem and not as an ideological answer will have come
together. My objective in this chapter has been precisely to spark a discussion on
these questions.

Acknowledgements The questions dealt with in this chapter were presented and discussed on
several occasions, principally during the Science Communication Workshop (Venice, 12 and 13
January 2007) and during the Colloque Sciences et Société en Mutation, organized by CNRS
(Paris, 12 February 2007). The author wishes to thank all participants for their remarks, comments
and suggestions, which enriched the discussion of the topic.

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The Author

Bernard Schiele ([email protected])

Bernard Schiele PhD is a researcher at the Interuniversity Research Centre on
Science and Technology, and Professor of Communications in the Faculty of
Communication at the University of Quebec in Montreal, Canada. He often teaches
and lectures in North America, Europe and Asia. He has been working for a number
of years on the socio-dissemination of science and technology.
Bernard is a member of several national and international committees and is a regu-
lar consultant on scientific culture to governmental bodies and public organizations.
He is also a founding and current member of the scientific committee of the PCST
Network. He currently chairs the International Scientific Advisory Committee for
the New China Science and Technology Museum, which will open in 2009.
Chapter 7
Towards an Analytical Framework of Science
Communication Models

Brian Trench(*
ü)

Abstract This chapter reviews the discussion in science communication circles of

models for public communication of science and technology (PCST). It questions
the claim that there has been a large-scale shift from a ‘deficit model’ of communi-
cation to a ‘dialogue model’, and it demonstrates the survival of the deficit model
along with the ambiguities of that model. Similar discussions in related fields of
communication, including the critique of dialogue, are briefly sketched. Outlining
the complex circumstances governing approaches to PCST, the author argues that
communications models often perceived to be opposed can, in fact, coexist when
the choices are made explicit. To aid this process, the author proposes an analytical
framework of communication models based on deficit, dialogue and participation,
including variations on each.

Keywords Communication models, deficit model, dialogue model, participation

model

Science communication has been telling a story of its own development, repeatedly
and almost uniformly, for almost a decade. The story is a straightforward one: sci-
ence communication used to be conducted according to a ‘deficit model’, as one-
way communication from experts with knowledge to publics without it; it is now
carried out on a ‘dialogue model’ that engages publics in two-way communication
and draws on their own information and experiences.
This chapter examines the validity of the claim that we have been living through
such a fundamental shift in approach, and considers the possibility that several
models, including deficit and dialogue models, can coexist. I argue the need for
clearer articulation of the choices being made in science communication practice
and propose a framework for the structuring of those choices.

School of Communications, Dublin City University, Dublin 9, Ireland. Phone: 353 1 700 5668,
Fax: 353 1 700 5447, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 119

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
120 B. Trench

7.1 From Deficit to Dialogue: a Story Too Often Told?

The ‘grand narrative’ in public communication of science and technology (PCST)

since the late 1990s has had compelling force. It has been replayed in policy state-
ments, in academic studies, in debates on public communication within scientific
communities, and in public debates on science–society relations. We have learned, the
story goes, that one-way, top-down communication of packaged scientific information
does not work. Now science communication makes it easier for the public to talk back,
and scientists need to listen, so that understandings can be developed together.
One of the several remarkable features of this story is how broadly it has been
adopted, across the continents and by governments, scientific societies, intergov-
ernmental bodies, civil society organizations and many other interests. To give any
one illustration would risk misrepresenting the universality of the process by which
a key idea has diffused across the world and been naturalized.
There are, of course, local and specific variations, for example in the naming of some
strategies as ‘public engagement’, but the main thrust of the argument is clear and it is
shared: the old, traditional ways are discredited; the new ways are better. The story is
not just one of opposition—it is one of evolution, of progress from deficit to dialogue.
After several years of repetition, the story may be wearing thin, at least as an
accurate descriptive account of what has happened. It is, at best, implausible that
scientific communities and those working closely with them in policy or publicity
have shifted their approach radically over a short period. Cultural change, even at
the level of relatively self-contained subcultures, tends to happen on longer cycles
and to be more ambivalent. When the story is told in its British version, as one of
change marked by a report from the House of Lords Select Committee on Science
and Technology Committee (SCST 2000), the change of direction is all too neatly
tied to the change of millennium. In fact, that report spoke, among other things, of
a ‘mood for dialogue’ that was growing within the population over a longer time
and might, therefore, take time to manifest itself more clearly.
In some scientific communities, too, the ‘mood for dialogue’ was evident several
years before the House of Lords report. In the 1990s, the Biotechnology and
Biological Sciences Research Council (BBSRC) in Britain stated that it had devised
‘a programme of activities designed to enhance public access to science and scien-
tists with a view to improving public confidence and stimulating open debate about
science and technology’.1 The council said its activities were increasingly about
‘mutuality’ and ‘transparency in the way BBSRC interacts with the public’. Thus,
the keywords of the dialogue model were established in at least one important field
before this model received broader and higher level endorsement.
So, at the level of description, the deficit-to-dialogue story needs qualification.
Indeed, it needs more, because in precisely that field of biotechnology and biological
sciences there were particular pressures to open dialogue and the responses were
equivocal. The widespread and sometimes militant social reaction to developments in

1
http://www.bbsrc.ac.uk
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 121

biotechnology, and in genetic engineering in particular, could not be faced down by

mere repetition of scientific information. A former New Scientist editor has recalled
several initiatives from the late 1980s onwards to engage media and the wider public
in discussion of the implications of then current scientific developments. He cites the
example of the UK National Consensus Conference on Plant Biotechnology in 1994,
sponsored by the BBSRC, but concludes that it was a ‘one-off’. ‘No one at the top of
the BBSRC saw the need to develop the model’ (Dixon 2007).
In Ireland, the strong reaction from citizen groups to trials of genetically modi-
fied (GM) crops prompted scientists and companies in biotechnology and genetics
to facilitate and engage in public debate, including with committed opponents of
GM foods. A technology foresight report that contributed significantly to a radical
increase in government spending on scientific research included among its recom-
mendations a proposal for a ‘national conversation on biotechnology’ and advo-
cated ‘a communications strategy in biotechnology that uses a partnership approach
with ongoing, transparent and open dialogue’ (Technology Foresight Ireland 1999).
As the heat went out of the GM foods debate, this recommendation disappeared
from view. In 2004, a website established by government specifically to facilitate
public education and debate on biotechnology was closed down.
We shall return later to consider the social and political factors that influence the
adoption or abandonment of a science communication model. For now, we can fur-
ther question the story of a uniform shift from deficit to dialogue by pointing to the
very evident persistence of the deficit model. Sociologist Brian Wynne, who is
strongly associated with the early identification and critique of the deficit model in
the early 1990s (Wynne 1991, see also Ziman 1991), has observed the ‘multifold
reinventions of the public deficit model’ (Wynne 2006). He and colleagues have
noted that the apparent consensus about dialogue covers ‘deeper ambivalence. Old
assumptions continually reassert themselves … No sooner have “deficit” models of
the public been discarded than they reappear’ (Wilsdon et al. 2005).
Perhaps the most visible example of an unreconstructed deficit model is the
work of popular science writer Richard Dawkins. His is more than an individual
case, as his book, The god delusion (2006) has been a best seller and clearly has
wide resonance in scientific and science-attentive communities and beyond.
Through his books, lectures, TV programmes and many other public interventions,
Dawkins presents a view of science and its place in the world that resonates widely
within and beyond the scientific communities. Although a professor of public
understanding of science at Oxford University, Dawkins has rarely reflected on the
diversity of publics for science, and even less on the diversity of possible approaches
to communication with those publics (Dawkins 2006).
He has increasingly narrowed his field of attention to a critique of religion and
the obstacles he sees it presenting to the spread of science and reason in society.
Two websites are maintained as a ‘clear-thinking oasis’ with Dawkins’s support.2
Dawkins calls on other clear thinkers to join his campaign:

2
richarddawkins.net and richarddawkinsfoundation.org
122 B. Trench

The enlightenment is under threat. So is reason. So is truth. So is science, especially in the

schools of America. I am one of those scientists who feels that it is no longer enough just
to get on and do science. We have to devote a significant proportion of our time and
resources to defending it from deliberate attack from organized ignorance. We even have
to go out on the attack ourselves, for the sake of reason and sanity. (Richard Dawkins
Foundation for Reason and Science 2007)

Dawkins’s crusade links at least as much to the advocacy work of atheists, rational-
ists and sceptics as to any specifically science-based communities or movements.
But the adoption of science’s cause by such interest groups has perceptible influ-
ence among scientists, both as individual citizens and as professionals. Scientists
and medical practitioners are well represented in such organizations. The 13th
European Skeptics Conference met in 2007 in Dublin under the banner, ‘The
assault on science: Constructing a response’. The conference theme referred to ‘the
continuing rise in popularity of the complementary and alternative medicine sector,
the ongoing battles between evolutionary biologists and the intelligent design
movement, the increased activities of fundamentalist religious movements, the
granting of degrees in science to students of alternative practices such as homeopa-
thy and so on’.3
Other such initiatives cite postmodernist trends in contemporary culture and
corporate special interests as further sources of antagonism to science. Sense About
Science, a British group with many leading scientists among its supporters, is dedi-
cated to ‘work with scientists to respond to inaccuracies in public claims about sci-
ence, medicine, and technology’.4 The priority attached to this enterprise encourages
a form of public communication that is inevitably didactic rather than dialogical.
The Sense About Science annual lecture in 2007 was delivered by medical sci-
entist Professor Raymond Tallis, who identified the uncongenial climate for
science:
… in ever more oppressive regulatory constraints, in opposition to ethical research on
humans and animals and on responsible stem cell research, and in the credence given to
anti-science, junk science, and to the authority of individuals who have no scientific train-
ing or understanding to pronounce on science.

Even where the vocabulary has changed, the underlying assumptions may be those
that inform the deficit model. Wynne (2006) writes that public engagement with
science activities is ‘based, albeit ambiguously on closer inspection, on replacing
the previous deficit model’s primitive one-way assumption about educating an
ignorant public into “(scientifically) proper attitudes” with an alternative two-way
dialogue’. He concludes that the replacement is more nominal than real.
A review of the discussion of public communication in the publications of pro-
fessional societies suggests that a deficit model remains the default option in many
sectors of science (Trench and Junker 2001); it has its adherents among PCST
practitioners and analysts, too (Trench 2006).

3
Statement published at http://www.irishskeptics.net
4
http://www.senseaboutscience.org
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 123

Given the persistence of the deficit model, it seems like an act of denial to state
in a review of approaches and definitions that ‘science communication as defined
here cannot be considered as a one-way dissemination of information to the lay
public’ (Burns et al. 2003). That review proposes dialogue as a means to ‘more
effective science communication’; that is, to achieve certain ends decided at the
point of origin. This suggests that the shift to two-way communication is partial.
Several models of science communication, including one-way dissemination,
and the particular deficit-model application of one-way dissemination, continue to
coexist with two-way models that place varying emphasis on interactivity. So,
while the story being told in PCST circles undoubtedly has value as a reminder
about the limits of one approach and the possibilities of another, it is more norma-
tive than descriptive. The supposed shift from deficit to dialogue has not been
comprehensive; nor is it irreversible.

7.2 Communication Models in Other Fields

The discussion about models of science communication links to discussions in

many other fields in which similar problems have been posed. It is perhaps
inevitable that a relatively new field of inquiry and practice, such as science
communication, needs to rerun such debates for itself. But this discipline is matur-
ing and, in the spirit of listening and engagement espoused so widely in science
communication, this section will refer to theoretical and strategic debates elsewhere
in communication that have a bearing on PCST.
In communication theory, critiques of received transmission models from the
1970 had already focused on dialogue and conversation as defining activities,
mainly because of the influence of German cultural critic Theodor Adorno and
German social theorist Jurgen Habermas. A concept of two-way communication as
dialogue came to form the centrepiece of a social and political theory espoused by
British sociologist Anthony Giddens. He developed the concept of a ‘dialogical
democracy’ as a more fully realized form of democracy and of dialogue as ‘the
capability to create active trust through an appreciation of the integrity of the other’
(Giddens 1994).
The critique of mass media as one-way only had been prefigured in the late
1920s by the German playwright Bertolt Brecht, who contrasted ‘distribution’ and
‘communication’ in a frequently cited and insightful commentary on radio:
Radio should be converted from a distribution system to a communication system. Radio
could be the most wonderful public communication system imaginable, a gigantic system
of channels—could be, that is, if it were capable not only of transmitting but of receiving,
of making the listener not only hear but also speak, not of isolating him but of connecting
him. (Brecht 1979/80)

Adorno’s critique of the cultural industries and Habermas’s theory of the public
sphere gave new life to the argument as it applied to media in general, and to televi-
sion in particular. Communication as a two-way process became the byword of
124 B. Trench

much theorizing of media, society and culture. Mass media were widely seen to
have contributed to the loss of conversation.
The shift in thinking in mass communication theory and research challenged
received ideas of the audience. Reviewing the future of the audience concept, com-
munication theorist Denis McQuail noted that in the early days of communication
research the audience was conceptualized as the body of ‘receivers of messages at
the end of a linear process of information transmission’. But this view gave way
gradually to one of the media receiver ‘as more or less active, resistant to influence,
and guided by his or her own concerns, depending on the particular social and cul-
tural context. The communication process itself has been reconceptualized as
essentially consultative, interactive, and transactional’ (McQuail 1997).
As digital and online media assumed a much larger place in the mass communi-
cation field, the notion of audience has come under greater strain, often giving way
to the notion of ‘users’, which is drawn from information and communication tech-
nologies. Concepts of interactivity have been extensively debated, not only as they
refer to human–computer interaction, but also as they refer to mediated communi-
cation processes between individuals and groups.
In journalism studies, the late James Carey, one of the most influential academics
in the field, posited a possible ‘journalism of conversation’ in the 1980s. The notion
influenced a movement, known as ‘public journalism’ that problematized the pre-
sumed public that journalists addressed and proposed, as Carey put it, a more ‘humble
journalism’ as a means to support more active engagement of citizens and politics
(Rosen 1999). Rosen had to acknowledge that ‘in the years ahead, there may be no
people calling themselves public journalists’ but, by the late 1990s, the underlying
ideas were finding new vehicles and new forms of expression in the debates about
citizen journalism on the web, and about the shifting boundaries of journalism.
Similar trends are visible in fields of communication more directly related to
PCST, such as risk communication and health communication. To the received
view of risk assessment, based on ‘objective’ calculations of probability and
impact, Sandman (1987) added the imaginatively named ‘outrage’ to account for
‘subjective’ factors. ‘Call the death rate (what the experts mean by risk) “hazard”.
Call all the other factors, collectively, “outrage”. Risk, then, is the sum of hazard
and outrage. The public pays too little attention to hazard; the experts pay abso-
lutely no attention to outrage. Not surprisingly, they rank risks differently. Risk
perception scholars have identified more than 20 “outrage factors” ’. These factors
include voluntariness, control, and fairness. The resulting formulation, risk =
hazard + outrage, is now widely used.
In health communication, a ‘medical model’ based on transmission of expert
knowledge has been contrasted with an ‘educational model’ that takes account of the
perceptions and understandings of the sectors of the population being addressed.
But, reflecting the resilience of expert-centred approaches, Lee and Garvin (2003)
criticize ‘commonly accepted views of health communication [as] inadequate
because they imply a one-way transfer of information based on a one-sided relation-
ship between communicator and receiver’. They present three health communication
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 125

practices that, they say, all ‘ignore the social context of information receivers, and
… deny the agency and adaptive powers of recipients’. The authors propose that
‘researchers and practitioners must move beyond traditional practices of information
transfer (based on a “monologue”) toward a more useful and appropriate concept of
information exchange (based on a “dialogue”)’. In a concluding observation that has
resonance for science communication, they write: ‘This change in orientation cannot
possibly happen overnight, nor will it come without considerable changes in the
relations of power embedded in the world of medicine’.
Even public relations—perhaps widely perceived as the branch of communica-
tions most strongly wedded to persuasion, even manipulation—was influenced by
this spirit. From the 1980s, textbooks on public relations (such as Grunig and Hunt
1984) have contrasted one-way public information and publicity models with two-
way models, whether ‘asymmetrical’ (that is, aimed to persuade more effectively
through gathering information on publics) or ‘symmetrical’. Symmetrical commu-
nication, in this context, refers to promotion of mutual understanding, exchange of
information and negotiation of mutually beneficial solutions.
Beyond disciplines and activities defined as ‘communication’, for example in
science education, there is also increasing emphasis on the need to engage the rele-
vant ‘audiences’ or ‘publics’ (in science education, students) more actively.
Approaches characterized as ‘inquiry-based’, ‘interactive’ or ‘project-based’ draw
on a longer established educational philosophy of constructivism that stresses the
understandings and experiences that students bring. Nobel Prize-winning physicist
Carl Wieman is a high-profile exponent of such an approach, leading an initiative at
the University of British Columbia in Canada to transform science teaching so that
students ‘reason through ideas and argue their points of view’ (Cartlidge 2007).
Inevitably, the trend in communication theory has had its critics. John Durham
Peters noted that ‘dialogue has attained something of a holy status’ with contempo-
rary dialogians (a term he chose to rhyme with theologians) (Peters 2000).
Reclaiming a dissemination model of communication alongside dialogue, Peters
noted that not all culture is mutual or interactive. But he also insisted that ‘the
rehabilitation of dissemination is not intended as an apology for the commissars
and bureaucrats who issue edicts without deliberation or consultation’.
In an observation with an obvious bearing on the assessment of dialogue and
engagement activities in PCST, Peters noted that the adoption of more strongly
audience-oriented communication styles and strategies chimed with the needs and
precepts of marketing (that is, more effective persuasion of the public) and did not
necessarily engender more active citizen participation:
Dialogue is valuable, but it is a strict and jealous god. It is not necessarily the most vernacu-
lar form of political talk, but the most demanding and difficult; dialogue’s law is not self-
expressive pleasure but rather self-denying listening. Conversation is no more free of
history, power, and control than any other form of communication. (Peters 2000)

Peters’s critique of exaggerated claims made for conversation and dialogue is the
source of a reconsideration of the ‘infatuation with dialogue’ in public relations.
Stoker and Tusinski (2006) defend the possibility that dissemination can enhance
126 B. Trench

responsibility, diversity and reconciliation and that dialogue may be based on a

selective choice of stakeholders ‘who could reciprocate through an economic and
emotional attachment’. They advocate engagement and reconciliation models as
more authentic and more ethical than dialogue, because those models are more
respectful of difference:
Using this framework, we engage people or publics in communication, not in an effort to
change them or even to change us, but because as human beings, we value our relationships
with other human beings.

It is perhaps surprising that a consideration of public relations practices could offer

a basis for a critique of dialogue that implies no reversion to dissemination, much less
the specific version of dissemination—the deficit model—that has prevailed in
science communication. The specific terms used may not be entirely suitable, but an
outline emerges of further options, in a space we shall call ‘participation’, where the
aim is not in any supposedly measurable outcome but the process itself.

7.3 Complex Factors and Clear Choices

In the ‘co-evolution of science and society’ (Gibbons 1999), the pressures and trends
in relations between science and society are contradictory, or at least not one-directional.
This has implications for how the field of science communication models forms and
re-forms, and for how PCST practitioners and analysts see that field.
At the level of social theory, it has been argued influentially (Beck 1992) that
individuals and groups are engaged in the continuous negotiation and assessment
of risks, many of which derive from the impacts of scientific and technological
developments. We are, on this basis, said to be in a ‘risk society’. Full recognition
of this would mean active engagement between scientists, technologists, policy-
makers, interest groups and others, to assess current trends in and future implications
of developments in science and technology.
The notion of ‘Mode 2’ science (Gibbons et al. 1994) describes a practice of
science that is open and reflexive, where boundaries between disciplines and
between science and non-science are increasingly porous. This socially contextual-
ized science is assessed not only on the basis of the reliability of the knowledge it
produces (as in ‘Mode 1’ science) but also on its social robustness.
Whether such theories are taken as descriptions of current reality or as outlines
of emerging trends, they find some support in the increasing public presence of sci-
entists in a variety of advisory, consultative, expert witness, debating and other roles
in which they present options and views arising from their professional experience
and capacity, rather than packaged elements of proven knowledge (Peters 2008).
In dealing with such topics as embryonic stem-cell research, energy, climate
change and pandemic risks, science comes into contact with ethics, economics,
public service provision and business. In those contexts, knowledge derived from
scientific research is just one ingredient of public policymaking and public debate,
and scientists are called on to open ‘science-in-the-making’ for public scrutiny.
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 127

One factor drawing scientists more often into the public domain as ‘public experts’
is the growth in number and influence of civil society groups or non-government
organizations (NGOs) concerned with matters that have significant scientific content.
It has often been claimed that environmentalism, as it developed from the 1960s, had
a specific impact on public attitudes to science. In many countries, the rate at which
various applications of biotechnology have been adopted has been significantly influ-
enced by the strength and the stances of NGOs.
These developments have led some to advocate ‘upstream engagement’ of the
public, in part through such organizations, in the shaping of the scientific research
agenda (Wilsdon and Willis 2004). Civil society organizations receive express
attention from national governments in European countries that have been early
adopters of dialogue techniques such as consensus conferences. The European
Commission supports initiatives to develop such techniques in association with
NGOs.
Technological developments also facilitate this opening of science to public
view. The pervasive use of internet communication for internal scientific and public
communication creates opportunities for more interactivity between scientists and
publics. It also permits public access to ‘backstage’ conversations between scien-
tists, including those that negotiate uncertainties in science. In this way, the internet
helps to turn science communication ‘inside-out’ (Trench 2008).
Against these trends that favour greater openness and reflexivity in science, and
thus encourage approaches to science communication based on dialogue, engage-
ment and participation, there are simultaneous trends working in different direc-
tions, or working to limit the impact of such approaches.
Oddly enough, the most powerful of these countervailing trends is the very
widespread, almost universal, public policy commitment to the ‘knowledge econ-
omy’ or the ‘knowledge society’. Over the past decade, this theme of policymaking
has come to assume a central place for very many national governments and inter-
national intergovernmental bodies. A common feature of knowledge economy poli-
cies is the high priority they attach to science and technology or, more specifically
(and tellingly), to research and development.
At one level, this development appears to be a boost for science communication:
scientific research gets more attention and resources; new scientific institutions are
established, through merging and redefinition of existing ones or from the ground
up; outreach or dissemination is often required of those receiving public funds.
However, the limits quickly become clear: the knowledge at issue in the knowledge
society is almost exclusively knowledge that can be turned into technologies, serv-
ices and products. The reflective, interpretive knowledge of the humanities and
social sciences hardly features, and the prevailing models for performance meas-
urement discriminate against them.
Even within the natural sciences, the policy view is limited and scientists wish-
ing to secure a slice of the larger resources pie are obliged to fit their work into
largely predetermined categories. The dominant discourses and policies of the
knowledge society obscure science’s cultural and social value, and science com-
munication’s possible contribution to broad social access, balanced dialogue and
128 B. Trench

cultural completeness. ‘Knowledge’ economy/society policies and discourses may

be promoting a new social separation of science, rather than fuller integration.
The common emphasis on improving national competitiveness within a global
knowledge economy also constrains the practice of dissemination and outreach.
Across the developed world—and, in different ways, in the developing countries—
there is perceived to be a crisis in the interest of young people in science studies
and careers. Projections of future shortfalls in the supply of scientifically and tech-
nically qualified people are a commonplace of knowledge economy strategies.
Those driving the knowledge economy look to the institutions benefiting from the
new funds to reverse this trend: public communication is seen to serve a labour
market purpose. Working with school students, although it may take interactive
forms (because no other form would engage these audiences), may be most impor-
tantly about addressing a public deficit in attitudes towards science, and thus a
reinvention of the supposedly discarded deficit model of science communication.
In concert with this public policy trend, interest groups have emerged in and on
the fringes of the scientific communities. They propose doctrinaire responses to
perceived ‘anti-science’ tendencies in the public, or reject the proposition for equi-
table dialogue on the basis that it downgrades legitimate expertise. For example,
Durodié (2003) argues against the trend to dialogue on the basis that it mistakenly
posits that the validity of scientific knowledge can be democratically decided and
that it potentially absolves policymakers from responsibility for their decisions.
Durodié was vigorously contested by Jackson et al. (2005), who not only defended
the value of dialogue but extended its reach ‘upstream’, to deliberation on ‘setting
the research agenda’.
That discussion is a clear reminder that science communication does not come
in a one-size-fits-all model, called ‘dialogue’. And the terminology of ‘dialogue’
can refer to a wide range of practices and strategies. As indicated in the discussion
of dialogue approaches to public relations, as also claimed by Wynne (2006) in
relation to PCST dialogue and engagement initiatives in Britain, and as evidenced
in the insistence of many in this field on ‘real dialogue’ and ‘public engagement’,
the dialogue banner may be used to refer to refinement rather than replacement of
a dissemination model. The talking-back part of ‘two-way communication’ in such
situations may be, above all, a means to retune the talking-to; the listening may be
more for improved targeting than for learning. In this way, there is no significant
departure from linear, engineering-derived views of communication. The sender
retains primary control; all that has been added is a feedback loop.
When Hanssen (2004) says that ‘the exact meaning of scientific research can only
be clarified on the basis of a dialogue with a broad range of social actors’, he has
something more far-reaching in mind than a discussion between experts and lay
groups on, say, the latest evidence of public risks from high-voltage power lines.
Indeed, the analogy he draws with public interpretation of art, and the distinction he
makes between discussion of application and discussion of implication, make this
very clear. Either the notion of dialogue has to be stretched to breaking point or, as I
shall suggest below, we use an additional concept to encompass such approaches.
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 129

The complex social circumstances I have sketched present a landscape very

different from that suggested by discussions of a decisive shift from deficit to dia-
logue. They also challenge people in science communication to articulate much
more clearly the strategic choices they are making.
When we consider the deficit–dialogue relationship carefully, we can see that
there are circumstances in which the ‘old’ way can have a legitimate place, after it
has been weighed up with due care. Hanssen (2004) speaks of the challenge of
‘working on the integration of classical and alternative forms of science communi-
cation’. Dickson (2005) has made a defence of the deficit model, reflecting his own
particular interest in science communication in developing countries.
In his assessment of the ‘crossroads’ at which science communication found
itself at the start of the millennium, Miller (2001) noted that the then British
Minister for Science, Lord Sainsbury, had pronounced the demise of the deficit
model but warned:
the end of the deficit model does not mean there is no knowledge deficit … many commu-
nications about science will still mainly be about passing on the latest scientific
knowledge.

Sturgis and Allum (2005) note the many criticisms of the received deficit model,
considering them ‘in many ways valid’, but they argue that the criticisms ‘do not
sufficiently problematize the deficit model to justify scrapping it altogether’.
A report on Engaging Science, a 2006 conference in Britain, observed that ‘in
rejecting the knowledge deficit model so forcefully … the narrow view of public
engagement ignores the clear public appetite for information, as well as the
empowering character of an understanding of the nature of science’ (Wellcome
Trust 2006).
Einsiedel (2007) claims that ‘a more nuanced view of publics has emerged’: they
can be active and knowledgeable, playing multiple roles and receiving science but
also shaping it. However, she also cautions against overstating how far the balance
has shifted between scientists and publics. She cites Jasanoff (2005), who pointed out
that not all members of the public want to be ‘full-blooded cognitive agents who test
and appraise public knowledge claims, including those of experts, according to cul-
turally sanctioned criteria of competence, virtue and reasoning’. Einsiedel had earlier
argued that the ‘cognitive deficit model’ and ‘interactive science model’ both:
… have things to contribute to the ongoing discussions about the public and science …
Contrasting [the cognitive deficit model] with the interactive science model may have ana-
lytical value, but one thereby tends to overemphasize the stark differences between the two
and to overlook the possibility that these frameworks may be complementary rather than
mutually exclusive. (Einsiedel 2000)

To various degrees, these versions of a reclaimed deficit model remove from it the
presumption of incorrigible cognitive deficiency in the public, and the assumption
that more knowledge or information about science means greater appreciation or
support for science.
130 B. Trench

From this brief discussion, we see that:

● The deficit model survives as the effective underpinning of much science
communication.
● A legitimate case can be made for retention of a dissemination model in certain
circumstances.
● ‘Dialogue’ refers to multiple options that span a considerable spectrum.
The bipolar view of deficit and dialogue is neither an accurate account of recent
developments nor a useful guide to current and future practice and analysis. There is
at least as much continuity as discontinuity in the historical trend. There are several
variations on dissemination, of which the deficit model is just one. There are varia-
tions on dialogue, among them consultation and engagement, where ‘consultation’ is
taken to refer to dialogue set up on a relatively restricted agenda, for a specific pur-
pose, and in a limited time frame, and ‘engagement’ involves a relatively open
agenda, the content of which can change, in a process might not be strictly
time-bound.
Van Sanden and Meijman (2008) draw a related distinction between dialogue
with a functional goal and dialogue with a conceptual goal. The ‘conceptual goal’
appeared to be in the mind of Irish Deputy Premier Mary Harney in a speech that
proposed a move ‘towards a civic science’, defined as ‘a science engaged with and
invited into the national dialogue … responsive to the public and worthy of the
public trust’ (Harney 2003). (It is worth noting that the challenge of ‘civic dialogue’
that Ms Harney presented to her audience of scientists, other academics and poli-
cymakers was not taken up.)
The many possible approaches to PCST can be seen as on a continuum, in which
the boundaries between neighbouring options are porous and shifting. The next
section of this chapter proposes a framework for situating various models of science
communication. It departs from the deficit–dialogue dichotomy for all the reasons
outlined above, but also in order to add a third main frame—participation—within
which we can situate models and strategies that go beyond the limits of real and
existing dialogue.

7.4 Framework for Analysis

Among recent contributions to the discussion of identifiable models of science

communication are the following:
● A ‘map’ of science communication activities prepared for the Wellcome Trust in
Britain identified three models of communication in relations between science
and the media: the deficit model, the consultation model and the engagement
model (Research International 2000).
● In a review of scientists’ discussions of public communication, a colleague and
I (Trench and Junker 2001) identified five models of communication that scientists
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 131

implicitly considered available to them in their public interventions: deficit, dis-

semination, duty, dialogue and deference.
● Lewenstein (2005) described four models: the deficit model, the contextual
model, the lay expertise model and the public participation model.
The precise number is not significant in itself. What matters in an endeavour of this
kind is that the entities named are (at least approximately) conceptually equivalent
to each other and that the distinctions between them are reasonably clearly drawn.
For example, the contextual model may be taken as contained within the dialogue
model, as implied by Gross (1994):
The contextual model implies an active public: it requires a rhetoric of reconstruction in
which public understanding is the joint creation of scientific and local knowledge … In this
model, communication is not solely cognitive; ethical and political concerns are always
relevant.

Table 7.1 shows a grid centred on a triad of models of science communication that
distinguishes between dialogue and participation on the basis of my earlier discus-
sion of the ambiguities and limits of dialogue in many of its current applications.
The three models are:
● Deficit. Science is transmitted by experts to audiences perceived to be deficient
in awareness and understanding.
● Dialogue. Science is communicated between scientists and their representatives
and other groups, sometimes to find out how science could be more effectively
disseminated, sometimes for consultation on specific applications.

Table 7.1 Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models

Base Ideological and Dominant Variants on
Communication Philosophical Models in Dominant PCST Science’s Orientation
Models Associations PCST Models to Public
Dissemination Scientism Defence They are hostile
Deficit They are ignorant
Technocracy Marketing They can be per-
suaded
Dialogue Pragmatism Context We see their diverse
needs
Dialogue Consultation We find out their
views
Constructivism They talk back
Engagement They take on the
issue
Participatory Participation They and we shape
Conversation democracy the issue
Deliberation They and we set the
agenda
Relativism Critique They and we negoti-
ate meanings
132 B. Trench

● Participation. Communication about science takes place between diverse groups

on the basis that all can contribute, and that all have a stake in the outcome of
the deliberations and discussions.
We might say that these represent one-way, two-way and three-way models.
The first two are essentially linear, and the last is multidirectional: communica-
tion takes place back and forth between experts and publics and between publics
and publics. Whereas the main object of dialogue may be the applications of
science, in the participation model the concern is more with implications.
However, as in any analytical scheme, the boundaries between categories will
appear more definite than they manifest themselves in actual application.
By characterizing the dominant models in science communication in this way, I
am not proposing a hierarchy or an evolution. All three will continue to have their
uses in particular circumstances. In an extended communication project or in an
unfolding public debate, participants may move from one approach to another.
However, as a general observation, we might say that communication processes
become more open-ended and more open to values as well as facts in the transition
from deficit to dialogue and participation.
In Table 7.1, the three dominant models in science communicator are presented
in column 3 with ‘upstream’ and ‘downstream’ associations ranged to left and right,
respectively. The horizontal alignment of models and their corresponding public
orientations is intended to indicate the relative emphasis on the science- or public-
centredness of the process.
In column 1, the dominant science communication models are related to estab-
lished and more widely recognized communication models, as discussed above.
Column 2 lists some ideological and philosophical perspectives that affect how the
models are applied in the particular contexts of PCST. These need more discussion
than space permits here. The influence among scientific communities of scientism
(the belief that science is the superior knowledge system and can provide answers to
all the questions worth asking) may well be the key factor in the shaping of dissemi-
nation as a deficit model. Wynne (2006) maintains that scientism is the ideological
underpinning of the common characterization of certain public dispositions as
‘anti-science’.
Column 4 lists some known variants of the three core models of science com-
munication. Introducing these variants allows us to consider more options, but also
to recognize smaller gradations when analysing current practices. It also offers a
wider repertoire for planning science communication initiatives:
● Defence.5 Here the public is envisaged as hostile; one example is the posture of
the Richard Dawkins Foundation (see above), but the model can also be recog-
nized in communication that focuses in other ways on ‘anti-science’.

5
Colin Johnson, vice-president of the British Association (BA), offered this variant on the deficit
model in response to a presentation I gave to the BA Festival of Science in Dublin during
September 2005.
7 Towards an Analytical Framework of Science Communication Models 133

● Marketing. Here the purpose is to persuade the public, for example about the
drop in science and technology student numbers, perhaps by promoting success-
ful scientists as role models or presenting science as ‘fun’.
● Context. Contextualized practices take into account the diversity of publics and of
the ways their experiences and perceptions shape their reception of information.
These practices can be functionalist, as in marketers’ ‘segmentation’ of markets,
or more culturally situated, as in the consideration of PCST in multicultural
societies.
● Consultation. The public’s opinions are sought by various means, with a view to
redefining messages or negotiating about applications.
● Engagement. Here there is a stronger emphasis on how publics express con-
cerns, raise questions and become actively involved.
● Deliberation. This is presented as a ‘heightened’ form of public participation,
which calls on a wider set of understandings about democratic processes, and in
which the public contributions about the ‘why’ and ‘why not’ of science help set
the agenda for science communication and, eventually, for science.
● Critique. Here science is held to account through reference to other intellectual
disciplines and cultural activities that can offer insights into the public meanings
of science. The term ‘critique’ is used by analogy with the public processing of
experiences and interpretations of the arts and other cultural expression.
In column 5, the dominant models and the variants are translated into terms of an
implicit modelling, within scientific communities, of the publics’ role. This transla-
tion draws on discussion among science communicators and in this chapter.
To articulate choices more clearly, as I have advocated, it would be worthwhile
to develop an alternative model or models—looking at these processes from the
perspective of attentive and active publics.

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The Author

Brian Trench ([email protected])

Brian Trench is senior lecturer and co-ordinator of the Masters in Science
Communication in the School of Communications, Dublin City University. He
chairs the university’s Research Ethics Committee. His research and publications
have centred on science communication on the internet, science in the media and
public discourses of science.
Brian was a journalist for 20 years and a member of the Irish Council for Science,
Technology and Innovation, the government advisory body, from 1997 to 2003. He
is a member of the scientific committee of the PCST Network. With Massimiano
Bucchi, he co-edited the Handbook of public communication of science and tech-
nology (Routledge 2008).
Chapter 8
Before and After Science: Science
and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990

Massimiano Bucchia(*
ü ) and Andrea Lorenzetb

Abstract Media contexts other than news—including fiction—are frequently

neglected by scholars in the field of science communication. This chapter uses the
example of pop music to describe how the rich articulation of popular culture with
regard to science and technology can interact in non-linear, unpredictable ways
with specialist knowledge. Pop music can thus yield significant understanding of
the public images and visions of science. Examples can be provided of how the uses
and appropriation of science and the social meanings of science and technology in
this context—from the ‘de-evolutionary’ theory underlying Devo’s pop songs to
Kraftwerk’s ‘man–machine’ ideology—have often preceded more explicit concerns
about the implications of science and technology that later became visible in other
contexts, such as the news media.

Keywords Public communication of science and technology, science and tech-

nology in popular culture, science and technology in pop music

8.1 Science Communication and Pop Music

This chapter discusses how science and technology (S&T) themes can interact with
popular culture and, more specifically, with representations of S&T active in pop-
ular music. To date, studies of science communication and popular discourse about
science have barely touched on this genre, but have focused pre-eminently on the
role and presence of science within the news media—the daily press in particular
(Bauer 1998, Liakopoulos 2002, Nisbet and Lewenstein 2002, Bucchi and
Mazzolini 2003) —and, more rarely, within literary and cinematic fiction (Turney

a
Dip. Scienze Umane e Sociali, Facoltà di Sociologia, Università di Trento, Piazza Venezia 41, Trento,
Italy. Phone: 39 0461 88 1300, Fax: 39 0461 88 1458, E-mail: [email protected]
b
Dipartimento di Sociologia, Università di Trento, Piazza Venezia 41, Trento, Italy.
E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 139

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
140 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

1998, Nelkin and Lindee 2004, Kirby 2008). We shall also use the example of pop
music to show how science communication may follow paths often different from
those envisaged by traditional, linear models of the relationship between specialist
discourse and popular discourse about science. To this end, this introductory
section will conduct a brief critical review of traditional models of science
communication. Some discussion of features characterizing pop music as part of
popular discourse will also be needed to illustrate its relevance in capturing popular
images of science.

8.1.1 Towards a Different Understanding of Science

Communication

For at least two decades, studies from different disciplinary perspectives have chal-
lenged the main assumptions of a traditional, ‘transfer vision’ which interprets—
among other aspects—the public level of science communication as a blurred and
degraded mirror of the specialist and expert discourse (Bucchi 2008). More spe-
cifically, scholars have underlined the non-linearity of communication processes
(Lewenstein 1995a,b, Bucchi 1996, 1998), the active role of transformative and
selective processes in which the public is involved (Wynne 1989, 1995, Epstein
1996), and the rhetorical and instrumental use of the specialist/public distinction
by scientists and scientific institutions themselves (Hilgartner 1990). Many of
these reflections have been encapsulated in the idea of a continuum of expository
levels for science, mutually influencing one another, in which messages, nar-
ratives and interpretations of scientific knowledge shuttle back and forth between
two extremes: the intraspecialistic stage and the popular stage. Viewed thus,
science communication is no longer a process in which scientists merely address
the public with specific information that the public can only accept or reject.
Rather, there operate multiple interactive processes which involve—and to some
extent blur—the communication levels.
Although undoubtedly innovative, the continuum model still tends to describe
the whole process of communication as a form of knowledge transmission, leaving
some of the key assumptions of the ‘transfer’ vision unchallenged. While the con-
tinuum allows the transformation of knowledge along its communicative path, the
direction of such transformation is largely pre-established—its touchstone remains
firmly at the specialized level.
More recent attempts to supersede the transfer vision more substantially have
introduced the notion of ‘cross-talk’ to describe the science communication process
(Bucchi 2004). In the cross-talk model, ideas circulating in the public arena and in
the specialist discourse can, under some circumstances, interact in ways other than
the trickling down of specialist knowledge.
In his study of genetics in popular culture, for example, Jon Turney has shown
that key achievements in the research agenda, including Watson and Crick’s discovery
of the DNA structure, did not immediately attract the attention of the general media.
8 Before and After Science: Science and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990 141

On the other hand, popular ideas on the transformation of species and the modi-
fication of man have had a much longer history (Turney 1998), as documented for
instance by the French novelist Emile Zola’s famous claim—30 years before the
rediscovery of Mendel’s laws of heredity—that ‘heredity has its laws, just like
gravitation’ (Zola 1871, see also Lewontin 1996).
Understanding of science communication may benefit from abandoning the
transfer metaphor to investigate the multiple interactions of specialist and popular
discourse. Communication may thus be seen as intense short-circuiting or cross-
talking between those discourses—rather than as plain transfer—which takes place
under certain circumstances and centres on key discursive ‘boundary objects’ (e.g.
‘gene’, ‘DNA’, ‘Big Bang’, ‘AIDS’) lying at the intersection between specialist and
popular levels.
These objects make communication possible without necessarily requiring con-
sensus, for an object may be interpreted and used in quite different ways within
different types of discourse. ‘Gene’ can thus be seen as a boundary object: a label
providing a common language both in specialist and in public contexts, although
translated differently in a laboratory conversation and in a car advertisement (Star
and Griesemer 1989, Nelkin and Lindee 1995, Keller 1995, Bucchi 2004). On this
view, the spell intrinsically tying communication to understanding as in the transfer
vision can be finally broken. A model of science communication as cross-talk also
implies seeing communication not simply as a cause (for example, of changes in
public opinions and attitudes due to the transfer of certain results or ideas), but also
as the result of developments in both discourses allowing the formation of an inter-
section zone. Of course, it is likely that once this intersection has formed it will
facilitate exchanges across different discourses, thereby reinforcing itself recur-
sively. Another advantage is that the cross-talk model recaptures a view of commu-
nication as a process that sustains (and has to be sustained by) actors’ interactions,
rather than as a taken-for-granted point of departure.
From this perspective, discourses on S&T active within popular culture, including
pop music, can acquire new relevance as one of the modes in which public and
specialist levels are able to engage in cross-talk (that is, in rich, multiple-meaning
interactions).

8.1.2 Performativity and Meaning in Pop Music

In recent decades, studies in musicology and cultural theory have stressed that pop
music is an important object of social and cultural research (Middleton 1990,
Longhurst 2007), and that its relevance extends well beyond lyrics and music. Pop
music can also be understood as a true dramaturgical mise-en-scène (Goffman
1959) incorporating several expressive codes and ritual elements. In other words,
any pop music event or act, be it the issue of a record or a live performance, com-
prises a wide codex range that often transcends the musical content to encompass,
for example, non-verbal codes, gestures, and expressive and emotional aesthetics.
142 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

These elements can be interpreted as the symbolic means to produce a social

performance (Frith 1996, Alexander 2006). In this context, pop music perfor-
mances use—but also generate and manipulate—images and metaphors circulating
within public discourse and easily recognizable by audiences.
A major role is also played in these processes by technology, which (through
devices such as the electric guitar, amplifier, synthesizer, computer, Walkman or
iPod) has become essential for both the production and the consumption of pop
music (Bull 2000, Pinch and Trocco 2002, Pinch and Bijsterveld 2003).
This chapter thus investigates the social representations, myths and symbols
related to S&T circulating within pop music culture, paying particular regard to the
period between 1970 and 1990. Given the preliminary and exploratory nature of
this work, that period has been selected as one in which S&T themes were particu-
larly salient in pop music. For the same reason, the analysis does not seek to be
comprehensive, its aim being instead to reflect on some of the specific images of
S&T that have attracted particular attention in pop music.

8.2 Science and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990

Until the end of the 1960s, S&T themes received scant attention within pop music.
A minor exception was the famous collage of personalities featured on the cover
of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967). The collage
includes Aldous Huxley, grandson of the famous biologist Thomas H. Huxley and
brother of Julian Huxley, Nobel laureate in physiology and renowned science
popularizer. Aldous Huxley had become famous for his novel Brave new world
(1932) describing a dystopia in which reproduction and sex had been totally
disconnected by technology, with reproductive techniques being used as a means
of social control. However, neither Sgt. Pepper nor the rest of the Beatles’ output
(and that of the most significant pop musicians of the time) contains any signifi-
cant reference to S&T.
It was only at the beginning of the following decade that pop music began to
make its first significant references to S&T, developing an interest for the pervasive
development of technology and its consequences for key themes, such as individual
identity and social organization.

8.2.1 Doubles and Machines: Technoscience and Identity

in Electro-Pop Music

Artificial intelligence and life creation were among the first and most significant
themes in pop music’s reflection on S&T in the 1970s and 1980s. Of particular rel-
evance in this regard was the modern myth of fabricating ‘technological doubles’
of human beings. From a philosophical point of view, the idea of a mechanical
8 Before and After Science: Science and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990 143

double originated in Descartes’ image, inspired by Renaissance advances in the

mechanical arts, of man as a ‘wound up watch’ (Turney 1998).
The theme of the ‘double’ was amplified by the debate on artificial intelligence,
which had been ongoing since the 1950s. The debate particularly focused on the
creation of machines capable of humanlike reasoning; one landmark often identi-
fied was the publication of Alan Turing’s article ‘Computing machinery and intel-
ligence’ in the journal Mind in 1950, which many consider to mark the birth of
computer science.
The same theme was also nourished by the life sciences, particularly after the
discovery of DNA structure (1953) and through the debate on recombinant DNA
techniques. The latter became prominent in the early 1970s, particularly in connec-
tion with the ‘Berg letter’ and the proposed moratorium (1974), until the cloning
issue attained high visibility in the public debate in many countries after the Dolly
experiment (1997).
Themes of identity, doubles and machines acquired special salience in parallel
with the development of electronic pop music. In this respect, reflection on
technology and the mechanical reproducibility of human features can also be seen as
ensuing from the pervasive use of synthesizers and other devices to recreate—and
transform—sounds produced by traditional instruments and human voices.
Groups like Kraftwerk (‘power plant’ in German) provide perhaps the most signi-
ficant examples of how technoscience imagery relating to the myth of the double
and robots penetrated pop music. Founded by two former classical music students,
Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider, the band liked to describe its music as ‘robot
pop’, and it relied mostly on synthesizers to compose and perform its songs. During
live performances and on album covers like The man machine (1978), Hütter and
Schneider dressed up as impersonal robots, using standard uniforms and pale make-up
to erase any trace of personal identity.
Adding to this minimal-futurist aesthetic were robotlike gestures and largely
automatized live performances: on one occasion, the band members left their seats
among the audience to reach the stage when the first three tracks of the concert had
been completed. When on the stage, they took the place of mannequins arranged as
their substitutes before the beginning of the set. Kraftwerk’s album titles, covers
and lyrics abounded with references to technology (their 1975 album, Radio-activity,
opening with the sound of a real Geiger counter measuring radioactivity) and in
particular to Doppelgänger-like dilemmas:
We’re charging our battery
And now we’re full of energy
We’re the robots
We’re functioning automatik
And we are dancing mechanik
We are the robots
We are programmed just to do
Anything you want us to
We are the robots
(Kraftwerk, ‘The robots’, 1978)
144 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

Despite recognizing a depersonalizing effect, Kraftwerk did not depict man’s

relation to technology in negative terms. Their work was neither a moral crusade
nor an expression of acritical enthusiasm for technology; rather, it was a mis-en-scène
of the human condition in a technological age.
Quite differently, another key electro-pop artist, Gary Numan, interpreted with
his band Tubeway Army the myth of the double in mostly negative form, as a meta-
phor for contemporary alienation, the loss of identity and emotions, and the impos-
sibility of establishing social ties. Numan enjoyed a brief but impressive period of
popularity with hits like ‘Cars’, ‘Are friends electric’, ‘I disconnect from you’,
‘Remember I was a vapour’, ‘We are glass’. On the cover of the album Replicas,
Numan is portrayed in a bleak room with a single light bulb, while his pale image
is reflected on the window pane. The theme of the album is the social control
achieved by political elites by means of technological devices- the Machmen,
imaginary androids operating on behalf of a higher order, and whose names are
replaced by numbers:
Down in the park
Where the Machmen meet
The machines are playing ‘kill-by-numbers’
Down in the park with a friend called ‘Five’
(Gary Numan, ‘Down in the park’, 1979)

Technology is also represented by the pop music of those years in terms of a fasci-
nation with artefacts and machines. In a sort of futurist revival, cars, motorways and
high-speed trains are seen as embodying the positive face of progress and technological
innovation. In Autobahn (1974), one of their most successful albums, Kraftwerk used
their synthesizers to imitate cars and motorway sounds. Gary Numan’s ‘Cars’ empha-
sized the feeling of safety and comfort provided by a car’s shell, seen as a refuge from
the fragmentary experience of contemporary social life:
Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It’s the only way to live
In cars
Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for days
In cars
(Gary Numan, ‘Cars’, 1979)

The English band Ultravox! and its original leader John Foxx—later the author of
solo albums with titles like Metamatic (1980)—went so far as to proclaim an outright
love of technology. In ‘I want to be a machine’ (1977), technology is a metaphor for
the search for the sublime, an immortal device like Dorian Gray’s mirror reflecting
the limits of the human condition. In ‘Hiroshima mon amour’ (1978), the contrast is
drawn in the music by a drum machine and a saxophone, and in the lyrics by the para-
doxes already explored by film director Stanley Kubrick in his movie Dr Strangelove,
or how I learned not to worry and love the bomb (1963).
8 Before and After Science: Science and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990 145

The image of ‘a heart beating under the cold shell of technology’ and in general
a form of technological romanticism are also central to the work of the English
‘non-musician’ Brian Eno. Works like Here come the warm jets (1973), Taking
Tiger Mountain (by strategy) (1974) and Another green world (1975) already
outline in their titles this interweaving of technology and emotions, archaic symbolism
and the computer age, in a quest for ‘another green world’ not naively primitive but
made possible by technological development itself, just as silence is recreated in
synthetic form on the album Discreet music (1974). The apogee of this romantic
version of S&T was the album Before and after science (1977), significantly
divided in two parts: ‘before science’ is wilder and neurotic (‘Energy fools the
magician’ is the title of one of the tracks); ‘after science’ is serene and pacified.

8.2.2 De-Evolution, Post-Nuclear Eras and Conspiracies:

Pop Music and the Dark Side of Technology

During the period analysed here, pop music also dealt with some of the most contro-
versial issues involving S&T: nuclear energy and environmental pollution above all.
Bands like Devo, from Akron, Ohio, conceived their entire corpus—as well as their
name—as a grotesque reflection on the possibility that industrial pollution and
environmental degradation by mankind are actually reversing Darwin’s path into
‘de-evolution’. Here science has become something distant, difficult to understand
and often potentially dangerous: space science, once the most promising frontier of
post-war research for popular culture,1 has emblematically turned into a source of
junk debris threatening to fall on our heads (as in the song ‘Space junk’):
A soviet sputnik hit Africa
India Venezuela (in Texas Kansas)
It’s falling fast Peru too
It keeps coming
And now I’m mad about space junk
I’m all burned out about space junk
Oooh walk & talk about space junk
It smashed my baby’s head
(Devo, ‘Space junk’, 1978)
What happens next
De- evolution self- execution no solution
(Devo, ‘I’m a potato’, 1990)

Devo’s performances resembled those of Kraftwerk in the use of standard uniforms

and mechanical gestures. Yet their aesthetic was different, in so far as these elem-
ents were used to satirize the return of our civilization to infancy and de-evolution,
with technology jeopardizing, rather than enhancing, our distinctive human

1
In the context of pop music, think about David Bowie’s hit of 1969, ‘Space oddity’, or the whole
album Ziggy Stardust and the spiders from Mars (1972).
146 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

qualities—as summarized by the title of their debut album Q. Are we not men? A.
We are Devo (1978).
In the same years, another American band, Pere Ubu from Cleveland, centred its
early output on the fear of a nuclear holocaust, and the alienation and anguish of
survivors of a late industrial era constantly besieged by technology installations and
science experiments (as in the song ‘Chinese radiation’, based on the rumours of
Chinese nuclear experiments current at the time). These themes were musically
expressed in disarticulated sounds and psychotic vocals by leader David Thomas. In
his own words, ‘We found it hard, in 1975, to imagine that anyone would live to see
the year 2000’.2
Technology—employed in a primitive and anti-modern fashion with the recovery
of instruments such as the protosynthesizer Theremin—is here reduced to debris,
amid total disillusionment about its potential to elevate the human condition.
Thinkers and poets of the past
they had to leap into the dark so blindly
whereas we’ll stand free and upright like men …
The day’s golden light!
Linked with our machines our eyes are beaming
It won’t matter at all how weird things are seeming
We have the technology not available before
We have the technology
(Pere Ubu, ‘We have the technology’, 1988)

Fears of nuclear disaster have also been framed by pop music within the broader
picture of energy concerns, for example by advocating the development of alternative
energy sources at least two decades before this became a salient public issue in most
countries. This is evidenced by the song ‘Electricity’ by English band Orchestral
Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD), which achieved its biggest hit with ‘Enola Gay’, a
song about the B-29 aeroplane that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima:
Our one source of energy
The ultimate discovery
Electric blue for me
Never more to be free
Electricity
Nuclear and HEP
Carbon fuels from the sea
Wasted electricity
The alternative is only one
The final source of energy
Solar electricity
(OMD, ‘Electricity’, 1980)

In another song, ‘Tesla girls’ (1984), OMD evokes the figure of inventor Nikola
Tesla and again addresses energy and some of its uses, the purpose being to reflect
on the potential negative implications of research and technology advances,

2
http://www.ubuprojex.net
8 Before and After Science: Science and Technology in Pop Music, 1970–1990 147

emphasizing the public’s difficulty in understanding such advances and the gulf
between them and society’s needs.
Tesla girls
testing out theories
electric chairs and dynamos
dressed to kill they’re killing me
but heaven knows their recipe
(OMD, ‘Tesla girls’, 1984)

Scientists feature in pre-eminently negative terms in many of the songs by the

Stranglers, an English band founded in 1974 by biochemist Hugh Cornwell. In songs
like ‘Nuclear device’ or ‘Genetix’, scientists and politicians are depicted as involved
in a conspiracy to use knowledge to the detriment of the general population—as in
‘Genetix’, where race segregation is the secret target of genetic experiments.
The first law of segregation
States that any gamete male
Or female can carry the
Determinant gene of only one
Pair of alternative characteristics.
The second law of free assortment
States that in a cross involving
One pair of alternative characteristics
The characteristics will segregate
In the second filial generation
In the relative proportions of 9, 3, 3, 1
(The Stranglers, ‘Genetix’, 1979)

8.3 Concluding Remarks

As the examples presented here indicate, S&T features in a sector of pop music
of the 1970s and the 1980s in a form difficult to capture with models emphasizing
the transfer of information and knowledge from the experts to the public. Instead,
science theories and personalities, research fields and technological artefacts
were used and reinterpreted by pop musicians to build narratives on the individual’s
relationship with S&T, as well as on the links among science, politics and society
at large. Thus, for example, reflections on the ‘myth of the double’ and on arti-
ficial intelligence were drawn upon in electronic pop music to depict the condi-
tion of human subjectivity vis-à-vis the increasing role of technology in
contemporary society. Similarly, Darwin’s theory of evolution was reframed as
de-evolution by bands like Devo as part of their critique of the degradation of
Western civilization.3

3
Several other pop musicians have been fascinated by Darwin and his theories. Darwin is also the
title of a concept album on evolution by Italian progressive pop band Banco del Mutuo Soccorso
(1972).
148 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

If we consider science communication as an emerging process, rather than stemming

from a specific source and aimed at a specific target, we can interpret the role of such
S&T images as part of a more articulated ‘cross-talk’ among several communication
levels in which a variety of elements—including science results, visible scientists and
technology products—are mobilized as ingredients of different ‘performances’. These
can sometimes take the form of true ‘social dramas’ (Turner 1982) that offer the public
opportunities to reflect critically on issues connected with S&T.
In this context, it is possible to identify at least three ways in which narratives
and images circulating in pop music have nourished broad science communication
processes. These three ways are related to the past, the present and the future.
First, pop music has often anchored the new elements introduced by S&T to
longstanding myths already present and active in popular culture. It is not difficult,
for example, to detect in Kraftwerk’s ‘man–machine’ ideology or in Ultravox’s
early work echoes of the Frankenstein myth or of Dorian Gray’s obsession with
perfection and eternal youth, albeit reframed in a modern technological context.
Second, representations of S&T in pop music—such as when Devo or Pere Ubu
deal with evolutionary theory or nuclear power—are contextualized in the present
and provide their audience with material to interpret and evaluate their own condi-
tion and the state of society.
Third, in imagining the future, these narratives often anticipate the most heated
public debates on S&T issues. Themes like those touched upon by Gary Numan in
albums such as Replicas, for example, further confirm that popular ideas about
cloning individuals were circulating much earlier than the advent of scientific
research and techniques for cloning (Schwartz 1996, Turney 1998, Bucchi 2004).
Each of these levels does not necessarily exclude the other two; rather, the interaction
of different temporal dimensions is part of a process whereby scripts and narratives are
textured so that popular culture can make sense of specific aspects of technoscience and
the inherent uncertainty perceived in connection with its social role and implications.4

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150 M. Bucchi, A. Lorenzet

Selected Discography

Kraftwerk, Radio-activity (EMI 1975).

Brian Eno, Before and after science (EG 1977).
Ultravox!, Ultravox (Island 1977).
Tubeway Army, Replicas (1978).
Devo, Q. Are we not men? A. No, we are Devo (Warner 1978).
Kraftwerk, The man machine (EMI 1978).
Pere Ubu, The modern dance (Blank 1978).
The Stranglers, The raven (UA 1979).
John Foxx, Metamatic (Virgin 1980).

The Authors

Massimiano Bucchi ([email protected])

Massimiano Bucchi PhD is Professor of Sociology of Science at the University of
Trento, Italy. He is a member of the PCST scientific committee and has served as
adviser and evaluator for several institutions, including the Royal Society, the
European Commission, the National Science Foundation and the Wellcome Trust.
He has published seven books, including Science and the media (Routledge 1998),
Science in society: An introduction to social studies of science (Routledge 2004),
the Handbook of public communication of science and technology (with Brian
Trench, Routledge, in press) and several essays in international journals such as
History and Philosophy of the Life Sciences, Nature, New Genetics and Society,
Science and Public Understanding of Science.
Andrea Lorenzet ([email protected])
Andrea Lorenzet is a PhD candidate in sociology and social research at the
University of Trento, Italy. He is member of the European Association for the Study
of Science and Technology (EASST). His main research interests include science
communication, citizens’ participation in decision-making processes about techno-
scientific issues, and science and technology policy. Andrea published ‘Science, risk
and social representations’ (with Federico Neresini), in IPTS Report 82, 2004.
Chapter 9
The More, the Earlier, the Better: Science
Communication Supports Science Education

Cheng Donghonga(*
ü ) and Shi Shunkeb

Abstract Since the 1980s, science communication and science education

have experienced noteworthy changes and progress. Evolving and expanding
on their way to accomplishing their historical missions, the two areas have
at least one goal in common—to improve the scientific literacy of the peo-
ple to enable them to live well in a modern society that is being transformed
by science and technology more rapidly and completely than ever before.
Considerable achievements have been made in both areas, but there are still
many opportunities to do better. The authors review and analyse work in science
education and science communication over the past three decades, focusing on
common goals. They argue that problems in science education, such as short-
ages of trained science teachers, can be reduced in the short term by applying
practices from science communication, by linking scientists and science com-
municators more closely with educators, and by doing so at an earlier stage in
students’ school education.

Keywords Education, science, science communication, science community,

science education, scientific literacy

9.1 Introduction

The decade of the 1980s was a period of impressive social reform, during which the
world witnessed great changes in the political and economic spheres. These social
shockwaves and the ripples that followed are attributed by many, to a certain extent,

a
China Association for Science and Technology, 3 Fuxing Road, Beijing 100863, China. E-mail:
[email protected]
b
China Research Institute for Science Popularization, 86 Xueyuan Nanlu, Haidan District, Beijing
100081, China. E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 151

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
152 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

to the ‘stirring hand’ of science and technology (S&T)—creations nurtured by

society that paid society back with their impacts. History reveals the interactive
relationship between science and society. As science communicators, we are con-
cerned with that relationship and with the active elements in it.
Campaigns for the public understanding of science (PUS) and for science
education reform have been important elements in the science–society rela-
tionship. Both types had occurred before the 1980s, but two crucial documents
that appeared in the middle of 1980s illuminated science communication and
science education and the links between them. In 1985, the Royal Society
published The public understanding of science, initiating an enduring global
PUS campaign; and in 1986 the American Association for the Advancement of
Science (AAAS) published Science for all Americans, signalling the direction
of a new round of science education reform and initiating the long-term Project
2061 scheme.
The following years saw more, broader and much more sophisticated activities
in the two domains. UNESCO initiated a campaign for science education in 1990
(UNESCO 1990) and strengthened it in the Declaration on science and the use of
scientific knowledge in 1999 (UNESCO 1999) and a series of other declarations. In
the face of urgent social problems accompanying the progress of S&T and society
generally, the science community took the lead in a re-examination of the remit
of science communication, paying close attention to the scientific literacy of the
public. Many national governments began to take steps to prepare their citizens for
a knowledge-based society, and expressed concerns about the social implications of
S&T communication and education.
In all these areas, science communication and science education were closely
connected. Although two different social activity domains, they share the goals of
raising public scientific literacy and fostering the harmonious development of
science and society. For a long time, however, each evolved in its own disciplinary
‘space’ and followed its own track. In dealing with social problems, the two disci-
plines were not well prepared to take better and more effective joint actions.
From the science communication perspective, there is plenty of room for the
science communication community to provide assistance or services for science
education. This is especially true in the areas of institutional construction, effective
initiatives and resource allocation. There is a need for such assistance.
This chapter looks into science communication and science education sepa-
rately, focusing on similar or common challenges in the two domains, and then
presents our ideas about possible solutions. We argue that the science communi-
cation community should take active steps to integrate with the science education
community and provide practical, facilitative support for its counterpart, especially
in primary and secondary school education. The more support, and the sooner it
is delivered, the better. If the two communities are to achieve their mutual
objectives, we should make full use of science education as a main channel for
the improvement of public scientific literacy and the continued construction of
scientific culture.
9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 153

9.2 Science Communication: From Popularization

to Social Participation

In its early days and for a long time afterwards, science was considered the business
of a small group of people—mainly the literate upper classes. As scientists moved
towards specialization and professionalization just before the middle of the 19th
century and scientific associations like British Association for the Advancement of
Science and the AAAS began to grow (Bruce 1987, Kett 1994), science entered a
long ‘golden age’ of popularization. The birth of the Science Service in 1921
allowed an even greater audience to be reached through new media (Rhees 1979,
Lewenstein 1994). After World War II, especially from the late 1950s when science
popularization began to take in the entire society, the traditional public ‘gee whiz’
at the wonder of science gradually gave way to concerns about the social impacts
of scientific advancement and about public science literacy.
The most significant changes took place in the 1980s. One event with long-last-
ing effects was the release of The public understanding of science (the Bodmer
Report) in 1985. Perhaps its most valuable contribution was that it put forward the
idea of engaging the public in science (Briggs 2003). The report can be regarded as
the starting point for PUS campaigns on a global scale (Broks 2006); ever since
then, the public has been encouraged to participate in science.
The underlying rationale for PUS campaigns was sophisticated. On the one hand,
while enjoying the benefits brought by S&T, the public was alert to the threats of
nuclear weapons and environmental pollution from the inappropriate application
of technology. Antagonistic voices were becoming louder (Gregory and Miller
1998). On the other hand, public scientific literacy surveys in the US and some
other countries showed that public command of scientific expertise was at a low
level—an apparent inconsistency in modern social systems, which rely ever more
heavily on the progress of S&T.
In such a context, better public understanding of science was erected as a mile-
stone to be reached. It matters, said the Bodmer Report, because it contributes to
the enrichment of the individual’s life, the improvement of public life and the
national prosperity (Royal Society 1985). Better understanding comes from
improved public scientific literacy. Discussion of scientific literacy was wide-
spread, its connotations multiplied and the concept became enriched.
The tide swirled to a climax in the 1990s, as the campaign swept across the
world. More international organizations and more countries joined in, especially
the developing countries. In this rapidly changing social context, public science
communication became a grand view in at least the following aspects:
● The scope of the movement expanded. While the science content of communica-
tion activities grew and methods multiplied, activities in many countries spread
from cities into rural areas and from upper classes to other groups (especially to
underrepresented social groups, such as women and ethnic minorities, whose
particular requirements had usually been neglected).
154 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

● Infrastructural and institutional construction mushroomed in many coun-

tries. S&T museums and science centres were built. Universities inaugur-
ated discipline subjects and created professorial positions related to science
communication.
● Science reporting in the mass media soared, and the internet became a major tool
for communicating S&T.
● National governments drew up strategic plans for science communication and
backed them up with managed programmes and increasing financial
investments.
● Public engagement became the leading trend, in both theory and practice.
The didactic ‘top-down’ concept was edged out by ‘bottom-up’ methods that
emphasized listening to and engaging in dialogue with the public.
In this expanded ensemble of science communication, one of the key tunes was still
the one calling for us to raise the scientific literacy of the public at large.
From 2000, science communication was further recognized for its value in
national, social, scientific and technological progress. From the national perspec-
tive, public understanding of and participation in science was highlighted in social
governance. It was widely taken into national policy frameworks for S&T, and seen
to be closely related to a nation’s general competitive capacity, creative ability and
sustainable economic development. Guiding policies were tailored more closely to
the real world, and large-scale national action plans emerged here and there, such
as the Science and Society Action Plan of the European Commission’s Research
Framework Programme and China’s Outline of National Action Plan of Scientific
Literacy for All Chinese Citizens.
From the societal perspective, the dynamic function of science communication
in raising the public’s awareness and ability to take part in social activities was
broadly accepted by consensus. Although the meaning of ‘public engagement in
science’ is understood and explained differently in different countries or communi-
ties (due to their different stages of development), this does not stop them produc-
ing well-planned and well-received activities corresponding to their local needs. As
a result, science communication around the world has an animated, multifaceted
collection of patterns and objectives. With the encouragement and support of
national governments, more and more scientists and scientific institutions are now
approaching the public through the education system, the mass media and many
other channels. One of their missions is to join the public and get it involved in
knowing, discussing and assessing the unavoidable questions about ethics, uncer-
tainties and risks in S&T, and get it involved in decision making. The public needs
to be scientifically literate to live well in modern societies, and scientific literacy
remains the basic target of all the efforts of the science communication
community.
After three decades of strategies, plans, campaigns and initiatives, however,
some problems remain unsolved in the domain of PUS. The public at large contin-
ues to hold a comparatively high interest in science, but public scientific literacy
has lingered at a marginal level over the years (OECD 1997, European Commission
2002, Cheng et al. 2006, Broks 2006).
9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 155

To tackle this problem, science communicators need to come up with new ideas
and make harder efforts. In our view, we need to take a progressive and pragmatic
approach, and actively cultivate citizens’ scientific literacy through science educa-
tion. In the vernacular of our country, the science communication community
should uphold the banner of public scientific literacy, march forward and abreast
with science educators, take a positive stand to combine with them, and assist and
support their efforts.
In the following discussion, we examine how science education has developed
in the recent past, discuss the possibility of science communication and science
education coupling to produce better results, and to describe a few commendable
cases where this has already happened.

9.3 Science Education: from Passing on Knowledge and Skills

to Nurturing Scientific Literacy

In parallel with mainstream PUS campaigns advocating ‘science for all’ in the
1980s, science education was brought into focus amid waves of education reform.
Science has been taught in schools as a legitimate part of the curriculum for no
more than 200 years. But science education, a group of young subjects compared
with grammar, Latin and mathematics, put its roots deeply into education systems
and grew up quickly and vigorously. It soon became an object of concern and study
by many educators, education researchers and sociologists, and was also a key area
of concern of governments and international organizations. For example, science
education always features prominently at United Nations conferences and in UN
documents on S&T policies or education policies. Specific statements about sci-
ence education are also made in papers and resolutions about other topics, such as
development, poverty alleviation, health and the environment.
The reason for this focus on science education is the proliferation of S&T into
all areas of social life and the dynamic response of education systems. The back-
ground message is that, in an era of globalization, economic growth based solely
on capital investment gives way to growth that relies heavily on science-based
technology and higher worker productivity. S&T not only decides the products and
the markets, but also transforms the content of labour at the same time. In particular,
the advent of computer as a tool in production and management is none other than
a revolution in traditional notions of labour.
In these circumstances, human resources become an indispensable and non-
negligible component of the competitive capacity of any country. If a nation does
not possess an abundant labour resource with a fundamental S&T education, if
qualified engineers cannot be easily hired, if there is no cutting-edge creative corps,
or if there is not substantial research and development to support S&T innovation,
the nation will be beaten in an international contest for products and markets that
is growing harsher day by day. In the production chain from design and innovation
through manufacturing to selling and servicing, countries without this nucleus of
156 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

competitive S&T capacity have no choice but to cling to the manufacturing link,
making low value-added products through high resource consumption.
Scientific literacy is also likely to become a personal, internal requirement for
citizens who aspire to meet their social obligations, pursue their aspirations and live
dignified lives. Educating youngsters in school to develop scientific literacy enables
them to take up their responsibilities for the future of their society, their families
and themselves, and has become a natural obligation of school education systems,
placed on them by society at large.
For these economic and social reasons, many countries have made it their priority
to improve the quality of science education, starting from the elementary stage.
In the current round of science education reform, the goal has shifted from
producing sci-tech elites (capable candidates for upper level S&T education) to
developing every student’s scientific literacy. This strategic change has given
rise to a chain reaction in many other areas of education, such as curriculum
development, pedagogy and evaluation. The teaching of science as a package of
knowledge has been converted into the nurturing of scientific literacy, so the
content of courses has changed as well. This down-to-earth policy and practice
reflects the aim of ‘scientific and technological literacy for all’ (UNESCO and
ICASE 1993), which followed the advocacy of ‘education for all’ put forward in
1990. Overall reform in the education domain as a whole has also showed the
impacts of PUS campaigns, particularly the notions of ‘science for society’ and
‘going to the public’.
Today, the science education aim of improving the scientific literacy of all stu-
dents is the dominant trend. However, it has not yet been achieved. Three big,
embarrassing obstacles block the way:
● A lack of excellent science education resources
● A deficiency of qualified science teachers
● Declining interest in science among young students
A common challenge facing science educators around the world is the need to
develop new curriculums for general scientific literacy and to find suitable, up-to-
date teaching materials. The Project 2061 office of the AAAS assessed the science
textbooks in use in secondary schools in 1999, and commented that ‘not one of the
widely used science textbooks for middle school was rated satisfactory’ (Koppal
1999).
The shortage of suitable teachers for new courses is also a global problem, and
has resulted in a drive to transform teacher education and provide in-service training
for science teachers. The consensus of educators and policymakers is that teachers
are the crux of science education reform; the question is where to find (or rather, to
develop) teachers who are capable and well prepared to teach for scientific
literacy.
Today, when societies and economies rely more and more on S&T, a paradoxical
emerging trend has alarmed the leading industrialized countries of the West: young
people are losing their interest in S&T and are moving away from choosing S&T
as a career. Many research reports have detected the trend. Although various
9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 157

corrective measures have been taken in recent years, the current situation is no
cause for optimism. Politicians understand the seriousness of the problem clearly:
‘Stimulating interest among Europe’s young for science and technology is crucial
if Europe is to have a future based on the best use of knowledge’ (Potočnik 2007).
As we see it, there is no quick way to remove the three key barriers to achieving
the new science education objectives. It is therefore worth considering the adoption
of some strategies and initiatives from the PUS domain to reduce the barriers and
reinforce science education reform.

9.4 Backing Up Science Education

In our review of science communication and science education, it is easy to notice

the conspicuous interrelation between the two domains. Two aspects stand out: one
is the compatibility of the aims of the two domains; the other is the interdependency
of solutions in both areas. Starting in the 1980s and from different angles (such as
‘science in society’ and ‘education for future citizenship’), both called for scientific
and technological literacy for all. The common goal is to produce citizens, now and
in the future, who can participate in the life of modern society and are fortified with
the values of democracy, and to ensure a sustainable future for a planet that has
been transformed by the application of high technologies. Science communication
and science education belong to different social domains, but because they share a
goal and their target groups overlap, they can surely support and benefit each other
by sharing initiatives, human resources and information.
To enhance public scientific literacy is one of the primary goals of science com-
munication activities, while school science education is normally regarded as the
basis or main channel for reaching that goal. Science education must respond to
modern society’s calls for the scientific literacy of every citizen, and at the same
time produce a large enough cohort of high-quality scientists and engineers each
year to meet economic and technical demand. To achieve these twin goals, science
education (especially in primary and secondary schools) must urgently renew its
teaching materials and facilities. Unfortunately, current levels of human resources
and facilities make it hard to carry out this significant transformation. Therefore,
there is an urgent need for large numbers of S&T professionals with an empirical
approach to scientific inquiry to help schoolteachers in transforming their peda-
gogy. This may mean huge investments in school systems, and will certainly take
some time.
Nevertheless, if we take a wider look at the problem, we might find a way
around the problem, at least for the short term. ‘To win the battle with borrowed
troops’, as an ancient Chinese war strategist described, could be the right strategy.
If it is possible to overcome deficiencies in school science education by drawing on
the resources available in the science communication domain, why not do it?
For example, we could use the facilities in scientific institutions as resources for
science education, mobilize S&T workers and science-based organizations to
158 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

support science teachers in their teaching practices, and follow the example of
out-of-school hobby group practices to employ inquiry-based learning methods
in science classes. The following section discusses these and other options.
Generally speaking, science communicators pay close attention to the interac-
tion between S&T developments and the demands of society, and they are used to
answering queries and dealing with doubts. Seen from the point of view of science
communicators, science education is a kind of large social project, in which the
goal of scientific literacy for all school students closely matches the ‘science for all’
goal of science communication in the 1980s.
Starting from this position and taking into consideration the interactions of the
two domains, this section expands on the involvement of science communicators in
science education.
We could bring science education under examination from various angles, such
as by following the primary–secondary–tertiary education hierarchy, by dividing it
into school education and out-of-school education, and so on. However, in the light
of our knowledge of lifelong learning, we divide it here into formal education, non-
formal education and informal education.

9.4.1 Formal Education

Science communicators have been doing a lot in formal science education,

including:
● Taking an active part in science education policymaking
● Giving advice and making recommendations to governments on science educa-
tion reform and getting involved in drafting reform documents
● Working on curriculum development and creating curricular standards
● Training science teachers
● Opening laboratory facilities to schools for them to practise inquiry-based
education
One eye-catching achievement has been the Pollen Project, which is being carried
out in 12 European countries. The project is a joint action, but is implemented
under the guidance of local education authorities. Scientists come to work side by
side with primary schoolteachers, and cooperate with teachers and curriculum spe-
cialists in curriculum development, teacher training, online consultation and the
like. The joint activity stimulated and strengthened female schoolteachers’ interest
and confidence in teaching science, and aroused students’ curiosity about science
(especially girls and children from disadvantaged family backgrounds).
The Pollen Project sheds light on two important factors. One is that the science
community should be intervening in formal science education at an earlier stage. It
is too late to intervene at the higher degree level, as people used to believe to be
appropriate. As we understand it, the Pollen Project had its roots in an initiative of
physics Nobel laureate Georges Charpak. He once led a group of scientists from the
9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 159

French Academy of Sciences into primary schools and kindergartens and set up a
programme named ‘La main à la pate’ in cooperation with teachers there. Through
the programme, they brought an inquiry-based approach into early-stage science
education.
The second important lesson is that the transformation of pedagogy is just as
important as content reform in science education. Reformed teaching methods are
an effective and important way to maintain the appeal of science to young
people—a key requirement for any nation that wants to retain its competitive S&T
edge in the future. To make these changes happen, it is extremely important that the
science community’s intervention into science education should directly assist school-
teachers to transform their teaching methods from traditional ‘didactic’ practices to
inquiry-based approaches.

9.4.2 Non-Formal Education

Non-formal education is an important supplement to formal education, and has

been attracting more and more attention in many countries. Science communication
practices in this arena have included:
● Organizing many types of science activities for primary and secondary students
in conjuction with science institutions and organizations, such as summer
camps, science fairs and so on
● Running workshops or training courses for special target groups, such as prag-
matic technique training for farmers
● Opening research institutes, science museums and science centres for students
to practise hands-on experiments
The organizers of non-formal science education programmes lay stress on cultivat-
ing participants’ interest and keeping them engaged through an inquiry-based
approach. Success arises from the correct combination of science education with
social practice, and these activites work best when they pull S&T and the public
closer together and foster the scientific literacy of the target group.
Notable successes include the British Association for the Advancement of
Science’s youth programmes and the S&T activities for teenagers organised by the
China Association for Science and Technology (CAST):
● The British Association’s Young People’s Programme1 aims to engage and
inspire young people with S&T and its implications. It sponsored a series of
well-designed award schemes for young people of all ages, such as CREST
Investigators for primary students, BA Science Communicators for ages 11+,
and BA CREST awards for years 11–19. As well as these awards programmes

1
http://www.the-ba.net/the-ba/YPP/index.html
160 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

for children, the British Association also provides training and resources for
teachers and organizes events for young people to experience S&T directly.
● CAST organizes series of science contests, such as the National Adolescents
Science and Technology Innovation Contest2 to foster adolescents’ innovation
and practical abilities. Its Big Hands Hold Small Hands outreach programme
encourages hundreds of scientists to go to schools every year to present popular
science lectures and mentor students’ scientific activities.

9.4.3 Informal Education

Informal education is either an industry that needs billions of dollars in investment

(Friedman 1995), or an extensive space where society is the classroom, living is
learning and the learner is every member of the society. This is a field in which
lifelong learning is driven by the interests, needs and curiosity of individuals, and
the invisible educational channel through which public scientific literacy is
improved bit by bit and day by day by way of seeing, listening, touching and
experiencing.
Science communicators are active in informal education in many ways,
including:
● Organizing science weeks or science days, such as the EU annual Science Week,
which creates an atmosphere of scientific culture that ‘bathes’ the public
● Presenting participatory exhibitions by science museums and science centres to
advance lifelong learning
● Cooperating with journalists to deliver science information through the mass
media
● Running popular science websites for more interactive science communication.
For informal science education to be effective, it is pivotally important that the sci-
ence community collaborates with the media world. The media do not produce
knowledge (they are merely the vehicle for its passage), but their speed, coverage
and influence magify its efficacy. PUS surveys in several countries demonstrate that
the media, especially television, have become the main channel by which the gen-
eral public obtains S&T information. In recent years, with the support of the sci-
ence community around the world, there has been much more media coverage of
science-related topics (such as climate change, genetic modification, tsunamis,
avian influenza and so on). This has raised the public’s awareness of the science
and increased its ability to deal with unexpected events.
The many cases of successful informal science education have relied heavily on
effective science communicators. However, in our view, there is still enormous
space for the closer integration of the two domains to achieve greater depth, breadth

2
http://www.xiaoxiaotong.org
9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 161

and universality. This is still an underdeveloped enterprise, in which there are many
valuable things waiting to be accomplished and investigated.

9.5 Conclusion

The discipline of public S&T communication grew from a need to deal with contem-
porary social problems. It grew by developing its practitioners’ consciousness of
responsibility, and then by examining its own social accountability. In a parallel process,
science researchers and organizations, partly through their involvement in science com-
munication, should take up their social responsibility to engage in science education.
The involvement of the science community in non-formal and informal science
education is already undergoing a kind of regularization and professionalization
with the addition of a ‘third assignment’: science communication. Sweden and
France passed laws in 1979 and 1981, respectively, asking science research institu-
tions to take up that third assignment (Felt 2003). In 1993, Research Councils UK
was also asked to include science communication as one of its missions (British
Council 2001). In 2006, the same requirement was promulgated by the Chinese
Academy of Sciences in its Outline of medium and long term development of sci-
ence communication, which is in effect from 2006 to 2020.
We believe that the science communication community should deepen its
involvement in science education at the earliest possible level to achieve the com-
mon goals of the two domains. Science communicators should make a much wider
and much better contribution by:
● Bridging the gap between scientists and science educators by taking responsibility
for coordinating scientific expertise, facilities and information to support science
education in and out of schools
● Promoting systematic reform in both domains to put support for science educa-
tion into the science communication agenda and, at the same time, introducing
the best practices of science communication into science education
● Helping to organize social activities for science education in schools and provid-
ing assistance in those activities
● Engaging in science education research
● Training science teachers
The science of the 21st century will play a major role in human society: our fate,
and the fate of our society, are bound up with it. For this reason, science communi-
cators should intensify their efforts, and go to the public, to the society and into
science education. It is expected of us and is also our social responsibility. It will
also benefit the development of our discipline.
Science communication and science education have never been seen so vigorous
as today, but they are really just beginning to develop. They need to be adjusted,
rationalized and improved for greater effectiveness. The two domains’ traditional
separation and isolation from one another is no longer appropriate.
162 C. Donghong, S. Shunke

To equip the 21st century public with basic modern scientific literacy, we need
to create favourable environments and conditions. We need to build a multi-element
resource system for science education that includes teachers, schools, governments,
scientists, science communicators and science institutions and creates an extensive,
spacious arena for cooperation and collaboration.
Science communicators are uniquely placed to catalyse this transformation.

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9 The More, the Earlier, the Better 163

The Authors

Cheng Donghong ([email protected])

Cheng Donghong EdD is a board member and Executive Secretary of the China
Association for Science and Technology (CAST). She has worked in the field of
non-formal science education and public science communication since the 1980s,
and is now leading many national initiatives. Donghong is the founding and current
president of the internet-based science communication network of the China
Internet Association, the Executive Vice Director of the Task Group on Scientific
Literacy for All under the State Council of the People’s Republic of China. She is
also a member of the executive board of the All China Women’s Federation, a board
member of the China Association for Science Instructors, and a member of the sci-
entific committee of the PCST Network.
Shi Shunke ([email protected])
Associate Professor Shi Shunke is head of the Division of Theoretical Studies on
Science Popularization of the China Research Institute for Science Popularization,
where he has worked since 1988. His main research interest is the history of
science popularization and S&T communication development around the world.
In 2005, he helped to organize the Beijing PCST Working Symposium. Shunke
has published articles on science popularization, edited The English–Chinese lexical
dictionary, collated A Chinese–English dictionary of classic and current expres-
sions, and collaborated as a co-author to publish At the human scale: International
practices in science communication.
Chapter 10
Hollywood Knowledge: Communication
Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures

David A. Kirby(*
ü)

Abstract There is a longstanding perception among scientists and members of the

entertainment industry that they represent two distinct cultures. In this social context,
science communication is not merely communication from an expert community to a
lay community but is more akin to intercultural communication. This perception has
led to the development of a new category of science consultant within Hollywood:
‘boundary spanners’. Boundary spanners take on the identity of a scientific expert in
the scientific community and that of a filmmaking expert in the entertainment industry.
At the same time, their authority within those communities also rests upon their own
unique social identity as a boundary spanner. The boundary spanner’s process involves
the synthesis of information from the culture of science, the translation of that informa-
tion into the culture of entertainment, and finally the transformation of the information
into a finished cultural product. For boundary spanners, success is achieved when the
transformed product on the screen bears enough resemblance to scientific authenticity
to satisfy both the scientific and the entertainment communities.

Keywords Cinema, entertainment industry, boundary spanner, science consultant,

intercultural communication, scientific expertise
The scientists believe they are gods and the entertainment people believe they are gods
themselves. So, let us say it is a battle of gods.
—Pablo Hagemeyer of ‘The Dox’ consulting group.1

Historically, filmmakers employed research scientists as consultants to instil their

films with scientific accuracy (Kirby 2003a,b, Frank 2003).2 Even in successful

Centre for the History of Science, Technology and Medicine, University of Manchester, Oxford
Road, M13 9PL, UK. E-mail: [email protected]

1
Unless otherwise noted, all information and quotes concerning Pablo Hagemeyer and The Dox
come from Pablo Hagemeyer, interview by David Kirby, Munich, Germany, 13 December 2001.
2
My discussion in this chapter is predominantly confined to boundary spanners’ work on popular,
fictional films. Despite television’s faster paced production practices, the processes by which
boundary spanners deal with science are comparable between television and film.

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 165

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
166 D.A. Kirby

collaborations, communication can be difficult because scientists and entertainment

producers may have radically different goals for fictionalized science. There is a
longstanding perception among scientists and members of the entertainment industry
that they represent two distinct cultures, with different languages, customs, value
systems, sets of cultural assumptions and cultural practices. In this social context,
science communication is not merely communication from an expert community
to a lay community but is more akin to intercultural communication. How, then, do
these ‘gods’ throw aside their differences to allow effective communication?
Science consulting as intercultural communication has led to the development of
a new category of consultant that I refer to as ‘boundary spanners’.3 Boundary span-
ners’ ability to facilitate communication between these two unique social groups
rests on their claims to membership in both. Boundary spanners are not research
scientists but are individuals who mediate between the scientific community and
the entertainment industry. Filmmakers pose specific queries to a boundary span-
ner. The spanner then locates an appropriate specialist, obtains and synthesizes sci-
entific information, and translates it into the language of cinema. Management of
their social identity allows boundary spanners to interact with unique social groups
and to negotiate information transfer between cultures. Thus, boundary spanners
allow two distinct cultures to communicate successfully without the need for either
to adapt culturally to the other.

10.1 Intercultural Science Communication

and Boundary Spanners

Ribeiro (2007) recently addressed the impediments to intercultural science com-

munication in his examination of the interaction between Brazilian and Japanese
engineers in the steel industry. Ribeiro argues that the inability of those two cultural
groups to speak the same language actually aids communication because it prevents
them from committing cultural indiscretions. Instead, they rely on interpreters who
not only speak both languages but also understand the norms of each culture. In
addition, the interpreters’ long-term connection within the steel industry gives them
credibility with both the Brazilian and the Japanese engineers. In his view, inter-
preters allow information transfer without the need for adaptation to another
culture’s forms.
In Ribeiro’s model, an interpreter’s mediation of information transfer comes as
much from their membership in a social group shared by all the participants (the
engineering community) as it does from their familiarity with the customs of each
culture. In the case of Hollywood, however, there is no shared social group when
mediating between the scientific community and the entertainment industry.
Therefore, a boundary spanner must effectively inhabit multiple social identities.

3
I am adapting the term ‘boundary spanner’ from Kelly Moore (1996: 1596), who used it to
describe scientists who inhabit both scientific and political social identities.
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 167

A boundary spanner’s capacity to facilitate information transfer depends on their

ability to assume an identity unique to each social group and maintain their own
unique social identity as a mediator. Boundary spanners readily move between the
social worlds of science and entertainment and mediate translation processes.
Specifically, boundary spanners take on the identity of a scientific expert in the sci-
entific community and that of a filmmaking expert in the entertainment industry
(see Fig. 10.1). At the same time, their authority within those communities also
rests upon the fact that they have their own unique social identity as a boundary
spanner. If their identity were solely that of filmmaker, why should other filmmak-
ers trust their scientific advice? Likewise, why should scientists trust the boundary
spanner to understand how to translate scientific information onto the screen if they
are merely another scientific expert?
To manage these various social identities, boundary spanners must portray
themselves as authoritative within each community. This authority rests entirely
upon the perception that boundary spanners can operate as experts within each
group. Expertise is central to interactions between scientists and the entertainment
industry. However, the concept of expertise is not as simple as a delineation
between those who possess knowledge and those who do not. Collins and Evans
(2002) usefully distinguish between categories of expertise as they relate to scien-
tific culture. They define ‘contributory expertise’ as sufficient experience within
scientific culture to contribute to the creation of knowledge, while they define
‘interactional expertise’ as enough knowledge of scientific culture to interact with
those who have contributory expertise.
It is clear that these categories of expertise can be adapted to cultural arenas
other than science, such as the filmmaking industry. It would be fair to say that
trained filmmakers have contributory expertise in the creation of movies, while film
critics have interactional expertise in the realm of filmmaking. Boundary spanners,
then, must possess at least interactional expertise in both science and filmmaking.
In addition, they must also be perceived as having contributory expertise as a
boundary spanner who can appropriately synthesize scientific information in a way
palatable to the entertainment industry. The fluid nature of their expertise allows
them to mediate between social worlds and serve as an accepted liaison between
scientific knowledge and fictional representations.

Scientific Boundary Entertainment

community spanners community

Fig. 10.1 Boundary spanners claim social identities within each culture but retain their own
unique social identity
168 D.A. Kirby

10.2 Mediating Social Identities in Entertainment Culture

I will focus my analysis on two of the earliest examples of boundary spanners in

the entertainment industry: The Dox and Donna Cline. While science consultants
have worked in cinema from its earliest days (Kirby 2003a), the boundary spanner
approach is a relatively recent phenomenon. Generally, boundary spanners are
individuals with some scientific training who also develop extensive experience
working in the entertainment world.
The Dox, a science consulting agency based in Munich, mainly serves the German
entertainment industry, although some work has been done in the US. The Dox is organ-
ized as a traditional company, with the three founding scientists, Pablo Hagemeyer,
Florian Gekeler and Patrick Weydt, serving as the board of directors. All three are
trained as medical scientists and have published extensively in scientific journals, includ-
ing prestigious journals such as Nature. After forming the agency in 1997, they began
advising for news and documentary organizations before branching out to fictional films
and television series. The Dox has worked on over 25 fictional films and television
movies, including Die Wolke [The Cloud] (2005), Das wilde Leben [The Savage Life]
(2006), Stadt, Land, Mord [City, Country, Murder] (2007) and Awake (2007).
Donna Cline, who has consulted on over a dozen major Hollywood films in the
past decade, is a prototypical boundary spanner.4 She operates as an independent
consultant, rather than through a company structure like The Dox. Cline earned a
masters degree in biomedical illustration and trained as a forensic artist before
moving to Hollywood to work in the entertainment industry. She worked as a sto-
ryboard artist and illustrator before engaging in consulting work on several fictional
films, including The Doctor (1991), Outbreak (1995), The Relic (1997), Deep Blue
Sea (1999), Red Dragon (2002), and The Shaggy Dog (2006).5
Crucially, at the outset both Donna Cline and The Dox needed to convince the
entertainment industry that they had sufficient scientific expertise to be useful. For
The Dox directors, establishing their scientific authority was the easy part. They
were working scientists with official academic degrees and positions at well-known
scientific institutions. Since entertainment producers are not part of the scientific
social sphere, they did not rely on any of the traditional means for judging the cali-
bre of The Dox as scientists, such as numbers of publications, citation rates, sizes
of research groups, or numbers of grants. According to Pablo Hagemeyer, it was
enough that they had scientific degrees and worked for prestigious institutions:
We are not necessarily the highly qualified, high-powered scientists we seem to be, but we
do have impressive academic titles and we work in high-quality scientific institutes like the
Max Planck. That was enough to convince them we could handle their science and
medicine.

4
Unless otherwise noted, all information and quotes concerning Donna Cline come from an inter-
view by David Kirby, Pasadena, California, 30 March 2005.
5
Cline still works as a storyboard artist either in conjunction with her consulting work or
separately.
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 169

Although there are instances where filmmakers hire high-profile scientists for their
publicity value (Kirby 2003a), it is most often the case that they only require an
individual with interactional scientific expertise. The Dox directors’ impressive
titles and their association with prestigious institutions convey to the non-scientist
that they not only have interactional expertise but clearly have contributory exper-
tise in the scientific realm.
While The Dox simply had to point to their titles to obtain scientific credibility,
Donna Cline had to prove to filmmakers that she had at least interactional scientific
expertise. Cline’s training as a biomedical illustrator is why she initially worked as
a storyboard artist, but it also gave her the interactional expertise to work as a science
consultant. As she explains, her background did not make it obvious to the filmmak-
ers that she had scientific credibility. Rather, she first had to prove her expertise to
them through her actions. She established her potential as a science consultant dur-
ing an interview for work as an illustrator on the film Gross Anatomy (1989):
I found out they were having trouble getting access to some very hard-to-reach places.
Actually, it was seeing dead bodies. Anyway they were asking me about it, ‘Do you know
what we can do?’ They didn’t even know me. I was just there asking if they needed any
medical drawings. So I called one of my professors from graduate school and asked if
I could bring some people from this movie to come see some cadavers. He said, ‘Ten
tomorrow is alright.’ So I went back and told them, and they were like ‘Are you serious?’
I told them ‘You can’t go photograph the bodies. There are laws about that, but we can go
in and you can learn all kinds of stuff.’ So they asked me to stay for more meetings with
the effects guys and they hired me a day and a half later as their technical adviser.

She clearly projected a sense of interactional expertise to the filmmakers because

someone with obvious scientific authority—a medical professor—treated her as
worthy of being granted access to restricted spaces. Her work on this film gave her
credibility in the entertainment industry as a ‘scientific expert’ and led directly to
her next consulting job on The Doctor (1991), which she considers ‘the most accu-
rate medical picture in Hollywood history’.
In addition to establishing their credibility as scientific authorities, both Cline
and The Dox also needed to demonstrate to entertainment producers their familiarity
with the culture of entertainment. This was the biggest challenge The Dox directors
faced in expanding their consulting business beyond non-fiction media. Initially,
their fiction work came through a partnership with a British script warehouse in
which they read scripts and provided extensive notes for scriptwriters. Having this
intermediary between their organization and entertainment producers meant that
they did not require any knowledge of filmmaking practices in their work. They
provided advice and the scriptwriters decided how to alter the scripts. Having no
knowledge of The Dox’s involvement, studios that bought these scripts assumed it
was the scriptwriters who understood how to negotiate filmmaking requirements.
Therefore, at the outset, The Dox could not convince entertainment companies they
had enough interactional expertise to be hired directly.
Hagemeyer perceived that their initial interactions with filmmakers did not go
smoothly, especially when they were telling filmmakers what the ‘real’ science was
for a given fictional scenario:
170 D.A. Kirby

You feel that the entertainment people say ‘First, we don’t accept you because you studied
science and we didn’t. Why can you be so arrogant coming here and telling us what the
real story is about? You are so impolite telling us we are stupid.’ They don’t really say this
to you, but you get the feeling they are challenging you.

Hagemeyer’s experience points directly to the problems that can arise when scien-
tists communicate within entertainment culture without having interactional exper-
tise in entertainment production. If they had understood filmmaking culture, they
would have known not to provide scientific information in such a straightforward
manner. Many other science consultants have told me that filmmakers as a group
are sensitive to criticism and take offence if they are told they are ‘wrong’. In sci-
entific or academic culture, such a critique is a valued social norm because scien-
tists understand that you are just ‘telling it the way it is’. In filmmaking culture,
however, the perception was that the scientists were overtly demonstrating their
superiority and undervaluing filmmakers’ own knowledge. The Dox were entertain-
ment outsiders who had to become accepted as insiders before they could obtain
regular consulting work.
As Hagemeyer tells it, ‘We had to accept the rules of media and change stories
in that direction. We no longer fight for the right of being correct. We fight for the
right of telling a good story’. They had to accept that entertainment culture was not
going to adapt to the norms of scientific culture but that, as boundary spanners, they
had to adapt to entertainment culture.
Unlike The Dox, Cline found it easy to establish her authority as a filmmaking
expert. She has been a member of the Hollywood branch of the Illustrators and Matte
Artists Union since the mid-1980s and has worked as a storyboard artist since the early
1990s, which helped her overcome the problems faced by scientists working in
Hollywood. Through her experiences, Cline developed contributory expertise in film-
making; this helped her to understand the place of science in the filmmaking process:
My experiences as a storyboard artist give me an incredible dimensionality in knowing how
shots are structured, continuity, story telling, how we cheat, how we don’t, budgets, what
is shootable, and what isn’t. That is a remarkably valuable part of my technical advising
because I know the filmmaking side of it, not just the scientific component.

Cline cites specific skills and restricted knowledge that only someone with contrib-
utory expertise would possess, such as ‘how we cheat’. Her credentials and work
experiences position her as an official member of the filmmakers’ social group. As
Cline explains it, the perception that she is an ‘insider’ buys her instant credibility
with entertainment people even if she is doing work other than that which gained
her that credibility:
There is pretty much a distinction about industry and non-industry. I am considered to be
one of them. Unless they don’t know me and they think I’m just a technical person and they
find out, wait a minute you know this stuff and they immediately accept me.

It is assumed that Cline, as an insider, will understand the cultural norms of enter-
tainment culture. Actors, for example, understand that she is ‘one of them’, so she
can communicate and interact with them more effectively than someone coming in
from outside their community.
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 171

A clear-cut example of how Cline’s intimate knowledge of cultural norms helps

her act as a boundary spanner is her understanding of how to behave on the set. As
a boundary spanner, she taps into the expertise of a wide range of scientists, and it
is often necessary to bring a scientist onto a set. Cline’s job is to make sure that
either the scientist understands filmmaking’s cultural norms or she is able to control
the scientist’s actions:
I wrangle them. Because they don’t understand set culture and I know that. You don’t walk
over into this area, you watch where the camera is, you wear soft shoes, and you turn off
your phone. There is a whole lot of things that we in the industry don’t think about that
scientists don’t know. They are a visitor there so they are my responsibility. If they see a
big issue they are supposed to pull me aside and tell me. Don’t just say it, because you
don’t want to upset anybody. That is the political part. It is so critical that we keep a good,
focused set.

Only someone who is a part of this social group will know these unwritten rules.
The equivalent situation in the scientific community would be having visitors to the
laboratory. Unless you are member of the scientific community, you will not know
the codes of behaviour in the lab: what to wear, what not to touch, where you can
walk, when to remain quiet, and who you can converse with directly. All boundary
spanners, like Cline and The Dox, understand the behavioural rules in both of these
restricted spaces.
Cline’s comment also points to the central notion of the boundary spanner acting
as a mediator in the communication process. One of the key cultural norms in the
entertainment industry is knowing who to speak with and, more importantly, how
to phrase your conversations. Knowing the rules of conversation is especially tricky
for science consultants because they do not fit into the well-established filmmaking
hierarchy. Film cultures are not egalitarian communities; instead, they have a very
rigid hierarchy of superiors and subordinates. As a storyboard artist, Cline knows
exactly where she fits into the hierarchy: she is in the Art Department. If she needs
to bring something to the attention of the director or production designer, she goes
through her superior, the art director.
As a science consultant, however, she does not have a fixed place within this
hierarchy. Therefore, she has to understand the rules for speaking to any individual
within the hierarchy. Scriptwriters, for example, are very protective of their work,
so when she recommends dialogue she does it carefully, ‘with tea and scones’. As
she tells it, she needs to know how to ‘toe a political line’ with every individual in
this culture.

10.3 Boundary Spanners in Action: Balancing Social Identities

and Mediating Knowledge Transfer

Most science consulting experiences are one-off endeavours. Filmmakers generally

employ one or more scientists with very specific expertise and work around the
scientists’ inexperience in dealing with entertainment culture. To get hired repeatedly,
172 D.A. Kirby

however, a consultant must prove to filmmakers that their utility goes beyond just an
understanding of scientific culture or even that they have gained an understanding of
entertainment culture. Consultants who find continued employment show their utility
to filmmakers by presenting a unique social identity: that of the boundary spanner.
For Donna Cline, her social identity as a boundary spanner comes from her abil-
ity to be an effective translator between the two social groups. This ability separates
her from the individuals she interacts with in either community:
I am a translator. I am a visitor to many disciplines and that translation process is certainly
my own field of expertise. I start in science with my network and then I mosey over and I
am totally immersed in the film thing. I would just go back and forth…the degree they rely
on me sometimes is massive. Most often you can definitely have some influence, and it is
very useful that I am a film person. That is a unique situation. So that really buys me a lot
of credibility. You can have a massive influence because the information you give is from
the scientists but the way it is translated comes from my ability to say how to achieve it
dramatically.

Boundary spanners’ social identity and the advantages it provides emerge from a
mode of operation that differs from that of other science consultants. Boundary
spanners do not claim to possess a specialized form of scientific expertise (even if
they do). Instead, they emphasize that their general level of scientific expertise
gives them the credibility necessary to interact with scientists who do have special-
ized knowledge. They give filmmakers access to a wide range of scientific advice
without the need for filmmakers to ever interface directly with the scientific com-
munity. Their familiarity with entertainment culture allows them to take this
acquired knowledge and put it into a form that filmmakers can actually use. Their
inside knowledge of filmmaking also enables them to work with filmmakers during
production to turn this modified scientific information into the final product on
screen.
The boundary spanner’s process, then, involves the synthesis of information
from the culture of science, the translation of that information into the culture of
entertainment, and finally the transformation of the information into a finished cul-
tural product (see Fig. 10.2). Donna Cline provides a concise summary of this
process:
That’s how I work. I take massive amounts of technical information and possibilities, the
different ways we can go. I then look at the script and distil it down to cinematographically
valuable units of visual and informational material which we transform into a movie. That’s
my job in a nutshell.

The nature of their social identities within groups is fluid, but their identity as
boundary spanners remains unchanged.
The key advantage for a boundary spanner is their ability to communicate with
a diverse network of scientific experts. The Dox were able to set up a network of
scientific advisers quickly through their combined professional research contacts.
When their business grew larger, scientists began contacting them about being
involved in the network.
What differentiates The Dox from other boundary spanners is that they are
trained scientists with their own scientific and medical expertise to draw upon first,
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 173

Scientific
community Entertainment
Unprocessed scientific
community
information Cinematic
representations
• Factual knowledge • Social
interactions • Laboratory etiquette • Acting • Sets and props
• Research methodologies • Dialogue • Production design
• Scientific institutions • Special effects
• Technology • Costuming

Synthesis Transformation

Translation

Condensed scientific Cinematically

narrative manageable narrative

Fig. 10.2 Boundary spanners ensure information transfer without the need for cultures to
communicate directly

before they tap into their network. When they accept a new consulting job, they
determine which of the three scientists has the most appropriate knowledge base to
become the primary liaison with the filmmakers. However, questions often come up
that the primary or secondary consultants are unable to answer. In these cases,
Hagemeyer says they look to their extensive network of advisers:
You don’t touch a question if you don’t have any ideas. Of course, I cannot always answer
all questions. Some of them I can, but I give the ones I cannot to the rest of the network.
So, what makes us valuable for people who look for scientific knowledge in a popular way
is that we can say, ‘Okay, maybe we don’t know it but certainly all the other doctors in our
network know it.’ So they draw us a question and we spread it to our network of over 40
doctors. So this is an advantage.

Donna Cline has also developed a vast network of scientific advisers:

I have access to a network of the foremost experts in many technical fields, both medical
and scientific. Medical scientists, doctors, marine biologists, forensic specialists, you name
it. The most eclectic disciplines you could ever think of. I have radiation oncologists, heart
surgeons, brain surgeons. I have to have a huge network of specialists. So I would say, gosh
I have hundreds of scientists in my network.

Unlike The Dox, Cline is totally reliant on her network for scientific information.
As discussed below, she operates as a science consultant by using this network to
undertake thorough research for a film. Until she has completed her initial research,
174 D.A. Kirby

she in no way considers herself an expert on the topic. Once she has undertaken that
research, however, she acts as an authority on the set without the need to constantly
tap into her network.
Both these boundary spanners consider their access to their scientific networks
a major asset. Just as with the entertainment community, however, boundary span-
ners need to stress their dual social identities as both scientific and entertainment
experts in order to win the trust of the scientific community. Of course, to gain
access to the scientific community it is crucial that the boundary spanner project at
least interactional scientific expertise. The Dox’s scientific network instantly
accepted their scientific credibility, while Cline had to prove her scientific authority
to each member of her network. Initially, she developed scientific contacts through
recommendations of her former professors. Her professors’ endorsement told other
members of the scientific community that they accepted Cline as a member of their
social group. Once her network expanded beyond the confines of her professors’
associates, she had to prove to each new member that she could understand the lan-
guage of science. ‘I really think it comes down to homogeneity of communication.
We speak the same language and they don’t have to jump through all the hoops to
explain things’, she says. A particular form of language is one of the key distin-
guishing features of scientific culture, and anyone who understands the language of
science receives instant credibility.
Boundary spanners may be able to converse with scientists, but why should sci-
entists trust boundary spanners to mediate information transfer into the entertain-
ment community if they are merely other scientists? They are relying on the
boundary spanners’ unique social identity as agents who understand the cultural
expectations of both communities. In essence, they are expecting boundary span-
ners to synthesize, translate and transform information in a way that either scien-
tists or filmmakers would not be able to. Scientists must trust that the boundary
spanner will maintain the integrity of scientific information when it gets trans-
formed into the context of entertainment texts. As Cline says, the scientists in her
network want to know that she will ‘protect’ the science they give to her. This
means that scientists also want assurances that boundary spanners possess at least
interactional expertise within the culture of entertainment. Without that expertise,
the scientists in the network might as well be speaking to the filmmakers directly.
Unprocessed information from the scientific community rarely has utility for
entertainment producers. An initial difficulty is that much of what boundary span-
ners collect from scientists represents fragmented knowledge. They may speak with
dozens of scientists to get information about a single topic. Some of the information
may overlap, but much of it will contain different aspects of the same phenomenon
or even contradictory information. To make this mass of information useful for
filmmakers, the boundary spanner needs to synthesize it into a single narrative.
To illustrate this notion of synthesis, I will take a specific example from Donna
Cline’s initial research as science consultant on the film Outbreak (1995)—the fic-
tional ‘Motaba’ virus. According to Cline, the filmmakers’ initial choice to make
the fictional virus similar to but significantly different from the Ebola virus meant
that they had to look into every aspect of the science behind Ebola:
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 175

On Outbreak we wanted a deadly virus. So I told them the deadliest haemorrhagic fever
virus is going to be Ebola. It is an inefficient virus in the sense that it kills its host too
quickly. It’s usually found in geographically remote areas so it doesn’t get spread really,
really far. We don’t know how it is really transmitted but we think it is bloodborne. But
what if it mutated to airborne and was spread by an aerosolized version? So, I started look-
ing into that and I started garnering my epidemiology team. I did my research on it. As we
went along they said ‘We need to have the visual effects. We need to know what the virus
looks like.’ So, one part is the morphological nature of the virus. Another part was the
clinical manifestations. A third part was possible cures and so on.

Taking a single topic, virology, we see that Cline required fragments of informa-
tion about all the various aspects involved: morphology, epidemiology, viru-
lence, symptoms, treatments, possible vaccines, sample collection methods and
research procedures. To get this information, Cline gathered a ‘team’ of specialists
who each addressed the various aspects of virology. A partial list of the scien-
tists she consulted included epidemiologist David Morens of the University of
Hawaii, who coordinated the Centers for Disease Control’s response to the 1976
Ebola outbreak in Sudan, pioneering HIV researcher Donald Francis of
Genentech, who also worked on the Sudan outbreak, and virologist Peter
Jahrling of the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases, who
had experience with several high-profile viral outbreaks, including Ebola. Each
of these scientists provided her with considerable amounts of information about
the various aspects of Ebola.
Cline showed me the research notebook, over a hundred pages long, that she
kept on the fictional Motaba virus. This semi-random format was adequate to help
her gain expertise on the topic, but the notebook was clearly useless for the film-
makers. To make the information useful to them, she needed to condense her
research into a manageable size with a narrative format.
Synthesis is not merely a matter of organization and ‘simplification’, it also
involves deciding which information merits inclusion, which information is irrele-
vant, and what to do with contradictory information. The scientific community
understands that scientific information is not a monolithic entity. Collins and Evans
(2002) categorize scientific knowledge about which there are no major disputes
among scientists and for which the science is as settled as it ever can be as ‘normal
science’. Scientific knowledge in flux they refer to as ‘golem science’. As they
define it, ‘golem science is science which has the potential to become normal sci-
ence, but has not yet reached closure’ (Collins and Evans 2002: 267).
For Cline, this means that one scientist may give her information that contradicts
advice from another consultant:
If I ask one question from 10 medical professionals I will sometimes get 10 answers. I try
to get behind why there is that disparity. That’s my responsibility to do that. Then I will
make a decision and give them my best opinion based on my best knowledge. I either
decide what meets our story needs or I take the average. I want to make sure it is in the
ballpark. It could be behind third base but it is in the ballpark.

Uncertainty is inherent in the scientific process, but filmmakers do not want to hear
about it. They expect their experts to tell them how to make their cinematic repre-
sentations realistic. Therefore, Cline makes decisions to turn scientific divergence
176 D.A. Kirby

into unified knowledge. The synthesis stage, then, requires boundary spanners to
transform golem science into normal science.
Distilling information into a single answer is not always necessary, however.
Often a boundary spanner must determine whether a filmmaker would benefit from
this distillation or would be better served by having several options. Providing a
single option can be the more risky strategy. Both the consultant and the filmmakers
will be left unsatisfied if the filmmakers find it necessary to reject this single
recommendation. Filmmakers may be much more willing to accommodate scien-
tific verisimilitude if they feel they have some choice in which ‘facts’ they can
adapt to their needs. On one occasion, filmmakers asked The Dox to provide
information on the treatment of Lou Gehrig’s disease. Rather than presenting the
filmmakers with the most common treatment (surgery), The Dox believed that it
would be better to give them three possibilities (retrovirus, drugs or surgery), even
if the other two treatments were controversial or in their embryonic stages. The Dox
appreciated that, within the filmmakers’ culture, choices provide flexibility while
allowing them to claim scientific integrity.
The next step for a boundary spanner is to tailor the information to the dramatic
needs of the filmmakers (see Fig. 10.2). The ‘translation model’ of science popu-
larization has often been criticized for focusing on popularization as merely a proc-
ess of simplifying the technical language of science (Lewenstein 1992). In the
context of science consulting, however, translation is an appropriate metaphor.
From the actors’ point of view, a literal ‘translation’ from the language of science
into the language of filmmaking is required.
My demarcation between the processes of synthesis and translation is necessary for
analytical reasons. The synthesis of scientific material does not require any notion of
translation, but boundary spanners routinely simplify terms and concepts during
synthesis. In fact, Pablo Hagemeyer sees The Dox’s ability to simplify technical lan-
guage as the primary benefit of hiring them for a consulting job: ‘The major advantage
with us is that we understand science, but we have a simple language for complicated
terms or complex things that we know make sense to the fictional folk’.
Translation is not solely about simplifying technical terminology. The boundary
spanners’ process involves taking the totality of scientific information, not just fac-
tual information, and translating it into the professional language of filmmaking—a
language that is predominantly about visualization. ‘Film language’ in this context
is not a reference to notions of ‘signification’ or the language of ‘reading’ a film,
as discussed by film scholars such as Turner (1993). Rather, it is the literal, technical
language of film production that is required to visualize abstract concepts on the
screen. Of course, as Turner and others (e.g. Gaither 1996) point out, these technical
production practices ultimately reify visual entities, which leads to systems of
signification. At a pragmatic level, however, boundary spanners must translate
scientific information into a language of production. For Outbreak, Cline could not
simply provide filmmakers with simplified and condensed explanations of viral
infections. This information was only useful if it created a visually rich film (lab
sets, gory victims, spooky costumes, etc.) and enhanced dramatic possibilities (cen-
tral plot, dramatic climax and so on).
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 177

The genesis of the information is in the scientific community, and filmmakers

only gain access to it after it has gone through the boundary spanners’ translation
process. Donna Cline credits her success in translation to her ability to understand
the languages of both cultures:
I rely heavily on my experts for my own credibility. I would never presume to know what
they know. I mean I defer to their expertise. However, in terms of the translation process
and an agility to move back and forth between technical communities and entertainment
communities, that is my area. I really am a translator when I am working as an adviser. That
is a niche that I have. I think that it is much more different from technical advisers who
come in on one specific film. I have one foot in both industries. Therefore, I know the lan-
guages of both… That’s one of the reasons why it works to hire someone that is a translator
rather than a straight-up specialist. I am totally supportive of whatever makes them com-
fortable. If they need to have a straight-up latent fingerprint expert, let me help you find
one. But if they need someone to tell them how fingerprinting would work in the overall
scheme of a crime lab, and how that is translatable for the screen, hey I do that.

From a cultural outsider’s perspective, it makes sense to hire a scientific specialist

to generate advice on specific aspects of scientific culture. Cline, however, points
out that as a boundary spanner she can not only produce a specialist if required, she
can also mediate between the specialist and the filmmakers to provide a synthetic
view that meshes with filmmakers’ needs.
The final step in the boundary spanner’s mediation process is to assist filmmak-
ers in transforming what is still mostly abstract information into its final, visible
form on the screen (see Fig. 10.2). Successful transformation relies on the boundary
spanner’s ability to switch quickly between their social identities during production
meetings and on the set. They need to know when to stress their scientific expertise,
when to defend their status as an entertainment insider, and when to emphasize
their unique identity as a hybrid between the cultures. Transformation involves both
protecting the science and bending it to satisfy visual and dramatic needs during
production.
For example, on Outbreak Cline participated in a preproduction meeting with
the director, producers and production designers.6 During the meeting Cline pre-
sented the results of her synthesis and translation process on viral epidemiology for
the fictional Ebola-like ‘Motaba’ virus, including its morphology and affect on vic-
tims. At one stage the filmmakers asked her to animalize the virus by giving it a
‘head and a tail’ and making the non-motile entity ‘writhe’. As a film professional
herself, Cline understood the reasoning behind their suggestions—they wanted to
give the virus ‘a little personality’. In this instance, however, she felt that the film
would be better served if she emphasized her identity as a scientific expert to argue
forcefully against these changes.
On other occasions, she accentuated her filmmaking identity to negotiate crea-
tive moves away from scientific veracity. She had numerous meetings with special
effects and make-up technicians on the visualization of haemorrhagic fever
victims:

6
This episode is also documented in Roach (1995).
178 D.A. Kirby

I always make a joke about this because we had five meetings on pustules alone, because
we needed the visual aspect to be right and it meant a compromise with the science right
there. We had various clinical manifestations of the illness and five different stages. All of
those are clearly delineated in these drawings I made. We ended up making a hybrid,
almost a haemorrhaged kind of conjunctivitis sort of a thing and, yeah, we fudged it. I knew
in this case it would be better if we fudged it. But that is not something that happens with
haemorrhagic fever or a filovirus. I just knew we needed to make it more visual.

In these particular meetings, she highlighted her identity as an entertainment insider

to let her clients know that she understood why bending science was a necessity.
Interestingly, Cline’s pronoun usage changed throughout our interview to reflect
her multiple social identities. In the comment above she is considering herself a
filmmaker, so ‘we’ made a decision to compromise the science for visuals. On the
other hand, when Cline emphasizes her scientific identity she no longer counts her-
self in the filmmaking social group and it is ‘they’ who want to give the virus a head
and tail. To navigate the transformation process, boundary spanners must move
fluidly between their social identities in order to reassure filmmakers that when
compromises are made for creative reasons they are still within a scientific frame-
work. For boundary spanners like Cline and The Dox, success is achieved when the
transformed product on the screen bears enough resemblance to scientific authen-
ticity to satisfy both the scientific and the entertainment communities.

10.4 Conclusions

Currently, there are only a few individuals and organizations that could be consid-
ered boundary spanners at the science–entertainment interface. Most science con-
sulting work still takes the form of a specialized scientific expert on a one-off
project. However, my research indicates a growing trend in Hollywood towards
boundary spanners as the preferred form of consultant. Several successful organiza-
tions operate using the boundary spanner approach. In addition to The Dox, these
include Takeoff Technologies in Pasadena and Hollywood Math and Science in
London and Los Angeles. There are also individuals whose methodology relies on
an ability to work within both the scientific and the entertainment communities.
John Underkoffler, for example, has a PhD from MIT’s Media Lab and has estab-
lished himself as one of Hollywood’s pre-eminent boundary spanners. This list is
certain to grow as members of the scientific community gain experience working
on films.
The filmmaking community is beginning to recognize the advantages of work-
ing with a boundary spanner over working with a one-off consultant. Boundary
spanners are not bound by a single scientific discipline. Since they filter scientific
material, they can be incredibly flexible in their interpretations. Most importantly,
boundary spanners alleviate the tensions inherent in intercultural communication
by claiming their status as members of both the scientific and the filmmaking com-
munities. Their ability to communicate within groups allows them to facilitate
communication across those groups.
10 Communication Between Scientific and Entertainment Cultures 179

Gieryn (1983) shows that groups often need to maintain or reinforce the boundary
between science and other social activities. This is especially important for
boundary spanners, whose livelihoods depend on a belief that the cultures of science
and entertainment are irreconcilable. The stronger each community perceives the
boundary between these cultures to be, the more essential boundary spanners seem
to be in facilitating communication.
While boundary spanners’ perceived status as scientific and filmmaking experts is
important for traversing boundaries, the nature of their expertise is fluid and contingent
upon local conditions. They can choose to foreground one expertise or the other, depend-
ing on the social situation. When dealing with scientists, they need to rely on their sci-
entific backgrounds for authority, but it is also important for them to amplify their status
as filmmaking experts. Likewise, in filmmaking culture they must accentuate their role
as scientific experts in order to meet filmmakers’ demands for ‘scientific accuracy’.
Boundary spanners’ multiple social identities help them become embedded in the
filmmaking process in a way that is not possible for one-off consultants. This position
gives them oversight over the presentation of science and technology in films—which,
crucially, can have a significant impact on public perceptions of science and technology.

References

Collins, H. M. & Evans, R. (2002). The third wave of science studies: Studies of expertise and
experience. Social Studies of Science, 32, 235–296.
Frank, S. (2003). Reel reality: Science consultants in Hollywood. Science as Culture, 12, 427–469.
Gaither, L. (1996). Close-up and slow motion in Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust. Howard
Journal of Communication, 7, 103–112.
Gieryn, T. (1983). Boundary-work and the demarcation of science from non-science: Strains and
interests in professional ideologies of scientists. American Sociological Review, 48, 781–795.
Kirby, D. A. (2003a). Scientists on the set: Science consultants and communication of science in
visual fiction. Public Understanding of Science, 12, 261–278.
Kirby, D. A. (2003b). Science consultants, fictional films and scientific practice. Social Studies of
Science, 33, 231–268.
Lewenstein, B. V. (1992). The meaning of ‘public understanding of science’ in the United States
after World War II. Public Understanding of Science, 1, 45–68.
Moore, K. (1996). Organizing integrity: American science and the creation of public interest
organizations: 1955–1975. American Journal of Sociology, 101, 1592–1627.
Ribeiro, R. (2007). The language barrier as an aid to communication. Social Studies of Science,
37, 561–584.
Roach, M. (1995). Virus: the movie. Health, May, 78–84.
Turner, G. (1993) Film as social practice. London: Routledge.

The Author

David A. Kirby ([email protected])

David Kirby was a practising evolutionary geneticist before leaving bench science
to become Lecturer in Science Communication at the University of Manchester.
180 D.A. Kirby

The major goal of his research is an understanding of the ways in which communi-
cation through fictional media texts affects scientific culture, scientific practice and
the cultural meanings of science. Several of his publications address the relation-
ship between cinema, genetics and biotechnology, including essays in New Literary
History, Literature and Medicine and Science Fiction Studies.
David is also exploring the collaboration between scientists and the entertainment
industry, and has published in Social Studies of Science and Public Understanding
of Science on that topic. He is working on a book entitled Science on the silver
screen: Science consultants, Hollywood films, and the interactions between scien-
tific and entertainment cultures.
Chapter 11
Situating Science in the Social Context
by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration

Jenni Metcalfea,*(*
ü ), Michelle Riedlingera,**, and Anne Pisarskib

Abstract Research collaboration is increasingly interdisciplinary, with those

working in traditional fields of science, technology, engineering and medicine
recognizing the value of collaboration with those working in the humanities, arts
and social sciences. This chapter explores the challenges and opportunities for
communication within and from cross-sectoral research teams. The authors draw
examples from researched case studies to describe how cross-sectoral collabora-
tion positions science within the social context. They also look at how cross-
sectoral communication relates to current models of science communication.

Keywords Science communication, cross-sectoral collaboration, multidisciplinary

research, interdisciplinary research, social science, humanities, arts

11.1 Introduction

Collaboration across disciplines has risen in recent years, and a number of inter-
national and national initiatives are under way to increase such collaboration
further. Cross-sectoral collaboration occurs when members of the science, technology,
engineering and medicine (STEM) sectors collaborate with members of the humanities,
arts and social science (HASS) sectors to solve common problems and reach common
goals (Reback et al. 2002).
Initiatives and programmes to strengthen national economies through innova-
tion and creativity have traditionally relied on the STEM sector to provide funding
for solutions. Yet researchers such as Hjorth and Bagheri (2006) note a growing

a
Econnect Communication, PO Box 734, South Brisbane, Queensland 4101, Australia
*Phone: 61 7 3846 7111, Fax: 61 7 3846 7144, E-mail: [email protected]
**E-mail: [email protected]
b
Business School, University of Queensland, St Lucia, Queensland 4072, Australia.
Phone: 3381 1045, Fax: 3381 1053, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 181

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
182 J. Metcalfe et al.

feeling that science alone is not responding adequately to the challenges posed by
society. They point to sustainable development as an example: science treats sustain-
ability as a project with an end point rather than an ongoing process intrinsic to
everyday work involving community and industry participation and decision making.
Solving many of the world’s big problems—natural resources conservation, security,
climate change, energy and human health—requires new approaches to problems
that can only be solved through cross-sectoral collaboration between the STEM
and HASS sectors.
Cross-sectoral research is responding to community, industry and government
needs. In the US, the National Academies (2004) argued that cross-sectoral research
is being driven by four major drivers:
● The complex nature of society
● The desire to explore problems and questions that are not confined to a single
discipline
● The need to solve societal problems
● The power of new technologies
Our research with Gardner (Metcalfe et al. 2006) shows that many of these
cross-sectoral collaborations are occurring in the field of science communica-
tion, in projects engaging communities, industries and governments in the
process of generating innovation, new knowledge and new understandings.
One of the benefits of cross-sectoral collaboration is more engaged publics and
end users (SCST 2002). To be successful, engagement activities must incorpo-
rate psychological, social, cultural and institutional knowledge that shapes
public attitudes to, and acceptance of, developments in science and technology
(S&T) (Irwin and Wynne 1996). Supporters of public engagement argue that
when knowledge of human dynamic and processes, gained through humanities
and social science activities, is applied to scientific endeavours it helps with
assessments of the social impacts of those endeavours. In this chapter, we show
that cross-sectoral collaborations have an important role to play in situating
science within the social context.
In a review of science communication over the past 25 years, Bauer et al.
(2007) describe three paradigms of science communication, each of which
views the divide between the general public and the scientific community in a
different way:
● Scientific literacy—where science communication efforts aim to address a deficit
in knowledge about science
● Public understanding of science (PUS)—where science communication efforts
aim to provide the right type of knowledge to suit particular individuals, audiences
or groups
● Science and society—where science communication efforts aim to involve
groups in the research process.
Bauer et al. (2007) believe that, whereas the first two paradigms see the public as
deficient in either enough knowledge or in the right kind of knowledge, the third
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 183

paradigm sees scientific or technological institutions or individuals as deficient.

This paradigm attempts to address the lack of knowledge flow from the public
back to scientific institutions and individuals that is inherent in the unidirec-
tional communication models criticized by Miller (2001). More participatory
models of communication attempt to address that deficiency by providing a
means for engaging communities ‘upstream’ in the research process. However,
researchers such as Rowe and Frewer (2007) believe that more investigation
needs to take place to determine whether this new science communication para-
digm is advancing the discipline or producing better outcomes.
We believe that cross-sectoral collaborative efforts in science communication
contribute to more participatory models of communication by providing ways to
incorporate social concerns and negotiate the way ‘scientific’ problems are framed
and addressed. We have found that many of the challenges and opportunities in
participatory science communication described recently by science communication
scholars are similar to the challenges and opportunities involved in cross-sectoral
collaboration.

11.1.1 Our Research

The Australian Government has placed S&T at the centre of its economic policies,
investing in them and relying on their support for competitive advantage in the
global marketplace (Australian Government 2001). While policymakers and decision
makers want to see an increase in public involvement in science, there is also a
growing sense that some Australian publics want more say in how science is used
in their societies. This is one of the reasons that the Australian Government
supported the Council for the Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences (CHASS) to
research cross-sectoral collaboration.
In December 2005, CHASS commissioned a project to identify successful
HASS–STEM collaborations and to explore areas of research, education and practice
where collaborative approaches would be useful (Metcalfe et al. 2006). The most
important phase of the project involved case study research examining cross-
sectoral collaborations in Australia and elsewhere. The case studies were selected
to illustrate a range of variables, including different:
● Collaborating disciplines across HASS and STEM
● Scales of collaboration
● Types of collaboration
● Stages of collaboration
● Management structures
● Funding sources for collaboration
● Planned and actual outcomes from collaboration
Interviews were conducted for each case study with at least three members of the
collaboration, who represented the different disciplines involved. Data gathered
184 J. Metcalfe et al.

from these interviews were interpreted using Leximancer, a content analysis software
package that constructs a thesaurus of the most frequently occurring concepts in the
textual data and maps the relational distance between those concepts. Such analysis
produces an accurate description of the main themes and concepts in the data and
their relationship to each other. The case studies yielded information about the
benefits and costs of collaboration, incentives and impediments to collaboration,
and the key ingredients for successful collaboration. The results from the cross-
sectoral collaborations that focused on situating science in the social context are
presented in this chapter.
Through an electronic survey, Australian researchers and practitioners also
identified the key ingredients of successful collaboration. The key ingredients were
organized according to the main themes emerging from the data collected in the
case study research and other interviews. The survey was completed by 688 people.
Almost 60% of responses were from people who had collaborated in cross-sectoral
projects, 24% were from people who had collaborated only within their sectors, and
16% were from people who had not collaborated at all. Most of the respondents
(60.6%) were from the HASS sector, 35.5% were from the STEM sector, and 3.9%
were from ‘other’ disciplines. This probably reflected the fact that the survey was
initiated by a HASS sector organization.
For this chapter, we reviewed the data and information collected in the project
to look specifically at the role of science communication in cross-sectoral
projects.

11.1.2 Participatory Communication and Cross-Sectoral

Collaboration

Recent moves towards more participatory modes of communication (citizen juries,

consensus conferences and national debates) in countries such as the UK (SCST
2000) have been prompted by many factors: growing public mistrust of scientists
and decision makers; increasing media coverage of scientific processes perceived
to be ‘secret’; and the demand by communities to participate in decision making
about how science is used (Irwin 1995).
Science communication programmes that involve collaboration across the sectors
are driven by the need to solve problems at the science–society interface and the
desire to develop more effective community and industry engagement processes—
that is, the participatory model of science communication. However, Trench (2006)
argues that, while shifts in policy and practices in recent years have encouraged
activities that involve the public as ‘lay experts’ and seek their input, the one-way
science literacy and PUS paradigms of communication remain the basis for many of
the projects undertaken and discussed in the science communication field. Programmes
and policies using those models as the underlying foundation of their work can be
identified by their focus on increasing public ‘literacy’ and scientific understanding,
rather than on placing science in the context of society and social processes.
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 185

Genuinely participatory models of communication recognise that intellectual

disciplines and cultural activities outside science, and the insights of ‘lay experts’,
can contribute to science and science communication (Trench 2006). For some
researchers, social and cultural aspects are central. Cribb and Hartomo (2002)
believe that the new technologies of the 21st century involve reshaping communities,
industries and societies, rather than providing quick ‘fixes’ to major environmental
and ecological problems. Participatory models of communication are thought to be
able to situate science within the social context, because they not only take social
concerns and insights into account but treat them as central to the communication
process. As Bauer et al. (2007) state, intervention activities cannot be separated
from the research process.
Trench (2006) believes that science communicators have come to recognise that
the issues and challenges associated with situating science in the social context are
shared with other disciplines, such as sociology. Bauer et al. (2007) also show that
science communication is an interdisciplinary field of enquiry, with researchers
from sociology, psychology, history, political science, communication studies and
science policy analysis engaged in PUS investigations. These disciplines have
provided science communicators with new insights and identified the limitations of
current science communication practices.
Trench (2006) calls for a greater willingness within science communities to
create the conditions for citizen science and scientific citizenship. One way to
achieve this is through collaboration between science and disciplines that offer
pathways of meaning negotiation and scientific critique. Those disciplines are in
the HASS sector. Macnaughten et al. (2005) call for a social science of science,
technology and society relations to advance the theory and practice of collaborations
between the social sciences, humanities, natural sciences and engineering. These
researchers believe that such collaborations are the key to achieving better decision
making and regulation and robust debate about converging technologies, such as
nanotechnology.
By incorporating social negotiation of meaning and social concerns within the
science communication process, cross-sectoral collaborations can offer genuine
opportunities for public participation and engagement.
An example of a cross-sectoral project of this kind is the Wellcome Trust’s
SciArt Programme in the UK. This programme encourages innovative public arts
projects investigating biomedical science. In 2006, SciArt offered £500,000 to
groups to innovate, experiment and stimulate fresh thinking and debate in the
medical and artistic fields. Anthony Woods, head of the trust’s medical humanities
section, says:
Looking at science in the social context is valid…the research affects people and society
and we need to hear the public’s voice…people’s own experiences of medicine are as valid
as what happens in the laboratory and we need to understand that more.

Another unusually large cross-sectoral programme in the UK is the National

Endowment for Science, Technology and the Arts (NESTA). This programme was
set up by an Act of Parliament in 1998 to foster the nation’s creative and innovative
186 J. Metcalfe et al.

potential. NESTA is funded from the National Lottery and uses the interest from
the lottery to support cross-sectoral collaboration projects that have the potential to
enrich the nation through commercial, social and cultural outcomes. Such projects
get researchers participating with each other, the general public, or both. For
example, the Cape Farewell project takes teams of scientists, artists, oceanographers,
journalists and teachers on a voyage to the Arctic seas. Collectively, these participants
interpret and explain global warming and are able to engage a broader range of
groups than scientists alone. These cross-sectoral activities acknowledge the
importance of lay expertise and the knowledge of publics.
An example from the US is the University of New Hampshire’s Center for
Integrative Regional Problem Solving. The centre supports key programmes of the
university, regional non-profit organizations, government agencies, active citizens
and the northern New England community to come together and find solutions to
critical regional problems, such as conflicting conservation and development needs
(UNH Center for Integrative Regional Problem Solving 2006).
Cross-sectoral collaborations may act as catalysts for new projects and activities
that provide opportunities for community and industry participation in decisions
about scientific research and science outcomes. They offer ways to incorporate
different and potentially conflicting meanings of science in the research process.
Cross-sectoral collaboration can also lead to participatory critiques of the process
and outcomes of scientific research.
Engaging the public and industry is increasingly cited as a mechanism for gaining
support for and acceptance of S&T (SCST 2002). To be successful, however,
engagement activities must incorporate the psychological, social, cultural and insti-
tutional facts that shape public attitudes to S&T developments (Irwin and Wynne
1996). Supporters of public engagement argue that applying knowledge of human
dynamics and processes gained through HASS activities to STEM increases public
reception and helps with assessments of the social impacts of STEM endeavours.
Collaboration provides ways to manage the huge amount of knowledge that the
S&T sectors have generated and will continue to generate, and ways to make sure
this knowledge is usefully directed and applied (PMSEIC Working Group 2005).

11.2 HASS–STEM Collaborations and Science

Communication

Over time, the HASS and STEM sectors have developed useful and productive
relationships that operate on a number of levels. At the most basic, those relationships
are simple and one-directional, with one sector using the tools of the other. For
example, tools from the social sciences can make the physical sciences of genetics,
nanotechnology and environmental science more palatable to the community. In
these cases, HASS disciplines are contributing to a scientific literacy paradigm of
science communication. The reverse can also be seen where creative artists gather
new tools and inspiration from S&T. While these relationships may be useful and
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 187

productive, they are not genuine collaborations across the HASS and STEM sectors
that situate science in the social context.
True cross-sectoral collaborations require the combined efforts of one or more
individuals from each sector to achieve common goals. They result in new knowledge
or understandings that could not be achieved through a single sector alone. With
time, they can result in newly conceptualized subject areas. Science communication
is one such subject area, where the approaches and practices of many disciplines
are combined.
Cross-sectoral collaborations often bring different disciplines together to solve a
common problem. For example, one of our Australian case studies involved an
independent working group of the Prime Minister’s Science, Engineering and
Innovation Council. The working group produced an integrated approach to
tsunami science in Australia by bringing together experts in geosciences, meteorology
and social sciences, and emergency services, community assistance organizations
and related groups.
The group presented a report on discussions to the Prime Minister, setting out
practical initiatives and recommendations to improve emergency management
coordination, encourage collaboration and engage the community.
Other cross-sectoral collaborations aim to situate science in the social context.
One case study example we researched was a water reuse project being conducted
by Australia’s premier research organization, the CSIRO (see Box 11.1).
Collaboration activities can also be quite complex and involve major ‘integration’
initiatives to build more substantial and in-depth cross-sectoral collaboration for
socially situating science. For example, one case that we examined involved
researchers from the Australian National University investigating and supporting a
new transdisciplinary area of integration that focuses on synthesizing knowledge,
information and perspectives from different sectors of society to support decision
makers in various domains (public policy, business, professional practice and

Box 11.1 Recycled water acceptable to society

Determining the social, economic and technical viability of water reuse is
vital for Australia’s future. A major collaborative project between social
psychologists, engineers, water researchers, hydrologists and the water
industry is investigating water reuse in Western Australia. Reuse will only be
socially and economically viable with the support of the affected communities
in the state’s south-west.
The project is being carried out by Water for a Healthy Country, a CSIRO
National Flagship. It integrates information on water reuse technology,
including social acceptability, capital and operating costs, water quality,
opportunities to link with waste energy, potential scale, human health risk,
environmental impact and waste discharge and management.
188 J. Metcalfe et al.

community activism).1 Participatory methods of conducting research are central to

this emerging discipline, supporting the view that all the stakeholders have a
contribution to make to understanding issues (Bammer 2005).
Cross-sectoral collaboration that situates science in the social context is mainly
funded through:
● Philanthropic support, driven by the desire for cultural and community benefits
from science
● University programmes that encourage interaction across traditional disciplines
and community participation
● Public exhibitions and performances that bring together a number of disciplines
to better engage audiences
● Organizations set up specifically to support collaborative projects
Dedicated spaces are important mechanisms for supporting activities that situate
science in the social context. Another of our case studies, SymbioticA at the
University of Western Australia, brings artists and scientists together in one space that
can incorporate scientific advances as well as social critiques of science that engage
the public and encourage debate (see Box 11.2).
The Synapse initiative of the Australia Council for the Arts also uses residency
programmes to provide opportunities for artists and scientists to work together. The
Fish–Bird project (Box 11.3) is an example. According to Andrew Donovan, director
of the council’s Inter-Arts Office, which manages the initiative, these cross-sector
collaborations contribute to situating science in the social context:

Box 11.2 SymbioticA: Exploring the ethics of biological research through art
Artists and scientists at SymbioticA—a research laboratory at the School of
Anatomy and Human Biology at the University of Western Australia—are
working together to explore scientific and technical knowledge from an artistic
and humanistic perspective.
The laboratory enables artists to perform in vitro experiments that explore
developments in S&T (particularly developments in the life sciences, such as
genetic engineering) that are having profound effects on society, its values
and belief systems, and the treatment of individuals, groups and the
environment.
Immersed in the laboratory environment, artists are dealing with bioengi-
neering and its controversial ethical implications from a position of knowledge.
Both the artists and the scientists gain insights in the ethics and community
understanding of the science and the art.

1
See http://www.anu.edu.au/iisn/index.php
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 189

Box 11.3 The Fish–Bird project: Robotic wheelchairs interact with the
public
A team of robotics designers and a media artist have developed robotic
wheelchairs that interact dynamically with humans. Funded by an Australian
Research Council Linkage grant and the Synapse initiative of the Australia
Council for the Arts, the Fish–Bird project has not only received international
acclaim for its artistic innovation in public exhibitions, but it also offers advances
in wheelchair technology and monitoring systems that may be applied in a
variety of hospital and aged care environments.
Fish and Bird, the two robots in the exhibit, read and react to human body
language by moving about and writing text. The project encourages people to
confront their own ideas about the human–machine interface.

11.3 Benefits and Costs of Cross-Sector Collaboration

for Participatory Science Communication

One of the major benefits of this type of participatory science communication is

finding better ways to engage the public and industry in debate, activities and
projects. For example, Terry Hillman, director of the laboratory of the Cooperative
Research Centre for Freshwater Ecology (in Albury, Australia), believes it is essential
to involve artists in the process of engaging the community in science:
Scientists have some particular knowledge but it doesn’t give them any particular right to
make the decisions more than anyone else. There needs to be an opportunity in the process
of knowledge building to allow individuals to question the safety of the reliance on scientific
knowledge. Theatre can allow the public to raise these questions and challenge these
systems. (Quoted in Mills and Brown 2004)

Digital media is an area of collaboration directed at engaging the community by mak-

ing art more accessible to the public. Digital technology collaborations have been par-
ticularly successful in engaging the public in issues of health and well-being (Sakane
2003). A new school at Stanford University is taking a collaborative approach to bring-
ing together commercial businesses and business studies, humanities, design and
engineering staff and students to focus on human-centred design (Nussbaum 2005).
Traditional arts practices are also being employed for collaborative efforts focused on
public engagement, such as the UK’s Wellcome Trust programme, Pulse, which pro-
vides funding for performing artists to engage the public in biomedical science.
Many of the cross-sectoral collaboration participants to whom we spoke to
reported benefits from involving end users in their projects to ensure greater owner-
ship of the final outcome, service or product. Some also thought that cross-sectoral
collaboration provided useful ways to engage and motivate industry.
However, participatory science communication, like all cross-sectoral activities,
has high transaction costs, so the benefits of these activities need to be significant
190 J. Metcalfe et al.

(Irvin and Stansbury 2004). The composition of cross-sectoral collaborations means

that internal science communication problems can arise when team members:
● Are widely geographically dispersed
● Have limited or no experience of working with each other
● Have no experience in collaboration across sectors
● Have a high degree of personal connection to their own sector or workplace (or
both)
● Have other priorities or commitments that take precedence over the collaboration
● Have used the ‘tools’ of the other sector in the past without genuine collaboration
● Belong to organizations with rigid administrative and reporting requirements
The costs associated with these factors create the need for more time and funding
to make the collaboration a success.
Team-member attrition before the project is complete is another potential cost to
factor in. This problem is particularly pronounced if those people leaving are
‘champions’ for the project. As one of our case study participants stated:
The internal champion in organisations can move on and that changes the dynamic and priorities
and volume with which things are spoken about. Internally with [our collaborative group] we are
trying to divorce the delivery of research from that crucial dependency on the individual.

11.4 Community Engagement

Many cross-sectoral collaborations that we examined are based on the idea that
community involvement and/or engagement will lead to better outcomes. Cook’s
(2006) recommendations for community involvement in collaboration are also
relevant in participatory models of science communication. They include:
● Having a clear statement of purpose that is relevant to immediate local needs
● Focusing on community problems and issues
● Considering barriers to participation (e.g. attendance at meetings and costs of
involvement, providing regular ongoing engagement and timely feedback)
Cross-sectoral collaborators believed that the main reasons for engaging the
community were:
● To incorporate the needs of the community in the direction of scientific research
● To provide a social space for communities to access and interact with S&T
● To understand and improve new technology
● To incorporate critiques of science and new ways to negotiate the meaning of
scientific and technological advances
Incorporating the needs of community was believed to be important to ensure that
community trust is maintained:
We can do all sorts of technical things that we know are safe and economically viable but
if there is no community trust we have wasted our time—there are many documented
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 191

examples. We are trying to work in the community and take their wants and desires into
account. (CSIRO water reuse project)

Collaborators in this project believed that engaging the community early in the
direction of scientific research will lead to better outcomes:
One of the things that the project is looking at is management of water for aquifer
recharge—it is a long way off. People like the concept but it is a long way off from being
applicable to drinking water. Perhaps they are never going to drink it so we must look at
uses that will be acceptable. We must come to some agreement on uses—that is in the
future yet. (CSIRO water reuse project)

This type of involvement and engagement (referred to by science communicators

as ‘upstream’ engagement) was believed to improve the technology by incorporating
social dimensions as considerations:
Understanding and improving new technology and the way in which humans interact
through situating it in public settings [is important in our study]. Improvement of
multi-sensory autonomous systems within social/public spaces [is what we are doing].
(Fish–Bird project)

The idea of spaces where community members can be engaged was a recurring
theme in the case studies:
This project is different because it takes robots out of the laboratory where general public
(untrained people—different ages and social groups) have access to the robots in a social
space such as museums/galleries. (Fish–Bird project)

These spaces also provide places where critiques of science could be incorporated
into new ways of negotiating the meaning of scientific and technological advances:
This is something where Australia leads the world. Bioscience has tremendous ethical
problems. The whole Bioart field brings things up to the public mind. You don’t get the
fear out of ignorance. Artists are addressing a lot of the problems. They make it [bioscience]
more approachable for the public. The artists are independent. They are not funded by
pharmaceutical companies. They provide an independent voice.
It is allowing the public to engage with science less formally and perhaps provocatively. To
ask questions that scientists don’t always have the time or inclination to engage with the
dialogue. (SymbioticA)

11.5 Key Features of Collaborations that Situate Science

in the Social Context

The key features of cross-sectoral collaborations that situate science in the social
context are also described by researchers looking at participatory models of science
communication. The key features common to these activities are:
● The willingness to take risks
● Identifying common issues or problems
● Developing trust in other disciplines
● Boundary spanners
192 J. Metcalfe et al.

11.5.1 Willingness to Take Risks

Cross-sectoral collaborative activities and participatory models of science commu-

nication both require those involved to take risks, as the outcome of the process can
be unknown. Bauer et al. (2007) point to the UK GM Nation debate in 2003 as an
instance where those involved were committed to achieving an outcome from public
participation, but failed to do so. Government hoped for more public support for
genetically modified (GM) crops and, when this did not eventuate, blamed the
process of engagement for giving those critical of GM too much attention. This led
to recommendations for more PUS-related activities to give the public the ‘right’
information and thereby change attitudes.
Groups and organizations may also be reluctant to engage in participatory
modes of science communication because maintaining a positive public image can
help to ensure a good citation record or ongoing funding. However, taking risks was
seen to be a key feature of all the case studies we examined. Those funding partici-
patory activities were emphasized as key groups inhibiting engagement because of
their need for documented outcomes at the outset of a project:
There needs to be more risk taking on collaborative projects on behalf of funding bodies,
not forcing people to produce outcomes. Outcomes will come anyway but they discourage
people from exploring and taking risks. Whoever is supporting these collaborations should
be open to this. The best way of learning about things is to test and see whether they work
or not. You need some room for that. (SymbioticA)

11.5.2 Identifying Common Issues or Problems

Kim (2007) reminds us that the public is not one large behavioural unit but is
grouped around common problems and issues. He points to a number of studies in
which collaboration between local communities and scientists has been crucial for
problem solving (see Karl and Turner 2002, Roth and Lee 2002, Lee and Roth 2003).
Kim recommends communicating the shared problems of science and society and
their relevance in order to encourage participation. He also recommends that sci-
entists and institutions reflect on what they can contribute to situating science
within the social context, rather than focusing on problems framed by scientific
research and facts.
Gorman (2004) promotes shared mental models for upstream engagement
created through shared trading zones between social scientists, ethicists, scientists
and engineers. He believes that social scientists may be able to represent broader
society in the initial phases but need to be brought in as soon as possible.
This need to focus on a common issue or problem is demonstrated in the tsunami
case study we researched:
We were bringing a range of technical, government and institutional people together. It was
a very disparate group. The collaboration showed me that disparate groups can work
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 193

together without a big bonding period. It was important that we were clear with where we
were going. (PMSEIC tsunami report)

Having space to allow for and incorporate differences was also emphasized in this
case study:
People view an issue within a university or agency perspective very differently. If you have
been at international tables you see that people see things differently—they have a different
lens or different set of values—not right or wrong but different. You need to allow space
for that to percolate through the group. You are not going to win by being right but by
bringing people with you. (PMSEIC tsunami report)

Another of our case studies highlighted the importance of ensuring that collaborators
not only share the problem or issue but share a language in which to discuss it:
There were some kinks of course—language differences for a start. The more technical
language barrier. You need to find some common ground and a shared language—know
what the terms mean and create a common vocabulary for the team. (Fish–Bird project)

11.5.3 Trust in Others

The need for trust in others involved in the project was highlighted in all case studies
as a key feature. While it can be difficult to build or create trust, there are a number
of ways it can be encouraged. For example, one case study suggested that trust is
engendered more easily when members of a collaboration are already established
in their own fields of endeavour:
Having a track record in the respective disciplines gives you credibility and allows you to
start at a higher level of trust than you would have otherwise. To have proven success in
your own fields helps at the beginning to build trust. (Fish–Bird project)

Lamb et al. 1998 believe that a lack of trust in the contribution of other disciplines
can be overcome by ensuring that all members of a cross-sectoral collaboration
participate in all aspects of the project.
The issue of maintaining disciplinary boundaries can be a major problem both
for participatory science models and for cross-sectoral collaborations. Some critics
from the STEM sector have said there is a danger that science will be ‘contami-
nated’ by participatory activities. Some from the HASS sector have pointed to the
danger that participants may become less critical of science and scientific
outcomes over time:
The notion that we might be contaminated. That we [artists] operate with scientists means
that we have been contaminated by other approaches. This is the resistance for a lot of
collaboration. You become something else by collaborating that can impact on your own
discipline. (SymbioticA)

Members of SymbioticA refer to collaborations where participants do not set out to

agree with each other as ‘adversarial collaboration’:
194 J. Metcalfe et al.

The model we present is not working with emerging technologies but engaging with them.
Artists working within the scientific environment but maintaining a critical outlook. We are
not supporting the creativity of scientists nor are we a tool for science. We maintain our
own research discipline and our own ways of dealing with emerging technologies.
(SymbioticA)

However, such collaborations can produce direct benefits to the scientists involved
by raising their awareness about how their science fits into a social context:
It is exciting for the scientist to work with an artist, for them to step back and think about
what they are doing. Also scientists do stop and think about what they are saying as well.
(SymbioticA)

11.5.4 Boundary Spanners

One mechanism that groups use to overcome impediments to cross-sectoral

communication is to employ ‘boundary spanners’—people who can communicate
across sectors (Petronio et al. 1998). Lele and Norgaard (2005) believe that boundaries
are developed and maintained around scientific communities to provide strong
points of identification for members. Those communities have a strong investment
in maintaining the boundaries for their own survival. For these reasons, breaking
down traditional boundaries through wide-scale cross-sectoral collaboration can
face some resistance. All the successful case studies we looked at included people
who acted as boundary spanners within the collaborations.
Bauer et al. (2007) show that individuals with time and expertise are needed to
be able to engage the public and situate science in the social context. They refer to
these individuals as ‘angels’ or mediators between scientific institutions, industry,
government and the public.
Many science communicators act in the role of boundary spanner within their
groups or organizations to bridge boundaries and ensure their maintenance. They
can reduce the transaction costs associated with cross-sectoral collaborations. The
long-term sustainability of cross-sectoral initiatives requires rewards and recognition
to be given by the individual disciplines involved, rather than a move to breaking
down barriers between the disciplines. With the rise of cross-sectoral collaboration,
the role of boundary spanners in bridging the science–society divide will become
increasingly important.

11.6 Conclusion

While Bauer et al. (2007) question whether participatory science communication

activities are bridging the divide between science and society, the case studies we
have investigated demonstrate the usefulness of cross-sectoral collaboration in
providing new ways to situate science in the social context. By providing ways to
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 195

incorporate the negotiation of meaning, social values and critiques of science, these
projects are providing mechanisms of public engagement and also changing the
approaches of institutions and the ways in which science is conducted.
The increase in cross-sector collaboration internationally means that the impor-
tance of boundary spanners in facilitating communication and maintaining relation-
ships in such programmes and initiatives will increase. In many situations, science
communicators already fill the role of boundary spanners between researchers and
the various publics. With a greater understanding of the role they play in facilitating
relationships within and outside their groups or organizations, science communicators
can act more responsively and ensure greater participation and cooperation.

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The Authors

Jenni Mecalfe ([email protected])

Jenni Metcalfe is the Director of Econnect Communication. She has been a science
communicator for more than 18 years, working as a journalist, practitioner and
researcher in this area. Jenni has published many papers and articles on science
communication. She was co-editor of At the human scale: International practices
in science communication, published in 2006 by Science Press, Beijing. She was
President of the Australian Science Communicators (ASC) from 2005 to 2007.
During that time, ASC hosted the World Conference of Science Journalists. Jenni
has been a member of the scientific committee of the PCST Network for 12 years.
Michelle Riedlinger ([email protected])
Dr Michelle Riedlinger is senior researcher at Econnect Communication. She
received her PhD in science communication from The University of Queensland for
her work looking at science communication in cooperative research centres.
Michelle has published many papers on science communication and presented at
several international conferences. She is a member of the Australian Science
Communicators.
11 Situating Science in the Social Context by Cross-Sectoral Collaboration 197

Anne Pisarski ([email protected])

Dr Anne Pisarski is a senior lecturer in organizational behaviour and communica-
tion at The University of Queensland Business School and the Director of
Communication Partners at the university, and formerly programme director of the
Business Communication programme. She is a member of the Australian and New
Zealand Academy of Management and the World Health Organization’s committee
on ‘Working Time Society’. She is a registered psychologist and has also worked as
an organizational consultant for over 20 years. Anne has won grants and published
articles and book chapters addressing shiftwork tolerance. She is a regular presenter at
international conferences and congresses. She is also an adviser on recruitment and
retention issues in nursing and community engagement strategies.
Chapter 12
From Science Communication to Knowledge
Brokering: the Shift from ‘Science Push’
to ‘Policy Pull’

Alex T. Bielaka,*(*
ü ), Andrew Campbellb, Shealagh Popec, Karl Schaefera,**,
and Louise Shaxsond

Abstract Traditional (big C) communications in large organizations usually serve

to ensure consistent over-arching messaging internally, and to the public at large.
To deliver on their public-good mandate, science-based governmental institutions
must do more than broadcast the department’s position. They must communicate
not only broad policy directions, but also raw data, leading-edge science, general and
informed layperson interpretations, and advice for action and behaviour change.
Different sectors prefer to receive information and use knowledge in different ways.
Science departments must engage with diverse audiences—for example, science
users and decision makers, the scientific community, public organizations, and
individual citizens—in ways tailored for each audience. This means paying greater
attention to the changing contexts in which information is received and used, and
consequently the mechanisms and relationships required to produce and transfer
scientific information. For policy audiences in particular, the relevance of the sci-
ence to the issues of the day, and the crucial importance of timing, underline the
need for interactive knowledge brokering approaches that can deliver synergistic
combinations of ‘science push’ and ‘policy pull’. The authors draw on examples
from Environment Canada, as well as from the UK Department for the Environment,
Food and Rural Affairs, and Land & Water Australia, to show how dedicated (little
c) science and technology communications and knowledge brokering activities
are growing in importance. The need for investment in specialized approaches, mecha-

a
S&T Branch, Environment Canada, PO Box 5050, Burlington, Ontario L7R 4A6, Canada
b
Triple Helix Consulting Pty Ltd, Queanbeyan, Australia, Web: www.triplehelix.com.au
E-mail: [email protected]
c
S&T Branch, Environment Canada, Arctic Science Policy, Northern Affairs Organization,
Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, 10th floor, 15 Eddy Street, Gatineau, Quebec, Canada,
K1A 0H4 Phone: (819) 934-9405, E-mail [email protected]
d
Independent consultant, Dorset, UK. E-mail: [email protected]
*Phone: 1 905 336 4503, Fax: 1 905 336 4420, E-mail: [email protected]
**Phone: 1 905 336 4884, Fax: 1 905 336 4420, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 201

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
202 A.T. Bielak et al.

nisms and skill sets for knowledge transfer at the interface of science and policy is
also explored, particularly in relation to the field of environmental sustainability.

Keywords ‘bic C’ and ‘little c’ science communication, DEFRA, Environment Canada

and Land & Water Australia, environmental sustainability, knowledge brokers and
brokering, knowledge transfer and translation, science communication, science–
policy linkages, science push and policy pull

12.1 Introduction

In the not too distant past, researchers toiled in ivory towers, presenting findings at
meetings of learned societies and publishing in obscure journals, often entombing
information. As the need for stakeholder and public accountability grew, public
relations and ‘big C’ communications departments flourished. They trumpeted the
scientific discoveries of their institutions to demonstrate the excellence or relevance
of their research and, of course, to generate more funding.
In government settings, in particular, their role evolved from broadcasting or
‘pushing’ the scientific advances of their parent organizations to creating and ensuring
consistent, overarching messaging about those institutions—both internally and to
the public at large. This resulted in ‘closing down’ the science communications
process, effectively burying uncertainty and staving off debate. One result was a
loss of trust in government science: a poll in the UK showed that, while levels of
trust in science itself remained stable, government (and industry) scientists were
less trusted than their university or not-for-profit sector counterparts (MORI 2004).
In this chapter, we argue that the emphasis on science communication as broad-
casting and the drive for consistency and simplicity in messaging do not well serve
the needs of either science-based governmental organizations, or the public at large,
when dealing with messy, contested issues such as sustainability. These sorts of
issues require not only new modes of conducting science, but also new modes of
(‘little c’) science communication.
We have seen an increasing realization that complex, contested, contextual issues
like sustainability can rarely be ‘solved’ by traditional, hard, empirical, reductionist,
positivist (‘Mode 1’) science. In the sustainability domain, challenges to the tradi-
tional positivist epistemology such as those of Funtowicz and Ravetz (1993), Pretty
and Chambers (1993) and Gibbons et al. (1994) have been influential. A new sort of
science for tackling contemporary problems was popularized by Michael Gibbons
and colleagues in their proposition of the need to move from Mode 1 to Mode 2
science, or ‘science in the context of its application’ (Gibbons et al. 1994).
It is no longer tenable to rely on the notion of a linear progression through an
orderly research process driven by scientists, to a dissemination phase driven by
communication specialists, to an adoption phase in which end users (whether in
policy or management) presumably apply research findings directly in their every-
day activities. Rather, science must be socially distributed, application-oriented,
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 203

transdisciplinary, and subject to multiple accountabilities. From a one-way linear

process, science is evolving to a multi-party, recursive dialogue.
Coincident with the evolution in science, we are seeing an evolution in science
communication. Traditional, big C broadcast models of ‘pushing’ science to
undefined audiences are losing ground to more nuanced approaches. Typically,
these recognize that different players prefer to receive science information in
different ways. In fact, receptivity to new information may be more than a preference
(Nisbitt and Mooney 2007)—given which, the framing, mode of communication
and character of the communicator of the message have considerable influence on
whether it gets through and is acted on.
Communicating science, therefore, has expanded to include knowledge translation
in which science information is packaged to the preferences, channels and times-
cales of particular audiences, and knowledge brokering in which intermediaries
(knowledge brokers) link the producers and users of knowledge to strengthen the
generation, dissemination and eventual use of that knowledge. Effective science
communication now includes the full spectrum of approaches from broadcast to
iterative dialogue. In our contribution, we address the importance of dialogue—of
linking producer and user—in ensuring that the right science gets done, that the
science information gets out, and that it gets used.
The focus in this chapter is on dialogue with one particular user community—
policymakers. Given the role of science in understanding environmental issues and in
developing and evaluating possible solutions, policymakers constitute a key target
audience for environmental science. A challenge for spanning the science–policy
divide, however, is the fact that science provides one narrow window on the world,
whereas policy must view the world through multiple lenses. Science is but one stream
of evidence that policymakers must obtain and weigh in evaluating future courses of
action. Those communicating the science need to be mindful of the crowded evidence
and option space into which they are providing scientific information.
There is a vast literature in both agricultural and development extension on the
adoption behaviour of farmers (see Gonsalves et al. 2005, Pannell et al. 2006).
The literature on the diffusion of innovation is also well established (Rogers 2003).
New work in action research and community-based health is building a base of knowl-
edge on how health users interact with and use health evidence (Canadian Institute for
Health Research, Canadian Health Services Research Foundation, and others). However,
much less has been written about the adoption behaviour of policymakers—the
‘demand’ side of the science–policy interface—and how science can best inform policy.
Not only is the literature underdeveloped on theories about the interactions
between science and policy and on the need to go beyond ‘science push’ to build
‘policy pull’, there are few descriptions of practical examples of that emergent theory
put into practice. In this chapter, we showcase innovative approaches to bridging
the science–policy divide in large institutional settings in Canada, the UK and
Australia, based directly on the experiences of one or more of the authors:

● The examples from Canada’s federal environment department focus on the

development of a little c science communications model, questions about whom
204 A.T. Bielak et al.

to engage in strengthening links between science and policy, and some of the
challenges inherent in changing roles and functions to move to Mode 2 science.
● A specific example of how to open up the policymaking process and engage a
broader spectrum of participants is discussed in the context of the sustainable
consumption and production goal of the UK Department for Environment, Food
and Rural Affairs.
● Lessons learned on building organizational capacity to support ‘knowledge
adoption’ to ensure that the right science is undertaken and used are presented
for a research commissioning organization—Land & Water Australia.
Each of these three major sections provides a perspective on the context in which
the initiatives arose, with the emphasis squarely placed on the challenges and benefits
of practical implementation.
Based on our collective experience, we conclude by making the case for greater
investment in knowledge transfer and brokering, and by proposing some future
avenues for strengthening and consolidating the field.

12.2 The Beginnings of Knowledge Brokering in Canada

Canada’s government has made strong commitments to science and technology

(S&T); however, as with other countries, Canada has had its share of incidents in
which, for various reasons, key policy issues have not been based on robust scien-
tific evidence.
Crises such as the Atlantic cod fishery collapse (Hutchings 1996) and tainted
blood scandal (Krever 1997) led to government-initiated dialogue on how science
informs policy. For example, the Council of Science and Technology Advisors
report Science advice for government effectiveness (CSTA 1999) outlined principles
for the provision of effective science advice. The Government of Canada (2000)
responded by developing the Framework for science and technology advice, and the
Creating common purpose report (CCMD 2002) explored ways to improve the use
of science in the development of federal policy.
A few broad initiatives were developed on the heels of these reports. For
instance, a pilot course on the science–policy interface was developed by several
federal departments but was not continued. In fact, few initiatives appear to have
lasted, the Canadian Health Services Research Foundation1 being a notable exception,
perhaps due to its status as an arm’s-length organization chartered specifically to
address better use of evidence in the health sector.
The science–policy interface continues to be explored by groups within
government (e.g. the 2006 Policy Research Initiative water conference2), related

1
http://www.chsrf.ca
2
Retrieved 13 October 2007 from http://policyresearch.gc.ca/page.asp?pagenm = rp_sd_water
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 205

to government (2007 PIPSC science–policy symposium3), and in the non-gov-

ernmental (2007 Pollution Probe water report4) and academic (2007 Canadian
Water Network knowledge translation planning tools 5) communities.
Strengthening the science–policy interface remains a concern for many in the
federal government and those who interact with it.
Environment Canada is both a significant environmental science performer and
the responsible federal authority for policy and regulation development, programme
delivery, and enforcement in a range of environmental areas. This being so, the interface
between science and policy is critically important in ensuring effective use of
limited resources to deliver on an extensive mandate.
Environment Canada’s Science plan (EC 2007) notes:
Recognizing that transmitting new scientific knowledge to decision makers is a key role of
government science, the [department’s] S&T Branch will promote more effective commu-
nication between scientists and decision makers.

In this section, we highlight one successfully sustained Environment Canada initiative

that developed into a broad departmental effort to strengthen the science–policy
interface. The initiative focused on freshwater systems, but provided lessons for
other science-based environmental issues.
Fresh water is an Environment Canada priority. A key federal role is providing
scientific knowledge upon which decisions and sound policies and regulations
for safe and secure water for Canadians and ecosystems can be based. A world
leader in freshwater issues for over 30 years, Environment Canada’s National Water
Research Institute (NWRI) has led influential, multipartner, national scientific
assessments of current and emerging threats to water quality, water quantity and aquatic
ecosystem health. That scientific knowledge is used by water policymakers and
decision makers at all levels of government.

12.2.1 The Evolution of ‘Little c’ Science Communication

at the National Water Research Institute

Despite some worthy efforts in the 1990s, communicating the NWRI’s considerable
scientific output was until recently the responsibility of only one or two people.
They engaged in routine internal reporting, with relatively little profile and no
capacity for substantive science communication. In 2001, senior science managers
recognized the increased importance of the Institute not only generating scientific

3
Retrieved 13 October 2007 from www.hyper-media.ca/pipsc
4
Retrieved 13 October 2007 from www.pollutionprobe.org/Reports/WPWS%20Final%20Report
%202007.pdf
5
Retrieved 13 October 2007 from http://cwn-rce.ca/pdfs/CWN%20KT%20Tool%20Kit%20for%
20Web.pdf
206 A.T. Bielak et al.

knowledge, but translating and disseminating that knowledge to better inform the
decision-making process, and thereby helping to resolve environmental issues of
regional, national or international significance to Canada.
As a result, and in a first for Environment Canada, a new director position with
equal status to NWRI research directors was filled and the science liaison function
was augmented. An increased contingent of six to seven staff, most with a science
background and with dedicated expertise in science writing and the links between
water science and policy, was assigned to the unit. With this new profile and mandate,
the Science Liaison Branch (SLB) initiated new activities targeted at better informing
a multisector audience of water policy and programme practitioners. These included
writing science summaries, developing internal and external newsletters, profiling
national science assessments, redefining the web presence (www.nwri.ca), and
undertaking selected science writing tasks in sector newsletters.
The SLB niche was carved out as one of little c science communication, rather
than the traditional work of the far larger departmental Communications Branch. In
addition, the SLB began to develop tools (mostly databases) allowing better organi-
zation of research activities and outputs so knowledge could be quickly accessed
and packaged, both for routine reporting and as input to more significant programme
or policy initiatives.
Quite intentionally, products and tools were developed collaboratively with
NWRI researchers, resulting in raised awareness of the value of the SLB’s function,
greater efficiencies in responding to routine reporting requirements (yielding fewer
requests and interruptions for scientists), and enhanced credibility for SLB-led
products. A level of trust was built based on common goals, after which one further
initiative helped in developing a more rounded knowledge-brokering unit.

12.2.2 The Science–Policy Workshop Series

In response to deaths in Walkerton, Ontario, in 2000 due to contaminated drinking

water, and the resultant expectation of strengthened drinking water-related legislation
and source-water protection rules, the Canadian Council of Ministers of the
Environment (CCME)—composed of federal, provincial and territorial environment
departments—asked the NWRI to broker a series of national workshops on water
science and policy. The intent was to bring leading researchers together with policy
and programme managers to provide recent science to practitioners (the policy and
programme community, in all sectors), identify research needs and develop mecha-
nisms for sustaining dialogue. The logic was that any new policy, regulatory or
programme initiatives would be stronger if informed by the latest aquatic science
knowledge. Because of its unique mandate, the SLB was well positioned to broker
the meetings.
Five issue-specific, invitation-only science–policy workshops were originally
held under the CCME ‘banner’ (for example, groundwater quality, water reuse and
recycling). Subsequent meetings were organized under the lead of the NWRI.
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 207

In addition to supporting face-to-face discussions and networking opportunities,

the SLB led development of various resource materials and workshop reports that
were then more broadly disseminated to selected water research and resource
managers, posted online, and presented at numerous meetings and events.
The anecdotal response was very positive; subsequently, workshop participants
were surveyed to develop a metric of effectiveness for the better linking of water
science with policy and programme initiatives. Ninety per cent of the policy/pro-
gramme managers surveyed stated that the workshops and their products directly
informed decision making about the development of a specific policy, programme,
regulation, guideline, strategy or some other related management decision.
Similarly, 90% of responding scientists and research managers reported that the
workshops had been useful in refining their own organization’s research priorities.
Although feedback suggests that the workshops were successful (Schaefer and
Bielak 2006), participants viewed the sessions only as a first step. There was a clear
sentiment that sustained dialogue and interaction would be essential in ensuring
that science more routinely and significantly informs decision making. On this
point, respondents preferred to stay networked through some form of regular elec-
tronic contact (web link and email lists), with occasional face-to-face meetings as
the science developed.
These kinds of knowledge-brokering activities also received attention internally.
In 2006, Environment Canada’s Assistant Deputy Minister6 of Science and
Technology tasked the newly named S&T Liaison Division to broaden its mandate
beyond its roots in water S&T to represent the full breadth of Environment Canada’s
S&T and enhance knowledge transfer within and beyond the S&T Branch.
Like many other major research organizations described in this chapter, the
NWRI has made a concerted effort in the past few years to better communicate its
science to targeted decision-making audiences. In some cases, bringing the science
and policy communities together has been a direct and very positive experience.
Nevertheless, the science–policy divide often remains, and greater effort needs to
go into bridging it. One of the ways Environment Canada has sought to address the
gap internally has been to understand where people actively work as intermediaries
between science and policy, focusing particularly on policy analysts and their roles
as translators or interpreters between the two worlds.

12.2.3 The In-between World of Policy Analysts

Until recently, considerations of the science–policy interface at Environment

Canada focused largely on the role of scientists. Researchers were concerned that
policy development did not make adequate use of relevant science, and often voiced

6
See Environment Canada Organizational Chart; retrieved on 10 December 2007 from http//:
www.ec.gc.ca/introec/org_chart_e.htm
208 A.T. Bielak et al.

frustration at the lack of feedback on how their science had been used to inform
policy. Training in science communications (see, for example, STAB 2000, Bielak
et al. 2002) and the science–policy interface was considered, developed and taken
up positively in Environment Canada’s science community. However, funding
proved intermittent and insufficient: training the department’s large science work-
force to work more effectively at the science–policy interface is perhaps unrealistic,
at least in the short term.
Over the longer term, Environment Canada and government departments around
the world may find that new hires are better equipped to act at the science–policy
interface as universities and professional societies react to the need, especially in
environment-related fields, for graduate students skilled not only in research but
also in collaboration, communications and negotiation. Initiatives such as the Aldo
Leopold Leadership Program in the US are beginning to address the need for
scientists to be better communicators and leaders.7 However, they are currently
doing so at the rate of 20 fellows per year. A recently introduced bill in the US
House of Representatives8 seeks to provide training in communications skills for
US-trained scientists to ensure that they are better prepared to engage in dialogue
on technical topics with policymakers and business leaders. However, it has yet to
be approved and implemented.
At Environment Canada, we (AB, SP and KS) wondered if there was another
point of influence that might allow improvements in the shorter term. At the other side
of the science–policy interface are policymakers: if training scientists to better
‘push’ their research into the system is too slow, might training their policy coun-
terparts be more effective? In the Canadian Government, at least, senior policy and
other decision makers (such as politicians) generally do not have scientific back-
grounds, and science is but one of myriad streams of evidence and opinion they
must weigh in making decisions. Thus, it might be even more challenging to train
policymakers and other decision makers to be good clients for science9 than to train
scientists to be better communicators.10
How is it, then, that any science crosses the great divide into policy in
Environment Canada? At an internal workshop on the science–policy interface in

7
http://www.leopoldleadership.org
8
See the bill to create the Scientific Communications Act of 2007 (introduced in US House of
Representatives) [H.R.1453.IH]). Retrieved on 11 December 2007 from http://thomas.loc.gov/
cgi-bin/bdquery/z?d110:h1453
9
An interesting initiative in this regard is the EXTRA programme run by the Canadian Health
Services Research Foundation (http://www.chsrf.ca/extra/index_e.php). EXTRA trains 24 health
care managers each year to be better users of research evidence. However, the programme’s tar-
get population includes nurse, physician and other health administration executives, who may
have higher scientific literacy than senior policymakers and decision makers in the Canadian
Government.
10
Because of the ever-increasing S&T component in modern decision-making, it may be valuable
for scientists to develop expertise in the policy domain and move directly into decision-making
roles.
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 209

March 2005, staff suggested an important but, they felt, unacknowledged role for
policy analysts as ‘bridgers’ between the two ‘solitudes’ of science and policy in
the department. An international workshop was convened in December 2005 to
consider whether ‘policy analysts’ might be the missing link between science and
policy. Experts from a wide range of disciplines (including environmental science,
science communication, public management, planning, knowledge management,
public understanding of science, and science policy) endorsed the assessment that
by bridging the ‘two solitudes’ policy analysts and other intermediaries performed
a critical but under-studied role in the science–policy interface.
An attempt was initiated to better understand who carries out these intermediary
roles within Environment Canada, and their background, work, challenges and
place in the department. In 2007, narrative interviews were commissioned with 65
science and policy staff who were thought to perform linking or bridging functions
within Environment Canada. Two workshops to analyse and validate the results
from the interviews were subsequently held with other science and policy staff who
were thought to be functioning in brokering roles. Participants confirmed that,
despite some good practices throughout the department, the science–policy interface
could still be considerably strengthened to better support environmental
decision-making.
A key finding from this research was that a set of people in Environment Canada
clearly identify themselves as working in the intermediary role. Although their
official job titles rarely acknowledge that function, they see a core role for them-
selves as operating at the boundary between science and policy. One of the significant
outcomes from the workshops was the formation of a nascent community of practice
of intermediaries within Environment Canada.
In addition to clearly identifying this role as important to Environment Canada,
participants flagged key factors affecting their ability to carry out the role. From the
vantage point of the science or policy unit in which they were housed, they stressed
that information on the activities and priorities of the other side was difficult to
obtain. Those intermediaries based in science units reiterated frustrations expressed
previously by the science community that there is little feedback about how science
input to the policy process is used. Those in the policy domain struggled to know
where, among Environment Canada’s 4,000 or so S&T staff, to direct a particular
science question. Given the stated preference of participants and interviewees—
and, according to the literature, their counterparts in other organizations—for
consulting an expert over consulting published sources, the capacity to find the
right expert is critical.
All noted that good working relationships are key for an effective interface.
Policy analysis involves working with people as well as with information and so
requires both relational and informational work. However, competencies such as
facilitation and relationship building, both critical for creating trust, are important
skills not often emphasized when training or hiring policy analysts.
In Environment Canada, relationships across the science–policy divide are some-
times deliberately fostered through bridging or brokering groups within science
units that cultivate good ‘client’ relations. Sometimes, they result from serendipity
210 A.T. Bielak et al.

—chance encounters at workshops, exchanges at bus stops.11 Often, tenure in the

department is a good measure of people’s networks. This factor favours intermedi-
aries and brokers rising up through Environment Canada’s science units, where
tenure has typically been quite stable. In contrast, the policymaking community
within the Canadian Government—like government departmental staff elsewhere—
are highly mobile. Turnover in the policy ranks remains a significant challenge to
strengthening the science–policy interface at Environment Canada.
In responding to the issues raised through the interviews and workshops, it is
important to be mindful of the need to address both systems and people issues.
Knowledge of current Environment Canada priorities and activities, and of where
expertise lies, can be improved through better information systems (such as expertise
inventories, databases of plain-language research summaries, and maps that align
research activities with desired departmental outcomes).
Building brokering capacity will require Environment Canada to make work
placements, training and mentoring available to budding intermediaries to
strengthen their skills (for example, in communications, facilitation and negotiation)
and to help them build effective networks on which they can draw. It might also
require changing the hiring profiles of policy analysts to bring in people who
already have such skills and the right mix of technical and policy backgrounds.
To drive such a shift in hiring would require increased recognition that brokering
is an important role in a department, such as Environment Canada, that works in the
highly complex and contested world of environmental policy. This brings us full
circle to the cri de coeur of policy analysts at the March 2005 workshop: that their
work was not acknowledged or valued.
Building recognition that brokering is a required function for Environment
Canada is going to take more than exhortations and academic treatises on its value.
A demonstration project to track and evaluate specific contributions of brokering to
its success is currently under consideration. It will build on the learning from the
narrative interviews and subsequent workshops and will use the experience and
expertise of the nascent community of practice of intermediaries across the department.
The evaluation component will not only document the value of brokering to the
advancement of a particular issue, but also support the transfer of brokering
approaches to other environmental issues that the department manages.
Environment Canada has focused over the past few years on identifying who
needs to be better involved in the effort to improve dialogue between science and
policy. Although the capacity of both policymakers and scientists to engage each
other directly needs to be bolstered, progress is being achieved in the short term by
focusing on intermediaries—those who work in between science and policy,
whether individuals (such as policy analysts) or dedicated little c translation and
brokering units (such as the S&T Liaison Division).

11
In fact, the authors of this chapter developed their (interagency) relationships through a series of
chance encounters.
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 211

12.3 Communicating into Policy Via the Evidence Base

in the UK

In the UK, a small team at the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs
(DEFRA) experimented with novel ways to create a science–policy dialogue,
designing a technique to open up the policymaking process not only to scientific
evidence, but to an altogether broader array of evidence. This allowed policy teams
to work as knowledge brokers and improve the dialogue at the science–policy
interface. The technique focused on drawing science into policy rather than
communicating it outwards, ensuring that the policy teams developed a better
understanding of science’s contribution to their policy goals.
Many people have attempted to describe the policy process, using analogies
ranging from ‘a constantly shifting jigsaw’ (Levitt 2003: 14) to ‘painting a water
colour picture’ (Kathryn Packer, then an independent consultant to DEFRA, pers.
comm., October 2007). The image explored in this section comes from Parsons’
(2002) critique, From muddling through to muddling up: Evidence-based policy-
making and the modernisation of British Government, particularly the idea that
Parsons draws from Schön (1983: 2), that modern evidence-based policymaking is
predicated on the existence of a ‘firm high ground’ in the ‘swamp’ of policymaking;
and that the task for policy is to ‘map it out and occupy it’ (Parsons 2002). Is this
a better representation of the policy process? Does a high ground really exist? If it
does, is it stable and can we map it? Do such maps have any utility in policymaking?
If they do, what tools should policymakers use to create them, and how should the
maps be read?12
Policymakers have limited opportunities to present the fullness of their work to
parliamentary ministers. Their work is complicated by changes in interests and
priorities brought about by the arrival of new ministers, which often have a profound
impact on the work of policy teams.13 Can policymakers produce maps that bring
sufficient breadth of evidence to ministerial discussions of the policy landscape and
encourage rigorous analysis of alternative interpretations, when the reality is that
severe time pressures drive them towards narrow channels of problem-specific
questions?
We explore these issues using a UK case study, in which ‘lines of argument’
were developed to help formulate the evidence strategy for sustainable consumption
and production (SCP) policy. The study shows why policy’s ‘firm high ground’ is

12
The focus is on Parsons’ description of Schön’s analysis because of the strength of the imagery,
but the critique holds for other models of the policy process that assume the existence of stable
areas where the supply of evidence and the demand for it are reconciled (see, for example, McNie
2007, Sarewitz and Pielke 2007).
13
Over the period of this case study (2005 to 2007), three different people occupied the position
of Secretary of State for the Environment in the UK. Each brought a different set of policy priori-
ties, as did the new occupants of the junior ministerial positions, most of whom changed with
each reshuffle.
212 A.T. Bielak et al.

an illusion: a snapshot map of the policy environment will fail to reflect its
constantly changing nature. If more effort can be put into developing tools that
reflect this mutability and can handle contradictions and multiple interpretations,
the evidence base can be used to communicate complex messages from a wide
variety of stakeholders into the policy process.

12.3.1 The Work of the Sustainable Consumption

and Production Evidence Base Team

SCP is one of the four priority areas for action set out in the UK’s strategy for
sustainable development, Securing the future (DEFRA 2005) and is one of
DEFRA’s five strategic priorities. Central to its delivery is the vision of more effective
and innovative products that respect environmental limits and leave natural
resources unimpaired for future generations. This requires a major shift to deliver
new products and services with lower environmental impacts across their life
cycles, new business models that meet this challenge while boosting competitiveness,
and new approaches to encouraging consumer behaviour change.
This presents policymakers with particular challenges in developing an evidence
base for SCP. First, the long-term goals of SCP policy (a ‘one planet’ economy,
decoupling economic growth from environmental degradation via better prod-
ucts, production processes and consumer behaviour change) may be far in the
future and thus unclear. Second, there is very little certainty about the scale of the
global impact of UK policies, the environmental limits within which we are
working, or the time horizon over which policy outcomes are delivered. SCP is
largely an influencing rather than a delivery programme; an important aspect of
evidence development is to assess whether the current range of government poli-
cies really delivers the full SCP agenda or whether a wider range of policy instru-
ments is needed.
The SCP team’s task was to design an evidence base that reflected four key issues:
● Long-term policy goals that were—and remain—nebulous and contestable, with
different interest groups lobbying for different interpretations of ‘sustainability’
● The poor understanding of government’s role in fostering and supporting
innovation (Smith and Stirling 2006), particularly innovations that are changing
the framing of environmental policy (carbon footprinting, life-cycle analysis) or
its focus (wind energy, nanotechnology)
● A pan-government focus on the need to maintain analytical rigour to ensure that
policy options were based on robust evidence
● A desire to open up the policy process to a wide variety of external stakeholders
rather than close it down (see Rayner 2003, Jasanoff 2005, Stirling 2005)
The evidence-based policymaking movement may still be a peculiarly British concept
(see Solesbury 2001), but it has matured over the past two decades and outgrown its
original home in the world of medicine, moving into the social sciences and—after
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 213

the BSE and foot-and-mouth disease crises in Britain in the early 1990s—into
environment science and S&T studies (see DEFRA 2006, Sorrell 2007). In this proc-
ess, our understanding of the relationship between evidence and policymaking has
moved on from the Schönian perspective: it has adopted the idea that knowledge pro-
duction, particularly in the sciences, is more distributed (see Gibbons et al. 1994).
The SCP team started with the idea that evidence for policy emerges from three
types of information: data, analytical evidence, and stakeholders’ views and opinions.
By engaging with stakeholders in a structured way, which brings rigour to the data
and to analysis, we can establish a ‘line of argument’ between the particular goal
definition of a stakeholder group, the values inherent in that definition, and the
evidence that stakeholders believe will validate their conviction that this is the path
policy should take.
Different stakeholders present different lines of argument, often because they
favour different approaches to the delivery of the same goals (for example, techno-
logical solutions, green taxes or cultural change), and may be selective in their use
of analysis and data to support their case. In addition, stakeholders such as lobby
groups, who have firm views based on a particular value set (and often strong media
skills), need to have their views and the evidence on which they are based set in the
context of the real breadth of evidence that surrounds every policy question.
By encouraging this diversity and presenting stakeholder opinions in a structured
fashion, we begin to map out the existing framings of the potential paths policy
could take. The process of constructing those frames—as lines of argument—allows
a mix of policymakers and external stakeholders to jointly explore the diversity of
values, goals and innovation needs that permeate the complex issue of sustainability,
while ensuring that discussions are based on the best available knowledge.
Lines of argument workshops (held in 2006) drew on the Cynefin knowledge
management framework (Kurtz & Snowden 2003) and the ‘five whys’ problem
interrogation technique.14 Backcasting was used to help participants focus on the
SCP policy goal of a ‘one planet economy’ by 2020: they were then asked to think
about what would need to have happened for this goal to be achieved. This helped
draw out the potential richness of the SCP policy goal, allowed alternative views to
emerge, and encouraged participants to think as freely as they could about the dif-
ferent business and policy pathways that were being constructed.
Participants were then allowed to self-organize in small groups on the issues
they deemed important, and asked to discuss and write down answers to five ques-
tions, capturing disagreements and alternative opinions in their answers to allow
different lines of argument to emerge as discussion progressed. The questions were
asked in strict order:
1. ‘Why is this issue important?’
2. ‘Why is change happening?’
3. ‘Why do we need to intervene to change the impact of this change?’

14
See http://www.tda.gov.uk/upload/resources/pdf/f/five_whys_analysis.pdf
214 A.T. Bielak et al.

4. ‘Why should government intervene?’

Participants summarized the answers into a line of argument that addressed the
overarching question:
5. ‘Why does (or doesn’t) government need a policy on this issue?’
This was then used as the basis for answering the question the team would use to
formulate the evidence base for each potential policy path: ‘What evidence do we
need to develop this policy?’15
Although lines of argument are very simple precursors to potential policy
formulations, they allow a real two-way dialogue between the knowledge base and
the policy goals, and help us to focus on the future, look for innovation gaps and
explore changing values. Wind energy is a simple, hypothetical example of this: the
development of cost-effective wind turbines and the rise of the green movement
have contributed to wind energy’s move from being a niche issue 20 years ago to
being well embedded in government policy today.
What might have happened to energy policy in the UK had a broad variety of
stakeholders been involved in this sort of interactive and forward-looking policy
development process 20 years ago? Might different choices have been made along
the way? It is impossible to answer this in retrospect, but the SCP team worked on
the principle that an open approach to developing and presenting lines of argument
responded to the four issues outlined at the beginning of this section. First, it
allowed multiple and often competing definitions of sustainability to coexist, valuing
dissent and alternative interpretation (see Shaxson 2005). Second, the technique
broadened thinking about the full range of innovations that might emerge or be
needed. Third, well-defined processes were used to ensure analytical rigour, piloting
workshop techniques and seeking expert advice on the robustness of the lines of
argument. Fourth, the process opened up the ‘black box’ of policymaking, making
it clear both to policy teams and to external stakeholders that the role of policymakers
is to structure choice for decision makers based on robust evidence and analysis.
An internal evaluation of the technique concluded that it is a cost-effective yet
powerful method of scoping an evidence base for policy, and for communicating pol-
icy questions—rather than research questions—to a wide variety of stakeholders. For
the sustainable food agenda, the lines of argument worked effectively, moving the
policy question from a narrow concentration on biodiversity to a far broader focus on
life-cycle analysis, which allowed a challenge to the prevalent assumptions about the
energy component of food miles (see AEA Technology 2005). Similarly, the team
assessed whether the contested concept of ecofootprinting, on which the One Planet
Living agenda is based,16 should be used to underpin DEFRA’s sustainable development
policy. A report commissioned after the lines of argument work (RPA Ltd 2007), used

15
Throughout, it was stressed that evidence fulfils five functions in the policy process: it challenges
received wisdom, enriches our understanding, explains complex issues, confirms what we think
we know, and scopes opportunities for change (see DEFRA, 2005).
16
See http://www.wwflearning.org.uk/ecological-budget
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 215

a breadth of evidence to help the SCP team conclude that ‘the ecological footprint
should not, as yet, be used as a headline sustainable development indicator’.17
Lines of argument have real value in new policy areas where there is little evidence
or where policymakers need to examine how well available evidence aligns with
new policy goals. They can also be used to check the coverage of the existing
evidence base: even in aspects of SCP policy that had existed for several years, the
team found areas where the evidence was surprisingly sparse. The method can also
be used where there is a need to think more strategically about policies, where there
is a need to engage with stakeholders more effectively and earlier in the policy
process, or where there is uncertainty in the policy environment and the evidence is
contested or open to alternative interpretations. Opening up stakeholder dialogue
in this structured way helps policymakers see that challenge and alternative inter-
pretation are inherent parts of the process of generating evidence and analysis: it
ensures that participation in the policymaking process is not ‘closed down’ by
encouraging consensus where none exists. In doing so, it ensures a real two-way
communication between policy and external stakeholders.
Parsons (2002) makes the point that policymaking needs to be a process of
organizational and public learning, which means understanding the reason for an
alternative interpretation of the evidence: that is, is it because of uncertainty in the
evidence, differing levels of knowledge, or opposing values? While the maps do not
provide answers, they move us away from the situation of ‘knowledge fights’ (van
Buuren and Edelenbos 2004). Even using simple lines of argument to structure
choice for decision makers allows for a good shared understanding to develop about
all the current framings that policy could take and the reasons for the differences
between stakeholder groups, and clarity in the choice of policy options when the
decision is made. The maps serve other purposes—they allow a deeper interro-
gation of the values underlying the different paths, promote a more forward-
thinking approach than government might often take (Bochel and Shaxson 2007),
and provide a robust analytical framework against which we can identify evidence
needs to help decision takers make valid judgements.
At any one time there may be multiple ‘high grounds’ that represent ‘better’
choices for decision makers. With issues such as sustainability there will always be
conflicting understandings of what constitutes ‘better’—and it is for politicians, in
their roles as decision makers, to judge exactly which version of ‘better’ to pursue.
In addition, any innovation or change in values will change the topography in ways
that cannot be precisely anticipated: it may raise new ‘high grounds’, lower existing
ones, drain swamps or reveal paths that were hidden.
Though admittedly in its infancy, the lines of argument technique is able to allow
for all this. It has the potential to bring rigour and sophistication to our maps, forcing
us to think in more detail about the relationship between evidence, policy and the
democratic process.

17
See http://www2.defra.gov.uk/research/project_data/More.asp?I = SD0415&M = KWS&V =
footprinting&SCOPE = 0#Docs
216 A.T. Bielak et al.

12.4 Fomenting Synergy between Science

and Policy in Australia

The Canadian and UK case studies describe various methods for improving the
demand-pull on science from policy by using intermediaries and structured dialogue.
The Australian case study shows how it is possible to take these further still.
Improving organizational capacity and allocating resources to knowledge activities,
not just knowledge products, is central to building a robust and reflexive relationship
between science and policy. We need to focus less on ‘communicating science’ and
more on creating a robust and durable relationship between the two communities,
leading to better uptake and greater impact of knowledge more generally.
Over the past decade or so, Australia has seen an evolution in approaches to
science communication that parallels developments in Canada and the UK. This
has been accompanied and stimulated by changes in how the research process itself
is funded, organized and managed.
The focus here is on applied research to inform more sustainable management
of natural resources in Australia. In particular, this section focuses on practical
measures that can be implemented to deliver more effective linkages and interac-
tions between science and policy for complex contemporary issues, such as sustain-
ability. The section draws on experience over the past 15 years within Land &
Water Australia (LWA), an Australian Government research funding authority, in
trying to organize research investments so that they deliver useful and influential
outcomes for policymakers and managers of natural resources.

12.4.1 Science and Policy Down Under

LWA funded dedicated research programmes exploring the adoption of sustainability

measures by landholders from the early 1990s. Yet, despite the all-pervasive
influence of policy settings in determining the relative attractiveness of sustainability
measures across all sectors of the economy (for example, in shaping property rights
or trying to influence behaviour by offering juicier carrots or wielding smarter
sticks), by 2000 LWA had not funded a single research project on the adoption
behaviour of policymakers.
Like most science organizations and research funding bodies, LWA had corporate
and programme-level ‘communication strategies’ overseen by a communication
manager supported by a ‘communication team’ made up of ‘communication officers’.
Until 2000, this effort was modest (around 3% of total expenditure) and consisted
primarily of corporate public relations and publishing research results in a tradi-
tional ‘science-push’ effort.
From 2000, with a new CEO, LWA took a new strategic direction. The 2000–
2005 strategic plan set five corporate objectives: leadership, influence, relevance,
return on investment and accountability. All these implied a close, interactive
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 217

relationship with the corporation’s principal shareholder and main sponsor—the

Australian Government. Given the importance of policy innovation in pursuing
sustainability, the government is also a key client, just as much as the on-ground
managers of natural resources.
Having set such objectives, and having identified policymakers as an adoption
target in the same way that it had previously characterized farmers, it was clear that
LWA also needed a communication strategy for this client group, just as it was
accustomed to preparing for water authorities and farmers. It was equally clear that
this strategy needed to be based on an interactive, knowledge-brokering model,
rather than a traditional science-push communication effort.

12.4.2 From ‘Communication’ to Knowledge and Adoption

In the early 2000s, LWA became uneasy with the terminology used in the ‘commu-
nications’ field. Despite its interactive connotations in popular everyday usage, in
the science/extension domain ‘communications’ is associated primarily with one-way
dissemination and promotion of research outputs. Yet in order to demonstrate
leadership, to be influential and relevant, LWA had to be funding good science on
the big important issues. To deliver a good return on investment, knowledge generated
by research had to be adopted by intended users in policy and management spheres.
No matter how elegant or insightful the research project, LWA’s interest, as an
applied research investor, was in its uptake and eventual impact.
LWA realized that it was essentially in the business of investing in knowledge
and its adoption, so it dropped ‘communication’ and recruited a new Knowledge
and Adoption Manager. It developed a Knowledge and Adoption Strategy18 and a
new team of professionals to implement the strategy, with commitment from the
corporation’s board to quadruple the previous communication budget to around
18% of total expenditure by 2006.
The Knowledge and Adoption Strategy drove LWA’s corporate Evaluation
Strategy, because it distilled the three key questions to answer in judging overall
performance:
● What knowledge assets have we generated?
● What do we know about the uptake and application of that knowledge among
target client groups?
● What are we assuming or do we know about the impact of the application of that
knowledge?
The second and third of these questions are more complicated and expensive to
answer than the ones that precede them, with increasing attribution difficulties.

18
See http://www.lwa.gov.au/Practice/index.aspx
218 A.T. Bielak et al.

Nevertheless, there is much value in being as explicit as possible on assumptions

about how an investment in science will make a difference, and then to follow
through to track that application.
The changes at LWA went far deeper than just changing job titles and position
descriptions. With support from Dave Snowden from the then IBM Institute for
Knowledge at Cambridge University and his colleagues, LWA overhauled its whole
approach to managing and evaluating its portfolio of research investments (1,600
projects back to 1990). Some of the manifestations of this work included the
following.
● Instead of considering research projects as ‘completed’ when the last research
payment has been acquitted and then archiving the project files, all projects are
now considered to be ‘live’ investments and their knowledge assets to have
potential value regardless of their age, consistent with Snowden’s (2002) notion
of knowledge as a ‘flow’ rather than a ‘thing’. Projects are likely to be evaluated
every several years on an ongoing basis, because as much or more is learned
from evaluating the adoption and impact of 10–15-year-old research projects as
from very recent projects.
● Different knowledge domains (for example, local knowledge, Indigenous
knowledge and strategic knowledge) are considered more explicitly in addition
to formal scientific knowledge, and funding is targeted to modes of inquiry that
recognize them and understand their characteristics; for example, Community
Fellowships to help experienced amateurs share their hard-won lessons more
widely (LWA 2006).
● The diverse ways in which knowledge is expressed (Snowden 2004a) are also
recognized, and LWA has experimented with different ways of drawing out and
sharing tacit, experiential knowledge among scientists, its own staff and end
users of research, including techniques such as story circles (Snowden 2004b).
The lessons from this experience are discussed in more detail in Campbell (2006),
Campbell and Schofield (2007), and Schofield (2005); however, some key points
relevant to policy audiences are distilled very briefly here.

12.4.3 The Knowledge-Seeking Behaviour of Policymakers

When LWA started to treat policymakers as an adoption target—analogous to

but different from farmers—it realized a need to know more about their
knowledge-seeking behaviour. Several broad findings emerged from reviewing
the knowledge-seeking behaviour of policy professionals in natural resource
management agencies:
● They only know what they need to know when they need to know it, and so are
generally poor at defining knowledge needs or research questions.
● They tend to be time-poor, information-overloaded people who do not read
anything unless they have to.
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 219

● They have a very short term perspective driven by a reactive political context and
are very responsive to parliamentary ministers’ needs (which, in turn, can also
be influenced by science).
● They know they need to be able to summarize information in less than a page
for the minister or the minister’s office, and hence tend to be averse to anything
that seems too complicated.
● They default to trusted sources, often in-house, even when they know those
sources are out-of-date or incomplete.
● They are rarely as skilled in using web-based tools or formal, refereed scientific
sources as amateur community volunteers and non-government organizations;
they tend to simply ring up the departmental library and ask ‘What have we got
on this?’
● They often have a jaundiced opinion of science, research, or both, believing that
they are too slow and too expensive, and invariably answer questions that no one
has asked, usually accompanied by requests for more funding.
Against that background, LWA developed a specific engagement strategy for policy
audiences.

12.4.4 Techniques to Engage Policymakers More Productively

with Science

Word limits preclude a comprehensive explanation of LWA’s approaches, but some

of the most successful tools included:
● Working out preferred times and places for discussing technical matters (for
example, senior executives favour breakfast briefings for face-to-face interaction,
and they are more likely to read emails with carefully distilled science information
on Sunday night at home)
● Careful scoping of research questions with policy people at a very early stage in
the research process
● ‘Over the horizon’ issues scanning, with a quarterly analysis presented in
distilled form
● Development of specific knowledge management tools targeted to the policy-
maker’s daily operating environment (one click on their Windows desktop)19
● Targeting talent (‘fast-track individuals’ in middle management as well as ‘key
influencers’) with special face-to-face briefings, invitations to events and distilled
information
● Finding out who is in the minister’s ‘kitchen cabinet’ and targeting them as key
influencers (LWA keeps a register of its 100 most important key influencers
constantly updated)

19
Such as the NRM natural resource management toolbar:
http://www.lwa.gov.au/regionalknowledge_e-news
220 A.T. Bielak et al.

● Never breaking the ‘no surprises’ rule (while not being party to censorship)—
where research findings are potentially contentious or embarrassing for the
government, key senior executives or political staffers are briefed in advance, so
that they can be better prepared before issues hit the media
The most important aspect in organizing policy-useful research is to get the
research question right. This means investing in specific measures in close consul-
tation with end users to elicit and articulate knowledge needs. Done well, this process
develops understanding of the adoption context and consequently the design of the
research process from the outset. Knowledge and adoption activities should be
hard-wired into the research process throughout.

12.5 Investing in Knowledge Brokering

Knowledge brokering is typically used to refer to processes used by intermediaries

(knowledge brokers) in mediating between sources of knowledge (usually in
research) and users of knowledge. Knowledge brokering is usually applied in an
attempt to help knowledge exchange work better for the benefit of all parties. It
involves bringing people together, helping to build links, identifying gaps and
needs, and sharing ideas. It also includes assisting groups to understand each other’s
abilities and needs, and guiding people to sources of knowledge. This may include
summarizing and synthesizing research and policy into easily understood formats
and translating policy problems into researchable questions.
Knowledge brokers help to ensure relevance; that is, that research is answering
the right questions and that policy stakeholders are engaged in the inquiry process and
have some ownership of its outputs. They can also influence the research process by
providing opportunities for stakeholders to get involved in a meaningful way.
Dedicated (little c) science communications and targeted knowledge-brokering
activities are growing in importance; we are now seeing the genesis of specialized
knowledge-brokering units and job descriptions.
Such groups and individuals must be comfortable in initiating dialogue and
operating in the worlds both of the scientists and of science users, be able to fashion
research outputs into language that can be understood by the users, and help
develop researchable questions from articulated knowledge needs and deliver the
information in timely fashion. They should be trusted, valued and respected by both
communities. The information they provide must be based on robust evidence,
obviating attempts to blindly navigate the science and policy swamps, and thus
reducing transaction costs at the science–policy interface.
To design, develop and deliver these sorts of tools, LWA invested deliberately in
various forms of knowledge brokering. In fact, it now considers knowledge man-
agement and brokering to be one of its three lines of core business. The evident
success of this strategy for the organization (the non-core budget of which has
increased as a result, to the point that around 60% of its total expenditure is third-party
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 221

funds20) should be a powerful incentive for others to understand the importance of

an appropriate balance between science-push and policy-pull and the need to invest
in dedicated mechanisms and people accordingly.

12.6 Conclusions

This chapter describes applications of an emerging model of science communica-

tions on three continents. The model goes beyond the prevalent, traditional science-
push to consider the ‘pull’ for information from those who need it. It is clear from
the literature and from our experiences that there are both a need for and clear
advantages to this new mode of science communication: instead of simply getting
messages across, we provide information that can readily be used in policy. It is
also evident that practical application of the model is far from widespread. We need
to move from theory into practice.
Timing is everything. The Canadian, UK and Australian case studies were
developed separately, but all have been informed to some extent by the work
on knowledge management by Dave Snowden, who frequently makes the point that
knowledge is most useful when it is needed. For the policy environment, in particular,
this means that robust, interactive, ongoing relationships between science and
policy, supported by good knowledge management systems, will be more effective
than traditional science communication approaches in ensuring that policy is based
on the best available knowledge.
The examples we have provided are all from the environmental sustainability
domain—one we have simplistically characterized as ‘messy’ from a policy
perspective, and one where traditional science communications approaches do not
work particularly well because science has no monopoly of sustainability
knowledge.
In a metaphor often used at LWA, we propose that organizations ‘fund the
arrows, not just the boxes’. Typical organizational charts are composed of boxes
connected by lines and arrows, but budgets typically allocate all funds to the boxes.
Good knowledge and adoption activities do not just happen—they have to be
resourced. In other words, money has to be allocated to the arrows as well as to the
boxes. And the arrows should be two-way.
Resilient systems to support knowledge brokering must be put in place to make
such brokering activities possible, while existing staff and new hires with the special-
ized skills to act as brokers will make them happen.21 This will allow a shift from a

20
See LWA 2005–06 annual report, retrieved on 14 October 2007 from http://downloads.lwa2.
com/downloads/publications_pdf/PR061205.pdf
21
The UK’s Chief Science Adviser wrote in a recent article in Nature that ‘for scientific advice
to underpin government action, communications skills must be a much bigger part of scien-
tific training and culture’ (King and Thomas 2007).
222 A.T. Bielak et al.

‘products’ model, to a marketplace of products tailored to specific audiences, to iterative

knowledge brokering based on ongoing, durable relations (working with the users of
information on custom designs, and incorporating domains other than science).
Finally, given the interest in the emerging field of knowledge brokering for
environmental sustainability, and our experience that this is a diffuse domain where
the players are often working with little support, publishing in a multiplicity of
forums, perhaps with few contacts in the field, we consider that it would be very
beneficial to see a broader community of practice established to help bring people
together. We propose the creation of a regular forum dedicated to knowledge brokering,
where the community can meet and exchange information and experiences.

Acknowledgements We wish to thank colleagues at Environment Canada, DEFRA, LWA and

elsewhere, whose insights and assistance over the years have helped us formulate our own ideas,
as expressed in this chapter. We also thank Leah Brannen and James Dixon for their editorial
assistance.

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The Authors

Alex Bielak ([email protected])

Dr Alex Bielak became Environment Canada’s first-ever Director, S&T Liaison,
after holding senior positions with NGOs and federal and provincial government
departments. A NATO Scholar and alumnus of the Banff Centre’s inaugural Science
Communications Residency, he spearheaded development of a pilot communica-
tions training workshop for scientists, which featured as the only Canadian contri-
bution at an international conference on best practices in public S&T communication.
Alex is a dynamic and widely published speaker, and an authority on science com-
munications, and knowledge translation and brokering. His expertise is sought in
Canada and internationally, and he serves on many boards, including the Canadian
Science Writers’ Association Executive. Recent recognition of his professional and
volunteer activities includes a University of Waterloo ‘Distinguished Alumni
Award’ on the occasion of the university’s 50th anniversary.
12 From Science Communication to Knowledge Brokering 225

Andrew Campbell ([email protected])

Andrew Campbell is the managing director of Triple Helix Consulting, a sustaina-
bility consultancy firm. He was previously the chief executive officer of Land &
Water Australia, an Australian Government research funding authority, from 2000
to 2006. He drew on that experience to produce The getting of knowledge (with
Nick Schofield) and The Australian natural resource management knowledge
system, published by Land & Water Australia. Before 2000, Andrew was a senior
executive in the Australian Government and Australia’s first National Landcare
Facilitator. He has qualifications in forestry from the University of Melbourne and
in the management of agricultural knowledge systems from Wageningen in The
Netherlands. Andrew’s family has been farming in south-eastern Australia since the
1860s, and he has been managing the family farm with the help of a neighbour
since 1987.
Shealagh Pope ([email protected])
Now with Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, Shealagh Pope was a senior science
and technology policy adviser for Environment Canada, where she had been work-
ing to better understand and thereby enhance the linkages between science and
policy for environmental decision-making. She has long been interested in the com-
munication of science and the science–policy interface. Shealagh was one of the
founders of the pioneering online journal Conservation Ecology (now Ecology and
Society—http://www.ecologyandsociety.org), which sought to improve the dis-
semination and uptake of new research results by making them freely available
through a then-new medium—the internet. Since then, she has continued to
explore the links between knowledge management, post-normal science and evi-
dence-based decision making. Most recently, her work has focused on knowledge
brokering and the role of intermediaries in linking science and policy.
Karl Schaefer ([email protected])
Karl Schaefer is a senior science policy adviser with Environment Canada’s S&T
Liaison Division in Burlington, Ontario. He has a masters degree in water resources
management and environmental economics from the University of Waterloo. He
was previously an environmental economist and Binational Programs Coordinator
with the Great Lakes Corporate Affairs Office of Environment Canada in Ontario
Region, where he worked on Great Lakes issues. He is a past member of the
International Joint Commission’s Council of Great Lakes Research Managers. At
S&T Liaison, Karl works to strengthen the science–policy link and leads the effort
to bring Environment Canada’s environmental research to a multi-sector policy and
programme community. He is exploring ways in which the science needs of that
community can better inform the development of research priorities.
Louise Shaxson ([email protected])
Louise Shaxson is an independent consultant specializing in science policy and
strategy in the public sector. A Fulbright Scholar to Cornell University in 1988, she
received her MSc in agricultural economics. She worked in international develop-
ment for 12 years, initially as a micro-economist before managing research projects
226 A.T. Bielak et al.

and programmes with an emphasis on interdisciplinarity and data quality. For the
past four years, Louise has worked with a variety of UK Government departments,
designing and implementing techniques that improve the use of evidence in policy-
making. She is particularly interested in methods of stimulating rigorous dialogue
and opening up stakeholder engagement in the knowledge base for government
policy and strategy.
Chapter 13
Science Advocacy: Challenging Task,
Difficult Pathways

Toss Gascoigne(*
ü)

Abstract The practice of scientists acting as advocates in their own political cause
is a relatively recent one around the world. The primary cause of their advocacy is
their desire to maintain or increase funding. Despite a natural reluctance to undertake
lobbying activities, science has learned that it must engage with policymakers if it
wishes to maintain its influence and funding. The chapter details a number of the
formal and informal methods science has used, drawing examples from the United
States, Britain, Australia and Canada. It charts the emergence of science advisers to
governments, either as individuals or committees. It looks at the formation of advo-
cacy groups, and contrasts their strategy and activities with lobby groups representing
non-science interests. The paper concludes that advocacy is not always a natural and
easy course for scientists, but one they must undertake. The voice of science advocacy
is not strong, but it is there.

Keywords Science advocacy, science lobbying, FASTS, Congressional Visits

Day, Science meets Parliament
The practice of scientists acting as advocates in their own political cause is a rela-
tively recent one around the world. The primary cause of their advocacy is their
desire to maintain or increase funding.
Scientists are ambivalent about lobbying: they tend to regard such activities as
crass and distasteful, but are beginning to realize they are being out-competed. In
the past they had a naive faith that the value of science was self-evident and that it
would therefore be automatically recognized and funded by legislators. But scien-
tists have come to realize that, just like every other interest, science needs to make
its case against competing demands for government funds—hospitals, roads, the
war against terrorism, the environment and social services.
At the same time, they recognize that lobbying for funds risks contradicting the
‘disinterested’ approach science espouses, and could be seen as compromising the
integrity of their work:

Council for the Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences (CHASS), LPO Box 5086, University
of Canberra, Bruce ACT 2617, Australia. Phone: 61 2 6201 2740, Fax: 61 2 6201 2132,
E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 227

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
228 T. Gascoigne

The credibility of scientists is on the line. Do we want them to serve as lobbyists? Is that
good for democracy, and, finally, is it good for science? Should generals lobby for a
war?1

To many scientists the advocacy role seems, as Daniel Greenberg put it, somehow
‘inappropriate’:
Physicians, trial lawyers, real-estate agents, and other professionals take the political route
to promote their interests. They collectively raise money and give it to favored candidates,
which is what counts in electoral politics, and thereby gain politicians’ attention. But for
scientists, that’s out of character. They did it once on a big scale, in 1964, when Republican
Barry Goldwater’s nuclear saber rattling created alarm among the physicist alumni of the
World War II A-bomb project and many other researchers. They raised significant sums
and sent leading scientists barnstorming around the country to denounce Goldwater and
boost Democratic candidate Lyndon Johnson. But after that, they swore off organized poli-
tics as inappropriate for the scientific community. (Greenberg 2007)

Despite that natural reluctance, science has since engaged with policymakers
through a number of formal and informal mechanisms. Funding is not the only
issue. Science has a strong hand to play in the evidence-based policymaking that
many governments pride themselves on. At times the science can be drowned by a
multitude of other voices, from self-interested industries to aggrieved communities
and passionate advocates of causes. If science is to be heard, it has to compete,
especially on controversial issues such as climate change, environmental legislation
and the teaching in schools of ‘intelligent design’ as a competing theory on the ori-
gin of the species.
In response (and it has been a response, not an initiative), science has moved to
make its voice heard in the national capitals of the world. The voice not strong, but
it is there. At times science works within the executive or legislative arms of gov-
ernment; in other cases, it operates completely independently of government, mak-
ing the first steps towards organizing itself like ‘physicians, trial lawyers and
real-estate agents’.
This chapter describes the emergence of these voices, drawing on some interna-
tional examples and trends, and looking at the approaches and strategies different
groups have used.

13.1 Science Advisers and Chief Scientists

In the US and the UK, there were moves early in the Cold War to increase the rep-
resentation of the views and expertise of the scientific community in government,
to complement the more scholarly representations of groups such as the learned
academies, the Royal Society and the American Association for the Advancement

1
Nigel Cameron; retrieved from http://choosingtomorrow.blogspot.com/2007/02/triumph-for-
science-or-merely-for.html
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 229

of Science (AAAS). Governments began to see the need for science advisers: senior
people who were close to the President or the Prime Minister and who could be
trusted to interpret science, advise on priorities and propose policy options.
In 1957, US President Dwight D. Eisenhower appointed James Killian to the
newly created position of Special Assistant to the President for Science and
Technology. Just as science lobby groups were later spawned by the threat or reality
of funding cuts, it also took a crisis to create Killian’s position: the launch by Russia
of the first spacecraft, Sputnik.
The changing role of the special assistant has been described by Pielke (2007).
In an article in Nature, Pielke claims that the power of the holder of the office has
continually declined—paradoxically, as the power of science in the federal admin-
istration has increased. He ascribes this to increasing complexity and the play of
numbers:
Yet as the adviser’s influence has declined, scientific and technological expertise at the
highest levels of government has been triumphant. William T. Golden, investment banker,
philanthropist and a chief architect of the science-adviser position, wrote in 1950 that the
government could draw on ‘somewhere between 20 and 200’ top scientists. By 2003 there
were approximately 8,000 scientists serving on about 400 federal advisory committees.
Without effective mechanisms to turn advice into options, and options into action, the often
heroic efforts of these scientists will amount to little more than academic exercises.

Science per se is not a matter of great interest to Presidents. It may well be part of
the solution in many areas of policy, but in the end policy decisions are political
rather than scientific and will be made by the President in discussion with his inner
circle. While the role of the science adviser will vary depending on their relation-
ship with the incumbent President, Pielke says that few advisers play the sort of
political games that would gain them admittance to the inner circle.
He sees the position as steadily developing since 1957:
The reality of pluralistic policy-making helps to explain why today so many issues involv-
ing science are politicized, and will continue to be so, under all future presidents. The sci-
entific community can assist the next president by focusing greater attention on the
overwhelming supply of expert advice beyond the White House that feeds into all aspects
of government decision-making. In practical terms, this would mean eschewing calls to
separate science from politics, and fostering instead more sophisticated ways to integrate
science with the needs of policy-makers. (Pielke 2007)

Pielke suggests that the position could evolve into an in-house think tank, putting
policy options to the President and eliciting from government ‘policy-relevant
questions that need to be addressed by scientific and technological experts’.
In 1965, not long after the appointment of the first presidential science adviser
in the US, Sir Solly Zuckerman was appointed Chief Scientific Adviser in the UK,
and served under both under Labour and under Conservative prime ministers.
Twenty-four years later, in 1989, Professor Ralph Slatyer was appointed as
Australia’s first Chief Scientist. Slatyer later recalled his response to the phone call
inviting him to take up the new position:
I had already been the chairman of ASTEC [the Australian Science, Technology and
Engineering Council] and I thought the new chairman ought to continue working the way
230 T. Gascoigne

I had. [Senior bureaucrat Mike Codd] said, ‘No, this is going to be quite different. ASTEC
is outside the bureaucracy; this is inside. The person in [the Chief Scientist’s] job will have
access to all the Cabinet papers and will be expected to be across all of them’. He said the
new [Prime Minister’s Science] council would be very influential, with the prime minister
and six other senior ministers involved. Also, there had been a great need for a coordination
committee to bring the various bureaucratic elements together, avoid overlap and so on. ‘It
really is a challenge’, he said. ‘Why don’t you do it for three years?’2

Complementing the Chief Scientist appointment in Australia was the creation of a

powerful committee—the Prime Minister’s Science Council, where cabinet minis-
ters had six-monthly meetings with scientists.
In all three countries, these advisory positions created a pipeline for science
straight to the highest political levels. They reflected the increasing importance of
science in the national decision-making process, in which many problems had a
scientific component. Science gained a seat at the policymaking table not because
of any innate qualities, but because it was perceived as generating solutions to
problems and helping to create industries, jobs and wealth.
By the 1980s, however, it was apparent to many scientists that individual advis-
ers and government-selected committees might not be enough to protect science
and its funding streams. Coalitions began to form.

13.2 Science Advocacy Groups

In 1983, the National Coalition for Science and Technology (NCST) was formed in
Washington D.C., where it was the only registered lobby of scientists for science.
Other groups followed, including the Council on Research and Technology
(CORETECH) in 1987. Research!America was formed in 1989, ‘under the realiza-
tion that there was a vast deficiency in medical research funding—and that such a
gap would be detrimental to Americans for years to come’.3 Each of these groups
was a coalition of industry and researchers.
Garfield (1987) describes the NCST as:
a registered lobby representing individual scientists, universities, businesses and associa-
tions. It promotes governmental support for science and has recently concentrated its
efforts on funding for the National Science Foundation and NASA.

Garfield puts these activities into context: ‘Such action by scientists and their rep-
resentatives would have been unheard of only a decade ago. But the crisis in fund-
ing for scientific research around the globe, as well as the qualitative change big
science ushered in, has stirred many a scientist from political somnolence’.

2
An interview of Professor Ralph Slatyer by Dr Max Blythe, 1993. Published at http://www.
science.org.au/scientists/rs.htm
3
Research!America: http://www.researchamerica.org/history_mission
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 231

Until that time, scientists had been uncomfortable with the notion of lobbying
for funding (although they had shown a readiness to raise their voices on ethical
matters and issues of conscience). Garfield describes the ‘innate distaste many hold
for overt forms of influencing decision-makers in government’. He attributes the
emergence of the new movement to new demands on the scientific community,
quoting Shils (1987), professor of sociology at the University of Chicago:
The freedom they enjoyed when research projects were small and demands for practical
results were less insistent is no longer the natural and inevitable condition of scientific
research. The outer world has forced itself into [sic] the horizon of scientists as never
before.

One factor from this ‘outer world’ was the success of individual universities in the
US lobbying for funds by circumventing the normal peer-review processes, and
persuading powerful national politicians to earmark funds for their institutions by
attaching funding proposals to other legislation. This threat to the peer-review proc-
ess in the US had to be countered.
What was happening in the US in the 1980s was also happening in various
forms in other parts of the world. The causes were the same: funding was under
threat, the importance of science was not always appreciated by politicians
making policy decisions, and there was a perceived lack of awareness in both
public and policy circles of the power and capacity of science to change the
course of nations.
In his article ‘Scientists must learn to lobby’, Eugene Garfield describes a series of
activities and campaigns across Europe and the US at this time (Garfield 1987). Cuts
inflicted by French President Jacques Chirac prompted 280 research directors to take
out advertisements in Le Monde and Le Figaro appealing for additional funding.
A similar campaign in the UK led to the birth of a new organization, Save British
Science (SBS):
SBS was founded in 1986, following the placement of an advertisement in The Times
newspaper. The idea came from a small group of university scientists brought together by
a common concern about the difficulties they were facing in obtaining the funds for first
class research.

The original plan was simply to buy a half-page advertisement in The Times to make the
point, and the request for funds was spread via friends and colleagues in other universities.
The response was overwhelming.4

The advertisement (Fig. 13.1) appeared on 13 January 1986.

In contrast to the NCST in the US, the UK’s SBS was supported largely by indi-
vidual scientists, and aimed to:
‘communicate to the public, parliament and the government a proper appreciation of the
economic and cultural benefits of scientists’ research’, according to its literature. Its
London office directed letter-writing campaigns by scientists to members of Parliament.

4
Campaign for Science and Engineering in the UK (CASE): http://www.savebritishscience.org.
uk/about/history/index.htm. (CASE was formed in 2005 as the successor to SBS.)
232 T. Gascoigne

Fig. 13.1 Original advertisement for Save British Science

In Australia, the Federation of Australian Scientific and Technological Societies

(FASTS) was formed in 1985.5 Its birth was prompted by harsh cuts to funding for
national research organizations in the 1984 budget. The Minister of Science—a sci-
ence enthusiast visibly distraught at his failure to protect the funding of research—
lashed out at scientists across Australia. They were wimps, he said, because they
failed to muster the public support that would have enabled him to carry countervail-
ing budget proposals through the Australian Parliament. He needed active advo-
cates—scientists prepared to sell the value of the national investment in science to the
public, the media and, ultimately, to members of Parliament.
In response to the budget cuts and the minister’s statement, the Australian
Academy of Science convened a meeting of leading Australian scientific societies
to consider how science might more effectively present its views to politicians. The
formation of FASTS was the result. It was established as a body representing work-
ing scientists (as opposed to the relatively small number of elite scientists elected
to membership of the academy).
The role of FASTS, which continues to operate, is essentially political: to foster
close relations between the societies; to promote a higher level of public under-
standing of science; and to encourage scientific dialogue between industry, govern-
ment and the scientific and technological community. Its members are learned or

5
The author was the executive director of FASTS from 1995 to 2003 inclusive.
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 233

professional societies that between them represent tens of thousands of scientists

and technologists. It is funded by subscriptions from the membership, with only
very modest government support to help it become established (although the
Australian Government recently announced new annual funding sufficient to sup-
port two or three extra staff).

13.3 Secondments of Scientists to Government

In the US, the science community decided to take another, more direct route to poli-
cymakers. The Congressional Science Fellows programme, administered by the
AAAS, was created to allow for the secondment of working scientists to Washington
for periods of 12–18 months. There, they joined the staff of a member of congress,
or worked in the congressional library, the congressional committee system or the
bureaucracy. This programme continues today.
The scientists are funded primarily by one of the scientific societies, and the
programme was (and is) administered by the AAAS:
The Science & Technology Policy Fellowships began in 1973 with seven Fellows serving
in congressional offices, providing their scientific expertise to policy-makers facing
increasingly technical legislative issues. AAAS now partners with nearly 15 federal agen-
cies, many congressional offices and committees, and nearly 30 professional scientific
societies to operate the AAAS Science & Technology Policy Fellowships, which have been
providing public policy education and outreach experiences for scientists and engineers for
more than 30 years.6

The programme has grown steadily and has an annual intake of about 150 fellows
chosen in a highly competitive process. Those scientists taking up positions in con-
gressional offices (now about 35 annually) need to be comfortable with the political
stance of their congressman because they may become involved in partisan activi-
ties. Scientists could visit up to a dozen offices before negotiating an arrangement
with a compatible representative or senator.
The AAAS plays a training and coordinating role:
The fellowships provide the opportunity for scientists and engineers, from recent PhD
recipients to senior-level professionals, to learn about policy-making while contributing
their knowledge and analytical skills to the federal government. The Fellows, representing
a broad array of science and engineering fields, bring a common interest in learning about
the intersection of science and policy, and a willingness to apply their technical training in
a new arena. The host offices value the Fellows for their external perspectives and critical
thinking skills, as well as for their technical expertise.7

The value of the programme is also recognized by members of congress in testimo-

nials published on the AAAS website. Senator Edward Kennedy:

6
American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS): http://fellowships.aaas.org/01_
About/01_History.shtml.
7
AAAS: http://fellowships.aaas.org/01_About/01_History.shtml.
234 T. Gascoigne

The Congress is increasingly involved in public policy issues of a scientific and technical
nature, and recognizes the need to develop additional in-house expertise in the areas of sci-
ence and engineering. In addition, it becomes increasingly more important that the scien-
tific and engineering communities become aware of the workings of government in these
areas, and that better liaison be developed in the public interest.8

Other countries have shown interest in adapting the scheme to their own needs. For
example, Switzerland trialed and then adopted the programme, making the first
appointment in 2002. The Swiss convenor of the programme commented on the
evaluation:
Everybody is now very happy, even those who were so sceptical at the start; and that
includes some of the permanent staff in Parliament. There has been a real change in atti-
tude, so much that the secretaries of other Parliamentary Committees want to have a fellow
attached to their staff.9

13.4 Advisory Committees and Councils

Partly because of prompting from science advocacy groups, many countries set up
official advisory groups funded by government to inject science into their legisla-
tures. Canada established the Science Council of Canada in 1966 ‘to advise the
government on science and technology policy. The original membership was 25
appointed scientists and senior federal civil servants, later altered to 30 appointed
eminent experts from the natural and social sciences, business and finance, and no
civil servants’.10 In 2007, the Canadian Government announced that it will create a
new body, the Science, Technology and Innovation Council, as part of a broader
effort to consolidate external advisory committees to strengthen the role of inde-
pendent expert advisers.
In the UK, science expertise is found in the Parliamentary Office of Science and
Technology (POST). The office was established in 1989 to help MPs examine sci-
ence-based issues, and has a permanent staff of six supplemented by short-term
appointments, including PhD students.
The rationale for POST is set out on its website:
Most parliamentarians do not have a scientific or technological background but science and
technology issues are increasingly integral to public policy. Parliamentarians are
bombarded daily with lobbying, public enquiries and media stories about science and
technology. These cover diverse areas such as medical advances, environmental issues and
global communications.11

8
AAAS: http://fellowships.aaas.org/01_About/01_History.shtml.
9
Personal correspondence, Dr Margrit Leuthold, then Secretary-General of the Swiss Academy
of Medical Sciences.
10
http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.com/index.cfm?PgNm=TCE&Params= A1ARTA0007214
11
Parliamentary Office of Science and Technology: http://www.parliament.uk/parliamentary_
offices/post.cfm
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 235

POST writes short briefing papers and longer reports for MPs and Parliamentary
committees. It organizes discussions and maintains a watching brief (‘scans the
horizon’) for emerging issues. As well as working closely with the institutions of
Parliament, POST also works with outside bodies, such as scientific societies, policy
think tanks, business, academia and research funders. POST-like offices have been
established in many of the Parliaments of Europe.
POST is part of the European Parliamentary Technology Assessment, a
European network established in 1990 to advise Parliaments on the possible social,
economic and environmental impacts of new sciences and technologies. The network
defines its aim as:
[providing] impartial and high quality accounts and reports of developments in issues such
as for example bioethics and biotechnology, public health, environment and energy, ICTs,
and R&D policy. Such work is seen as an aid to the democratic control of scientific and
technological innovations, and was pioneered in the 1970s by the Office of Technology
Assessment (OTA) of the US Congress.12

13.5 Advocacy and Lobbying: Strategy and Tactics

Scientists and governments have worked from a common menu in building better
advisory and information mechanisms. Chief scientists, expert advisory commit-
tees and secondments of scientists to Parliamentary systems have all helped give a
voice to science in the decision-making process. Although their role is not explored
in this chapter, funding bodies, scientific societies and the learned academies also
contribute to the advocacy of science.
The advocacy/lobbying function sits at one end of the spectrum of routes that
science takes into national policymaking. So, how does the science community go
about this task? Which of its subsectors and organisations play a leading part? What
are its strategies and tactics? Has it had the same success as ‘physicians, trial law-
yers and real-estate agents’? How do its activities compare with the campaigns of
major national lobby groups?
Successful advocacy is an amalgam of a number of approaches. The tactics
organizations employ depend very much on the strategies they have adopted:
● Some use the media, working on the theory that the best way to pressure politi-
cians is by mobilizing public opinion.
● Others adopt the tactic of working through grassroots mass movements, using
their members to advocate for the cause by contacting local politicians. Some
scientific societies or coalitions have even initiated such campaigns.
● A third approach is to take soundings of public views through polls and surveys,
and present the results to politicians as evidence that this is what their constitu-
ency wants.

12
European Parliamentary Technology Assessment: http://www.eptanetwork.org/EPTA/about.php
236 T. Gascoigne

● A fourth is to employ experienced consultants (often ex-politicians) to take up

the cause through contacts with their former colleagues in office.
● A fifth is to change the system from within, working quietly with politicians and
bureaucrats. Personal relationships are often used to set up these unheralded
meetings.
David Malakoff set out other ‘tools of the trade’ in an article in Science (‘Perfecting
the art of the science deal’):
Nearly 150 of the 545 members of Congress got at least one award from a science-related
group over the past 18 months, according to an informal survey by Science. Although such
‘grip and grin’ events might seem ritualistic, ‘everyone wants to be recognized for the good
work they do’, says Missi Tessier of the Science Coalition, which hands out its share of
prizes. She’s especially proud of a nanoscale saxophone that the coalition presented to
President Bill Clinton. ‘He kept it on his desk for a long time’, she says. ‘That can’t be a
bad thing’. (Malakoff 2001)

Malakoff is unenthusiastic about email campaigns, and cautious about using celeb-
rities (because of their fees), but does recommend the following approaches:
● Feed politicians—offer them a free meal and a compelling after-dinner speaker.
● Form coalitions of interests with like-minded organizations. They can be difficult
to establish and maintain, but their political power makes them hard to beat.
● Ask politicians to persuade their colleagues.
Science faces stiff competition in the national competition for funding. We can learn
from the vigour and the range of activities and training offered by grassroots organi-
zations with interests outside science. All these groups are competitors, if not directly
for funding then at least for time and attention in national political circles.
The American Civil Liberties Union offers advice to its supporters through a
section of its website headed ‘Becoming an effective and efficient activist’. This
lists actions for individuals and training and advice on how to become more effec-
tive. For example, the site suggests the best approach to take in meeting with a
member of congress:
Decide who will attend the meeting. Bringing more than four or five people can be hard to
manage. Keep it small, but bring people who represent different groups that have an
interest…
Agree on talking points. It’s tough to make a strong case for your position when you are
disagreeing in the meeting! If a point is causing tension in the group, leave it out.
Plan out your meeting. People can get nervous in a meeting, and time is limited. Be sure
that you lay out the meeting beforehand, including who will start the conversation.
Decide what you want achieve. What is it you want your elected official to do—vote for or
against the bill? Make a commitment to introduce or co-sponsor legislation? Asking your
legislator or his or her staff member to do something specific will help you know how suc-
cessful your visit has been!13

13
American Council for Civil Liberties: http://action.aclu.org/site/PageServer?pagename=
AP_effective_activism
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 237

The National Rifle Association (NRA) is also widely recognized as a hugely effec-
tive lobby group in the US. It offers a high-quality website with information, news
and advice, including a three-hour video newscast each weekday evening to update
viewers on ‘what’s hot and happening with your firearm freedoms’.
The NRA is conscious of the pressure it is able to bring to bear on politicians
and the potential rewards from mobilizing 3 million members. Former Clinton
spokesman George Stephanopoulos says, ‘Let me make one small vote for the
NRA. They’re good citizens. They call their Congressmen. They write. They vote.
They contribute. And they get what they want over time’.14
The NRA aims to ensure that its members call, write, vote and contribute by
offering them advice on practical activities, including letter writing:
Be Brief, Specific, & Always Be Courteous! Letters shouldn’t exceed one page, and the
purpose of your letter should be stated clearly in the first paragraph. If your letter pertains
to specific legislation, identify it accordingly (use the bill number, if known, and the title
of the bill and/or a brief description). To make sure your letter is as productive as possible,
always be courteous, even if you disagree with your representative’s position! Never
threaten or use abusive language. This only hurts your cause.15

13.6 Advocacy Activities

Congressional Visits Day (CVD) began in 1994 in Washington D.C., and has been
organized annually since then. The day usually brings 200–250 scientists, engi-
neers, researchers, educators and technology executives to Washington to raise vis-
ibility and support for science, engineering and technology. The event is run by the
Science–Engineering–Technology Working Group, a coalition of professional and
learned societies and industry and educational institutions. In 2008, the event is
expected to reach almost two-thirds of all members of congress.
CVD is a grassroots activity designed to help scientists and engineers establish and main-
tain relationships with their local Representatives and Senators through visits in the
Washington offices. This event is designed to show the cross-disciplinary support for fed-
eral science and technology programmes. Participants try to show the ‘human face’ and
local impact of science and engineering issues…[It] gives us a chance to demonstrate how
our own organizations affect innovation, competitiveness, the creation of a skilled and
world-class workforce, national security, a healthy environment, and our economic well
being.16

CVD was the model for an Australian equivalent, the annual Science meets
Parliament Day (SmP), which was first run in 1999 by FASTS and has been held
every year since (except 2004).

14
National Rifle Association (NRA): http://www.nra.org/aboutus.aspx
15
NRA: http://www.nraila.org/ActionCenter/GrassRootsActivism.aspx?ID=11
16
SETCVD: http://www.setcvd.org/cvd2008/CVD08-FAQ.pdf
238 T. Gascoigne

It is a two-day event, with the first day devoted to a discussion of strategy and
tactics, and the second to individual meetings with MPs. At the first event in 1999,
both sides enjoyed the meetings: the scientists found MPs interested in their work,
and the MPs discovered that scientists have potential solutions to problems in such
areas as the environment, energy, transport, health and agriculture.
In the Australian Parliament only about 5% of the 227 members have tertiary
qualifications in science. That lack of scientific expertise can become a problem
when Parliament discusses science-based issues like water, energy, greenhouse,
GM food or the environment. Apart from the bureaucracies, MPs’ only alternative
sources of advice may be a few chosen outside experts, or interest groups (whose
‘science’ can be unreliable).
And, just as Parliamentarians understand little about science, scientists have
little appreciation of the work of MPs. They do not have a clear idea of the political
processes, or appreciate the pressures on MPs, the timescales on which they work
or the number of interests they have to juggle. One function of SmP is to educate
scientists about these factors in order to make them better advocates for the cause.
The second day of SmP is devoted to individual meetings with MPs in their
offices, normally lasting 20–40 min. Four or five people are present: the MP, a
member of their staff, and two or three scientists. Their conversation might cover
the theme of the day (as prepared by FASTS), the work of the scientists, and issues
nominated in advance by the MP.
Feedback on both sides has been positive. Evaluations regularly score the overall
event at a little over 8 out of 10, and participants believe that the event has helped
put science on the political agenda.
Meetings are optional, and about 60% of MPs choose to participate. Participating
scientists pay a registration fee and meet their own travel expenses.
A variation on this theme is ‘Bacon & Eggheads’, a Canadian event ‘bringing
together Parliamentarians with experts across science and engineering, showcasing
outstanding Canadian research accomplishments. Its purpose is to provide unbiased
insight into topical scientific issues, within a non-partisan forum in which lobbying
is not permitted’.17
These 90-min breakfast meetings are organized by the Partnership Group for
Science and Engineering, a cooperative association formed in 1995 and comprising
more than 25 national organizations, which in turn represent some 50,000 individual
members from industry, academia and government.
The media can be a useful complementary force in these events, or an advocacy
tool in its own right. For example, FASTS brought pressure on the Australian
Government by publicizing the ‘brain drain’ issue. This was a significant factor in
squeezing a large funding package out of the government for science and research:
‘brain drain’ was a term that all electors could understand. A media release set out
FASTS’ basic position:

17
Partnership Group for Science and Engineering: http://www.pagse.org/en/breakfasts.htm
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 239

Australia’s peak body for science and technology said today (Tuesday) that the Monash
University study on brain drain told only part of the story.
Ms Jan Thomas, Vice-President of the Federation of Australian Scientific and Technological
Societies (FASTS), said the study camouflaged the real issues behind the story.
‘We suspect that Australia is losing its top talent, the high-potential people hand-picked for
their special abilities’, she said.
‘These people are being snapped up by institutions overseas which can offer top facilities,
good salaries and the funds to carry out research in a comprehensive manner’.
Ms Thomas said Australia was simply not able to compete for talent in the hot areas of sci-
ence and technology, the areas like biotechnology, mathematics and nanotechnology.
‘In most areas, Australia plays in the second division’, she said. ‘We can’t compete on sala-
ries, we can’t offer young scientists a career path, and the funds for research and infrastruc-
ture are below world standards.
‘International science is intensely competitive. While Australia offers a wonderful lifestyle,
top scientists will only compromise so far when it comes to working standards’.18

Administrations are very sensitive to media coverage. If issues like the brain drain
crop up on the evening TV news and are covered by the daily newspapers, ministers
will demand a solution—in this case, it was a new funding programme.
Media coverage on other issues, such as ‘mad cow disease’ in the UK, has also
forced governments to change course. Media controversy over GM foods has
forced policy modifications in many countries.
The challenge for advocacy groups is that science policy is not a ‘hot button’
issue, and they need to consider how their core messages can be translated into
terms that mean something to ordinary citizens. ‘Brain drain’ made this leap. It was
couched in sporting terms and appealed to national pride and competitiveness. The
implication was clear: failing to adequately fund research carried an ominous
economic message for Australia.
Research!America makes extensive use of polling to make its policy stances relevant
to politicians. In its media releases, the organization describes itself as ‘the nation’s
largest not-for-profit public education and advocacy alliance working to make research
to improve health a higher national priority’. Research!America has been gauging pub-
lic opinion on Americans’ attitudes towards medical, health and scientific research since
1992, and regularly samples their views through telephone or online polls.
The organization bases its strategy on the view that opinion poll results will be
a powerful force in the decisions of politicians, either directly through correspond-
ence or representation, or indirectly through the media. Polling questions raised in
2007 included:
● How important do you think it is that the US is a global leader in scientific
research? (76% nominated ‘very important’)
● Do you agree or disagree with this statement: ‘The US is losing its global com-
petitive edge in innovation’? (65% nominated ‘agree’)

18
FASTS: http://www.fasts.org/images/news2001/july-01-brain%20drain%20study.pdf
240 T. Gascoigne

● Would you be willing to pay $1 per week more in taxes if you were certain that
all the money would be dedicated to research to improve health, or not? (67%
nominated ‘Yes’)19
The Task Force on the Future of American Innovation20 is a coalition of high-tech
businesses and academic groups, including high-tech companies such as Google,
Intel and Microsoft as well as the American Chemical Society, the University of
California and the National Association of State Universities. Defence industry
contractors such as Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman are also members.
The task force has taken a different approach, nominating a target (a doubling of
US research budgets over the next 10 years), and inviting all major candidates in
the 2008 US Presidential race to make a commitment:
‘So far, none of the top candidates has promised to make the pledge,’ officials with the task
force said, although several have given promising signals.
‘For example, staffers for Democratic front-runner Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-N.Y.)
met with the group and expressed an interest in modifying her position, according to Glenn
Ruskin, director of government affairs for the American Chemistry [sic] Society. Clinton
previously had proposed a 50% budget increase for the agencies over 10 years, but groups
in the task force saw that amount as insufficient’.21

Daniel Greenburg is not optimistic about the task force’s chances of success:
Can the care and feeding of science win support and votes for a politician?
From the record of recent presidential campaigns, including the current marathon, the can-
didates don’t think so. None among the platoon of hard-running hopefuls has paid much
attention, if any, to the cries of financial need coming ever louder from researchers, particu-
larly those dependent on the National Institutes of Health. Senator Hillary Clinton pledged
all good things for science in a speech in October observing the 50th anniversary of
Sputnik. Technology is endorsed on Mitt Romney’s campaign website. But, these are
exceptions to the customary campaign fare—rare exceptions. (Greenberg 2007)

13.7 Conclusion

The past 30 years has seen a slow dawning of awareness among scientists. They
have begun to accept that they, like all other interests in our increasingly complex
society, need to advocate on behalf of their subject, to point out the virtues and
benefits of a national investment in science. They have witnessed the consequences
of not doing so: budget cuts, truncated career trajectories, and failure to make the
best use of scientific talents in solving the problems of the world.

19
Research!America: http://www.researchamerica.org/uploads/AmericaSpeaksV8.pdf
20
Task Force on the Future of American Innovation:http://thehill.com/business–lobby/high-
tech-business-and-academic-groups-lobby-2008-hopefuls-on-science-funding-2007-09-26.html
21
Task Force on the Future of American Innovation.
13 Science Advocacy: Challenging Task, Difficult Pathways 241

Advocacy is not always a natural and easy path for scientists. Their world is one
of hypothesis, experiment, evidence, proof—and they are puzzled by a political
decision-making process that follows any less rational course. Advocacy in its own
cause may be one of the hardest things science has tried to do.

References

Garfield, E. (1987). Scientists must learn to lobby. The Scientist, 1(12), 9.

Greenberg, D. (2007). Ballots and budgets. Association for Psychological Science, 20(10),
November 2007.
Malakoff, D. (2001). Perfecting the art of the science deal. Science, 292(5518), 830.
Pielke Jr, R. (2007). XXX. Nature, 450(15), 347.
Shils, E. (1987). Science and scientists in the public arena. The American Scholar, 65, 185–202.

The Author

Toss Gascoigne ([email protected])

Toss Gascoigne is executive director of the Council for the Humanities, Arts and
Social Sciences (CHASS) in Australia. Before that he held a similar position with
a similar advocacy group in the sciences, the Federation of Australian Scientific
and Technological Societies (FASTS). He is interested in the linkages between
researchers and government, the methods researchers use to persuade governments
to adopt evidence-based processes in determining policy, and researchers’ respon-
sibilities while doing so. Toss is the inaugural chair of the PCST Network and a life
member of the Australian Science Communicators.
Chapter 14
The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable
Development

Yves Jeanneret(*
ü)

Abstract In this chapter, the author demonstrates that the translation of scientific
knowledge for the layperson is anything but a purely technical question. Besides
the science, the translation must take into account the social and the political
arenas. Having established this groundwork for the conceptualization of social
communication, the author examines the canonical model of sustainable develop-
ment as presented in the media and on websites. Using this model as an example,
the chapter analyses the reduction of scientific, social and political complexity
to a descriptive and symmetrically organized presentation of science, history and
society, and the production of sustainability management indicators.

Keywords Environment, management, popularization, scientific communication,

sustainability

In this paper, the expression ‘science communication in social contexts’ is used in

a particular way. It does not only imply that scientific communication takes place
in social and historical contexts. More important is the fact that the very definition
of what is a scientific issue in the public sphere is at stake in the process of com-
munication. Societies choose what is significant for them in science by the way
they develop communicational practices: by the choice of the information, of course,
but also by the form adopted in public communication.
For me, this is the main lesson we can draw from the rich and complex research
during past decades into the ‘popularization’ of science: a set of studies in several
scientific fields (for example, sociology, anthropology, communication sciences,
semiotics) that we can now consider with hindsight from both social and epistemo-
logical viewpoints. Practices, on the one hand, and scientific models, on the other,
have been constantly evolving during this time.

Ecole des Hautes Études en Sciences de L’information et de la Communication (CELSA), 77,

rue de Villiers, 92523, Neuilly-sur-Seine, cedex, France. Phone: 01 46 43 76 33,
Email: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 243

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
244 Y. Jeanneret

14.1 From ‘How Does It Work?’ to ‘What Game Do We Play?’

Researchers into science communication focused first on the means to make sci-
ence understandable by non-specialists. They probably had to, in order to grasp
their object, but they were soon led to consider the whole context of our communi-
cation and media system, in a kind of backwards zoom view. Indeed, as the analysis
of the popularization discourse grew in accuracy, it became more and more obvious
that the procedural question ‘How can we translate scientific knowledge for the
average man’? was anything but a purely technical question (Jurdant 1973).
Such a classical formulation of the relation between science and communica-
tion, periodically rediscovered since the publication of Entretiens sur la pluralité
des mondes (Fontenelle 1686), presents serious drawbacks: it aims at answering
questions that are not formulated. Who is supposed to take part in the communica-
tion process about science? How can the place of each actor be defined? What is
the social and political logic of such a dialogue? A rather implicit rhetoric and nar-
rative pact used to give a ready answer to those questions. In a society supposedly
divided into two parts—learned and ignorant people—a go-between agent should
find the most effective tools to convey science to a large audience.
In recent decades, both political evolution and scientific discussion questioned
this model. The translation no longer appeared as a necessary concept, but as one
historical answer among many others. It became necessary, at first, to suspect the
explanation that popularization actors give of their own task; subsequently, that
philosophy of suspicion was not sufficient. Idealism might have been at work
here—the belief that it was possible to make pure and transparent expressions of
real science (Jacobi and Schiele 1988). To reassess communication on scientific
subjects, it was necessary to consider it as a constructive practice involved in a
wider process: a social regulation of heterogeneous means that helps us interpret
the natural and social worlds. Of course, contemporary practices are not so innova-
tive from that point of view, since the implications of various social, ideological and
cultural topics are a constant theme in popularization discourse (Jeanneret 1994).
What is new is that the definition of communication as a crossroad structure is rec-
ognized, implemented in communication devices and situations, and presented as a
norm in political, local, educational and cultural communication. This is what I
want to discuss here, using an emblematic case: the discourse about ‘sustainable
development’.
Discourses about sustainability are exemplary because they give explicit justifi-
cation and public visibility to the heterogeneous nature of knowledge communica-
tion and because they also show the limits of such a justification. We can point to
several factors that account for this. The expression ‘sustainable development’, as
other similar expressions (for instance, ‘information society’) is both hegemonic
and semantically vague. This magic phrase can, by itself, convey some value to any
discourse that quotes it (Labelle 2007). In such a context, the development of a
discourse on sustainability ‘transmutes’ (Fabbri 2003) previous topics. It takes after
‘ecology’, while transforming it rather deeply. Finally, it is not only an interdisciplinary
field, but it endeavours to regulate interdisciplinarity per se, and even epistemic
14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 245

diversity. Moreover, it promotes such regulation, not within the scientific commu-
nity, but through social governance, information management and public policies.
The specific case of sustainable development gives us the opportunity to contrib-
ute to a more general question about social shaping of science communication. This
paper addresses only parts of that question. First I explore how sustainability relates
various types of sciences and knowledge; then I examine how the tenets of sustain-
able development as a revolution in thought represent science, knowledge and sci-
entific method; finally, I try to demonstrate that the forms of communication are as
important as the contents of information for the representation of science.
These indicative analyses lead me to the main point of my hypothesis. I want to
argue that today the groundwork for conceptualizing social communication has
been laid, and that conceptualization can now be brought to bear on the discourse
of sustainable development. From this viewpoint, sustainable development, which
seems at first glance to be a specialized object, in fact plays a structuring role as a
global metaphor for what communication and politics are and can become.

14.2 The Environment as an Epistemic Monster

Sustainable development is in many respects the contemporary legacy of political

ecology: a way to address environmental issues that can be formulated both in sci-
entific terms (ecology as a discipline) and in political ones (ecology as a move-
ment). We shall see that the canonical doctrine about sustainable development
considers the environment as a part of a global question. As a theory of public poli-
cies, sustainable development is a voluntary conciliation, but as an object for media
discourse, and as a normative imprecation about the future, sustainable develop-
ment has taken the place of ecological affirmation. Such an ambiguous definition
is part of the process we are trying to understand and is obvious in the contents of
many international initiatives concerning sustainability. In the same way that the
‘information society’ is supposed to cover a great number of problems but is
focused on computers, ‘sustainable development’ announces a multidimensional
approach but refers to nature. The Declaration on Environment and Development
(usually called ‘Agenda 21’) was adopted in Rio de Janeiro at the United Nations
Conference on Environment and Development in 1992. Chapter 35 of the declara-
tion, entitled ‘Science for sustainable development’, is entirely focused on two sci-
entific areas. Natural sciences convey information on our ecosystem, and
engineering sciences give us resources to manage it. This fits a general pattern:
multidisciplinarity is the principle, natural sciences are the reference.
Ecology as a discipline was founded by Ernst Haeckel, and can be considered as
a part of natural history, even if it cannot be dissociated from philosophical concep-
tions. But in the public sphere, ‘environmental issues’—which are the field of
ecologists’ discourse—cannot be allocated to a particular discipline. The object
called the environment is constantly redefined by the different actors who appropri-
ate, interpret and express it. There is not, on the one hand, a scientific object that
246 Y. Jeanneret

could be named the real environment, and, on the other, a trivial one that should be
named the vulgarized environment. There is a public debate about what people must
do with their environment that continuously presupposes and redefines what the
environment is.
One may distinguish this case as easily from a vulgarized discipline like mathe-
matics as from a mythical discipline like economics. Mathematicians manage
obscure programmes and sometimes (rather rarely) the media try to explain them.
Politicians and businessmen make decisions that affect everyday life, and they
legitimate them by the invocation of an unfailing science, economics. In the field
of the environment, nobody says what discipline is at stake. The actors struggle
between themselves to determine what kind of knowledge is involved; there is even
a struggle to decide whether scientific knowledge has to play a decisive role.
In a famous text, his first lecture (Leçon inaugurale) at College de France,
Michel Foucault points out that scientific disciplines consider some objects neither
as true nor false, but only as nothingness. Foucault writes:
The exterior of a science is both more and less populated than one might think: certainly
there is immediate experience, imaginary themes bearing on and continually accompany-
ing immemorial beliefs; but perhaps there are no errors in the strict sense of the terms, for
error can only emerge and be identified with a well-defined process; there are monsters on
the prowl, though, whose forms alter with the history of knowledge. (Foucault 1971: 35)

The environment is a monster, and that is precisely the reason it is very productive in
communication. Many actors pretend to be able to say what the environment is. So,
the growing importance of environmental issues and conflicts is linked to the creation
of political procedures grounded on communication ethics: for example, consensus
conferences, public audiences and deliberative debate. Environmental questions are
determined by specialized knowledge, but also defined by social and existential
stakes. They are at the same time esoteric problems and common issues.
It is possible to resume that situation with three propositions that are equally
valid but largely contradictory:
● As a set of technical problems involving specialized knowledge, the environ-
ment refers to precise disciplines: climate change to climatologists, nuclear
energy to physicists.
● As a group of risks that must be avoided, environmental change involves a wider
range of knowledge items, some of them relevant to social sciences or
philosophy.
● As a political perspective that concerns the future of humanity, scholars of the
environment resort necessarily to normative positions, frequently portrayed by
authorities (philosophers, wise persons, religious leaders) who do not draw their
legitimacy from scientific criteria, but can also be linked to the simple practice
of citizen debate.
Sustainable development is the inheritor of the environmental object and of its congeni-
tal hybrid nature. But it also expresses the mutation of that object. Ecology included
in sustainable development is not the same as ecology alone. The belief that the
environment is only a part of a trio (ecology, society, economy) progressively
14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 247

became the core definition of the notion of sustainable development. I shall now
examine some of the consequences of this.

14.3 The Canonical Model of Sustainable Development

The idea of sustainability was not initially defined as a catalogue of disciplines, but
the dissemination of the model strengthened that representation very much.
The major historic reference of sustainability is the well-known Our common
future, which is often referred to as the Bruntland Report (Brundtland 1987). In that
declaration, the viewpoint was a conceptual one, sustainability was to be seen from
the perspective of future generations, and a need to contextualize environment as a
part of social life was perceived.
What is also noticeable in Our common future is the strong recognition of per-
sonal experience as a legitimate source of policy. Gro Harlem Bruntland writes in
the introduction of the report:
The environment does not exist as a sphere separate from human actors’ ambitions and
needs, and attempts to defend it in isolation from human concerns have given the very word
‘environment’ a connotation of naivety in some political circles.

She gives a justification for the use of the expert team involved in the elaboration
of the report:
We needed people with wide experience, and from all political fields, not only from environment
or development and political disciplines, but from all the areas of vital decision making that influ-
ence economical and social progress, nationally and internationally. (Bruntland 1987)

We can now measure the distance between that programmatic declaration, written
by the ‘founder of discourse formation’ of sustainable development, and the defini-
tion of the same object that was gradually generalized—a highly systematized and
codified one. The report enumerates several disciplines, among which we recognize
environmental sciences, but also development sciences (a subspeciality of econom-
ics), politics, political sciences, and a set of cultural approaches. Above all, the
report does not argue a definition of disciplines, but the need to connect scientific
knowledge to social context, practical stakes and political efficiency. Many of those
ideas are preserved by the various actors that claim to reference the Bruntland
Report, but what was initially a question of perspective and conviction progres-
sively became one of social technology.
The research projects in which I took part analysed a wide set of productions,
conceived by actors who play different roles in the process of legitimation of the
discourse on sustainability: scientists, activists, industrial firms, public actors,
bankers, evaluation agencies, etc. This analysis reveals the hegemony of one
graphic representation of sustainability, which is reproduced here from the website of
the collaborative encyclopaedia Wikipedia (Fig. 14.1). It can be considered to be a
good crystallization of the dominant ideas of internet activists.
This schematic model embodies a kind of discourse very different from the pro-
grammatic one. We can call it the ‘canonical model of sustainable development’
248 Y. Jeanneret

Social

Bearable Equitable
Sustainable

Environment Economic
Viable

Scheme of sustainable development: at the confluence of three

preoccupations.

Fig. 14.1 The canonical model of sustainable development, from Wikipedia

(CMSD). It is not in contradiction to the definition of sustainability as a perspective

on the future, but it gives that perspective a very peculiar form. It is this very dis-
seminated conception of sustainability that I will examine further here—not, I
make clear, the real diversity of actors and formulations, but a dominant pattern.
My detailed commentary on this diagram summarizes observations made on a
wide corpus of websites in the context of a collective project with D’Almeida and
Cheveigné (D’Almeida et al. 2004) and for the elaboration of this paper.
The first element to point out is the play between categories that are presented as
symmetrical, though they are deeply different in their scientific status. ‘Economic’
is able to evoke a discipline very directly. The other notions refer either to an inter-
disciplinary field (environment), or to everyday experience (social). ‘Sociologic’
does not face ‘economic’. The form of the chart places heterogeneous kinds of
knowledge in equivalence. But the systematic disposition of the diagram, evoking
structural theories, imposes the idea that this system is a rational one. The rigour of
visual schemes absorbs the floating status of signifiers. Most interesting is the term
‘social’, which can be understood as a field of knowledge but also as a domain of
practical experience, and even as an euphemistic expression for political conflict.
Indeed, some of the analysed sites present social issues as a field of knowledge, but
very few of them refer to sociology or the social sciences, as disciplines.
One could object that scientific boundaries are not the real point of this political
and communicational apparatus, and that assertion is not totally false. But scientific
results and scientific values are necessary to sustainability for several reasons: the
crucial role of scientific guarantees in the proposed model; the presence of an
explicit epistemological claim in that model; and the predilection of the actors for
encyclopaedic forms of communication.
14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 249

In my opinion, the three terms placed in the cross areas of the diagram express a
theory of the circulation of knowledge: a theory of triviality in the etymologic accepta-
tion of the term (trivium: crossroad of communication paths). Those adjectives (viable,
equitable, bearable) look rather insignificant, but on the contrary they are crucial,
because they allow circulation between different fields of knowledge. They can link
together different kinds of knowledge, because they link knowledge with action. They
are constructed by the same process, the suffixation of ‘-able’, which expresses the
capacity of realization. This lexical symmetry—which is not observed in the three
fields, where ‘environment’ shows its patrimonial value by the fact that it is not trans-
formed—strengthens the effect of regularity and rationality of the diagram.
What do those terms affirm? That knowledge resources must be confronted by
makeability. But who can decide that things are makeable? It is here that scientific ref-
erence, or more precisely scientific expertise, will inevitably be demanded. We find
such a demand in the official declarations of international conferences, as in the com-
mercial offers of sustainability agencies, associations, firms and local polities. The Rio
agenda asks for ‘scientific assessments of current conditions and future prospects for
the Earth system’. The international project The Natural Step puts up ‘an international
network of sustainability experts, scientists, universities, and businesses’.
As the three adjectives suggested, the role of the expert is central: he is the one
who is able to transform speculative knowledge into a practical judgement. Science
is gauged by expertise: experts are not always explicitly mentioned, but the knowl-
edge system is entirely controlled by the criterion of ability:
● Viable: some economic expert can guarantee that the solution can last.
● Bearable: some expert on cultures or maybe on social conflicts can guarantee
that people will accept the solutions adopted by managers.
● Equitable: some expert on law, or maybe on political philosophy, can guarantee
that those solutions conform to universal principles.
It is important to notice that, from one field to another, the determination of the ref-
erential science becomes more and more uncertain, but the need for scientific
assessments does not disappear.

14.4 Metascience or New Science?

Such a constant play between concepts and practical expertise places science and
knowledge in a very peculiar perspective. The diagram in Fig. 14.1 is a kind of
trivial epistemology. It is not only an attempt to organize knowledge, such as the
catalogue of a library—it is a practical judgement on the role played by various
fields of knowledge in a general economy of thought and action. That point is very
important: on the one hand, the CMSD recognizes the diversity of knowledge prin-
ciples; on the other, a unique global frame is supposed to manage this diversity. In
this system, communication about science is twice contextualized: as a dialogue
between specialities, and as an integration of knowledge in a unique pattern.
The epistemic principle of the CMSD, grounded on the symmetry of the fields
of knowledge, resembles the hierarchic presentation of sciences proposed in the
250 Y. Jeanneret

Discours sur l’esprit positif by Comte (1844). In both cases, the apparent heteroge-
neity of knowledge principles—which is supposed to be a source of social anomy
and political ineffectiveness—has to be reordered. In both cases, the new order lies
in a radical enterprise of rethinking the rationality of action using a powerful
theory: positivism in one case, sustainability in the other.
However, there are two major differences. The first is a structural one: positiv-
ism proposes a vertical hierarchy of knowledge, from mathematics to sociology, in
which each step supports the one above it; the CMSD, for its part, privileges a hori-
zontal cartography of knowledge, in which each expert is supposed to know his
own territory and to respect the others’. The second difference is a philosophical
one: positivism justifies its action by an examination of the nature of sciences; sus-
tainability imposes the need of practical coordination.
But what kind of global governance will manage that division of knowledge work?
The claim of the CMSD can lead to two epistemic stances. One may affirm metacog-
nitive competence, which is necessary to conciliate and referee the competitive goals
of local specialities. But one can also pretend to a specific competence, something
like the science of sustainable development. To take a unique example, the interna-
tional organization The Natural Step, a powerful NGO founded in Sweden at the end
of the 1980s and internationally organized, has progressively developed a doctrine
and a scientific apparatus. The organization’s website proposes ‘a science-based defi-
nition of what sustainability is’ and announces: ‘The Natural Step Framework pro-
vides a shared mental model, understanding, and common language that facilitates
cooperation across organizations, disciplines, and cultures’ (Fig. 14.2).
Most of the websites studied propose such a mix of two stances—metadiscipli-
nary and disciplinary. Documentary activity is a typical expression of this project.

Fig. 14.2 Scientific definitions of The Natural Step

14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 251

Websites devoted to informational resources distribute expertise and populariza-

tion, and at the same time offer a set of principles and a methodology. I have not
the room here to detail completely the analysis of the wide corpus of French web-
sites, which we called ‘the encyclopaedia of possible speech’ (Aïm and Jeanneret
2007). As pointed out by Olivier Aïm (2006), there is a very strong correlation
between three contemporary trends: an object (sustainable development), a media
device (the internet), and a form of publication (the encyclopaedia of references and
emblematic practices). At this point of our analysis, it becomes obvious that the
claim to give order to interdisciplinarity relies on a political and ideological pattern
that links together information, networks and pragmatic action.
One could expect to find much polemic and many activist positions on the web-
sites; indeed, controversies and struggle are omnipresent. But the real operations of
writing and the editorial orientations of the sites are much more consensual. They
almost uniformly state their purposes to be to display all kinds of information, to
manage the plurality of the positions and to educate people about the principle of
sustainability. This process leads to a paradoxical result: while the value of dialogue
is constantly invoked, the same information is reproduced, from one site to another.
The strength of polemic discourse is absorbed in the gesture of publishing data, and
the editorial work is, in its turn, engulfed by the digital collection of countless files.
In this medium as in others, the ‘curatorial enunciation’ (Gentès 2003)—of web-
masters and technicians—leads the whole communicational process.
The emblematic example of that style of communication is the website of Agora
21, an academic and activist organization devoted to the implementation of the Rio
agenda. This site, despite the very determined discourse of its managers, does not
offer anything but a neutral collection of documents—a construction that repro-
duces, as a strange mirror, the monstrous conglomeration of disciplines and non-
disciplines that can be included in the elastic notion of ‘sustainable development’.
The link entitled ‘Presentation of sustainable development’ does not lead to any
text, but to a list (Fig. 14.3).
The same kind of accumulation of topics can be found in the sites of international
organizations, such as the International Institute for Sustainable Development.

Les documents de base par thèmes

agriculture espace aménagement du

agriculteurs territoire atmosphère autochtones biodiversité
rural
biotechnologies capacités collectivités locales commerce et industrie consommation coopération
coopération déchets dangereux déchets radioactifs
internationale solides et eaux usées démographie désertification droit
éducation énergie établissements femmes finance
eaux douces sensibilisation humains
gouvernance information
forêt mondiale îles industrie institutions

intégration jeunes montagne océans Ozone ONG

pauvreté santé science scientifiques syndicats techniques

tourisme toxiques transports

Fig. 14.3 The definition of sustainability on the Agora 21 website

252 Y. Jeanneret

14.5 The Zeugma between Tradition and Methodology

These observations could suggest that there is no coherence or rationality in the

perspective that the CMSD draws about the social implications of scientific knowl-
edge. I suggest a rather different conclusion. The rationality that is claimed is not a
problematic but a procedural one.
There does exist a kind of science of sustainable development, or at least a spe-
cialized knowledge about it. It relies on three main resources:
● The ability to display information of any nature, which must be considered as a
technical competence.
● The grounding of the action on a doctrinal corpus that must be constantly
reaffirmed.
● The development of a sophisticated methodology, based on procedures, cooper-
ation scenarios and indicators.
In a very amazing way, this kind of discourse has some close similarities to that of
clerical organizations. Frequent quotation and reference plays a decisive role in the
affirmation of expertise. The tridimensional diagram of the CMSD, on the one hand,
and the founders’ discourses, on the other, are constantly reaffirmed. They are the
fixed point, in reference to which any action and any methodological device must be
evaluated. Compagnon (1979) defined ‘tradition’ as this form of quotation of sacred
texts: the commentary is always necessary, but always dependent and inferior, com-
pared to the original texts. This is very characteristic of the sustainability projects.
However, this anchorage on a corpus of original texts (the Bruntland Report, the
Rio agenda, etc.) does not lead to an eye-opening initiatory personal journey, as it
does in traditional philosophies; it conveys the solid frame that a methodology
needs to be completely rational. The experts on the bearable, on the viable and on
the equitable are rarely a single, isolated individual: the expert is a collective
organization, structured as a scientific institute (and often called that), which is able
to guarantee the neutrality of a stance and the efficiency of procedures. In that uni-
verse of design where any knowledge is supposed to show operationality and to be
translated into effectiveness, the permanence of principles does not guarantee any-
thing other than the clarity of criteria.

14.5.1 Writing Devices as Management Sciences

To pursue this hypothesis, it is necessary to analyse the changes that stylistic pat-
terns have to undergo when they travel from the rhetorical universe of ecologist
action to the procedural frame of sustainability. This is not a purely stylistic ques-
tion: it embodies the norms of rationality and validity of knowledge. In the context
of our collective research about environmental communication (D’Almeida et al.
2004), we could make a comparison between contemporary documents and older
ones. The change from political ecology to positive action for sustainability was not
only detectable in the contents of the documents. It was visible in the semiotic patterns,
14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 253

in the formal and visual structures of the exposed information. We could then sum-
marize that transformation in global trends:

Ecological culture Sustainable development format

Relief of iconic signs →→→→→→ Discrete symbols
Set of emblems →→→→→→ Recurrent frames
Picturesque →→→→→→ Structural
Friendly logic →→→→→→ Transcendent logic

Political ecology created a very rich but also rather heterogeneous iconic universe.
It privileges an archetypal or even a stereotypical representation of nature. It evokes
picturesque scenarios. To make a long story short, it is the public affirmation of
singularities: the non-replaceable richness of natural elements, the personal experi-
ence of them, the claim of an attachment to the past.
The survey of a wide range of productions on the web reveals a regression of this
iconic and traditional material. However, what we observe is not a disappearance of
images but the development of another kind of imagery. The formal frame of the
CMSD imposes the equivalence of every approach. It is a map of any possible
knowledge: a full, global and symmetrical organization of the objects of world, his-
tory and society. The graphic design gives a coloured body to the meta-epistemic
claim. All the objects, the values and the knowledge fields that are linked to different
historical process and inhabited by different interests are now summarized, situated
and enclosed. They become a part (an optional part) of a global epistemic world,
characterized by a set of complementary goals and efficient regulations.
This is particularly visible in some naive expressions in the corporate documents
of some firms where the methodologies of consulting on sustainability were strictly
applied, such as those on the website of the French retailer Monoprix (Fig. 14.4).
The diagram becomes ‘business science’, to use the expression adopted by Pinto
(1987). The different fields of activity and knowledge are linked together by a
typological conception of social and natural objects. This topography is naturalized
as something you can represent, manipulate, and fit together like puzzle pieces.
In other contexts, the schematic visualization expresses the control of a complex proc-
ess of operations: for example, in the toolkits of different methodologies (Fig. 14.5).
As we can see, ‘sustainability science’ can be defined as a new field of science, but
also as a metascientific knowledge. This ambiguity is well expressed by the international
campaign for a Nobel Prize in Sustainable development.1 The proposal is to either create
such a prize or to transform the Nobel Prize for Economics into a Sustainability Prize.

14.5.2 A Consensus about Management Skills?

But there is another way to analyse the specificity of this field of knowledge and
communication. It is to consider that some stereotypical elements of scientific
methods are used to define a practical view on political issues. A semiotic analysis

1
http://www.sustainableprize.net
254 Y. Jeanneret

Fig. 14.4 From the Monoprix website

The Natural Step Framework: the A-B-C-D Process

DEC
LINI
NG
LIFE
SUS
TAIN A = Awareness that the margin for action is narrowing
ING
RES
OUR
CES

Bac SUSTAINABLE SUPPLY

B = Baseline kca
stin
the current reality g
steps
to su
C = Clear and compelling
stain vision for sustainability
ab ility

D = Down to action
sust S SUSTAINABLE DEMAND
aina OU RCE
ble d RES
irect FOR
ion ND
DEMA
E TAL
OCI
GS
EA SIN
INCR The present The future

Fig. 14.5 The Natural Step framework

14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 255

of the formal patterns of communication can guide us. The patterns reveal very
clearly that the CMSD does not only organize the subjects of knowledge, but devel-
ops a form of control over the way knowledge is produced.
If we follow this path, the initial question of ‘science communication in social con-
text’ can be enlarged. The point is not only the way communication on sustainability
treats the knowledge produced in the different disciplines. It is the way some scientific
patterns of communication take part (or are supposed to take part) in the public debate
on political issues. Two examples are the status of or procedural approaches to decision
making, and the crucial role of indicators in the public debate.
The procedural approach is more and more prevalent in politics. In such a politi-
cal paradigm, often called ‘governance’, the legitimacy of a decision is not grounded
mainly in its nature, but in the process of its elaboration, which is supposed to
involve all the ‘stakeholders’. From a theoretical point of view, this conception of
politics can be understood as an axiology of dialogue: it is the reason why discussion
ethics, as developed by Habermas (1981), is a major influence in this field. But many
researchers and observers have remarked that, far from being a normative and ideal
conception of communicative action, it was rapidly implicated in a kind of ‘social
technology’, to use another important concept of Habermas.
The purpose is to determine, specify and normalize the conditions of dialogue, the
scenarios of interaction, and even the nature of the arguments that can be used by dif-
ferent actors. This technical project poses many problems. One is the limitation that
such a procedural pattern imposes on conflicting ideas, sensible and testimonial
expression, and popular representations. Another is that such an official representation
of the processes of argument hides most of the real social communication. The point
here is not to engage in this controversy, but we can bear in mind something important
from it. As soon as scientists from the social sciences, such as sociologists or linguists,
analyse the situations created by the procedural approach to sustainability, the objectiv-
ity of the schematic procedures vanishes. The reason for this phenomenon is clear: the
procedural approaches rely on a scientific or, rather, a rational model, which is adapted
to the management of technical projects. The relevance of such a conception of science
is rather problematic from a scientific point of view (that is, from the viewpoint of the
sciences that study politics, society and communication).
One of the major activities of people who manage the CMSD is the production of
indicators of sustainability. This activity is shared among a great number of different
structures, and it is a profitable business for some of them. The most spectacular exam-
ple is the elaboration of the international ‘Indicators of sustainable development’ by a
team of experts constituted by the Commission on Sustainable Development of
the United Nations (the CD Work Programme)—a structure postulated by Agenda 21. The
commission is entirely structured according to scientific models of actions, from its
principles to its organization. The first lines of one of its reports expose in very explicit
terms a conception of what a scientific method can be:
Indicators can provide crucial guidance for decision making in a variety of ways. They can
translate physical and social science knowledge into manageable units of information that
can facilitate the decision-making process. They can help us to measure and calibrate
progress towards sustainable development goals.
256 Y. Jeanneret

This principle is enacted not only in the uses of indicators, but in the way they are
elaborated. To bring out measurable indicators, the commission adopts an extremely
rational and explicit method: constitution of an expert group, production of meth-
odology sheets, sessions of training, test sequences, and so on.
The different knowledge elements implicated by these technical tools are not
really scientific methods, in the sense we usually give to this term; nor are they a
new science. They resort to the methodology of management and human resources.
Some of the traditional properties of science are present in these procedures:
objects are measurable and ordered, propositions are explicit, processes are organ-
ized in sequences, operations can be visualized in a rational representation. Those
‘knowledge tools’ (which are offered in e-learning) share another property with the
universe of management skills: they are not only instruments of knowledge. They
link together three universes: the epistemic one (knowledge), the technical one
(efficiency) and the practical one (choice).
On can wonder why ecologist activists, who are fond of verbal confrontation and
conflicts, have been led to accept such a dominance of the rationality model of man-
agement skills. The most likely explanation is that they were convinced by the prin-
ciple of the International Institute for Sustainable Development: ‘to seek compatibility
of actions rather than commonality of views’. Another reason is that, in a social
context in which communication agencies have perfectly integrated ‘greenwash’ as
a justification for business, the new activists consider the reporting on indicators as
a way to impose real commitments on firms. Either way, the technical tool of indica-
tors is supposed to oppose the lightness of words with the weight of facts.
We cannot answer that question here, but it shows the very complex relationship
that has been established between the evolution of the political norms of communi-
cation, the legitimacy of different kinds of knowledge, and the conception of scien-
tific and technical patterns of rationality.
The field of sustainable development discourses is a very rich laboratory. In it,
we can understand that the reference to science activities, science practices, science
results and also—perhaps mainly—to science phantasms is omnipresent in our
contemporary communicational universe.

References

Aïm, O. (2006). La transparence rendue visible. Médiations informatiques de l’écriture.

Communication & langages, 147, 31–45.
Aïm, O. & Jeanneret, Y. (2007). L’encyclopédie de la parole possible. Édition et scénographie
politique sur l’internet. Hermès, 47, 69–73.
Bruntland, G. H. (Ed.) (1987). Our common future. The World Commission on Environment and
Development. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Compagnon, A. (1979). La seconde main ou le travail de la citation. Paris: Seuil.
Comte A. (1844) Discours sur l’esprit positif. Paris: Carilian Goeury et Dalmont.
D’Almeida, N., De Cheveigné, S. & Jeanneret, Y. (Eds.) (2004). La place des NTIC dans
l’émergence, dans l’appropriation et dans le débat autour d’un objet environnemental. Report
of research programme. Concertation, décision, environnement. France: Ministry of Ecology
and Sustainable Development.
14 The Epistemic Jumble of Sustainable Development 257

Fabbri, P. (2003). Elogio di Babele. Traduzioni, trasposizioni, trasmitazioni. Rome: Metelmi.

Fontenelle, C. B. (1686). Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes. Paris: Blageart.
Foucault, M. (1971). L’ordre du discours. Paris: Gallimard.
Gentes, A. (2003). Les enjeux de l’énonciation éditoriale et curatoriale. Communication & lan-
gages, 137, 88–100.
Habermas, J. (1981). Theorie des kommunikativen Handels. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag.
Jacobi, D. & Schiele, B. (Eds.) (1988). Vulgariser la science: le procès de l’ignorance. Seyssel:
Champ vallon.
Jeanneret, Y. (1994). Écrire la science: formes et enjeux de la vulgarisation. Paris: Presses univer-
sitaires de France.
Jurdant, B. (1973). Problèmes théoriques de la vulgarisation scientifique. Dissertation, University
Louis Pasteur, Strasbourg.
Labelle, S. (2007). La ville écrite par ‘la société de l’information’. Dissertation, Paris, Sorbonne,
2007.
Pinto, L. (1987). Graphique et science d’entreprise. Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales,
1969, 93–97.

The Author

Yves Jeanneret ([email protected])

Yves Jeanneret, a PhD and a graduate of the Ecole normale superieure, is a
researcher in the Laboratory of Culture and Communication and Professor of
Communication Sciences at the University of Avignon, France. He has worked in
several research programmes about science communication, the social diffusion of
cultural knowledge, writing practices, computer-mediated communication and
epistemology, and has taken part in the organization of those research fields in both
national and international networks. Yves chairs the editorial committee of the
journal Communication & langages and manages a scientific book collection,
‘Communication, mediation and social constructs’ (Hermes Science Publications,
London). He takes part in the international PhD programme on museology, media-
tion and patrimony.
Chapter 15
In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science
Communication in Consensus Conferences

Maja Horst(*
ü)

Abstract Controversies about science and technology are often understood as

problems of poor communication between science and society. Based on the
academic tradition of studies in the public understanding of science, the chapter
identifies three different models for the communicative relationship between sci-
ence and its publics (the model of diffusion, the model of deliberation and the
model of negotiation). The author then applies those models to the specific science
communication format of the consensus conference, propagated by the Danish
Board of Technology. The chapter explores how divergent expectations about
the outcome of specific consensus conferences can be elucidated with the help
of the three models. Depending on which model the organizers and participants
subscribe to, the objective of the conference can be to enhance scientific literacy,
democratic legitimation or the mediation of individual preferences. If participants
do not share the same expectations about the outcome, there will be ample scope
for disappointment and frustration.

Keywords Communication models, consensus conferences, controversies,

democracy, expertise, negotiation

Proliferating controversies about science and emerging technologies have sparked

a renewed interest in the communicative relationship between science and its publics.1
The expectation seems to be that, if science and the rest of society communicated
more effectively with each other, it would be possible to settle or even avoid some
of these controversies.
In this chapter, I discuss the role of consensus conferences as one method to
improve communications, starting from the question, ‘How are consensus conferences

Department of Management, Politics and Philosophy, Copenhagen Business School,

Porcelænshaven 18 A, DK-2000 Frederiksberg C, Denmark. Phone: 45 3815 3630,
Fax: 45 3815 3635, E-mail: [email protected]
1
I talk about publics rather than society in order to stress the communicative aspect. I use the plural
to signal that the term does not necessarily imply a specific unified public.

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 259

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
260 M. Horst

expected to improve the communicative relationship between science and its public’?
It should be clear from the start that there is no unanimous agreement on the answer
to this question. More importantly, there is no agreement on the problem itself.
Whereas many scholars and practitioners will agree that communication is a means
to improve the science–society relationship, there is abundant disagreement on what
should be communicated and who should be doing the talking and listening.
I structure these disagreements through a short recapitulation of the way in which
different scholars in the field of public understanding of science (PUS) and science
communication have perceived the communicative relationship between science and
its publics. The recapitulation leads to the identification of three different models for
the relationship. Each model explains the controversies about science and technol-
ogy (S&T) differently and suggests different communicative solutions.
I then turn to the specific communicative format of the participatory consensus con-
ference, as it is shaped by the Danish Board of Technology. The format has been devel-
oped as a method for participatory technology assessment and has been used in 19
countries besides Denmark.2 After a short introduction to the conference method, I dis-
cuss how the format has been used in different ways that reflect the features of the three
models for science communication. The discussion considers how the roles of experts
and laypeople, the establishment of credibility in communications and the effects of a
consensus conference are evaluated differently according to the three models.

15.1 Theoretical Framework

Central to discussions about PUS is that the definitions of science and its publics have
been contested and that it is therefore possible to identify at least three different expla-
nations of how problems in the communicative relationship between science and its
publics have led to controversies. Two explanations have their basis in the commonly
accepted distinction between two traditions of research into PUS: the traditional or
positivist tradition and the critical or interpretative tradition (Durant 1999, Miller
2001, Michael 2002). In view of reservations that have been raised about critical PUS,
I argue that it is possible to distinguish a third explanation or perspective.
Central to this chapter is that the three perspectives imply three distinct concep-
tualizations of the communicative relationship between science and its publics, as
well as three different interpretations of the cause of controversies.

15.1.1 Traditional PUS: Enhancing ‘Scientific Literacy’

As Robert Logan has shown, there has been a long tradition of scholarly writings on
how to improve the public understanding of science by the mass communication of

2
Retrieved on 1 November 2007 from http://www.loka.org/TrackingConsensus.html
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 261

scientific knowledge (Logan 2001). Early writings in this tradition can be dated back
to the beginning of the 20th century. The normative basis of these writings was a
conviction that it would improve the lives of individuals as well as their ability to
make rational political decisions if pedagogical efforts were made to heighten ordi-
nary people’s understanding of science. It is obvious that this programme was closely
linked to a fundamental assumption that science is a factor in social progress.
A key term in this tradition is ‘scientific literacy’, although its precise meaning
is somewhat contested. Durant (1993) lists three different interpretations, in which
the public should:
● Know a lot of scientific facts.
● Know how science works (according to the official epistemological theories).
● Know how science really works (according to sociology of science).
Despite these differences, the notion of scientific literacy can be seen to indicate
that the public needs to meet a certain standard of knowledge in order to deal with
science. Thus the notion of scientific literacy brings the figure of authority and
education clearly to the fore in science communication: it is within science that the
standards are set for what the public ought to know. In this way, traditional PUS
presents an asymmetrical outlook on the communicative relationship between sci-
ence and its publics, in line with the so-called ‘transmission’ model in general
communication theory (e.g. McQuail 1994). It allocates a privileged place to sci-
ence and scientific knowledge, just as it perceives the public to be in need of infor-
mation and education.
There is often an underlying assumption about knowledge being convincing in
itself: if only people were better informed, they would see that the scientific under-
standing of the world is the most correct one. Consequently, controversies are often
explained in terms of lack of information about science. If people are sceptical
about science, that is a direct result of their lack of knowledge (Weigold 2001).
Settling controversies is a matter of increasing the public understanding and accept-
ance of science through communication. If the public is sceptical, it needs to be
informed, educated or otherwise made scientifically literate. This will provide it
with an increased understanding. And not only will this make people lead healthier
lives and become better democratic citizens, it will also make them feel more
favourable towards science and scientific knowledge.

15.1.2 Critical PUS: Democratizing Science

Over the past decade, the traditional model of PUS has been the object of much
criticism, in which critics have referred to it as a ‘deficit’ model (Irwin and Wynne
1996). What the critics point to is the authority assigned to science and the unques-
tioned presumption of the superiority of scientific knowledge on the subjects of
how to live a healthy life and how to make rational political choices. This leads to
the subsequent definition of communicative problems as a lack of understanding—a
262 M. Horst

deficit on the part of the public. It was argued that science should not be treated as
an unquestioned and automatically privileged sphere of society, but as one social
activity among others. Similarly, the public should not be understood as an ignorant
mass but as composed of locally situated groups with valuable interpretations of the
way in which S&T is developed and employed in modern society (Kerr et al. 1998,
Barns et al. 2000). These studies all stress that laypeople’s accounts should
be brought to influence policymaking, since the technology has far-reaching
consequences for all members of society.
These perspectives can be seen as parts of a broad tendency within the sociology
of risk and public policy to talk about a ‘democratization’ of science. That tendency
has been reinforced by the reverberations of the publication of Ulrich Beck’s Risk
society (Beck 1992), and his call for science to assume responsibility and become
reflexive. Using terms such as ‘reflexive science’ or ‘citizen science’, this call has
gained wide support within the sociology of risk (Giddens 1990, Irwin 1995, Franklin
1998). It has thus reinforced a view of science as an activity that should ultimately be
externally controlled. Science should be subject to political decisions made by soci-
etal institutions, instead of developing according to its own internal logic.
These diagnoses and problem definitions point to a different perception of the way
in which communication can settle controversies (Joss 2002). Rather than being a
medium for the diffusion of information, the communicative relationship between
science and society should be a medium for democratic engagement and the exercise
of control over scientific development. It is argued that ideals of equality and informed
public debate are a precondition for creating socially sustainable public policies
(Schwarz 1993, Weale 2001). Critical PUS therefore presents a different perception
of the communicative relationship between science and its publics, in which the cen-
tral issue becomes one of reaching agreement within a community through demo-
cratic dialogue. In this way, the communication process can be seen to be asymmetrical
in the opposite way to the first model. In critical PUS, the problem is not that publics
don’t listen to scientists, but that scientists don’t listen to publics.

15.1.3 A Third Perspective: Negotiated Credibility in Networks

During recent years, however, criticism of the established critical PUS has
emerged, within which we might be able to identify a third model of the commu-
nicative relationship between science and publics (Locke 1999, Miller 2001,
Irwin 2006). For example, Michael points to a tendency to romanticize the public
within critical PUS and depict laypeople as a homogenous entity, without any
sensitivity to internal differences and conflict (Michael 2001). In opposition to
this image, Irwin and Michael conceptualise the relationships between science
and the rest of culture in terms of a network, or rhizome, which stresses disconti-
nuity, fractures and non-linearity (Irwin and Michael 2003). This image has
important consequences for the notion of science and publics (or society) as distinct
spheres. As Michael has put it, ‘this imagery of the rhizome suggests that there
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 263

is no easy differentiation between the expert and the popular, between the scientific
and the lay’ (Michael 2002: 370). What counts as science is therefore also a contested
question and can only be defined in context.
The perception or understanding of science by ‘the publics’ should thus be seen
in a broader cultural context in which the diversity of publics is recognized and
connections to other cultural influences and dynamics are given due consideration.
Michael suggests that ‘perhaps chief among such dynamics is the globalized rise of
consumption’ (Michael 2002: 369). Michael has elaborated on this figure of con-
sumption as central to the meaning of PUS by emphasizing a shift from the role of
citizen to the role of consumer. Members of the public are increasingly ‘voting with
their purchasing choices to make concerted efforts to influence policymaking’
(Michael 1998: 320). Miller points in the same direction when he states that ‘people
will pick up the knowledge they need for the task at hand, use it as required, and
then put it down again’ (Miller 2001: 118).
These examples develop a notion in which the communicative relationship
between science and its publics is best understood in terms of contextual networks
of negotiations over usability, credibility and influence. Publics are temporal con-
structions of users of scientific knowledge with a plurality of ways of evaluating
that knowledge, motivated by individual experiences of their own particular needs.
They cannot be viewed as a coordinated community with something in common,
such as a wish for the common good, or some kind of consensus. Rather, negotia-
tions over credibility become of central importance, as socially robust knowledge
is created through association (Nowotny et al. 2001).
In this perception, the relations between science and its publics are diverse, just
as neither ‘science’ nor ‘public’ can be universally defined; rather, these phenom-
ena are contextual constructs dependent on their mutual relations. This model has
a distinct view of the evaluation of scientific knowledge, since robust knowledge is
not identified by authority or by deliberation. Instead, credibility and negotiation
are crucial in any evaluation, as robustness is determined by exploring which
knowledge claims can gain most support in the form of allies, votes, or both. On the
other hand, this means that public opinion is presented as volatile and heterogeneous,
with different and contextual standards of usability.

15.1.4 Three Models for Science Communication

These different traditions within PUS can be seen to give rise to three different
models for the communicative relationship between science and its publics, as well
as three different analytical interpretations of public controversies as social phe-
nomena. Figure 15.1 shows the crucial features of each of the models for the expla-
nation of controversies.
Following traditional PUS, the most important feature of the communication
between science and society is that it can be viewed as a means of disseminating
information about science and scientific knowledge to the public. Consequently,
264 M. Horst

Diffusion Deliberation Negotiation

model model model

Science Science Science

Truth Legitimacy Credibility

Publics Publics Publics

Fig. 15.1 Three models of science communication

controversies are seen in the model of diffusion as instances where the diffusion of
information has gone wrong: laypeople have not got the message right, either
because the information has been distorted or because they have not been presented
with the message at all. This can make feedback processes necessary in order to
understand why the public does not understand the information, but the fundamen-
tal idea in the diffusion model is that controversies arise as a result of badly con-
ducted processes of diffusion of information and knowledge.
In critical PUS, the problem is not that the public does not listen to science, but that
science does not listen to the public. In the model of deliberation, controversies are signs
of scepticism and revolt because the sciences and their publics have become alienated
from each other. Although scientific openness about progress and problems is seen as a
necessary precondition for diminishing that alienation, the main task is to secure legiti-
macy through deliberative dialogue and democratic control over science. The direction
of information is therefore basically from the public towards science, since it is science
that is supposed to know and follow the consensus, which has been created in the public
to serve as the basis for legitimate knowledge creation.
In the model of negotiation, controversies are seen as struggles in the constant
negotiation over the development of technology and the changing and relational
definitions of ‘science’ and ‘publics’. The model stresses heterogeneity and adver-
sarial mutuality, and views controversies neither as instances of badly conducted
diffusions of technology nor as indisputable, normative calls to democratize sci-
ence. Rather, it views them as integrated and normal features of the mutual consti-
tution of both science and publics. Solving controversies in this model is therefore
a question of reaching a provisional closure of a distribution of credibility, but that
distribution will probably just lead to new controversies.
Viewed in this way, these different models can be understood as three different
sets of expectations about the function of communication between science and its
publics, each of which stresses different aspects. The identification of these three
models is not intended to lead to a judgement about what is better or worse, but
rather to a sensitivity to the implications for specific organizations of consensus
conferences or other participatory exercises, as I discuss in the following sections.
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 265

15.2 Consensus Conferences

A participatory consensus conference, as developed by the Danish Board of

Technology, is a meeting between experts and laypeople to discuss and evaluate a
particular potentially controversial technology (Andersen and Jæger 1999). A panel
of citizens without specific technical training in the field is presented with various
forms of expert testimony, which enable the panel to deliberate to create a mutual
consensus statement about the issue at hand (Grundahl 1995, Klüwer 1995). The
consensus statement is then presented to policymakers, experts and the general
public to enrich and broaden technological debate.3 The topic has to be chosen care-
fully, taking into account timeliness, controversy and focus. In the Danish Board of
Technology’s experience, ‘a good conference topic is: of current interest; requires
expert knowledge, which is also available; is possible to delimit; and involves con-
flicts and unresolved issues regarding attitudes to questions such as applications
and regulation’ (Andersen and Jæger 1999: 334).
A planning/steering group is in charge of organizing the conference, including
the fair selection of lay panel members and experts. The lay panel, with around 16
members, is chosen by soliciting applications from a representative sample of the
general population. The panel is ideally composed to balance age, gender, educa-
tion, occupation and geographical location and has a professional moderator, who
also chairs the public parts of the conference. The panel members should be inter-
ested in the topic of the conference, but not have a personal or professional vested
interest. The panel receives written information about the subject and the panel
members meet for two preparatory weekends before the conference to prepare
themselves for the discussion of the subject, including by preparing questions they
want experts to answer. Experts are found by the organizers according to the ques-
tions prepared by the lay panel.
The conference itself runs over four days, with the first 1½ days used for expert
statements and cross-examination of the experts by the lay panel. This part of the
conference is open to the public and the media. After this, the lay panel and its
moderator withdraw to write the consensus statement. On the fourth day, the con-
sensus statement is read out to the public. Experts can suggest corrections to factual
mistakes, but otherwise the statement cannot be changed. A panel of politicians is
subsequently asked to comment on the statement, and it is also possible for mem-
bers of the public audience to comment.
Einsiedel and Eastlick (2000) have discussed the way in which deliberation is
based upon dialogue, which allows for meaning-making and reasoning. In this
sense, communication is a constitutive feature of deliberation in a consensus confer-
ence, but many other forms of communication are central. Experts communicate their
factual knowledge to non-experts, and lay panel members communicate among
themselves to reach an understanding of the issues at stake and to write the

3
See also http://www.tekno.dk/subpage.php3?article=468&toppic=kategori12&language=uk
(retrieved on 19 October 2007).
266 M. Horst

consensus report, which is subsequently communicated to an audience of experts,

policymakers, mass media and a wider public. Conference organizers communi-
cate the objectives of the conference to stakeholders, and communicate about the
procedural rules of the conference to the participants. In this way, communication
is to a large degree the ‘stuff’ that the conference is made of—both in terms of
handling the topic and the conference process itself. Externally, the conference can
be viewed as a communicative tool in several ways: as a means to disseminate
expert knowledge through lay opinion leaders; as a tool for citizens to communi-
cate their preferences to experts, policymakers or each other; or as an event that
focuses societal communication (via mass media and political attention) on a par-
ticular set of controversial issues.
As a Danish university researcher, I have been actively involved in three consen-
sus conferences4 and present in the audience of several more. On the one hand, it is
my general impression that most participants are positive about the format of the
conferences. On the other hand, I have found it very interesting that there are usu-
ally always some participants who criticise the exercise for being ‘bad communica-
tion’ in some way.
I believe that such criticism has its roots in divergent expectations about the
outcome of the consensus conference, and that the divergence can be elucidated
with the help of the three models of the communicative relationship introduced
in this chapter. It makes a crucial difference whether the conference is seen as a
tool for informing citizens about the current scientific knowledge (panel members
as well as wider publics), as a means for citizens to engage in democratic dialogue
about how science should be regulated according to commonly shared values, or
as an opportunity for citizens to voice their political and scientific consumer
choices. Basic expectations about the event shape the way it will be evaluated,
and the heterogeneity of those expectations is likely to produce dissatisfaction
with the outcome.
I do not argue for the refinement of the consensus conference as a communica-
tion product so that it can be used to fulfil the expectations of one or other of the
three models. Rather than choosing one model as being normatively superior, I
work from the premise that they are all in play, and that if we want to understand
how the consensus conference works as a communicative event, we need to use
them all to gain as full an understanding as possible. In the following sections, I
analyse the way consensus conferences have been used for communication pur-
poses according to each of the three models. The analysis aims to demonstrate the
productive use of the conference format, but also stresses the inherent tensions and
challenges between the format and the three different communication models.

4
In 1996, I was a member of the questioning panel in the Danish medical consensus conference
on prevention of lifestyle diseases (which was not organized by the Danish Board of Technology).
In 2002, I was a member of the steering group as well as an expert witness in the consensus
conference on genetic testing, and in 2006 I served as expert in the consensus conference on
brain science.
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 267

15.2.1 The Diffusion Model

Since the use of participatory consensus conferences has been promoted as part of
the deliberative model and its criticism of traditional PUS, it might seem odd to
start the discussion with examples of how consensus conferences can be used
within a diffusion model. Nevertheless, diffusion of knowledge is an important part
of many consensus conferences and has been the primary goal in a number of cases,
for example the conferences on GMOs in France (1998) and New Zealand (2003)
(Goven 2003, Nielsen et al. 2007).
The rationales for using the consensus conference format for educational pur-
poses can be many. For example, it is obvious that the intensive learning process
and the interaction between experts and laypeople can be seen as a way of improv-
ing feedback mechanisms so that experts will be able to shape their messages
according to the specific needs of the audience.
However, it is necessary for organizers to remind themselves that there is no
causal relationship between knowledge and opinions about science. This became
clear for the organizers of the conference in New Zealand, who were operating
from a distinct educational model and had a clear expectation that dissemination of
more knowledge about biotechnology would lead to its greater acceptance among
the lay panel (Goven 2003). This expectation was not met, demonstrating that edu-
cational efforts do not always produce a particular type of learning.
Guston (1999) has expanded on the topic of learning in an analysis of the US
Citizens’ Panel on Telecommunications. He observes that citizens were learning
about the substantive issues of telecommunications but also about their general role
as citizens because of the processual experience of the conference. He also notes
that the experts were positively surprised about the citizens’ substantive learning
and their deliberative capabilities, so it is fair to say that the experts were also learn-
ing about the function of citizenship in relation to S&T governance. Wakamatsu
(1999), Skorupinski et al. (2007) and Einsiedel and Eastlick (2000) report in similar
ways on citizens’ conferences in Japan, Switzerland and Canada. This suggests that
the learning potential inherent in the consensus conference format can be consid-
ered important in different cultures, although the content of the learning processes
might be uncontrollable and point in different directions.
An important issue in the educational use of consensus conferences is the com-
position of the expert panel. Agersnap et al. (1984) write about two different types:
the neutral expert and the positioned expert. In the first type, the expert panel should
be composed so as to cover the relevant areas of expertise, and the main communica-
tion issue for the expert is to explain without compromising scientific standards.
This composition, however, could easily make controversy seem to disappear.
In the second type, the panel is composed of experts who represent particular
positions or viewpoints, so the organizers have to ensure that they have included all
relevant positions in the panel. The experts are expected to be more focused on
persuasiveness, rhetorical capability and skills of argument in their statements,
compared to a panel of neutral experts. In this context, how the role of the expert is
268 M. Horst

understood and how the credibility of their expertise is established become cru-
cially important. A quick reminder of Aristotelian rhetoric can be useful here.
According to Aristotle, speakers’ ethos or credibility is evaluated by the audience
according to their perceived intelligence and knowledge about the subject, their
general moral standing and their perceived attitude towards the audience.
A few examples from the literature can be used to demonstrate that the credibility
of experts is evaluated by more than merely the factual content of their statements.
In an analysis of the 1994 UK consensus conference on plant biotechnology, Purdue
(1999) finds that the perceived credibility of experts was very much influenced by
the way laypeople perceived the experts’ interests in the field, and that profit motives
in particular seemed to create distrust. Another example is Blok’s analysis of the
Danish consensus conference on the use of environmental economics in 2003. Here,
the experts’ apparent ability to take laypeople’s concerns seriously was a decisive
factor in what Blok calls the ‘credibility economy’ (Blok 2007). These examples
demonstrate how the general moral habitus of the expert, as well as their perceived
attitude towards laypeople, will have an important effect on their credibility.
It has been a specific goal in many consensus conferences to broaden the reach
of the debates by diffusing the conference proceedings and the consensus statement
through the media. Several analysts have commented on the degree to which par-
ticular conferences succeeded in getting media attention (Guston 1999, Einsiedel
et al. 2001, Seifert 2006). It is not easy to compare these assessments, since they
are dependent both on national systems of mass media and political communication
and on the expectations of the individual analysts. Is any given number of newspa-
per articles ‘poor’ or ‘generous’ coverage?
However, it is interesting that dissemination to non-participants is often thought of
as equivalent to securing media coverage, despite the fact that communication schol-
ars have demonstrated that media coverage is no guarantee that anybody has learned
anything in the long run. Among organizers of consensus conferences, it is difficult
to find extended reflections on the use of mass media to disseminate the outcomes. It
therefore seems that this part of the communication is guided by a rather traditional
transmission model, in which communication is just a matter of ‘getting the story in
the media’. What this is supposed to achieve, and how, is less clear.
Seifert (2006) points to an interesting dilemma concerning media attention to the
Austrian consensus conference on the use of genetic data. Because the conference
was an experiment and organizers were eager to prove that the format would work,
they chose subject matter that was rather uncontroversial, hoping that it would be
possible for the citizens’ panel to produce a consensus statement. The lack of contro-
versy, however, meant that the mass media were not very interested in the event, and
Seifert therefore concludes that the price of harmony in this case was insignificance.
It is possible to point to several cases where communication processes at con-
sensus conferences were guided by a form of the diffusion model. The central idea
was that controversies were expected to be solved through some form of education
of the sceptical laypeople, facilitated by the conference format. The specific examples,
however, also demonstrate that it is not so easy to control the diffusion process, and
that many forms of learning can occur as a result of the consensus conference format.
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 269

Key questions include: Who decides what it is desirable to learn? How is the role
of the expert configured? And how are the media used to diffuse outcomes of the
consensus conference to wider publics?

15.2.2 The Deliberative Model

On a basic level, the growth of participatory consensus conferences can be under-

stood as part of the general trend towards deliberative democracy in S&T govern-
ance (Joss 1999). Organizers, evaluators and analysts often make explicit reference
to the deliberative model. However, this does not mean that the communication
processes and outcomes of a consensus conference are simple and straightforward
when viewed from the perspective of this model. For example, procedural standards
of fairness and competence are crucial requirements for new participatory proc-
esses (Webler and Tuler 2002), but claims about procedural (un)fairness and accu-
sations of manipulation and bias seem to be an integral element of participatory
exercises such as consensus conferences (Horst et al. 2007). In this section, I will
focus explicitly on issues of representation and influence in relation to the commu-
nication process of the consensus conference.
Ideally, a consensus conference is an opportunity for members of the public to
form an opinion on how S&T should be developed and employed in society. But
who are the people who can function as laypeople? Is it possible for them to repre-
sent ‘a public’, and, if so, how? As an example, Purdue notes that the organizers of
the first UK conference chose to understand ‘laypeople’ not just as non-experts but
also as people who had ‘no hard position for or against’. This choice left large
groups of actors in a grey field between ‘lay’ and ‘expert’. It also positioned the
laypeople in a type of ‘innocent position’ from which it was hard for them to chal-
lenge experts, and Purdue argues that this whole construction of ‘lay’ induced an
‘undue deference to experts’ (Purdue 1999: 88). Purdue further observes that the
organizers of the conference implied that the voice of the ‘real public’ was heard in
the conference report, in opposition to the ‘spurious representations of “public
opinion” generated by fevered activists’. Questions about representation are com-
mon in participatory exercises (Hagendijk et al. 2005), and raise a number of
issues: Can the lay panel represent more than themselves? Should lay members
‘innocently’ represent a form of neutrality towards the subject of the conference?
If the lay panel is supposed to represent commonly held values in the general popu-
lation, how do we know whether its members are representative?
A crucial issue for organizers and analysts who subscribe to the deliberative
model is whether, in practice, consensus conferences influence policymaking.
Einsiedel et al. (2001) find that none of the three consensus conferences on food
biotechnology in Denmark, Canada and Australia in 1999 had direct impact on
political decision-making. However, those authors do not take this to be a failure of
the model. Instead, they argue that ongoing experiments with consensus confer-
ences should be seen as a kind of learning experience for society at large:
270 M. Horst

As lay publics bring in their ways of defining issues, their experiences and their values to
these deliberative approaches, such processes ‘de-monopolize expertise’ and recognize that
ordinary people are intrinsically part of the technological project. (Einsiedel et al. 2001)

In this view, it is not the substantive outcomes in the consensus report that are the
main achievement, but rather the event itself. Giving voice to citizens and demon-
strating that they can take part in discursive negotiations about S&T governance is
the main gain for society, demonstrated by the example of the consensus conference
rather than by arguments put forward by deliberative theorists.
Nielsen et al. (2007) are sceptical about this conclusion and argue that the
way in which this message (about deliberation) will be interpreted is heavily
dependent on the political context in which it appears. Whether the message of
a consensus conference is the ability of citizens to deliberate meaningfully
depends on the dominant model of democratic legitimacy in the country in
which the conference takes place. Whereas the Norwegian conference on GMOs
is seen to establish an access to information about the ‘shared norms, values, and
concerns of the national community’, the French conference was seen to allow
laypeople a ‘rare glimpse of the workings of Parliament’ (Nielsen et al. 2007:
29). The Norwegian example can be seen to be rooted in the deliberative model,
while French example also draws heavily on the dissemination model, but both
exemplify situations in which deliberation is seen as a way of getting access to
otherwise inaccessible information.
Direct political influence, however, is not always a stated objective of confer-
ences. Often the exercises have been introduced as a form of experiment and have
not been formally linked to the political system. Despite this lack of objective influ-
ence, it seems that participants will be disappointed if they discover that their
efforts have no direct political impact, as the example of the US citizens’ panel on
telecommunications demonstrates (Guston 1999). If participants have spent a lot of
effort in producing a statement on the regulation of complex issues, they will find
it disheartening if regulators do not listen. In Western democracies, the public
sphere is seen to be the legitimate source of political opinions and there is an expec-
tation that politicians should be listening to what goes on in that sphere (Habermas
1991). It is worth considering whether the citizens’ learning experience discussed
above will not seem less valuable to participants if they experience a lack of recog-
nition from policymakers, even if the experimental nature of the exercise has been
clear from the outset.
The consensus conference format is primarily conceived within the deliberative
model of science communication, and the general expectation is that the conference
allows a public to engage in democratic dialogue about the preferred solution to
controversies over science and emerging technology. The empirical examples, how-
ever, demonstrate that there is plenty of room for divergent expectations about the
specific function and the communicative outcomes of a consensus conference when
viewed from the perspective of this model. Central questions include: How to
organise a process that all parties experience as fair? Should the laypeople represent
more than themselves, and what is the basis for such a form of representation? How
is the consensus conference seen to influence policy processes, and what are the
consequences if no such influence can be detected?
15 In Search of Dialogue: Staging Science Communication in Consensus Conferences 271

15.2.3 The Model of Negotiation

Since the model of negotiation does not draw upon a well-established tradition in
the study of PUS, as do the other two models, it is not possible to identify examples
of consensus conferences that have been organized from this perspective in the way
we can for the diffusion and deliberative models. Tracking through the literature on
consensus conferences, however, it is possible to find examples of consensus con-
ferences that have similarities to the model of negotiation, with its focus on negotia-
tions about credibility between different actors with different types of interests.
In an analysis of a Danish participatory exercise in 2002 (about electronic
patient records) that was similar to a consensus conference, Jensen argues that the
process was very well designed for social and practical learning, but that the need
to produce a consensus statement homogenized the content of deliberations in ways
that were counterproductive to ‘exploring and learning from multiple viewpoints’
(Jensen 2005: 233). In this way, Jensen argues that the heterogeneity and diversity
of viewpoints is the most important feature of consensus conferences, and that the
‘incompatibilities and contradictions [in and between the positions of citizens and
experts] must remain open for renegotiation’.
This analysis corresponds to the findings of Hagendijk et al., who argue that the
role of the Danish Board of Technology:
…has changed from being primarily a political advisory body to be a mediating institution.
Its role is to facilitate and assess how new technologies may translate in specific contexts
of human practice and decision making. In this way the Board still fulfils an important
technical–practical role as a ‘switchboard’ used both by national/local government and
industry in ‘testing’ controversial technological innovations. (Hagendijk et al. 2005: 50)

The mediating consultancy role ascribed to the board points to a focus on negotia-
tion between interested parties.
In Taiwan, a consensus conference has been used to solicit information on social
expectations about a profession and its professional domain (Lin et al. 2007), which
demonstrates that it is possible to use the format in much the same way as political par-
ties use focus groups to gauge values and preferences among voters in an electorate.
An interesting example of the focus on negotiated outcomes is found in Nishizawa’s
analysis of the Japanese consensus conference on GM crops in 2000. The conference
was generously funded by the government but had a relatively restricted goal of iden-
tifying possible research topics, without the government in any way committing itself
to incorporate the results of the consensus deliberations into policymaking. The lay
report was characterized by relatively subtle scepticism. Through interviews with
the panel members, Nishizawa finds that this was due to a very deliberate strategy of the
panel. Happy about the invitation to participate in deliberative democracy funded by
the government, the panel was afraid that the ‘shell which had started to open after
many years would close’ (Nishizawa 2005: 483) if they insisted on a total ban on
GMOs. The panel therefore chose to politely suggest moderate changes, rather than be
seen to be too extreme and thereby jeopardize future experiments with participatory
exercises. I find this a striking example of strategic communication, in which the message
of the consensus report and the message of the conference at large are completely
272 M. Horst

intertwined. It also reminds us that there are always several levels at which we can
understand consensus conferences as communicative events.
In this perception of the consensus conference as a medium for negotiations
between different parties, the identification of scientifically sound and socially
robust knowledge seems to be more contextually bound than in the other two mod-
els. Socially robust knowledge is that which gains credibility during the process.
Following this argument, science itself is also a much more openly contested con-
struct. It is not possible to determine a priori or in any universal way what is to
count as scientific; rather, this is a matter of context and concrete negotiations.
Viewed from the model of negotiation, a consensus conference can be seen as a
way of using controversy and contestation to learn about individual consumer
choices and the profile of preferences in a given sample of stakeholders, with the aim
of making scientific knowledge and emerging technologies more robust and viable.
Consequently, it should not be evaluated according to its educational performance or
its democratic impact. Instead, the point is whether it produces new insights, relevant
to the stakeholders, into a given scientific or technological subject. A crucial ques-
tion is therefore whether all relevant parties have been included in the mediation
process and whether the conference format supports a fruitful exchange.

15.3 Conclusion

Consensus conferences can be employed to serve different communicative objec-

tives. Depending on which model for science communication the organizers and
participants subscribe to, the objective can be to enhance education and scientific
literacy, democratic legitimation or the mediation of individual preferences. None
of these objectives is wrong in itself, but there is ample scope for disappointment
and frustration if participants and organizers do not share the same expectations
about the outcome of a given conference.
The large interpretative flexibility in the use of consensus conferences might
therefore need to be narrowed when it comes to the organization of specific confer-
ences, in order to manage the expectations of participants and prevent discontent
and disillusionment. On a more general note, however, the format’s interpretative
flexibility might be the reason for its apparent success.
The support for experiments in 20 countries all over the world might very well
stem from the fact that it is possible to see consensus conferences as a solution to
controversies in all three of the identified models for science communication.

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The Author

Maja Horst ([email protected])

Maja Horst PhD is an associate professor in the Department of Management, Politics
and Philosophy and Director of the Doctoral School in Knowledge and Management,
Copenhagen Business School. She has published in Public Understanding of
Science and Science, Technology and Human Values and a number of books. She is
a member of the Board of Representatives at the Danish Board of Technology and
has been involved in the organization of several participatory conferences. Maja’s
current research projects focus on dialogical science communication and research man-
agement. She is also experimenting with the communication of her own research
through close collaboration with a designer. This has led to the creation of two spatial
installations, documented at http://www.stamcellenetvaerket.dk.
Chapter 16
So Where’s the Theory? on the Relationship
between Science Communication Practice
and Research

Steve Miller(*
ü)

Abstract There has been little, if any, research looking at how well practical science
communicators are connected with the relevant research literature. Indeed, there is
little—if anything—written about who makes up the science communication com-
munity. This chapter reports on a short survey of attendees at the British Association
for the Advancement of Science’s 2007 Science Communication conference.
The survey gives some indication of what science communicators have by way of
training, and what they are reading that is relevant to their professional lives. It finds
that the community is relatively young and predominantly female, with generally
high levels of science education. Training in science communication is less preva-
lent, however, and over 40% of the conference delegates who responded did not read
any of the relevant journals in the field. This chapter discusses whether there may be
mutual misunderstanding between science communication practitioners and social
scientists who carry out research in the area. It puts forward an example of the use
of research on public perceptions of risk in science communication training.

Keywords Communicating risk, science communication, training

16.1 Introduction

Take any scientific subject—chemistry, genetics, physics, zoology—or social sci-

ence, and the norm is that to practise it, you should have studied it. This is generally
true of the arts and humanities. It is especially true of the more applied subjects—
engineering, law and medicine—or we tend to hope that it is. The safety of our
buildings and transport systems, the smooth working of our justice systems, and the
soundness of our health rather depend on practitioners in the field having gone
through a rigorous apprenticeship that usually involves coursework, exams and

Department of Science and Technology Studies, Physics and Astronomy, University College
London, Gower Street, London WC1E 6BT, UK. Phone: 020 7679 1328, Fax: 020 7916 2425,
E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 275

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
276 S. Miller

extensive on-the-job training. And in the world of academia, the leaders in the field
are expected to be first-rate teachers and prolific and influential researchers.
But when we take the area covered by the Public Communication of Science and
Technology (PCST) Network—variously known as public understanding of sci-
ence, science and society, science communication, public engagement with science
and technology (S&T), or whatever the current moniker might be—the rules get
much more lax. People tend to drift into careers that are more or less associated
with PCST. At the ‘top’ of the academic tree there are even professors of ‘public
understanding of science’ or something similar who have carried out no research in
the area; nor have they given a single lecture on the subject. Instead, they may have
written some popular science books (or several versions of the same book) or run a
science festival. And while one cannot imagine that a university of any standing
would appoint someone with no research or teaching record as professor in molecu-
lar biology or civil engineering, or in modern languages or criminal law, where sci-
ence communication is concerned, lack of peer-reviewed publications is—(too?)
often—not an issue.
Twenty-something years ago, one might have argued that it did not matter or that
it was inevitable. After all, public understanding of S&T was then a new field; the
push to greater scientific literacy among ‘ordinary’ citizens was only just gathering
new momentum after a hiatus of several post-war decades. To be sure, isolated groups
of sociologists, and the odd historian or two, were interested in the public faces and
the public’s perceptions of science, but there was nothing to make up a corpus, such
as would be understood by members of mature academic disciplines. And, anyway,
there were no respectable outlets for research and little opportunity for teaching.
Today, however, the situation has moved on considerably. Courses at undergrad-
uate, masters and doctoral level are to be found across Europe, even if they are not
anything like as widespread as subjects like environmental studies and, nowadays,
nanotechnology. Since 1992, there have been two peer-reviewed journals in the
field—Public Understanding of Science and Science Communication—that publish
research that one would have thought was highly relevant to those associated with
PCST and similar networks and activities.
Yet the impression remains: on the one hand are the practitioners, often with a
background in the natural sciences, medicine or engineering, who organise and
take part in public engagement with science activities of one sort or another; on
the other hand are the researchers, usually with a background in the social sciences
or humanities, writing articles for the journals, aloof from the blood and sawdust
of the science communication arena. And the two just do not talk to one another.
Or is that so?
This outline is all based on anecdotal evidence. That does not make it wrong, but
anecdotes are slippery, and those who base their arguments on them are likely to
take a tumble when the winds of real evidence blow. To date, however, there is little
solid ground on which to build up a picture of the relation between research into
science communication and day-to-day practice. Attempts to bring the two
elements closer together have, so far, not been unqualified successes (Stocklmayer
et al. 2001, Miller 2003).
16 Science Communication Practice and Research 277

16.2 A Case Study: the UK Science Communication

Conference

So, what does the science communication community look like, what does it know,
and what intellectual resources does it make use of?
To ask that question is to raise another: how does one define the ‘science communi-
cation community’? For the purposes of starting somewhere—anywhere—this chapter
defines it pragmatically and operationally, by means of a small case study of partici-
pants in the annual Science Communication conference (organized by the British
Association and the Royal Society) in London on 14 and 15 May 2007. This chapter
assumes that those who attended the conference felt themselves at least to be associated
with science communication—they are self-selected members of the community.
The Science Communication conference often devotes one day to general issues,
while theming the other; in 2007, the second day was devoted to ‘climate change’
and was intended to attract an audience broader than the science communication
community. Over the two days, nearly 400 speakers, organizers and delegates
participated in the conference. The more general ‘science and society’ first day
was attended by 316 people. According to the organizers’ own survey, the participants
felt that the conference supports the community by getting people together, sharing
best practice, and bringing it up to date: nearly 80% believed that the conference
contributes to the ‘future direction’ of science communication. Attendees had clear
motivations for being there.
The programme for day 1 included sessions on stem-cell research in the media, inter-
national perspectives on engagement strategies, training science communicators, and
improving the image of S&T among young people. In his keynote address to the conference,
British Association General Secretary Roland Jackson issued seven challenges to the UK
science communication community. Appropriately for this chapter, challenge no. 6
raised the issue of bringing the academic community closer to practitioners. ‘Should
practical science communicators influence the research agenda?’ Jackson asked.
So who was the audience, and what were they already doing as far as meeting
this challenge was concerned? What follows is based on a survey of 128 partici-
pants on day 1, or 40% of the overall attendees on that day.1

16.3 Looking at the UK Science Communication Community

Since nearly all the questionnaires handed out were returned, our 40% sample rate
is reasonably representative. While one cannot rule out some bias—ordinary
delegates to the conference were easier to gain access to than speakers, and

1
The survey was carried out by University College London students Jamie Rosen and Charlene
Spagnoli under my direction.
278 S. Miller

the organizers themselves were generally too hard-pressed to fill in our survey—the
results discussed in this section should give a fair snapshot of the UK science com-
munication community.
One of the first conclusions is that the community is predominantly (69%)
female. It is on the young side, with 73% between the ages of 20 and 40; 34% are
30 or under. Some 55% have been in science communication for between one and
five years, and another 26% have more than five years experience. Respondents
classed themselves as occupying junior positions (32%), middle-ranking positions
(47%) or senior positions (21%). Senior positions were held by only 17% of the
female respondents, but 30% of the men.
The conference organizers provided some information on the fields of work of
their attendees over the two days:
● Professional science communication—54%
● Teaching—28%
● Scientific research—17%
● Social science research—5%
● Government and policymaking—17%
● Media and press officers 17%
● Industry and engineering—8%
From the total, it is clear that science communicators multi-task. Our survey asked
for respondents to ‘best describe’ their connection to science communication, and
found 50% professionally involved in science communication—close to the organ-
izers’ figure—of which 20% considered themselves science communication
workers and 12% event or festival organizers, and 10% worked in a science centre
or museum. Of the remainder, 27% said that their connection was through academia
(6% were students). In both surveys, public relations (PR) or marketing accounted
for 9% of respondents. In our survey, 7% called themselves ‘occasional’ science
communicators. These figures alone show that the science communication com-
munity is highly diverse—a point that is reinforced by further analysis and to which
I will return at the end of this chapter.
Where has the community come from? The simple answer is that science com-
municators come predominantly from science rather than from communication.
Attendees were asked to give their highest level of formal science training: 87% had
taken science at university, of which 24% had doctoral and 35% had postdoctoral
research experience. Just two respondents said they had received no formal science
training, while 11% gave up science after school. When science communicators
communicate, it is clear that they know (something of) what they are supposed to
be communicating about. But when science communicators communicate, how
well do they understand the communication part of their metier?
Nearly two-thirds of the survey respondents said that they had received no uni-
versity science communication training, although 19% had other communication
training, including that involved in becoming a professional schoolteacher. (The
survey assumed—reasonably as far as the UK education system is concerned—that
science communication training was not given at school level.) That still left nearly
16 Science Communication Practice and Research 279

half (48%) of the community with no formal training in communication. However,

30% had been trained at university in science communication (27% at postgraduate
level, presumably reflecting the growth in masters programmes over the past two
decades). There was even a handful claiming postdoctoral science communication
training. So the picture that emerges is one of science communicators being well
trained in science, but considerably less so in communication.
Gender and age make a difference to the extent of university-level training in
science communication. Proportionally, 50% more women (38%) than men (25%)
had received training. And there seemed to be a sharp age divide: only 17% of the
over-40s had training, compared with 41% in the 20–40 age range. This latter
divide could well be explained by the lack of formal science communication train-
ing in UK universities at the time when most of the over-40s were studying there.
Although the statistics become much less reliable, it is also interesting to com-
pare respondents’ levels of science communication training with their connection
to science communication. Taking just those groups for which 10 or more
responses were received, those working in PR were least likely to have received
any science communication training (17%), followed—perhaps surprisingly—by
those whose connection was through academia (19%), but 33% of PR personnel
and 85% of the academics had postgraduate or postdoctoral science training.
Of those most involved in practical science communication activities, half of all
event organizers had received training in science communication, as had 46% of
museum workers and 31% of those calling themselves science communication
workers. The corresponding figures for postgraduate or higher science training
were 38%, 62% and 54%, respectively. With the exception of the science event and
festival organizers, in all cases the figures tell the same story, profession by profes-
sion—among science communicators, training in science is more prevalent and
extensive than training in science communication.

16.4 The Research–Practitioner Connection:

Who Is Reading What?

One way to quantify the connection between science communication researchers

and practitioners (in so far as they are not the same people) is to look at who is
reading the relevant literature. The two peer-reviewed journals—Public
Understanding of Science (PUS) and Science Communication (SC)—have been
around for at least the past 15 years, and longer in other guises. Between them, they
publish a reasonable cross-section of researchers in science communication,
although science communication research is by no means confined to these outlets.
Attendees at the conference were asked if they read these journals either regularly
or occasionally: 42% read PUS and 36% read SC at least occasionally. Around 8%
read one or the other regularly. But 55% never read either journal.
As well as the two academic journals, the British Association runs its own publication,
Science and Public Affairs (SPA). While SPA is not reviewed in the academic sense,
280 S. Miller

it is nonetheless subject to some peer scrutiny. This ‘in-house’ journal carries many
articles that are relevant to the science communication community, and when it is
included in the reading list the proportion of those who read none of the three drops
to 42%. Respondents making up an additional 5% of the sample listed ‘other’ science
communication publications, such as New Scientist. But that still leaves 37% read-
ing nothing in the area of the conference they were attending and only 3% reading
all three publications—PUS, SC and SPA—regularly.
Looking once more at gender, age and connection differences, 49% of women
compared with 35% of men read PUS, SC or both at least occasionally, while the
same is true of 51% of the over-40s and 43% of the 20–40 age range. Only one PR
person out of 12 (an over-40s male) read the two peer-reviewed journals regularly,
while 42% read SPA. At the other end of the scale, 62% of science centre and
museum workers read PUS, SC or both. This bettered the reading rate among aca-
demics (somewhat surprisingly, just 55%) and event organizers (50%). Only 38%
of the students read the peer-reviewed literature in science communication, along
with 35% of science communication workers.

16.5 Benchmarking Europe: A Snapshot

of the European Union

The picture that emerges from attendees at the UK Science Communication confer-
ence is that the ‘average’ science communicator is a (relatively) young and middle-
ranking woman, well trained in science but less so in communication, who does not
pay a great deal of attention to the relevant research literature. This tends to bear out
the impression of a gap between theory and practice set out in the introduction to this
chapter. From the standpoint of PCST, it would be very useful to know whether this
is a uniquely British phenomenon or can be shown to be more a widely applicable
characterization of the science communication community. The current literature is
silent on the matter. That said, one can try to locate the UK science communication
scene in a wider international context. One logical extension is to Europe, for which
there have been several comparative studies. In particular, much work has been car-
ried out either directly by the European Commission or under its auspices.
It is worth noting that this executive arm of the EU has provided a framework
for much that happens at a European level through a variety of funding streams and
its Science and Society Action Plan (EC 2001). Published in November 2001, the
plan sets out a programme of 38 actions to bring S&T closer to European citizens,
to their ‘needs and aspirations’. More than half of the actions involve science communi-
cation in one form or another under the headings of ‘Public awareness’, ‘Science
education and careers’ and ‘Dialogue with citizens’. The plan places several demands
on scientists to communicate directly with the public and through the media.
‘Because of their knowledge, researchers, research organizations and industry now
have particular responsibility vis-à-vis society in terms of providing scientific and
technological information to Europe’s citizens’, it explains.
16 Science Communication Practice and Research 281

The ‘dialogue’ aspect of the document is of particular interest, since—at the

time—it marked something of a change of direction in Brussels’ thinking, from
‘deficit’ to ‘dialogue’ communication. And it drew heavily on the UK experience
with ‘mad cow disease’, and the House of Lords Science and society report of the
previous year (SCST 2000). Therefore, much of the EC thinking on science com-
munication has a fairly familiar feel to those acquainted with the British scene: the
European science communication community as a whole is working in a policy
framework not that different from the UK framework.
The European Commission also carries out regular quantitative surveys of pub-
lic knowledge of science and attitudes towards it, known as Eurobarometers. The
2005 figures showed that British citizens were fairly close to the average for Europe
as a whole (EC 2005). In this respect, too, science communicators across Europe
are working in a public ‘climate’ not too different from that of the UK.
If these assumptions are sound, it is reasonable to use the small survey of
attendees at the UK Science Communication conference at least as a pointer to the
wider international science communication community. But we can probe a little
deeper.
In 2000, the EU decided to try to find out what its (then) 15 member states
were doing to make Europe the most dynamic knowledge-based economy in the
world. Various activities were to be ‘benchmarked’—compared on a country-by-
country basis to see whether signs of economic success could be correlated with
particular uses of S&T. Was there a ‘magic bullet’, like Nokia’s driving of the
admittedly small but very dynamic Finnish economy, that could be taken up by
the lumbering giants of Germany, France and the UK, or the more agriculturally
based southern European states? Part way into the process, the Portuguese
Minister for Science, Jose Mariano Gago, suggested that looking at efforts to
‘promote RTD (research, technology and development) culture and the public
understanding of science’ might be appropriate. I chaired the working group set
up to review this rather nebulous area.
The outcome of this part of the EC benchmarking activity was a report of nearly
200 pages (EC 2002), plus a further 150 pages of annexes of source information
from which the report was drawn, including detailed responses by the ‘high level
group’ of government representatives to questions from the working group. Much
of what is contained in the report has remained unexamined and unused.
‘Benchmarking’ science-and-society activities is not an easy exercise for a number
of reasons, even in the EU: the history of each member state lends a unique
character to its science communication climate, governments are organized along
different lines—some with more regional emphasis (such as Spain and Germany),
others strongly centralized (such as France) —and the point at which issues con-
cerning the public and science have been seen to be important also varies
considerably.
Those considerations made it difficult to identify the sort of performance indica-
tors beloved of policymakers and to pick out the ‘magic bullets’ they were looking
for. Instead, the report generally contented itself with identifying ‘good practices’
that might serve as European exemplars. It was still possible, however, to see which
282 S. Miller

countries were active in which area of public understanding of or engagement with

science, and which were not.
At the time of the benchmarking report, the UK was seen to have a very active
and well-developed science communication community across the board, with
specific initiatives covering schoolchildren, ethnic minorities and women, as well
as many programmes aimed at the ‘general public’. British scientists also received
more communication training than most of their other European counterparts, their
main scientific societies were ‘leading’ in communication as well as in their
respective sciences, and there were more funding streams than elsewhere in
Europe. The UK was at least as well, if not better, provided for in terms of science
communication courses at university level as France, Germany, Italy and Spain,
the other large EU member states at the time. In rhetorical terms, at least, the UK
was making efforts at dialogue and citizen involvement—for example, the GM
Nation exercise (UK Government 2003) on the use of genetic modification for
food production was just getting under way when the benchmarking report was
being written.
As a whole, the UK science communication community is (or was, five years
ago) probably more developed than that in any other country in Europe. In some
senses, that might make the UK community a poor comparitor for measuring per-
formance in other countries, but one can argue that the relationship between science
communication theory and practice is unlikely to be more developed elsewhere
than it is in the UK. If that is true, then the conclusions drawn from our small survey
of attendees at the 2007 Science Communication conference about the practition-
ers’ engagement with relevant research would probably be overoptimistic if applied
to other European countries and, perhaps, globally.

16.6 Does the Research Community Make Itself ‘Relevant’?

I once tried out an exercise at one of the UK’s leading science festivals: give participants some
key papers in the canon of science communication to read, without prior comment, and
ask them what they got out of reading them that they felt was relevant and useful. Among
the papers selected for group discussion were Stephen Hilgartner’s critique of the
dominant model (Hilgartner 1990) and John Durant’s discussion of the meaning of
scientific literacy (Durant 1993), which are both reasonably accessible and influential.
The result was something of a disaster: participants decided that their role was
to nitpick particular quirks of the writing, rather than to try to understand what the
writers might be saying that was interesting, useful or both, even if they did not
entirely agree with the paper. Given that the participants had chosen to come to that
session—clearly forewarned that it involved some academic reading—rather than
any of the other half dozen attractions at the festival, it was rather disappointing and
underwhelming. The meeting of minds between the research community, repre-
sented by the papers, and the science communication practitioners who attended the
session just never happened.
16 Science Communication Practice and Research 283

Maybe part of the reason for this lies with the research community, and the possibility
for misunderstanding where one is trying to encapsulate a subtle message in a few
words. For example, the soirée at the 2007 UK Science Communication conference
was generously hosted by the Economic and Social Research Council, the body
responsible for funding research into the interactions between science and the public.
But the impression that many took away from that meeting was that social scientists
were somewhat dismissive of science communication as an answer to the problems
besetting relationships between scientific researchers and UK citizens (Miller 2007,
Rayner 2007). Given Roland Jackson’s plea earlier in the day that there should be
closer cooperation between the practitioner community and academic researchers,
this was unfortunate: if science communication was irrelevant from the point of view
of the professional research community, then the practitioner community might feel
justified in giving short shrift to the researchers and all their works!
That would be a shame: there is so much of importance for practical science
communication to be found in the research literature. And, for its part, the science
communication community should surely be a great source of information and
experience for the research community —a living laboratory in science–citizen
interchanges. Mutual cooperation should yield benefits over and above those that
each party individually gets from the exchange. For example, much of the research
that gave rise to the development of a contextual approach to public understanding
of science (Payne 1992, Wynne 1992, Layton et al. 1993)—and hence to the more
recent ‘science and/in society’ approach that prevails today—was based on looking
at real-life practical science communication scenarios, analysing them and coming
up with critiques that the community has (eventually) taken on board.
I will not relate more of this rather well-known history here (see, for example,
Gregory and Miller 1998, Miller 2001, Bauer et al. 2007). To complete this chapter,
I will look at one aspect of how, as a science communication trainer, I benefit from
research carried out by sociologically trained and experienced colleagues, and why that
research is useful to science communicators who have to deal directly with the public.

16.7 Communicating Risk: What Theory Can Teach Practical

Communicators

One of the key challenges for those involved in science communication—perhaps

more so now than at any other time—is to discuss issues involving science,
technology, medicine and risk. Mad cow disease, genetically modified crops, nanote-
chnology, nuclear power, vaccines against childhood diseases and so on all pose real
or imagined risks that concern citizens in their everyday lives, their jobs, their families
and their lifestyles. One approach to teaching people how to communicate risk con-
sists of enumerating techniques to put out fires. OK, that’s very practical, but it leaves
lots of questions unanswered—including why the fires got started in the first place.
An alternative approach is to look at what the relevant theory and research
can teach science communicators. A good starting point is Beck’s (1985, 1992)
284 S. Miller

Risk society. Beck is not the easiest sociologist to read (his writing is extremely
condensed), and you are obliged neither to follow him all the way through his
arguments, nor to agree with all of his conclusions. But whether or not you are
convinced that the new paradigm in society is inequality in the distribution of
risk (rather than as, say, Marx would have it, inequality in the distribution of
wealth), Beck has much to say that is of great interest to science
communicators.
Writing just at the time (the mid-1980s) that the deficit approach to science
communication was taking hold in the UK and elsewhere, Beck prophetically
stated that citizens are not persuaded of the safety or otherwise of some scientific
innovation or technological process simply by having numerical assessments of the
risk associated with them—a one-in-a-million (or whatever) chance of being killed/
maimed/…/slightly inconvenienced. He points out:
Even in their highly mathematical or technical garb, statements on risk contain statements
of the type that is how we want to live … in their concern with risk, the natural sciences
have disempowered themselves somewhat, forced themselves towards democracy.

What Beck is saying is that when biotech companies offer genetically modified
tomatoes that will last for weeks on the supermarket shelves, the consumer may
be perfectly happy to accept company assurances that those tomatoes pose no
health risk simply on account of being genetically modified. Instead, consumer
resistance is due to the fact that shoppers do not want to buy tomatoes that have
been on the shelves for weeks, being picked up, squeezed and sneezed over by
countless other shoppers. What people want are fresh tomatoes: that is how they
want to live, even if the multinationals would like them to live otherwise. And so
the scientifically accurate information from the natural sciences—via the research
labs of this or that biotech company—is disempowered and forced towards
democracy, because it becomes just one piece of the information jigsaw, and not
the deciding factor in the discussion of how we want to live (and eat our
tomatoes).
In that sense, Beck’s discussion of risk leads science communicators natu-
rally to adopt an interactive approach to communicating about risk. In case any-
one thinks that this is an argument for intellectual relativism, it must be stated
that giving accurate scientific information to all concerned—such as relative
risks from measles, mumps and rubella compared with those from the triple
MMR vaccine—is essential, and in no way to be downplayed. But what Beck
teaches is that health service workers, for example, will find themselves in a
process of negotiating new knowledge rather than lecturing. Training for that
role is somewhat different from training for making ex cathedra
pronouncements.
So what else can one find in terms of research on risk that is relevant to science
communication? Lots. A trawl through PUS nets several very useful articles,
including a number of case studies covering health issues (Kahlor et al. 2002,
O’Neill 2003), food safety (Frewer et al. 2002), the environment (Major and
Atwood 2004) and climate change (Lowe et al. 2006).
16 Science Communication Practice and Research 285

One paper of particular interest for the process of communication is that of Weingart
and co-workers on discourses on climate change (Weingart et al. 2000). Their paper talks
of the need for communicators to ‘translate’ risk.2 They say that risk must undergo:
● Translation into a sequence of events, with an unfolding narrative and its short-
term and longer term consequences
● Translation into everyday experience, with connotations of relevance, compari-
son with more familiar risks, and the need or otherwise for alarm
● Translation into concrete action, giving rise to opportunities for intervening and
developing solutions, and—increasingly into today’s litigious climate—for
apportioning blame
So this paper gives a clear communication strategy for the person given the task of
explaining risk to their fellow citizens: tell the story, touching base with the audi-
ence, and give them some idea, at least, of what to do about it. It does not say to
blind them with statistics and baffle them with complex scientific processes.
The other papers also contain key ideas on how citizens visualise risks of one
sort or another—an important starting point for the ‘three translations’.

16.8 Conclusions

This chapter started with a perception—that there is something of a gulf between

the practical science communication community and the body of researchers—
and this perception seems to stand up to investigation, at least as far as the UK is
concerned. Although this clearly has to be established through proper research, it
is more than likely that investigations of the community on an international level
will produce similar results. But the chapter ends with examples where the
mutual interplay of theory and practice can be of great benefit to both ‘sides’ of
the equation. It is the job of organizations like the PCST Network to foster that
interplay. What the UK survey also pointed up was the considerable diversity of
the science communication community, so any strategy to bring theory and prac-
tice closer together must take diversity into account. Finally, another way of
interpreting the UK survey is that it showed that more than half of science com-
municators are reading (some of) the relevant literature. Maybe the glass is half
full, rather than half empty.

Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the help of Jamie Rosen and Charlene Spagnoli,
students in the Department of Science and Technology Studies at University College London,
for their assistance in administering the survey of attendees at the UK Science Communication
conference. I thank the British Association and the Royal Society, which organise the conference,
for giving their permission for the survey to be carried out.

2
‘Translate’ may not be the word most favoured by purist communication-theory sociologists to
explain the process of putting a specialist subject into lay terms, but trainers find the analogy useful
in a more sociologically relaxed setting.
286 S. Miller

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16 Science Communication Practice and Research 287

The Author

Steven Miller ([email protected])

Steven Miller is Professor of Science Communication and Planetary Science at
University College London, where he is head of the Science and Technology Studies
Department. He is particularly interested in issues involving science and society at the
European level, and is director of the European Science Communication Network
(ESConet: http://www.esconet.org). He is co-author of Science in public:
Communication, culture and credibility (http://www.ucl.ac.uk/sts/sm/sciencec.htm).
As a planetary scientist, Steven’s main interests lie in understanding how the
atmospheres of giant planets—like Jupiter, Saturn and some of the hot, giant
exoplanets—couple with the space environment around them.
Chapter 17
From Democratization of Knowledge to Bridge
Building between Science, Technology
and Society

Lise Santerre(*
ü)

Abstract For the past 20 years, the Quebec Government has monitored scientific
and technical culture. This chapter reviews the situation, from the viewpoint of the
Conseil de la science et de la technologie (the Science and Technology Council),
showing how ideas about the culture have changed over that period. The changes
are closely linked to scientific and technological development and the policies
connected with it. Through the democratization of knowledge and the building
of bridges between science, technology and society—processes that work in both
directions—the official view of scientific and technical culture has been modified.
Today, it is conceived as an interface, stimulating exchanges between scientists
and other social actors. As a result, research is more attuned to community needs.
Perspectives STS (science, technology, society)—a project initiated by the Science
and Technology Council—illustrates this evolution.

Keywords New production of knowledge, participatory processes in the field

of science and technology, relationships between researchers and civil society,
science, technology and civil society, scientific and technical culture

17.1 Introduction

Over the past 20 years, through community initiatives, public support and volunteer
input, Quebec has acquired a range of science communication organizations and
installations, including specialist media, science camps, museums, recreational
science organizations, interpretation centres and activity groups. It now boasts an
impressive variety of high-quality activities to inform and raise awareness about
science and technology (S&T).

Science and Technology Council of Quebec, 1200 route de l’Eglise, 3e étage, bureau 3.45 Sainte-Foy,
Quebec, Canada. Phone: 418 644 1165, Fax: 418 646 0920, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 289

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
290 L. Santerre

The Quebec Government has consistently supported S&T culture throughout

this period. The government relies mostly on the Conseil de la science et de la
technologie (the Science and Technology Council, or STC), a part of the Ministry
of Economic Development, Innovation and Export Trade, for analysis and advice
on ways to develop science, technology and innovation to benefit Quebec society.
The Perspectives STS (science, technology, society) project was launched with this
goal in mind.
This chapter reviews the public discourse on S&T in Quebec, tracing its main
features as it evolved along with changing conditions in knowledge production, and
assesses the contribution of the Perspectives STS project.

17.2 Scientific and Technical Culture: a New Field

of Intervention

Since its creation in 1983, the STC has continuously assessed S&T cultural devel-
opment. A series of measures established at the outset to stimulate the development
of S&T included the creation of Quebec’s first ministry for S&T, which was
mandated to promote scientific culture. Scientific culture had long been part of the
public discourse, but it was only in the mid-1980s that it became a genuine field of
public intervention in Quebec. Table 17.1 outlines some of the highlights of the
council’s work.
As in other industrialized countries, science culture has become a prime focus
of S&T policy in Quebec (Godin 1999: 29). The culture has varied over time,
and these variations have reflected the government’s priorities and action
strategies.

Table 17.1 Highlights of the Science and Technology Council’s Work

1984 Establishment of a Science and technology culture committee
1986 Publication of La diffusion de la culture scientifique et technique au Québec, a study
by J.-M. Gagnon and L. Morin
Publication of first situation report dealing with science policy: Science et technolo-
gie. Rapport de conjoncture 1985
1988 Publication of second situation report on the role of scientific culture in the transfer
to an information society: Science et technologie. Conjoncture 1988
1994 Publication of third situation report entirely devoted to science culture: Miser sur le
savoir. La culture scientifique et technologique
1997 Publication of fourth situation report describing science culture as a component of
the national system of innovation: Pour une politique québécoise de l’innovation
2002 Publication of an overview of science culture: La culture scientifique et technique au
Québec: Bilan
Publication of results of a survey of science culture: Enquête sur la culture scienti-
fique et technique des Québécoises et des Québécois
2004 Publication of fifth situation report devoted to science culture: La culture scientifique
et technique. Une interface entre les sciences, la technologie et la société
17 Bridge Building between Science, Technology and Society 291

17.3 Evolution of the Discourse on Science Culture

In this section, I briefly examine the development of the Quebec Government’s

S&T policy.
The importance of government support to promote science culture first became
apparent in 1965. At that time, science was considered a public good. Science
culture for the layperson encompassed a small body of scientific and technical
knowledge.
This discussion resurfaced in the government’s Green Paper on culture (GQ
1976) and in the Politique québécoise du développement culturel (GQ 1978).
A draft policy on science research, published the following year, focused on
‘the situation of science in the field of culture’ and ‘the democratic concern to
generalize and facilitate citizen access to S&T information’ (GQ 1979: 2).
With the publication of Le virage technologique in 1982, S&T culture responded
to the ‘technology challenge’ by adding new information and communication tech-
nologies to its toolkit (GQ 1982).
In 1983, the Quebec Government established a Ministry of Science and
Technology. Scientific research was seen as a catalyst for economic growth, and
programmes were developed to promote S&T culture. These communication pro-
grammes show a progressive diversification into leisure projects, exhibitions, popu-
lar magazines, audio-visual projects and other forms. The development of a
scientific culture was a means ‘to promote access to scientific knowledge, practices
and technology for as many as possible’. The science mediation and communica-
tion system pursued the objective of ‘democratization and appropriation of knowledge’
(MHES 1988).
Several years later, based on an evaluation of results, access to Quebec
Government science culture programmes was expanded to include new social actors:
schools, scientists, high educational institutions and private enterprise (Schiele et al.
1994: 28). This transfer coincided with the government’s decision to further integrate
research and innovation, promote collaborations between government, universities
and enterprises, and nurture an industrial culture (STC 1988: 13–14).

Box 17.1 A Definition of Scientific and Technical Culture

The Science and Technology Council adheres to a very broad definition
of scientific and technical culture that includes individual and societal fac-
tors. It defines this culture as the ability to appropriate a body of scientific
and technical knowledge and competencies. Scientific and technical culture
also includes an objective view of the reality of S&T, its methods, impact,
limitations and inherent challenge. Scientific and technical culture is mani-
fested through knowledge, competencies, representations, values, behaviour
and the means applied to achieve S&T mastery, and to guide its development.
(STC 2004a: 9–10)
292 L. Santerre

In 1994, responsibility for scientific and technical culture was transferred to the
Ministry of Industry, Trade, Science and Technology, which targeted further actions
to promote careers in S&T and encourage scientists to participate in public aware-
ness activities.
Two years later, the S&T cultural programmes were moved again, this time to
the Ministry of Culture and Communications, which redefined and widened the
mandate to include different forms of cultural expression. Scientific culture became
part of a new humanistic approach, ‘able to reconcile the sciences, human sciences
and artistic creation’ (Arpin 1994: 19). The stay at the Ministry of Culture and
Communications was brief.
In 1997, responsibility for government S&T culture was passed to the Ministry
of Research, Science and Technology. The ministry’s 2001 science and innovation
policy paper designated individual training and appropriation of S&T as the first of
its three points of policy. Scientific and technical culture was a central focus, lead-
ing to a knowledge society (MRST 2001).
S&T culture was then transferred to the Ministry of Economic Development,
Innovation and Export Trade (MEDIET), an economy-driven ministry, at a time
when advances in S&T posed new social questions (particularly about the life
sciences and nanotechnology). A concerned public was turning its mind to risk
management, ethics and citizen participation in choosing research and develop-
ment priorities.
Despite the changing discourse on S&T culture over this period, the perspective
has remained clearly diffusionist. Quebec’s approach has been consistent, reflecting
a vision similar to that of other societies engaged in S&T cultural projects. Most
Quebec Government initiatives continue in this tradition.

17.4 Public Efforts in Scientific and Technical Culture

This section describes government support for the development of scientific

cultural activities, and suggests that Quebec’s diffusionist approach will have posi-
tive long-term effects.
For more than two decades, the Quebec Government has funded a dedicated—
even if not so generous—programme to promote S&T culture. Since the mid-
1990s, total grants from the responsible ministry have averaged $4.5 million per
year (STC 2004a: 109; MEDIET 2006a: 51). Very recently, the Stratégie québé-
coise de la recherche et de l’innovation earmarked a $7 million increase for the
three-year budget envelope allocated to S&T culture and to the Science and
Technology Ethics Committee (MEDIET 2006b: 64).
This level of commitment is not exemplary, especially considering the STC’s
2004 recommendation that the government earmark an annual public invest-
ment of $12.5 million for scientific culture (STC 2004a: 96). Be that as it may,
neither private funding nor the support of publicly funded volunteer resources
should be underestimated; both make possible the development of Quebec’s
17 Bridge Building between Science, Technology and Society 293

science communication system. For such a small society as Quebec, the government’s
contribution is significant.1
Rather than going to public institutions, Quebec Government assistance mainly
supports small, private non-profit organizations and so-called ‘major’ participants
whose basic mission is S&T culture. Most subsidized activities use traditional
channels of dissemination—the science press and broadcast media, leisure activi-
ties and museums. Public debates are organized on science, technology and civil
society relationships, notably through ‘science bars’ and more frequent exchanges
between scientists and other groups in the population.
The general goal of Quebec’s efforts within the science communication system
is to increase public awareness of science, technology and their socio-economic
impacts, to emphasize the importance of S&T for the growth and well-being of
society, and often to encourage young people’s interest in careers in S&T. Overall,
however, it is difficult to say how much fruit these awareness efforts have borne
among Quebecers.
Whether or not the Quebec science communication system can achieve its goals,
placing S&T alongside other forms of human expression in the public space
certainly makes it more visible outside the scientific sphere. For instance, the STC’s
2002 overview of science culture showed significantly more S&T communication
facilities in Quebec than there were 20 years ago. There has been similar growth
among other groups of social actors (companies, high educational institutions, local
economic development organizations, other cultural sectors, etc.), with an increas-
ing number devoted to scientific and technical culture (STC 2002b).
Another indication of S&T’s greater visibility is its increased exposure on TV
and in newspapers and general interest magazines. The findings of three opinion
polls on science culture in the Quebec population show a notable upswing over the
past two decades (Tremblay and Roy 1985, Filiatrault and Ducharme 1990, STC
2002a). The proportion of respondents who say they are regular or fairly frequent
viewers of TV science programmes rose from 46.1% in 1985 to 58.7% in 2002. The
proportion claiming to read scientific articles in newspapers and general interest
magazines increased from 36.5% to 54.8%.
Twenty years of promotion through a gamut of activities and communication
channels, and the growing circulation of scientific information aimed at the general
public, have probably made S&T a familiar part of Quebecers’ daily lives.
The work of educational system, technology and innovation organizations and
regulatory bodies has also been a major factor in the development of a popular sci-
entific culture. In Quebec, these organizations include the Bureau d’audiences publiques
sur l’environnement (Quebec’s environmental public hearings board),
the Agence d’évaluation des technologies et des modes d’intervention en santé (the
agency responsible for health services and technology assessment), and

1
This does not include Canadian federal grants to Quebec organizations or institutions located in
Quebec. This level of government also participates in the science culture field; for example, it
operates the Montreal Science Centre and the PromoScience programme of the Natural Sciences
and Engineering Research Council of Canada.
294 L. Santerre

the Commission de l’éthique de la science et de la technologie (the Science and

Technology Ethics Committee). Although these organizations have varying
impacts, they nonetheless function like interacting relay points disseminating mes-
sages about S&T. They complement each other in educating, informing and sensi-
tizing the population, shaping representations and transmitting values associated
with S&T. If we consider this systemic perspective, the STC assumes that the
science communication system actively fulfils a need and gets positive results.

17.5 Which Level of Scientific Culture?

A look at several indicators used in recent years sheds light on the overall state of
S&T culture in Quebec.
In its 2004 situation report, the STC concluded that, overall, Quebec’s level of
social and individual approval of S&T compares favourably with that of other soci-
eties (STC 2004a: 22).
The proportion of gross domestic product that Quebec allocates to research and
development rose from 1.86% in 1991 to 2.74% in 2004, compared to a 2004 aver-
age of 2.47% for OECD countries (GQ 2007). In 2002, Quebec had 8.6 researchers
per 1,000 active population, while this ratio averaged 6.3 per 1,000 in OECD coun-
tries (MEDIET 2005: 61).
Figures for recent years show Quebec’s educational system performing well in
terms of enrolments and graduates in the science disciplines (CETECH 2004,
MEDIET 2005, MELS 2007). Women continue to make strides at university and in
the workplace, although they remain under-represented in the pure and applied sci-
ences (MERDR 2004). While there are frequent sectoral imbalances in labour sup-
ply and demand, especially in emerging or rapidly expanding sectors of industry,
Quebec does not face an overall labour shortage in S&T (STC 2004b: 179).
Despite considerable criticism about the space and treatment accorded science
disciplines in elementary and high school, Quebec students fare very well in national
and international competitions, such as Canada’s School Achievement Indicators
Program (MELS 2005), the OECD’s Programme for International Student Assessment
(Bussière et al. 2007), and the Trends in International Mathematics and Science
Study (ME 2004).
A survey of the Quebec population in 2002 also paints quite a good picture of S&T
literacy at the individual level. Respondents’ performance in the survey’s natural
sciences and engineering knowledge test (62%) compares favourably with perform-
ance in France (61%), Europe (60%) and the United States (64%) assessed in 2001
(STC 2002a: 48). In the human and social sciences, respondents averaged 67%.
Compared to Europeans, more Quebecers are interested in S&T (70.7%;
Europeans 45.3%) and consider themselves well informed (56.1%; Europeans
33.4%) (STC 2002a: 4–5). In 2001, a significant majority expressed confidence in
scientific development (67.9%)—slightly less than in the United States (72%) but
higher than in Europe (50.4%) (STC 2002a: 15). More than half turned to mass
17 Bridge Building between Science, Technology and Society 295

media for science-related information, and 12% indicated that their scientific
interest was a leisure activity. Around 65% had visited a science museum or estab-
lishment at least once in the previous year, the most popular being zoos, aquariums
and botanical gardens (49.4%), followed by natural history museums, S&T muse-
ums and interpretation centres (45.9%).
Overall, the survey results show a good individual level of science culture, but the
culture’s uneven spread across the population is striking, although this unevenness
is not confined to Quebec. Another notable distinction is the greater confidence and
interest in science among the more highly educated and higher income earners, who
often pursue many more science leisure activities and participate in more informa-
tion-access activities than the others. These groups also score higher on knowledge
tests. Comparisons with earlier surveys show that these inequalities have persisted
over time, despite Quebec’s progress in S&T development, education and commu-
nication (Tremblay and Roy 1985, Filiatrault and Ducharme 1990).
The science communication activities implemented up to now have made S&T
more visible in the public place and helped to shape popular representations, but the
level of S&T culture in the population does not necessarily meet expectations
(Schiele 2005). In other words, it seems to have reached a threshold.
To create a more vibrant interface between science, technology and civil society,
the STC now believes it must go further. It must urge the scientific community to
be more open to society’s needs and demands. Besides initiatives for better public
understanding of S&T, recognition of its contributions and consideration of issues
of concern, there is also an abiding need for reciprocal exchanges and bridge build-
ing between S&T on the one hand and civil society on the other. This is a crucial
step towards a true knowledge society.

17.6 Bridge Building between Science, Technology

and Society: Altering the Angle of Approach

S&T assumes even greater importance in a knowledge society. Today, it is the

prime source of innovation and the major lever of socio-economic development.
S&T knowledge is growing exponentially in all disciplines, and is reconfiguring its
own means of production and management.
Among the most striking transformations have been the diversification of places
of knowledge creation, the heterogeneous mix of participants, burgeoning exchange
networks, increased contextualization of research, and greater social responsibility
on the part of scientists (Gibbons et al. 1994). The research poles represented by
universities, industry and government are reshaping modes of operation, question-
ing traditional roles and becoming more interdependent. New actors (related
milieus, unions, non-governmental organizations, etc.) do their own research work
and compete with the more classical institutions. Fields of knowledge are simulta-
neously specializing and expanding, opening up boundaries, blurring and merging.
Research activities are increasingly transdisciplinary, integrating all forms of
296 L. Santerre

knowledge from the most basic to the most applied. The transfer and valorizing of
research takes on greater importance, while the funders have greater and more
pressing expectations for spin-offs from the work.
These strongly results-driven changes affect knowledge workers, who must be
more open and amenable to other disciplinary fields, other forms of creation, other
participants in research activities and other social groups, whether they are potential
new knowledge users, representatives of pressure groups or the general public.
Scientists may have reservations about this openness, but increasing interactions
between scientific communities and other social actors, and improved research
outcomes to meet economic, social and cultural needs, will ultimately make it more
acceptable to them. Those interactions better acknowledge social demands and spur
innovation (Latour 1998: 209).
The new need for openness requires a strategy to bring science, technology and
society closer together: greater public awareness of S&T culture is not enough.
Quebec’s current science communication efforts, while promising, leave the effort
incomplete (STC 2004a: 79–85). Scientific communities are ultimately responsible
for helping other groups of actors understand more fully the return on research
effort, but the communication cannot be one-way. It is crucial to operate a two-way
communication—a process in both directions—from S&T to civil society and from
civil society to S&T. This second part of the relationship has been less discussed
until now (Valenduc and Vendramin 1997).
Building bridges between scientists and other social actors requires us to recog-
nise that other social actors also have and produce knowledge, and to be open to the
needs, expectations, fears and demands of the groups affected by S&T development
This is a new approach, fostering a ‘retrospective informational effect’ from other
social actors to researchers.
This perspective remains marginal today, although some bridge-building
efforts date back to the 1970s. Examples include the ‘science boutique’ formula
begun in the Netherlands and the community-based research centres in the
United States. In Quebec, the Programme Actions concertées of the Fonds
québécois de recherche sur la société et la culture supports partnership pro-
grammes in areas of practice, including community groups, civil society repre-
sentatives, health care organizations, education and social services networks,
etc. There is also a Canadian version of this programme: CURA (Community–
University Research Alliances), overseen by the Social Sciences and Humanities
Research Council of Canada. France has Picri (Partenariat Institutions Citoyens
pour la Recherche et pour l’Innovation), which was developed in the Île-de-
France region. Both programmes are more recent.
Actions within this perspective began in research milieus rather than through
scientific and technical culture organizations, and involved research and transfer
activities. Bridge building is not intended specifically to disseminate S&T informa-
tion, but exists in the context of co-producing knowledge and integrating it into
practices.
The participation of social actors who may be less familiar with S&T produc-
tion, which helps to achieve a more ‘socially robust’ knowledge and enriches the
17 Bridge Building between Science, Technology and Society 297

problematic (Gibbons et al. 1994),2 is now in sync with research and innovation
policies that valorize the work (to commercialize and integrate it into practices) and
also yield spin-offs. This is the case in Quebec (MEDIET 2006b).
This wider participation brings the research closer to social requirements. As
well as the discourse on the social relevance of research, partnership research
programmes affect the representations and the openness of the scientists, ultimately
stimulating partnership researches and knowledge transfer.
However, while we perceive greater understanding on the part of scientists about
the need to be closer to other population groups (Vetenskap och Allmänhet 2003,
Royal Society 2006, Alix 2007), researchers do not always grasp the benefits of
bridge building. Therefore, the STC feels that government should encourage scien-
tists to recognize social demands more fully, particularly during their training. Many
high educational institutions already provide services to act on social demands.3

17.7 Perspectives STS: A Unique Experience

Perspectives STS (science, technology, society), a project to promote reciprocal

exchanges between scientists and the eventual users of research outcomes, was
initiated in 2003 by the STC in collaboration with other partners.4 The project
objectives are to:
● Encourage broader participation in determining research paths for the future.
● Put S&T into service to deal with major challenges confronting society.
● Highlight the contribution of S&T in socio-economic development.
● Develop a long-term vision of research.
The first phase of the project pinpointed major challenges Quebec would face in
the years ahead. A public inquiry was launched to hear people’s concerns about the
future, and the results served as the basis for participants’ discussions at a futures
workshop. About a hundred people from a wide variety of sectors (education,

2
For Gibbons et al., ‘socially robust’ knowledge is created after scientific knowledge is empiri-
cally confirmed and proven in reality.
3
For example, the Valorisation des innovations et du capital intellectuel (Vinci) project at the
University of Montreal and the Valorist project at the University of Quebec, both of which are
funded through the Intellectual Property Mobilization Programme of the Natural Sciences and
Engineering Research Council of Canada.
4
Partners include the Ministry of Economic Development, Innovation and Export Trade;
Valorisation-Recherche Québec; the Fonds de la recherche en santé du Québec; the Fonds québé-
cois de la recherche sur la nature et les technologies; the Fonds québécois de la recherche sur la
société et la culture; the Association francophone pour le savoir and the Association de la recher-
che industrielle du Québec. Other contributors to the development of research strategies include
the Ministry of Education, Leisure and Sport; the Ministry of Employment and Social Solidarity; the
Ministry of Health and Social Services; Hydro-Quebec; the Agency for Energy Efficiency; and
the Lucie and Andre Chagnon Foundation.
298 L. Santerre

business, environment, industry, culture, etc.) participated in this exercise. They

were asked to identify the major challenges for Quebec over the next 20 years.
Several months later, a consultation was held with researchers from all milieus
and disciplines. Participants were asked to choose from the major challenges
selected at the preceding stage. Seven main challenges were selected:
● Promote the adoption of healthy living habits.
● Use our natural resources more efficiently.
● Provide access to high-quality education for all.
● Increase the effectiveness of the health system.
● Make Quebec a leader in new and renewable energies.
● Adopt innovative actions to fight poverty.
● Target strategic niches and development priorities.
In the second phase of Perspectives STS, a steering committee was set up for each
designed challenge. The committee included researchers and representatives from
areas of practice, government bodies and potential funders. The goal was to develop
a research and knowledge transfer strategy to meet the challenges. This work
should be completed in the autumn of 2008.
Each strategy will be overseen and implemented by interested groups of social
actors, with research funds allocated and in partnership with the areas of practice.
Once the strategies have been implemented, a Perspectives STS report will be
issued, describing the work and serving as a guide for future initiatives.
This bridge-building initiative between science, technology and society, which
complements science communication efforts, reverses the trend of traditional
research methods. In this regard, Perspectives STS reflects changes occurring in the
production and management of knowledge.
From the social needs identified by the reference groups, Perspectives STS is
trying a different form of governance of S&T development. To develop the research
and transfer strategies, it is bringing together scientists, decision makers and poten-
tial users of the research results to formulate a theoretical framework, prioritize the
themes, and choose target objectives and ways to implement them. The project will
ultimately mandate the implementation of these strategies by teams of actors repre-
senting this same mix. Perspectives STS adds an original dimension to this threefold
perspective, and as far as we know is the only initiative of its kind.

17.8 Conclusion

Along with other industrialized societies, Quebec has redoubled its efforts over
20 years to develop a strong research and innovation system. The government-
supported science communication initiatives to enlarge the public place for S&T
have contributed to the development of this system.
Current research activities are now more results-driven and emphasize integration
into practices. Efforts in science–society bridge building now tend to focus on the open-
ness of the scientific milieus to produce results more attuned to community needs.
17 Bridge Building between Science, Technology and Society 299

Neither of the two efforts—communication and bridge building—replaces the

other. On the contrary, they are complementary.
Today’s growing number of partnerships between researchers and other social
groups will enhance research activities and their results. In coming years, these
exchanges could also extend to developing public policies in S&T. In Quebec,
Perspectives STS is a precursor project for such future initiatives. Inevitably, the
future lies in greater expertise and knowledge sharing.

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MHES (Ministry of Higher Education and Science) (1988). Énoncé d’orientations et plan de
développement de la culture scientifique et technique au Québec. Sainte-Foy: Government of
Quebec, May.
MRST (Ministry of Research, Science and Technology) (2001). Savoir changer le monde.
Politique québécoise de la science et de l’innovation. Sillery: Government of Quebec.
Royal Society (2006). Science communication. Survey of factors affecting science communication
by scientists and engineers. London: Royal Society.
Schiele, B. (2005). Publiciser la science! Pourquoi faire? In I. Pailliart (Ed.) La publicisation de
la science. Exposer, communiquer, débattre, publier, vulgariser. Grenoble: PUG, 11–52.
Schiele, B., Amyot, M. & Benoit, C. (1994). Le Québec: historique de la culture scientifique et
technologique et bilan de l’action gouvernementale. In B. Schiele, M. Amyot & C. Benoit
(Eds.), Quand la science se fait culture. La culture scientifique dans le monde. Actes I. Sainte-
Foy: Éditions MultiMondes/UQAM/Centre Jacques-Cartier, 13–86.
STC (Science and Technology Council) (1988). Science et technologie. Conjoncture 1988.
Situation report. Sainte-Foy: Government of Quebec.
STC (Science and Technology Council) (2002a). Enquête sur la culture scientifique et technique
des Québécoises et des Québécois. Sainte-Foy: Government of Quebec.
STC (Science and Technology Council) (2002b). La culture scientifique et technique au Québec:
Bilan. Sainte-Foy: Government of Quebec.
STC (Science and Technology Council) (2004a). La culture scientifique et technique. Une inter-
face entre les sciences, la technologie et la société. Situation report. Sainte-Foy: Government
of Quebec.
STC (Science and Technology Council) (2004b). L’avenir de la main-d’œuvre hautement quali-
fiée. Une question d’ajustements. Advisory report. Sainte-Foy: Government of Quebec.
Tremblay, V. & Roy, J. (1985). Sondage d’opinion en matière de science et technologie.
Government of Quebec.
Valenduc, G. & Vendramin, P. (1997). La recherche scientifique et la demande sociale. Namur:
Fondation travail-université ASBL, Union of International Associations.
Vetenskap och Allmänhet (2003). Dialogue between researchers and the public. How researchers
view public and science, 2003—interview survey. Report 2003: 4, Stockholm.

The Author

Lise Santerre ([email protected])

Lise Santerre PhD is a sociologist at the Science and Technology Council of the
Quebec Government. She has worked for 20 years on scientific and technical
culture. Her interest is in science and innovation policy, and she investigates the
relationship between science, technology and society. Lise wrote the STC reports
La culture scientifique et technique au Québec. Bilan and La culture scientifique
et technique. Interface entre les sciences, la technologie et la société (English
summaries are available at http://www.cst.gouv.qc.ca). She has also written articles
and given conference presentations on these subjects.
Chapter 18
Bringing Science to the Public

Jan Riise(*
ü)

Abstract Public understanding of science as a top-down model is slowly being

replaced by dialogue and direct contacts between scientists and the public. More
often than in the past, research funding organisations demand that communication
plans, including plans to communicate with the public, are part of project proposals.
The chapter examines how these changes have been reflected in recent public
science events. Scientists’ public participation forms the basis not only for direct
dialogue, but also for trust and an opportunity to ‘negotiate’ what is presented.
Science events, such as science festivals and science cafés, have proven to be excel-
lent meeting places. They are ‘neutral ground’, on which people do not have to go
out of their way to approach science. Many activities demonstrating basic science
can be categorized as ‘science is fun’, but the challenge is to find formats and presenters for
‘new’ science (that is, ongoing or recently finished research projects). The author
evaluates recent science events, particularly for their success in attracting young
people, and examines the importance of venue selection.

Keywords Dialogue, science cafés, science events, science festivals, science in

society

This photo shows Peter Eriksson, a successful Swedish professor and stem-cell and
neurology scientist, talking to passers-by on crowded Nanjing Road in central
Shanghai about the latest findings in his field of interest. He gives a ‘short course
in neurology’, shows pictures on the giant screens and answers questions about the
amazing regenerative functions of the human brain. People take a break from their
Saturday shopping to talk to him and his colleagues from Scandinavia, who are
visiting Science and Technology Week 2007 in Shanghai.
This is what we call ‘street science’, and it is an interesting example of how social
situations can be the basis for dialogue, learning and communication about science.

AGADEM AB, Kungstorget 11, SE 41110 Göteborg, Sweden.

Phone: +46 708 233 377, +46 31 233 322, E-mail: [email protected]

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 301

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
302 J. Riise

FPO

Sadly, Peter Eriksson died unexpectedly in August 2007, at the age of 48 years.
This chapter is dedicated to him and to all his wonderful colleagues, without whom
we communicators would have nothing to say.
In this chapter I argue, from a practitioner’s point of view, for the following
propositions:
● It is important for trust, sympathy and dialogue that scientists participate person-
ally in the communication of science.
● Science events, such as festivals and science weeks, offer excellent opportunities
for such dialogue, by marshalling expertise not only in communication but also
in event management.
● The spatial dimension is important; the choice of meeting place contributes to
the achievement of the objectives of the event or activity.
● These meeting places for public communication of science could be considered
when developing strategies for communicating ‘new’ science.
With my limited practitioner’s knowledge about ongoing studies in the field, my
references may be far from complete and often anecdotal or based on personal
observations. Still, for whatever it is worth, this is the story.

18.1 Emerging Trends in Science Communication

Two important trends in science communication have become visible in recent years.
First, communication has moved from a rather simple and one-way information
or promotion of science process to a more complex operation in which ‘inclusion’,
‘learning’, ‘dialogue’ and ‘participation’ are key terms. The idea of ‘public understand-
ing of science’, which was to be achieved by the top-down distribution of correct
and well-produced information from the scientific community, often through the
18 Bringing Science to the Public 303

so-called ‘deficit model’, has been subordinated or abandoned. A growing insight that
communication is about negotiating, a process from which both sides get something,
is more and more accepted. Negotiation is also the basis for trust—the most valuable
key to creating and maintaining the relationship (Miller and Gregory, 1998).
Second, science communication as a task has changed from being a sort of
optional extra to something that is to be planned and accounted for from the very
beginning. Research funding organizations now demand communication plans as
part of funding applications. The European Commission’s 7th Research Framework
Programme does not consider funding unless plans for communication or dissemi-
nation of the project’s expected results are included from the start.
However, the incentives for scientists to engage in science communication activi-
ties are more diverse and personal; those activities are more than simply a necessary
and mandatory hassle that has to be dealt with to win funding for important projects.
Many scientists take part in communication with personal interest and great joy.
At the same time, formats for science communication have had to be developed
and tested. The internet has made new ways of communication available, from
downloadable lectures, shows and experiments to podcasting. New forms of direct,
person-to-person communication have developed, two of which are science cafés
and science events (such as science festivals and science weeks).

18.2 Scientists’ Participation

A key characteristic of science cafés and science events, which separates them from
other forms of science communication, is the participation of scientists. There is no
interlocutor, mediator, adapter or translator—no journalist, editor, exhibition designer
or anyone else—in between the scientist and the expected audience. While science
communication often benefits from such mediation, face-to-face events are different.
The presence of the scientists opens up a real dialogue, a two-way communi-
cation. There are no filters, no explainers, no translation errors or mistakes. The
public gets to meet someone who is actually involved in what he or she is present-
ing, for better or for worse.
This dialogue forms the basis for negotiation, creating an opportunity for the audi-
ence to contribute to the meaning of the presentation, whether it is an exhibition or an
experiment. A Swedish study among young visitors to a science centre concluded that
this ‘space for negotiation’ is crucial for teenagers to the exhibition—if they have the
authority to interpret the message themselves, their interest increases.
There are various reasons for scientists to participate in science communication
(for example by allocating time for interviews by journalists, producing public
presentations of their research or taking part in a science event). There are also a
number of reasons for not doing it.
In the UK, a survey carried out by the Royal Society shows that a large propor-
tion of the scientists interviewed saw their role as explaining and promoting the
public understanding of science. Almost two-thirds thought that the relevance of
304 J. Riise

science to everyday life was the most important issue. They also saw a need to pro-
file their own field of research and its institutions.
According to the British scientists, the barriers to science communication were
mainly the time away from research work and, to some extent, the disapproval of
their colleagues and peers for engaging in science communication.
Incentives for doing science communication were mainly budgetary—to attract
more research funding to their institutions. Additional funding and support for sci-
ence communication would have a positive effect on scientists’ interest in taking
part in communication activities, but increased support, coordination and training
from professional communicators would also be welcome (Royal Society 2006).
A similar study has been carried out at Cornell University in the US, and another
one is about to be undertaken among Swedish scientists.
It has been suggested that scientists’ fears of negative repercussions in peer reviews
after engaging in popular science communication may be exaggerated. However,
I suspect that a simple bibliometrical study could show that researchers who take part
in popular science activities are also the best funded and most often cited.
The need for support and training for participating scientists is well understood
by science event organizers. Almost all can tell a story about a bad presentation by
a brilliant researcher who happens to be a poor presenter. Unfortunately, an event
organizer can also create bad experiences, for presenters and for audiences, by not
taking into account the presentation skills, talent and interests of the scientist.
While many successful scientists and science communicators made their first pub-
lic presentations at a science festival or a science week, the selection of participants
for such events has not always been as careful as it should have been.
Professional science communication events often provide various forms of support
and guidelines for selection. A study by the European Science Events Association
(Rebernik et al. 2005) lists a number of ways to ensure high professional standards
among presenters at science festivals and science weeks. Most important is a match-
ing process to assign presenters to the types of activities they are best suited to; the
next most important is support and opportunities for training and practising.
Many science festival and science week organizers offer training for communica-
tion. In Sweden and Denmark, a programme developed at Stanford University in the
US has been used successfully. The training scheme, called ‘Elevator talks’, includes
the step-by-step refinement of a presentation until it takes 30 s and can be understood
by a 17-year-old student. The programme was presented at the Communicating
European Research conference in Brussels in November 2005, and the presentation
was documented for the proceedings of the event (Claessens 2007).

18.3 Meeting Places for Dialogue

A science café is an informal setting on neutral ground and a social situation that is
easy to understand and part of many people’s everyday lives. The concept is simple:
a scientist presents his or her research, the audience can ask questions, and the
18 Bringing Science to the Public 305

interaction is facilitated by a moderator, who might be a science journalist or some-

one else with an interest and some knowledge of the subject to be discussed—no
PowerPoint, no formulas, no blackboard, no ‘lecture’ in a traditional sense.
The cafés have been most successful in many places, not least in the UK and in
other European countries. Growing numbers of science cafés are being arranged, and
new venues and cities are being added. The British Council supports the development
of science cafés in many countries by sending prominent researchers from the UK. In
some cases, the cafés are the starting point for the development of other science events,
such as in Bulgaria, where the first science festival was arranged in 2007, coinciding
with the European Commission’s ‘Researchers’ night’ and a science café.
Science events, such as science festivals and science weeks, have grown rapidly
during the past two decades. Many have emerged in Europe, but there have also
been many in Asia, Africa and the Americas. The British Association for the
Advancement of Science has a history of annual public meetings going back to
1831, but there are many local events in the UK in addition to the British
Association’s Festival of science.
In other European countries, science weeks and science festivals have been estab-
lished with local, regional or national bases. In Norway, the Forskningsdagene (‘research
days’) cover the entire country and are funded by the national research council. Science
days in Freiburg, Germany, are targeted directly at schoolchildren and are arranged in a
large hall at the Europa-Park, a theme park in Rust, outside Freiburg.
The same sort of location is used in Madrid, but for a broader audience, at the
Feria de Madrid. The Catalan Science Week offers activities across Catalonia,
while the Slovenian Science Week takes place in Ljubljana only. In Göteborg,
Sweden, many city venues are used: shopping malls, parks, museums, churches,
and an old warehouse for a temporary science centre.
The method is the same: literally, to ‘bring science to the public’ by using new
and unusual venues and formats, such as the shopping centres, railway stations and
cinemas, as well as presentations in the form of ‘physics shows’, science theatres
or just short talks and discussions in the street.
Although these science events have been established and developed independently,
many of them share similar objectives and aims. The main goals are often described in
terms such as ‘raising the awareness of science and technology among the general
public’ and ‘interesting young people in science and a possible academic career’.
In addition to these goals, there are usually also local, regional or national goals
connected to the events, such as:
● To establish relationships across scientific sectors (Danish Science Week)
● To highlight connections between research, innovation and industry (Norwegian
Science Week)
● To humanise science and bring it closer to society (Catalan Science Week)
● To make people realise that the country’s position in Europe depends on its stand-
ards of education and science (Poland, Lower Silesian Festival of Science)
● To contribute to the marketing of the city as a city of events (Göteborg Science
Festival, Sweden)
306 J. Riise

The various science festivals and science weeks work under very different budgets and
funding arrangements, and with differing experience in marketing and organization.
The successful outcome of an event depends to a large degree on how it is organized.
The European Science Events Association’s study emphasizes the need for dif-
ferent competencies in event organization, such as marketing, management and
accounting as well as learning and communication. In practice, the way events are
organized varies: some have scientific boards, whereas others employ scientists in
the organization. However, all share a major task in maintaining a very close rela-
tionship with the scientific community (Rebernik et al. 2005).

18.4 The Importance of the Venue

Another key characteristic of science events is the spatial and social dimension of the
communication; the context in which the communication takes place matters.
The choice of venues is what separates science events from other forms of science
communication. Museums and laboratories can invite people to come and visit, but
the potential audience has to be interested enough to find its way to the premises.
Science communication events, on the other hand, can reach those who happen to
pass by or who become intrigued by a particular experiment or a demonstration. This
is done through the use of unusual places or the unusual use of scientific
institutions.
Typical science event locations include streets, shopping malls, railway stations, cafés,
libraries and theme parks. The advantages of choosing such ‘everyday’ places are many:
● The audience doesn’t have to search for science.
● The audience doesn’t feel threatened by an unfamiliar environment, or even
uncomfortable.
● The communication process becomes more equal, as it takes place on ‘neutral’
ground.
At the International Science Festival in Göteborg, Sweden, the evaluations made dur-
ing the events in 2002 and 2004 included a number of questions about the venues.
The festival’s activities were then divided into four different ‘arenas’ for the analysis.
The first is the ‘lecture activity’, which includes films, debates and workshops—
all held in some kind of lecture hall, auditorium, museum or library, and not neces-
sarily at the home institution.
The second is the festival’s temporary ‘science centre’, an old warehouse that is
transformed into a very basic science centre where participating organizations and
university departments set up their own hands-on exhibits.
The third arena is the shopping mall, one of northern Europe’s largest, with a constant
flow of potential visitors. The festival occupies a space of a few hundred square metres in
one of the main indoor streets for exhibitions, short lectures and demonstrations.
Finally, there is the ‘Science in the Park’ tent, open from noon to 7 or 8 p.m.
The tent arena offers workshops, short presentations, demonstrations and discussions.
18 Bringing Science to the Public 307

Some activities are scheduled, such as a talk at 12.30, while others are more loosely
organized, such as ‘meet the researchers between 12 and 6 p.m.’
The evaluations gave overall pictures that were very positive for the festival: four
out of five visitors wanted to come back next year and indicated that they would
recommend a visit to their friends.
The visitor demographics reflected the city’s in a general sense. There was a
larger proportion of adults with an academic education compared to the city’s aver-
age, and people older than 55 were also over-represented. Similar findings have been
made at several other science communication events, so this is not surprising.
The large difference between the arenas was interesting. While the adult aca-
demic group was over-represented in the lectures arena, it was significantly less
well represented in the workshop and park arenas. The arena in which the visitor
demographic reflected the population as a whole was the shopping centre.
The temporary science centre attracted a large number of schoolchildren, but
this was largely due to the workshop’s role in the schools programme. A significant
number of visits by entire classes were pre-booked.
The Science in the Park tent showed the most encouraging outcome: the propor-
tion of young people under the age of 24 was significant. Moreover, some of the
suburban parts of the city (usually regarded as not so ‘academic’), seemed to be
over-represented (Pousette 2004).
The venues did not have comparable programmes, and we do not know to what
extent an activity attracted its visitors regardless of location. Nevertheless, it seems
likely that place and format have an impact on the visitor profile, and the concept
of different arenas has introduced a new dimension to the development of the
Göteborg Science Festival.
Science communication events such as this have an educational component, in
that they create informal learning situations, as opposed to the formal learning
systems in schools. In some respects, this event’s activities are similar to those of
science centres and museums. These include the displays, demonstrations and
exhibits that invite people participate in hands-on experiences—the differences
being that the festival’s activities occur as temporary exhibits in places like shop-
ping malls and parks, and that the scientists normally participate.
The encounter between visitor and exhibit has been studied from the educational
point of view, to determine how well the scientific message is conveyed. The inter-
actions between teenagers and exhibits at one of Sweden’s science centres were
examined, and the conclusion was that the teenagers—normally reluctant to visit
science centres—wanted to have the right to interpret and to ‘contribute to the
meaning of the activity’. For them, the exhibits and the place should also be ‘places
for developing social identity’ (Fors 2006).
These findings may support observations (not statistically proven) that science
event activities like those in the park in Göteborg, where people are allowed to
approach the activity at their own speed and level of interest, may be an important
way to encourage people’s interest in science and technology.
The conclusions from Göteborg are supported by similar observations else-
where, and the findings provide input for a further discussion about the potential of
science communication events to reach targeted groups and audiences, such as
308 J. Riise

young people. They also point to the need for continued development of tools for
evaluating science communication activities.

18.5 Public Communication of ‘New’ Science

Science communication events have tended to concentrate on particular aspects of

‘science’ (Rebernik et al. 2005):
● Basic knowledge as a starting step to sophisticated research, with a ‘learning’
objective
● ‘Science for fun’, in the form of shows, contests and presentations
● Science on an academic level, mostly in the form of lectures, debates, laboratory
practice and workshops
● Science as an integral part of our culture, including the humanities and arts as
substantial parts of the programme
● ‘New’ science—the most recent progress in science and technology
There are significant differences between European science events. Some, like the sci-
ence days at the Europa-Park outside Freiburg in Germany, focus on the informal
learning objective, while others, such as the Feria de Madrid, have more of ‘science
for fun’ profile. However, events based on a mix of elements are becoming the norm.
Science communication event organizers have become increasingly aware of the
need to develop presentations of ‘new’ science—recently published scientific results,
or even interim reports from ongoing projects—and this focus is a growing trend. One
reason for this is that more scientists now participate in communication events, partly
because many research funding organizations now require the inclusion of communi-
cation plans in funding proposals. When researchers participate in events, their natural
choice of subject is their own field of research and recent work relevant to them.
The European Commission has developed this trend further (at least in Europe) by
arranging some well-attended conferences for research projects funded under the 6th
Research Framework Programme. Another conference is being planned for 2009 for
projects funded under the 7th Research Framework Programme. The research project
groups have been invited to Brussels to present recently finished or ongoing work.
By taking part in the conference, they also get to exchange experiences, best practice
and ideas about how to communicate science. Science centres, publishers, journalists,
broadcasting companies and science event organizers have been invited and have pro-
posed sessions for the participating research groups. Contributions to the most recent
of the two conferences arranged so far have been published (Claessens 2007).

References

Claessens, M. (Ed). (2007). Communicating European research. Utrecht: Springer.

Fors, V. (2006). The missing link in learning in science centres. Luleå, Sweden: Luleå University
of Technology.
18 Bringing Science to the Public 309

Miller, S. & Gregory, J. (1998). Science in public. New York: Plenum.

Pousette, A. (2004). Utvärdering av allmänhetens program vid Vetenskapsfestivalen. Göteborg, Sweden.
Rebernik, P., Bohm, M., Fikus, M., Lerch, J., Lotzman Dahl, A., Riise, J. & Smith, A. (2005).
Science communication events in Europe. Vienna: EUSCEA (European Science Events
Association), ISBN 91–631–7888–5.
Royal Society (2006). Science communication: Excellence in science. London: Royal Society.

The Author

Jan Riise ([email protected])

Jan Riise has a BA in urban and regional planning, and works as freelance science
communicator based in Göteborg, Sweden, where he works closely with the
Göteborg Centre for Public Learning and Understanding of Science. He is the co-
founder of the International Science Festival Göteborg, president of European
Science Events Association, co-author of Science communication events in Europe,
project manager for the PCST-10 conference to be held in Sweden and Denmark in
2008, and the communications manager for an EU-funded project on research
infrastructures. Jan speaks at many science communication events in Europe, the
US and China, such as the AAAS annual meetings in 2007 and 2008 and the 2007
National Science and Technology Week in Shanghai. He has a special interest in
the spatial dimension of science communication.
Appendix
The PCST Network
An International Network on Science Communication

Why Does Science Communication Matter?

Since the second half of the last century, science and technology have been
undergoing tremendous expansion. There are more scientists and engineers working
today than the total number who have lived and died since the dawn of history.
At the same time, scientific and technological developments have given human-
kind increasing and even frightening power. We master atomic reactions and release
huge amounts of energy; we modify or imitate natural processes and affect life on
Earth; we travel faster and faster, even beyond our planet; and our activities affect
the whole biosphere. Science and technology are everywhere in our daily lives, and
they raise many questions: what are their long-term effects on our lives, on our
societies, on the Earth?
It is no surprise that the public communication of science and technology has
gained importance and recognition. On one hand, most people consider that the public
is not sufficiently represented when it comes to decisions about science and technology.
On the other hand, scientists worldwide are more and more willing to engage with the
public about their research work. Science and technology communication is believed to
increase public involvement and the quality of the decision-making process for research
and technological applications, which can have far-reaching effects.
As a result, increasing budgets and resources are devoted to science communica-
tion and popularization, and many innovative forms of dialogue between science
and society are being explored worldwide.

What Is the PCST Network?

The International Network on Public Communication of Science and Technology (PCST)

was born in 1989 after the first International Meeting on Public Scientific Communication
in Poitiers, France. The 130 participants from 14 countries decided to meet again to discuss
the public’s growing need for more information about scientific and technological matters and
all issues and developments concerning science communication.

D. Cheng et al. (eds.) Communicating Science in Social Contexts, 311

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008
312 Appendix

The aim of the network is to multiply opportunities for exchange and cooperation
among researchers and professionals who work in the many diverse but comple-
mentary fields of PCST. The network especially intends to facilitate these
interactions internationally. People may be inspired by foreign innovations and find
solutions abroad to common problems.

What Does the PCST Network Offer?

The aims of the PCST Network are:

● To foster PCST and dialogue among people interested in PCST, leading to cross-
fertilization across professional, cultural, international and disciplinary
boundaries
● To encourage discussion of practices, methods, ethical issues, policies,
conceptual frameworks, economic and social concerns, and other issues
related to PCST
● To link practitioners of PCST, researchers who study PCST, and scientific
communities concerned with PCST
● To link those people, from different cultures and countries worldwide, in devel-
oped and developing parts of the world, concerned with PCST
● To sponsor international conferences, electronic discussions and other activities
related to PCST
● To administer an international electronic discussion for PCST practitioners and
researchers.

PCST Conferences

The PCST Network organizes a major international conference every second year
or so, as the list of past events shows:
● 1989: Poitiers, France
● 1991: Madrid, Spain
● 1994: Montreal, Canada
● 1996: Melbourne, Australia
● 1998: Berlin, Germany
● 2001: Geneva (CERN), Switzerland
● 2002: Cape Town, South Africa
● 2004: Barcelona, Spain
● 2006: Seoul, South Korea
The next conferences will take place in the Øresund region (Sweden and Denmark)
in June 2008 and in India in 2010.
Appendix 313

An average of 600 participants attend the two-yearly PCST conferences. Each event
is a showcase of the best practices and the latest research on science communication,
delivered through hundreds of papers, communications, posters, debates and plenary
lectures. Proceedings are available for most of these events, and a book was published
in 2006: At the human scale: International practices in science communication.1

PCST Electronic Discussion List

The PCST discussion list welcomes postings from people interested in the public
communication of science and technology. The list now has close to 1,000
participants.
To subscribe to the list, visit http://pcst.mailmanlist.net.
Subscribers are automatically members of the PCST Network.

PCST Academy

The PCST Academy is responsible for the creation of the documentary basis of the
PCST discipline. Its main task is the drawing up of reports on particular matters in
the field of communication and social understanding of science.

PCST Structure and Membership

The PCST Network operates through a scientific committee led by an executive

committee. The scientific committee is composed of about 25 world-leading
experts in science communication.
PCST Network activities interest the following categories of people:
● Science journalists
● Science museum and science centre staff
● Academic researchers who study aspects of PCST
● Scientists who deal with the public
● Press and public information officers of scientific institutions
● Science theatre directors
● Anyone engaged in science communication interested in these issues

1
Edited by Donghong Cheng, Jenni Metcalfe and Bernard Schiele (in collaboration with Michel
Claessens, Toss Gascoigne and Shi Shunke), Science Press, Beijing, 2006.
314 Appendix

For more information about the PCST Network, visit http://www.

upf.edu/pcstacademy/PCST_Network.
Toss Gascoigne
President, PCST Network
Index

A Communication, 1–3, 8–16, 22, 23, 33–36,

Acculturation, 106–108 40–47, 49–53, 56, 58–65, 67, 68,
Age, 34, 61, 144, 145, 153, 218, 265, 279, 72–75, 77, 79, 81
280, 302, 307 Communication model, 3, 81, 121, 123, 126,
Audience, 32, 33, 39–53, 83, 84, 97, 131, 132, 183, 266
124, 125, 130, 143, 148, 153, 201, Communication theory, 123–125, 261, 282
203, 206, 244, 265–268, 277, 285, Communicator, 1, 11, 23, 34–36, 83, 99–101,
303–306 124, 133, 152, 155, 158–162, 185, 194,
Australia, 183, 187–189, 191, 201–204, 216, 195, 197, 203, 208, 277–281, 283–285,
227, 230, 232, 239, 241, 269, 312 302, 304
Austrian consensus conference, 268 Conference, 2, 13, 66, 79, 122, 127, 129, 184,
197, 204, 246, 249, 259, 260, 264–272,
277–283, 308, 312, 313
B Conflicts of interest, 84
Bacon & Eggheads, 238 Congressional Science Fellows, 233
Big C science communication, 202, 203 Congressional Visits Day (CVD), 237
Boundary Spanner, 165 m2, 166–168, Consensus conferences, 66, 127, 184, 246,
170–174, 176–179, 192, 194–195 259, 264–272
Brain drain, 238, 239 Consumer, 7, 9, 14, 16, 22, 95, 97, 99, 100,
British Association for the Advancement of 212, 263, 266, 272, 284
Science (BAAS), 13, 153, 159, 305 Context, 2, 11, 22, 31, 34, 36, 52, 67, 72,
Broadcasting, 33, 52, 202, 308 74–76, 79, 80, 85, 94, 104–106,
Brokering capacity, 210 108, 109, 114, 124, 125, 131, 133,
142, 148, 153
Contextual model, 2, 107, 114, 131
C Controversies, 18, 23, 40, 50 n23, 62,
Canada, 125, 201, 203–207, 216, 227, 234, 64, 66, 113, 251, 259–264, 268,
267, 269, 293, 296, 297, 312 270, 272
Chief Scientist, 228–230, 235 Conversation, 13, 17, 23, 112, 121,
Cinema/film/movie, 13, 52, 144, 165 n2, 123–125, 127, 131, 141, 171,
166–169, 171–174, 176–178, 305, 306 236, 238
Citizen, 2, 21, 27, 28, 30, 31, 49, 50, 55, Criticism, 2, 42, 43, 46, 53, 77, 129, 170, 261,
57–69, 103, 107, 121, 122, 124, 125, 262, 266, 267, 294
152, 154–157, 184–186, 237, 239, 246, Cross-sectoral [collaboration], 181–197
261–263, 265–268, 270, 271, 276, Cross-talk, 140, 141, 148
280–285, 291, 292 Culture, 2, 3, 9, 11, 19–23, 32, 33, 35, 41–44,
Citizenship, 60, 63, 66, 69, 157, 185, 267 46, 52, 77–79, 84, 87, 95–97, 99–102,
Collaboration, 162, 166, 181–195, 208, 274, 107, 108, 110
291, 297 Cynefin, 213

315
316 Index

D Expertise, 1, 2, 9, 10, 15, 57, 73, 88, 89, 100,

Danish Board of Technology, 260, 265, 105, 106, 128, 131, 153, 161, 167–172,
266 n4, 271 174, 175, 177, 179, 186, 194, 206, 210,
Danish consensus conference, 268 228, 229, 233, 234, 238, 249, 251, 252,
Debate/discourse on science, 51 267, 268, 270, 299, 302
Decision making, 56, 59, 60, 62, 63, 67,
101, 102, 104, 154, 182, 184, 206,
207, 209, 229, 230, 235, 241, 247, F
255, 269, 271, 311 FASTS, 232, 237–239
Deficit model, 2, 3, 19, 22, 94–98, 100–103, Federal, 106, 203–206, 229, 233,
105, 107, 110, 113, 114, 119, 121–123, 234, 237
126, 128–132, 261, 303 Fiction, 139, 169
DEFRA, 211–214 Figures of the public, 39–53
Deliberative model, 62, 267, 269–271 Formal education/learning, 158–159
Democracy, 36, 53, 56–64, 66–68, 101, 123, Framing, 67, 74, 203, 212
131, 157, 228, 269, 271, 284 Free flow of knowledge, 103–112
Democratizing science, 261–262
Dialogue, 3, 13, 32–34, 36, 61, 64, 68, 79,
103, 105, 119–123, 125–132 G
Discourse, 2, 16, 17, 40–53, 61, 73, 87, 94, 95, Gap, 2, 33–35, 89, 95–98, 100, 103, 161, 207,
97, 100, 102, 105, 107, 108 n5, 113, 230, 280
114, 127, 128, 139–142 Gender, 265, 279, 280
Dissemination, 1, 3, 33, 89, 94, 95, 97, 99, GMOs, 30, 34, 36, 62, 267, 270, 271
102 n3, 103–105, 109, 110, 113, 114, Governance, 56, 57, 63, 154, 245, 250, 255,
123, 125–128, 130–132, 202, 203, 217, 267, 269, 270, 298
247, 267, 268, 270, 293, 303 Government, 2, 8, 36, 52, 57, 59, 60, 64,
66, 98, 106, 121, 135, 182, 183, 186,
192–194, 202, 204, 205, 208, 210–212,
E 214–217, 220, 221 n21, 227–230
Educator/teacher, 1, 2, 155–162, 186, 237, Gradient model, 34, 35
276, 278
Engaging [communities], 182, 183, 189–191,
304 H
Entertainment Industry, 166–169, 171 Humanities, 51, 127, 181–183, 185, 189, 275,
Enunciation, 45, 46, 52, 251 276, 296, 308
Environment, 19, 58, 61, 104, 106, 111, 155,
188, 194, 203, 204, 211 n13, 212, 213,
215, 219, 221 I
Environmental sustainability, 221, 222 Identity, 59, 109, 111, 142–144, 166, 167, 172,
Environment Canada, 205–210 174, 177, 178, 307
Epidemiology, 73–75, 83, 85, 86, 88, 175, 177 Ideology, 19–23, 100, 148
EU, 8, 10, 19, 23, 28, 30–32, 34, 160, Imagery, 143, 211 n12, 253, 262
280–282 Indicators, 20, 108, 252, 255, 256, 281, 294
Eurobarometer, 19–21, 23, 27–30, 36, 281 Innocent fraud, 11
Europe, 8, 20, 22, 23, 27, 28, 30, 34, 35, Innovation, 7, 9, 18, 19, 32, 43, 44, 55–67,
56, 61, 104 n4, 157, 231, 235, 276, 104, 107, 144, 155, 160, 181, 182, 187
280–282, 294, 305, 308 Inquiry-based learning, 158
European Commission, 27, 30, 32, 35, 36, 99, Institution, 9, 12, 13, 34, 36, 40, 43–46, 49,
127, 154, 280, 281, 303, 305, 308 50, 52, 53, 61, 63, 65–67, 73, 80, 86,
European Science Events Association, 304, 89, 102, 104, 112 n7, 127, 128, 140,
306 154, 157, 159, 161, 162, 168, 169,
Evidence, 12, 13, 19, 22, 80, 85, 89, 128, 173, 183, 193–195, 202, 231, 235,
203, 204, 208, 211–215, 220, 228, 237, 239, 251, 262, 271, 291, 293,
235, 241, 276 295, 297, 304, 306
Index 317

Integration [activities], 80, 298 Media coverage, 7, 27, 30, 35, 39, 47, 72, 78,
Intercultural communication, 166, 178 87, 160, 184, 239, 268
Intermediary, 49, 169, 209 Medialisation, 85
Internet, 10, 30, 34, 36, 127, 154, 225, 247, Mediation, 17, 40 n2, 46, 48, 53, 64, 67,
251, 303 97, 98, 111, 166, 177, 259, 262, 272,
291, 303
Meeting places, 301, 302, 304
J Mode 1 Science, 126, 202
Journalist, 31, 32, 35, 51, 52, 74–82, 91, 97, Mode 2 Science, 9, 126, 202, 204
98, 100, 101, 124, 160, 186, 197, 303, Model of deliberation, 259, 264
305, 308 Model of diffusion, 259, 264
Model of negotiation, 259, 264, 271–272
Museums, 39–41, 43, 44, 51, 54, 96, 101,
K 103, 154, 159, 160, 191, 289, 293,
Knowledge, 1–3, 9, 10, 12, 13, 19–22, 28, 295, 305–307
29, 42–44, 49–52, 56–61, 65, 73, 75, Myth of science, 19
83–86, 88, 89, 92, 94–108
broker, 203, 204, 206, 207, 211, 217,
220–222 N
economy, 8, 10, 106, 127, 128 National Rifle Association (NRA), 237
gap, 2, 98, 103 National Water Research Institute (NWRI),
management, 209, 213, 219–221 205–207
marketing, 9–11, 23 Negotiation, 63, 105, 113, 125, 126, 185, 195,
quiz, 23, 28 208, 210, 259, 263, 264, 270–272, 303
society, 22, 23, 30, 36, 39, 48, 54, 93, 104, Network, 1, 38, 40 n2, 89, 92, 103, 104,
113, 127, 292, 295 112, 172–174, 210, 235, 249, 251,
transfer, 40, 171, 202, 204, 207, 262, 263, 276, 285, 295, 296,
297, 298 311–314
New production of knowledge, 289
New science, 157, 183, 235, 249, 256, 301,
L 302, 308
Land & Water Australia, 201, 204, 216, 225 Newspaper, 30, 50 n22, 73, 95, 97, 231, 239,
Learning, 2, 46, 64, 99, 112, 128, 158, 160, 268, 293
192, 210, 215, 233, 256, 267–271, 301, Non-formal/informal education/learning, 2,
302, 306–308 46, 64, 99, 112, 128, 158–162, 192,
Legitimization, 72, 73, 79, 82–84, 88, 89 210, 215, 233, 256, 267–271, 301, 302,
Lifelong learning, 158, 160 306–308
Lines of argument, 211, 213–215
Little c science communication, 202, 203, 205,
206, 220 O
Openness of scientific community, 296, 297

M
Magazine, 30, 38, 47, 95, 104 n4, 291, 293 P
Management, 10, 11, 13, 44, 55, 64–66, 104, Panel, 265, 266 n4, 267–271
106, 111, 112 n7, 155, 166, 183, 187, Parliamentary Office of Science and
191, 202, 207, 209, 213, 216–221, 225, Technology (POST), 234–235
243, 245, 252, 253, 255, 256, 292, 295, Participation, 14, 57, 58, 63–67, 102, 105,
298, 302, 306 109, 119, 125–127, 130–133, 150,
Mass media, 7, 17, 71, 72, 76, 77, 87, 91, 95, 153, 154, 182, 185, 186, 188, 190,
97, 102, 103, 105, 123, 124, 154, 160, 192, 193, 195, 215, 292, 296, 297,
266, 268 301–303
Media, 1, 7, 13, 17, 27, 30–35, 39–49, 51–53, Participatory [models of science
57, 60, 64, 71–89 communication], 190, 192
318 Index

Partnership [interactions, reciprocal Public understanding of science, 19, 21, 22,

exchanges] between scientific 30, 34, 98, 103, 121, 152–157, 160,
community and other social group, 295, 182, 184, 185, 192, 209, 232, 259–264,
297–298 267, 271, 274, 276, 279–281, 283, 284,
PCST. See Public Communication of Science 301–303
and Technology Public’s/People’s understanding of science,
Pedagogy, 156, 157, 159 19, 21, 22, 30, 34, 98, 103, 121, 152,
Peer-reviewed journals, 276, 279, 280 153, 182, 209, 232, 259–261, 263, 276,
Performativity of S&T, 141–145, 148 279, 281, 283, 301–303
Podcasting, 303 PUS. See Public understanding of science
Policy analyst, 207, 209, 210 Pushing, 202, 203
Policymaker, 61, 62, 126, 128, 130, 156, 183,
203, 205, 208, 210–219, 227, 228, 233,
265, 266, 270, 281 R
Policy pull, 201–203, 221 Realism, 33
Political impact, 71, 72, 83, 88, 270 Referential shift, 107
Pollen Project, 158 Representation, 13, 39, 41, 43, 44, 47, 49, 50,
Pop music, 139–148 55–56, 62, 64, 65, 67, 74, 75, 77, 83,
Popularization, 2, 34, 39, 42, 47, 51–53, 94, 84, 88, 89, 93, 96–98, 105, 107, 139,
95, 153, 176, 243, 244, 251, 311 142, 148, 167, 173, 175, 211, 228, 239,
Practice, 1, 3, 7, 16, 41, 45, 53, 62–65, 81, 89, 245, 247, 253, 255, 256, 269, 270, 294,
93 n1, 94, 95, 97, 100, 104 n4, 105, 295, 297
119, 123, 125, 126, 128, 130, 132, 133, Representation of scientificity, 57
151, 154, 156, 158, 159 Representative, 19, 23, 46, 47, 49, 50, 55, 56,
Prime Minister’s Science Council, 230 58, 60–62, 64–66, 68, 73, 105, 131,
Private and private patronage, 8, 9, 16 208, 230, 233, 237, 265, 269, 277, 281,
Procedure, 56, 60–68, 175, 246, 252, 296, 298
255, 256 Research, 1, 2, 7–9, 11–16, 18, 21, 22, 30–34,
Production, 9, 13, 15, 23, 34, 40, 41, 43, 45, 36, 41, 44, 51, 56, 57, 59, 60, 63, 64,
46, 49, 52, 53, 60, 63, 73, 83, 88, 89, 71–76, 78–88, 93–96, 101, 103–107,
93, 96, 99, 102–106, 109, 111, 112, 113, 122, 124, 126
114, 142, 155, 165 n2, 170–173, 176, Research!America, 230, 239, 240 n19
177, 204, 211–213, 243, 247, 253, 255, Retrospective informational effect, 296
256, 282, 289, 290, 295, 296, 298 Risk communication, 124
The Project, 20, 61, 156 Risk society, 126, 262, 284
Progress, 15, 16, 22, 27, 56, 58, 59, 84, Royal Society, 33, 34, 41 n7, 150, 152,
93, 99, 103, 104, 114, 120, 144, 153, 228, 277, 297, 303, 304
151–154, 210, 247, 255, 261, 264,
295, 308
Public, 1–3, 7–9, 11–23, 27, 30, 32–36, 39–53, S
55–58, 60–62, 64–67, 99 Sceptical attitudes, 8, 22
Public communication of S&T. See Public Schematism, 247, 253, 255
Communication of Science and School, 9, 30, 94, 98, 99, 103, 110, 122, 128,
Technology 151, 152, 155–162, 169, 228, 278, 282,
Public Communication of Science and 291, 294, 307
Technology, 1, 2, 8 n1, 38, 92, 94, 95, Science advisers, 227–230
99, 100, 105, 107, 109, 114, 117, 119, Science advocacy, 227–241
120, 122–126, 128, 130–133, 276, 280, Science and emerging technologies, 259,
285, 311–314 270, 272
Public engagement, 120, 122, 128, 129, 154, Science and society, 2, 3, 8, 27, 34, 40, 41,
182, 186, 189, 195, 276 49, 51, 55, 65, 66, 74, 84, 93, 120,
Public relations/science PR, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15, 126, 152, 154, 182, 184, 193, 195,
22, 72, 73, 75, 83, 84, 89, 125, 126, 260, 262, 263, 276, 277, 280, 281,
128, 202, 216, 278 298, 311
Index 319

Science and technology policy, 233, 234 Social sciences, 15, 50–52, 127, 181, 183,
Science and the media, 27, 30–33, 35, 73, 130 185–187, 212, 234, 246, 248, 255,
Science cafés, 301, 303, 305 276, 294, 296
Science communication, 1–3, 7–11, 13, 16, Society, 1–3, 8, 9, 12, 15, 21, 22, 27, 30,
22, 27, 34–36, 93, 97, 119–121, 123, 32, 34, 36, 40, 41, 48, 49, 51, 55–59,
125–133, 139–141, 148, 151–155, 61–63, 65, 66, 72–75, 83, 84, 86–88,
157–161, 165, 166, 181–190 93–98, 100–105, 107–110, 113
Science communicator, 1, 11, 23, 34, 100, S&T and society, 148, 152, 156, 158–161,
101, 133, 151, 152, 155, 158–162, 185, 188, 269, 270, 289–299
185, 194, 195, 275, 277–281, S&T culture, 290–296
283–285, 304 Stem cell research, 14, 34, 71, 73, 74, 84–86,
Science consultant, 165, 168–174 88, 122, 126, 277
Science education, 101, 125, 151–152, S&T in Popular culture, 139–141, 145, 148
155–162, 275, 280 S&T Narratives, 140, 147–148
Science education reform, 152, 156–159 S&T policy, 290–292
Science events, 3, 301–306, 308 Survey, 12, 18, 19, 23, 27, 28, 30–33, 35, 41,
Science festivals, 13, 282, 301, 303–306 44, 50, 51, 71, 73, 74, 76–81, 85, 86,
Science in society, 157, 301, 303, 305 89, 99, 108, 153, 160, 184, 235, 236,
Science in the social context, 181–195 253, 275, 277, 278, 281, 282, 285, 290,
Science journalism, 27, 52, 74, 75, 82 294, 295, 303
Science literacy, 19, 21, 95, 101, 107, 108, Sustainability, 182, 194, 202, 212–217, 221,
153, 184 225, 243–245, 247–255
Science lobbying, 227–231, 235 Sweden, 19, 28, 30, 161, 250, 304–307, 312
Science-media interface, 30 Synthesis, 52, 165, 172–177
Science meets Parliament (SmP), 237, 238
Science-policy dialogue, 211
Science-policy divide, 203, 207, 209 T
Science-policy interface, 203–205, 207–211, Teaching, 1, 96, 100, 125, 156–159, 228, 276,
220 278, 283
Science-policy linkages, 202, 216 Techno-science, 55, 59, 61
Science push, 201–203, 216, 217, 221 Tectonic plates, 29
Science-society, 2, 3, 8, 27, 34, 74, 93, 120, Television, 30, 42, 45, 47, 49–52, 123, 160,
152, 184, 195, 260, 298 165 n2, 168
Science-society relationship, 2, 8, 74, 93, 152, Theory, 1, 7, 66, 74, 98, 123, 124, 126, 139, 141,
260 147, 148, 154, 185, 203, 221, 228, 235,
Scientific expertise, 72, 73, 88, 89, 92, 153, 245, 249, 250, 261, 275, 282, 283, 285
161, 168, 169, 172, 174, 177, 233, 249 Training, 34, 52, 79, 99, 101, 105, 110, 122,
Scientific ideology, 7, 20, 21 156, 158–161, 168, 169, 208–210, 221,
Scientific information, 13, 31, 36, 84, 97, 120, 233, 236, 256, 265, 275–279, 282, 284,
121, 166, 167, 170, 172–176, 201, 203, 292, 297, 304
284, 293 Transformation, 40, 55, 56, 80, 93, 94, 98,
Scientific literacy, 7, 19–22, 28, 34, 35, 105, 109, 111, 113, 140, 141, 157, 159,
151–160, 162, 182, 186, 208, 259–261, 162, 165, 172, 173, 177, 178, 253, 295
272, 276, 282 Translation, 43 n9, 71 n1, 133, 165, 167, 172,
Scientific norms, 77 173, 176, 177, 202, 203, 205, 210, 243,
Scientific rationality, 105 244, 285, 303
Scientist, 1, 2, 11, 13, 14, 16, 31–36, 42, Trust, 8, 28, 30, 33, 36, 44, 46, 58, 85, 89,
49, 51, 52, 56–58, 60–62, 67, 71–88, 99, 108, 123, 150, 167, 174, 185, 189,
95–98, 101, 103–106, 113–114 191–194, 202, 206, 209, 219, 220, 229,
Social actor, 16, 22, 58, 101, 108, 111, 112, 301–303
128, 291, 293, 296, 298 TV, 30, 31, 33, 34, 121, 239, 293
Social meanings of S&T, 139 TV broadcasting, 33
Social relevance, 72, 83, 88, 297 Two-way communication, 119, 123, 128, 215,
Social representations of S&T, 142 296, 303
320 Index

U W
Uncertainty, 60, 61, 105, 148, 175, 202, 215 Window dressing, 98–99
Upstream engagement, 127, 191, 193 Work, 1, 3, 10, 15, 24, 28, 29, 32–36,
User, 47, 63, 124, 182, 190, 201–203, 208 n9, 41, 50–52, 67, 72, 78–81, 83,
217, 218, 220, 222, 263, 296–298 99–101, 103, 104 n4, 105,
106, 108
Work conditions, 106
V Workshop, 1, 159, 206–210, 213, 214, 297,
Value, 1, 12, 13, 20, 21, 50, 53, 59–61, 74, 78, 306–308
82, 84, 85, 88, 96, 103, 105–111, 114, Writing, 13, 22, 45, 189, 206, 231, 237, 251,
123, 126–129, 132, 154, 156 252, 260, 261, 276, 282, 284