Science, people, and surviving in the time of a global pandemic

Well, it’s certainly been a year. Looking back at the last 12 months, it seems unfathomable that anything close to normality could persist, and yet despite lockdowns, a global pandemic, massive curtailing of international travel, and a massive shift in how we work, we try to carry on. Which may not have been the best solution, to be honest. It’s a bit of square peg/round hole. And that is likely to be the source of many of the challenges.

In the early days of lockdown in the UK in March, the message was “be patient, be kind”. But as the months went on, the restless wheels of capitalism started straining and the messaging quickly returned to “Business as Usual”. Even through the summer, there was an expectation from some quarters of pre-pandemic levels of engagement and not a lot of flexibility. Rather than pressing pause on things to let folks get to grips with the global paradigm shift (in the true Kuhnian sense) of how we work as scientists, the emphasis became “get back to normal” when everything about it was far from normal.

For me, had three primary effects. First, I had a mental breakdown in July. Like, properly. Thankfully I have a supportive husband who recognized the signs, and a responsive GP who was able to start me on a treatment regimen. I’ve also benefited from cognitive behavioural therapy. Five months in, and though I wouldn’t say “I’m better”, I certainly feel a bit more resilient. I recently asked on twitter (https://twitter.com/TheLabAndField/status/1333142805640859648)  when the last time was when folks felt “well”, and more than 7/10 responded that it had been sometime before 2020 (with ¼ before 2015). We often talk about cumulative pressures on ecosystems and how one additional threat (be it climate change, an invasive species, or pollution for example) can push species over the edge. Many of us know how they feel, and the COVID-19 pandemic has revealed just how precariously some of us were hanging on.

Add on top of this the summer where “Black Lives Matter” gained more prominence (rightly so), and a year where transphobia reared its ugly head with abandon in the UK (and organizations’ responses to these), and it’s been a particularly tough time for many. We’re all very tired.

Second, science took a MAJOR hiatus. Between May and September, I think I managed about 1 or 2 days of research, which was dedicated to supporting students or collaborators. I’ve had a manuscript come back in January 2020 with “major revisions” that I haven’t even found time to dig into. And that should be OK. But what I think will be particularly challenging is how this year will be evaluated (which is a broader problem in science). Thanks to a network of collaborators and students, and a large backlog of work that happened in December 2019, I’ll probably come out of the year in not too bad a shape in terms of publications. But I’m very lucky. What about the early career postdoc, or the PhD student, or the researcher with caring responsibilities? Just like our desire to “be patient, be kind” fizzled out over the summer, the legacy of remembering that anyone for whom 2020 (and likely 2021) will be used to evaluate for a job, a scholarship, a grant, or a promotion will, I fear, be a fading memory, especially by those who were able to buffer the year more than others.

Which brings me to the third point: compassion for people should be (but isn’t always) paramount. I’ve always sad that good science happens because of good people, but lately I’ve found that it (and many other thing) happens in spite of those for whom compassion and understanding is not in the fore of their mind. Increasingly, process and finance dominate. As an example, I was discussing with a colleague about a potential future event which involved groups of people indoors, which they were adamant happen “before the end of the fiscal year” in March. I was utterly flabbergasted, but equally not surprised in the least. In a year when so many of us have felt so besieged, so beaten down, so mentally drained, and unable to embrace, compassion and inclusion should be driving our conversations. I’ve tried my best to filter out and counter some of these pressures for the folks I work with, and I know my manager has done the same. But this isn’t universal, or I hazard to guess even all that common. And the pandemic of 2020 has pulled back the curtain on the utter absurdity of these artificial constraints, but not for all (and most importantly, seemingly not for those in power).

Overall, 2020 has revealed just how unprepared we were for any disruption to our status quo, as individuals and organizations. What we need isn’t more wellbeing seminars or working groups, but to catch up with the paradigm shift and the new state in which we all find ourselves. One where people come first, processes are in place to serve us (not the other way around), and where we can hopefully thrive again in our infinite wonder.

Reflection in science

Tags

slow science, writing

And no, not as in the mirror kind.

In what’s becoming (or seeming to become) an increasingly frenetic research environment, where turn-around times at journals, strict (and too short) deadlines on studentships, and the drive (either from perceived need or desire) to “get papers out” are often thought of as the default. I’ve noticed it lately as I supervise students and collaborate on projects, and as a result, my list of “current projects” falls into a highly bimodal distribution: 1) languishing for months, 2) needed my attention yesterday.

It seems astonishing that this cultural emphasis has shifted to much (or perhaps just how I perceived it shifting) in the 8 years since I obtained my PhD. This also makes mentoring students today all the more challenging, because their experiences are already diverging from my own (and we all know the “I got a tenure-track professorship before I’d handed in my PhD and with only a paper in a mid-tier specialist journal” argument gets really old really fast).

Now, I am wary of this becoming a “when I was your age” post, written from the opulent luxury of a permanent job in my field. Jobs are seemingly getting harder to get, grants are most certainly more competitive, and the mighty Journal Impact Factor and h-index are (foolishly, in my view) used by those who make decisions about hiring, promotion, and funding. To say nothing of the biases some of my friends & colleagues experience (where it seems that nothing is ever enough to merit X). And this is all made easier by the electronic modes of communication (physically posting 3 copies of a paper to a journal, who posted it to reviewers took longer… and yes, I have indeed experienced it!).

From a PI perspective, this all manifests in how I prioritise the science I work on – student manuscripts, and funded work to the front. Which has relegated a great deal of “my science” to the back-burner. Projects from my postdoc that I had to shelve, important, but “low impact” research that I think needs done, and work that I would love to do, but is more often funnelled into student projects (which is a mixed blessing in the UK). In the past I’ve been too eager to say yes to things that were tangential to my focus or interests.

Sure, part of this is down to career progression as well as temporal effects (herein lies one of the main challenges of longitudinal studies!). But I wonder if two tools I’ve used frequently in the theatre might help, or at least not be a complete waste of time.

 

The first is an analogy to workshopping. In theatre, a playwright can often take a partially finished work to a theatre troupe and they work together in a methodical way to try different things out. It could be everything from new lines of dialogue to whole new directions of entire acts. The workshopping I’ve been involved in typically lasted 2-3 days and always resulted in a stronger work.

Some departments do something similar with a periodic external audit or “departmental review”, where outside peers assess criteria, speak with department members, and present a series of recommendations for making the department better.

What if we had something similar, but for research programmes? I don’t mean in a harsh “you’re awful, why did you bother doing that” sense, but rather in the theatrical spirit of coming up with a focused and better piece. This is perhaps a more formalized, structured, and intervening way of mentorship (which itself is lacking at the PI level). I’d love to spend 2-3 days with someone without a vested interest in my research to plot strategically which grants to pursue, which to pass, which projects to drive forward, and which new areas of research to look into because at the moment it feels a little too hodge-podge for my liking.

 

The second is the somewhat controversial concept of Slow Science, which advocates for more thinking and a more deliberate, slower pace to scientific production. The challenge is that this call is often made by those not facing the same pressures as students or postdocs looking to secure employment (and to whom so many PIs are inexorably linked), and that long-term funding (more than on a 2-4 year basis) isn’t really forthcoming. Perhaps it would also be helped along by the first exercise, if we assume that “time for science” is finite and at a set level, the more projects in which one becomes involved, the less time each project receives.

My most recent experience with this was 3 (!) years ago when several of us absconded to a friend’s parent’s house in the Swiss Alps for 2 weeks and immersed ourselves in a series of related projects, interspersed with lovely cheese, bizarre German boardgames, and of course hikes in the mountains. I felt truly immersed in what we were doing, and for the first (and only!) time since my PhD focused solely on a group of interrelated publications (and which resulted in all 6 being published, with the overwhelming majority of work taking place on this retreat).

 

But as I said, these ideas may well be luxuries given that my students and collaborators are facing different pressures and have different priorities. In the meantime, I’ve already started trying to refocus some efforts, and have actively discussed a “reset” with a few close colleagues (we’ll find out soon if the grant application that would allow this reset was successful!). And by carving out dedicated time for research (right now, 1 day a week plus an annual writing retreat for 2-3 weeks), I hope to get things back to where I want them: less frenetic and more focused.

The system of student research in the UK fundamentally broken

Tags

DTP, grad students, NERC

Hot take alert.

Having worked in university-adjacent and research-based institutions for the last 5 years in the UK, I’m acutely aware of the challenges around getting research done. A common solution is, of course, to have undergraduate or graduate student researchers. This can be for an honours, masters, or PhD degree, for example. And while student training hasn’t been a formalised part of my job, I recognize it as essential for the progress of professional science (and not just in research, but cutting across many spheres, like communication, policy, industry, and more). Long story short, the way to get more research done is, unsurprisingly, to have more people working on it. And I know I’m not alone in having a lengthy list of projects that I think need doing.

So what are the mechanics of this in the UK? Unfortunately they do not tend to work in researchers’ favour.

The first is the masters programmes. The museum participates in three such programmes, run through two London universities. Students cycle through varying numbers of modules (taught, and research projects) over the course of a year, meaning a student dedicates ca. 4 months to a single project. There are also longer MRes programmes which tend to be 8-12 months as well, but we’re not formally partnered in any of those at the moment.

Leaving aside the £9000 tuition fees and other barriers to entry from an undergrad degree, the reality is that 4 months is frighteningly short to accomplish a research project, particularly if any data collection is required. The result is the prioritisation of the student’s research report so that they can achieve their degree, which inevitably means a lot of “we can do that later when we turn it into a paper”. But upon graduation, seldom do students have the time (and indeed they are doing it in their own time if at all) to revise reports, do additional analyses, and turn their thesis into a manuscript. It then falls to the supervisor who must often engage in manuscript necromancy and spend a not inconsiderable amount of time doing the revisions, submitting the manuscript, responding to reviewer comments, and more. And this assumes that the analyses are correct and complete, that the data are collected appropriately, and analyses can be reproduced/altered. In my experience (n = 4), only one (my masters first student) has gone on to getting it published, and that was thanks to an additional collaborator who took the brunt of the work. The whole process took 4 years after graduation. And this is by no means a dig at the students! They’re in a tough spot where increasingly masters degrees are seen as an essential precursor to a PhD (in a way that North American research-based masters degrees haven’t been over here). But the time allowed just isn’t enough.

What then of PhD students?

In the UK, there are basically 2 ways of securing a PhD student for your research group: a) have a huge grant that can pay for it (the full cost of a PhD student is ca. £25k a year, plus research costs), or work through one of the Doctoral Training Partnerships (DTPs). For those not in the know, NERC, the Natural Environment Research Council (and it’s companions in other fields) funds these studentships. But rather than dish them out directly, and likely in an attempt to make sure not everyone who gets one goes to Oxbridge, they award the funds to consortia of universities. There are 17 DTPs through NERC, each of which covers a particularly theme/group of universities. Note that if your university isn’t covered, you don’t get students through this route.

But there are also all kinds of unwritten allocation rules to prevent one university in the consortium from taking all the students (and all the money, which happened in the first year at one place). But it means a rigid system of quotas. For example, the museum is part of the GW4+ DTP, covering Bath, Exeter, Cardiff, and Plymouth. But we only get one “lead-supervised” studentship in the whole 5-year cohort (It could be one a year, but that’s not entirely clear). Either way, given the same student, same project, and same supervisory team (we need someone at a uni because the NHM can’t award degrees) the student may or may not get funded because of who’s listed as the “lead” applicant. This happened to me last year.

Take another case: the London NERC DTP receives >700 applications for a measly 13 PhD studentships. This means that one must basically have an absolute top undergrad degree, an absolute top masters, have publications, volunteer (yes, volunteer!) experience, and more. That’s imply not attainable for many students, and is a sure fire way to limit diversity.

As a consequence, it means that at conferences, students want to come and talk about doing a PhD, but even if we work with them, carefully craft a project around their interests and for which they’re uniquely qualified (i.e., game the system), they could still not be awarded the studentship. Equally, a student need not be in touch directly with a potential supervisor before applying, so if they’re admitted to the DTP, the DTP is essentially forced to get them a project.

Lastly on DTPs, because students aren’t linked with specific projects (in some DTPs) until after a 12-week “rotation” across the different partners, there’s a lot of wooing and spoiling of potential students who know they are valuable to supervisors, and I have been dragged on and on by some in the past who ultimately choose a different project.

The system, dear reader, is broken.

I’m not saying it’s better or worse than what came before (I wasn’t here), but it’s pretty clear to me that my time as a PI is better spent just doing the science myself, or working with students overseas where entry requirements aren’t as convoluted and disconnected (e.g., Australia, Canada, US). Which is quite sad for me, as it means I’m unlikely to have “my own” lab, or cohort of students to whom I can impart what I think the culture of science and scholarship should look like. And I really miss that.

If you’re a current (!), or prospective student reading this, though, don’t take it as a signal that you shouldn’t get in touch. There may well be other ways of making things work, but so far I’ve found discussion of the frustrations of supervisors in student recruitment in the UK to be largely hush-hush.

NERC, and other research councils, need to rethink this system. I’m happy to consult, at my usual rate.

 

Post edited 02 Aug to clarify the masters-level courses and their varying requirements.

Subtle markers of career progression

Tags

career progression

Last September, Meg Duffy wrote a really nice piece about what she saw as some of the markers of a shift in career stage – like seeing a reference letter in a grad school application from one of your former undergrad students. This phenomenon is something of which I’ve been acutely aware recently, though I’m not sure why. But every few weeks, I keep finding another example, and I thought I would collate them here.

Similar to Meg’s example above, last December I found myself being the external examiner for a MSc thesis that was the logical progression from my own honours thesis 15 years ago. It was neat to look back and see what I would have done differently, how someone else approached the same challenges, and how they took my rambling suggestions for “future research” and actually implemented some of them!

Back in 2017, I noted that my “Manuscripts” link folder in my browser was empty because all my current submissions were being handled by collaborators or students. That was also the year I had no first-authored papers. There could be an interesting study in how authorship position shifts over career stages (I mean, it’s another example of quantifying the obvious but hey that’s basically ecology & conservation, isn’t it?)

More recently, I have become increasingly frustrated with some of the cultural systems in research in general (and academia specifically) and how difficult it’s been to change/fix, but because of how others (trainees, mentees, or other folks earlier in their career were being treated. I’ve been trying for some time to push our collective system towards a more equitable, inclusive one; my equivalent of reaching down to hold the metaphorical ladder. Or put another way, trying to be the kind of person I would have benefited earlier in my career.

Some not-so-obvious markers come from increased experience, and how long we expect things to take. For example, 7 days out, I hadn’t really done much to prepare for a seminar (because it was a minor alteration of one that I had given just a few months previously), and that didn’t faze me like it would have when I was a postdoc.

And the most recent example was from just yesterday. My good friend & colleague Ingrid Pollet & I, along with some other coauthors, submitted a huge 24,000-word monograph as an updated species account for the Birds of North America series. We’d been working on it since we first hatched the idea at a conference in Barcelona in September 2016, and so submitting it yesterday was a huge cause for celebration. But aside from telling colleagues, I had to make my own celebration. In grad school, or as a postdoc, for example, my supervisor/lab would have chipped in and we would have had some celebratory cake, or a trip to the pub after work. I came home and had a celebratory cinnamon bun (which was delicious).

For the above, I don’t have a particular “good vs bad” take on them; they all seem largely a part of the typical progression for someone in a permanent job 8 years from my PhD. I’ll probably update this post with others as & when they manifest.

When the inclusive science spaces we build meet the orthodoxy

Tags

consensus, inclusion, management, mentoring

As a proud non-academic scientist, I find some of the short-hands (shorts-hand?) for career stages don’t really mesh with my experiences so far. I got my PhD in 2011, didn’t have a career break, and am in my second permanent job, so I’m not really an “early-career researcher” any more (or at least, I don’t really feel like one). One big difference between the academy and science writ large is the presence of permanent staff that one manages. I have five permanent staff in my team. For that reason, I’ve sort of dubbed my current career stage “early-career management”.

But whether you’re managing a team of staff, or of research students and postdocs, there are still some common threads and challenges. One of the biggest that I struggle with, be it with staff or the grad students I co-supervise, is how to balance our collective ethos for the way we work with that of the broader community.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that scientific research as a whole has some pretty significant issues, particularly around power dynamics, valuing contributions, and the pressure to produce. Many of these are analogous (or directly applicable) in other fields as well. I, and many others, have been fighting back against these broken systems in our own way, making our little corner of the world just a little bit less crap. And I think I can safely say that the people we work with in building A Better Science World appreciate, and thrive in such environments.

But what about when we come into contact with the brutal, oppressive, harsh “outside world” of the current orthodoxy?

Two examples come to mind. In our lab, and where I work, we often work by consensus, especially on larger cross-cutting issues that affect everyone. Achieving that consensus is important because it means that decisions aren’t regarded as edicts promulgated from upon high, arguments are made and heard, and everyone has a chance to weigh in. This, of course, takes time which is often at odds with the desire of others for a rapid response, or a quick turn-around and if they’re not used to this kind of system of working, it can be seen as needlessly wasting time, or putting decisions off.

The other example is around writing manuscripts which will eventually (hopefully) become journal articles or book chapters or monographs. I’ve alluded to some of this before. Trying to be inclusive with who gets credit (go read Max Liboiron’s blog and paper on equity in authorship… it was quite honestly revolutionary in my own thinking about this), or making sure everyone has a chance to comment, feed back, and sign-off on things like the text, images, and plan (e.g., where to submit it, or whether they agree with the responses to reviewer comments).

Now on the whole, I think our approaches work well, and they are important to me as someone who manages staff and supervises research students and postdocs. But having experienced some situations in the last 2 years that have been so counter to my own approaches, I’ve been left wondering how I can become more resilient to these transgressions, and also prepare my staff and students for their own encounters with a less inclusive, less consensus-driven science world. Some were small (a paper was submitted to a journal other than what we had agreed), others were larger or more chronic.

Because if I find it jarring and upsetting, so will the folks in the work environment I try to nurture. And trying to push back (again, and again) with institutions or a myriad of coauthors (often new, and sometimes one-off) just isn’t sustainable.

I genuinely don’t know the answers, but until Science™ is more inclusive, diverse, and compassionate, and less cut-throat, metrics-driven, and injurious it’s something that those of us trying to change the system, or hold the ladder for those coming behind us will need to think about. And it’s one of my biggest struggles as an Early-Career Manager.

Answers to your questions: Queer in STEM AMA

Tags

LGBTQ, QueerAndA

Thanks to everyone who sent in a question. I know there are a quite a few more who were also interested in the responses. While the Google form is now closed, you can always leave questions anonymously in the comments below, or find me by email or twitter.

Like I mentioned originally, my reason for doing this is because it’s something *I* wish someone had done for me, so I assume that at least one other person will find it useful. And I think the calibre and breadth of the questions bears that out.

So without further ado, on to some questions (and answers)!

We have two young people in our extended family who are transgender. I am completely accepting of this however there is a small part of me that wonders if they are too young (15 & 17) to fully understand this major decision. Did you know and understand at a very young age?

First and foremost, I’m not trans. I’m as cis as they come so I have no concept of what it feels like to have one’s assigned gender not match up and how awful that must feel. There are trans voices out there (though beware some pretty awful articles, often written by cis men), and I’d encourage you to seek them out.

I identify predominantly as gay, occasionally queer. I knew I wasn’t straight when I was 12 or 13. This was in the mid 1990s and I grew up in a pretty off-the-beaten-path place in eastern Canada where there was no exposure to LGBTQ+ culture (aside from one seedy bar). So I think I didn’t “understand” until years after I came out. The one thing that is (and was) painfully obvious is that LGB and particular TQ folk don’t have it easy, and I don’t know anyone who would have willingly gone through the internal (and often external) pain and suffering on a whim.

 

I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to elaborate more about how professional societies can engage with their LGBTQ members. Specifically, I (a queer woman) am involved in the organisation of a small, Europe-based scientific society, and we do have a (very) modest amount of funding and of platform. Any ideas for best practices or suggestions of what I can read to find out more?

That’s great news! My first suggestion is to ask around and find out what your LGBTQ+ members want. What would make the biggest difference to them? An event at your annual meeting? Pieces in your newsletter? It’s quite common for professional societies to really get this wrong, in my experience, or to not even care. I put together a quick list of questions you can ask to figure out what it is you could/should be doing.

 

How advisable is to be out to one’s co-workers in an EEB university setting in northern/western Europe, and how does this vary with the career stage of the co-worker (eg. supervisor to fellow PhD student to supervised BSc/MSc student), and that of the outee (eg. as above)? What’s the best way to go about it?

Deciding whether to come out at work can be a huge step, and everyone’s experiences are different, so I don’t want to be prescriptive. I’ve been out for about 13 years now, so I don’t think twice about it. All my immediate colleagues, and all of my co-supervised students know I’m part of Team Sparkle. Heck, I mentioned it in my job interview. But I knew in advance that it would be a largely friendly audience.

It can get more complex when there’s a power dynamic. As a PI/supervisor, you can signal your outness in several ways (rainbow sticker on your office door, family photos on your desk, mentioning the gender of your spouse if you’re in a same-gender relationship, for example). If you have regular lab meetings, bring up diversity topics. if you have a swipe card/keys on a lanyard, why not consider wearing a rainbow lanyard?

Looking the other way (which is something I do have experience with), much of the same applies as above. I came out to my PhD supervisor in SeaTac International Airport when he saw my wedding ring, and asked what my wife did. “Husband. He’s in electronics sales” was my reply. It obviously becomes easier the longer you’ve been out in other contexts, but you can foster a lab/department/school environment in which folks will feel comfortable being out. I’ll flag in particular the Department of Chemistry at the University of York in the UK as one amazing example. Their webpage has a page specifically for LGBT+ information, they had rainbow flags up during Pride, and have guidance for using preferred pronouns.

 

How do you deal with papers, work, comments, etc from people that is not wholly objective but actually discriminatory? For instance, we know now that the “older men are attracted to young women because of fertility” is false and that it lacks any genetic proof, as well as ignores LGBTQ people. Yet I continue to see people cite it. How do you deal with people, research, etc that just straight up ignores you under the guise of science and objectivity?

I’ve not been personally affected by papers or science that ignores LGBTQ+ folk beyond a bit of frustration (perhaps driven my complacency?). I have, however, been told that being LGBTQ+ has no influence on one’s science, and shouldn’t because science is objective and based on facts and emotionless. That idea is something I disagree with strongly. I think the topics I study, how I study them, and who I study them with are influenced, at least in part (and maybe even unconsciously) by my being gay. It’s a hard one to communicate, though, because it’s not that obvious. But I tend to have a high proportion of women coauthors, and several other LGBTQ+ coauthors. I strongly advocate a way of queering science that’s encapsulated nicely in this Queer Science Manifesto. Anyone who says their science is done in a vacuum without emotion and is entirely objective is deluding themselves.

 

I just got a tenure track faculty position that I am very excited about. I am queer, out and proud in my personal life, but how do I let students know this? I want to be visible and serve as an example of being queer in STEM. However, I don’t present as visibly queer. I’m trying to figure out the most appropriate way of communicating this information and could use some tips! Thanks for doing this!

I think some of this can also be covered by one of the questions above. Rainbow stickers on your door, a lanyard, etc can be powerful symbols. It can be more difficult when one doesn’t present as queer (I know several bi friends in mixed-gender relationships who have this issue of erasure).

The easiest thing is to talk about it. Bring it up in the context of talking about diversity in science, initiatives you want to see from professional societies, local pride parades. I don’t have much experience in a teaching context of student interactions, but there can be ways to incorporate queer material into the curriculum (people, ideas, ways of doing science).

 

Have you ever encountered a situation where another gay, or bisexual, or just curious, man propositioned you, whether it be in the lab, or field, or elsewhere in your professional environment? How did you react? Or if it has never happened, how do you think you would react? Any recommendations on how to handle such a situation?

I haven’t (thankfully). Harassment is most definitely a problem in science (see this paper by an amazing team detailing issues of harassment and assault in the field, for example), as well as in the LGBTQ+ community. Same-sex sexual harassment is also certainly a thing, but one that, so far as my googling has found, isn’t well studied (though I have it on good authority that something is in the works and will hopefully be appearing soon!). The recent US National Academy of Science report on sexual harassment of women, though, found higher incidences of assault and harassment in queer women in STEM.

As for how to handle it, I think the same advice as for mixed-sex harassment applies – make yourself safe, and then talk to someone. Stonewall UK has some resources for the harassment side of things that might be useful, as does the HRC.

 

What is your advice for young LGBTQ researchers working in a place where no one is openly part of the LGBTQ community?

I’ll take this to mean in a professional sense. My guess is that there are indeed other LGBTQ+ folk at work, but they aren’t out, or at least out to you. Sometimes all it takes is sticking one’s head above the parapet, however briefly, to draw them out. But I totally understand the situation; I didn’t meet other out scientists until I had been in research for nearly a decade.

I found a community through social media and blogging, and eventually we started meeting in person at conferences or when travelling. It’s been a journey, though. But knowing other LGBTQ+ folk in science is incredibly important because, though they might try, straight colleagues are starting off in a very different place and need to be brought up to speed on some of the things that I certainly wanted to discuss.

I get at an email or message every couple of months from an LGBTQ+ person in STEM who just wants to chat, and needs a friendly ear. And if there’s one thing the queer community has a lot of experience in, it’s creating our chosen families. I was helped, and now I’m paying it forward. If anyone wants to, drop me an email or get in touch.

 

I am a heterosexual male that wants to ensure that people of any gender or sexual orientation feel completely welcome, comfortable, and accepted. Do you have any tips on how to best achieve this?

I’m not crying in my lab, you are.#PrideMonth #STEMPride #queerinstem #Pride2018 pic.twitter.com/1KnEn4ivWI

— Nasi 🐜 (@entobird) June 6, 2018

Yeah, basically that. The thing about unconditional support is that it doesn’t have any, well, conditions. Talk to your institutions diversity/inclusion office if it has one, check out training or events that can help you engage in more allyship (like this one from Stonewall UK, or this from the HRC). Not to be too modest, but check out my list of things I wish I could instantly transfer into straight folks’ brains.

From another standpoint, look at your lab/institution and think of how it might be unfriendly to queer folk. This can be particularly challenging in jurisdictions that are hostile towards queer folk, where institutional or legal support/back-up isn’t there. Do you have gender neutral bathrooms/toilets? Do you parental leave policies apply to same-sex couples? What resources are in place for someone who transitions? Be familiar with what resources are there for queer folk institutionally and locally.

Speak up and counter anti-LGBTQ+ crap regardless of whether you know any LGBTQ+ folk present.

(and thanks to Nasi for permission to include that tweet)

 

Is it important to come out to my boss? I know they won’t care but I feel like it breaks down the professional barrier between us.

That entirely depends on the nature of your relationship with your boss. I have been out to all of my supervisors/line managers, and it didn’t affect the professionalism of that relationship, but your mileage may vary. From a management perspective, it can be good to know because it can help them be more accommodating if needed. It also doesn’t have to be  a “Hey X, I’m gay” or whichever is more applicable. It could be signalled through strategic rainbows for example!

 

How do I find a queer-friendly place to volunteer? I love science and nature, but I’m too old to afford university to get the degree needed to work as a professional. I want to go back to uni but multiple admissions have turned me down and one even laughed in my face. My grades suffered and I eventually dropped out due to queer-related issues that may or may not arise again. Otherwise, I had mostly A’s and a few B’s. Am I doomed to be a hotel maid forever? Even my co-workers keep telling me that I belong in school, but I don’t know how to get back there.

I guess in a sense that depends where you are. If you know some queer folk on the inside, you could chat with them. Otherwise, it might be a bit of a Goldilocks scenario (try one to see if it fits, if not move to the next). Many places now also support flexible schooling (in the UK, check out Open University), though cost could still be an issue. That said, many places do have scholarship programmes, so if you’re not keen on relocating, perhaps arrange a chat with one of the admissions folks from your local university?

 

How do you get over the constant worry that even if you know your colleagues/boss/institution are totally fine with your sexuality, that they’d prefer you to be less obvious about it?

Fuck ’em. Until they stop putting photos of their opposite-sex significant others, talking about their husbands and wives at social or professional gatherings, or using mixed-sex couples as examples for universal issues, you can blast rainbows as far as the eye can see.

I’m totally fine with straight folk expressing their sexuality, though I often wish they were a little less obvious about it 😉

Essential Pride month reading and viewing for straight friends & colleagues

Tags

LGBTQ, links, Pride month

For this next in a series of Pride month posts, I’ll touch on a subject that I have often found frustrating, not only in terms of queerness, but many other complex ideas — how to quickly get a large volume of information, and convey the significance of that information, to someone new in a short time. In the context of this post, what would I like to instantly convey to straight colleagues so they could better understand me as a person and as a scientist.

In some alternate universe I would just have to wait until April 5th, 2063, and mind-meld (hopefully avoiding all that messiness about katra transference). But for the time being, I present a series of articles and other links that I’ve often found myself sharing with colleagues, along with a wee explanation of why I think it’s significant. Because these have a personal importance to me, they are just one slice of the diverse voices out there expressing similar feelings, emotions, or sentiments, and telling related stories from other perspectives.

All told, there’s about half an hour of video, and a couple links to short written pieces. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I (and other bloggers) know how few people actually click on links, particularly in posts that are mostly links (thank you, WordPress stats page!). So if you want to file this post away for some evening after dinner, or that 30-minute commute, or the quiet early morning before the munchkins wake up, please do.

 

Video

Second Class Citizen (cc)

A 7-minute compilation from 2012, and US-centric, but it captures the dominant history of LGBTQ+ rights in North America, particularly in the 2009-2011 period. Much of it based on news clips, if you’ve never really thought about how it feels to have your rights debated in the media, often by the majority, this is a good introduction. It’s also incredibly useful to see not only how far the US has come in the last 7 years, but also what those of us growing up with that cultural influence encountered regularly. Gotta give ’em hope.

 

It’s Time (no dialogue)

A shorter, 2-minute film from Australia, produced in 2011 as part of a campaign by Get Up! for equal marriage (which was finally achieved late last year – hooray!). I think what draws me to it is the mundane every-day that it depicts. Yes, we’re just like everyone else. Shocking. But what’s perhaps more shocking is the need to remind others of that every so often. This one always brings a smile to my face.

 

All The Little Things – Panti Bliss (cc)

Panti is an Irish drag queen, and this video is perhaps the SINGLE link that I absolutely implore you to watch if you haven’t already. “I am 45 years old, and I have never once, un-self-consciously, held hands with a lover in public”, she starts. “I don’t know how many of you can imagine what that might be like”. I certainly can.

It’s an 18-minute TEDxDublin talk from 2015, and it hits on so many points that straight folk don’t often think about. The micro-aggressions, the countless calculations we go through daily, the constant checking of the environments we find ourselves in (the plotting of escape routes in new spaces), being reduced from persons to merely sexual acts. She takes you on a journey through her talk that culminates in the sentiments that so many folk in the queer community feel (including yours truly).

 

Homophobia in 2018 – Time for Love (cc)

A short dramaticised spoken-word piece that begins “It’s Glasgow, March, and we walk hand-in-hand in the park. Now, it’s 3:13 and I’m late and it’s time to make a choice. We’re both boys, you see”. In much the same vein as Panti’s talk, it covers the calculations, the thought processes around what should just be a simple act of affection. Yes, even today. And even in a country where there’s marriage equality. Now, think of the same scenario playing out in a country where being gay is illegal.

 

In a Heartbeat (no dialogue)

Brightening the mood is this absolutely adorable animated short video. Again, the feelings resonate all too well. The fear, the desire, the feeling when the bottom drops out of your stomach, and more. But also powerful because of the (SPOILER ALERT) so very wonderful ending. Everyone should find that joy.

 

Text

Make your Queer Science Manifesto

This one I have printed out in my office above my desk. I wrote previously about how to queer one’s science, and this manifesto I think sums it up well. A manifesto is inherently political, and so, too, is queer science. And before someone jumps into the comments to say that science should be apolitical, devoid of emotion and strictly driven by facts (a common rebuttal), what a silly notion. Scientists are people with agendas, emotions, and experiences that all influence their science. This manifesto not only acknowledges it, but embraces it. Even before I was sent this link earlier this year, I had already been following many of the points it covers, which strengthens my opinion that there is something different in the way queer scientists approach their craft, conscious or otherwise.

 

The “Silence=Death” poster

On the New York Public Library site, a blog post by Avran Finkelstein who was one of the six people who designed the iconic poster in the 1980s. I’ve always advocating knowing where one comes from, in a historical context, and for LGBTQ+ folk, this one is pretty up there. I’m a big fan of Finkelstein’s take on the popularity of the poster: In essence and intention, the political poster is a public thing. It comes to life in the public sphere, and is academic outside of it. Individuals design it, or agencies or governments, but it belongs to those who respond to its call.”

 

24 Coming Out Tips

An archived version of a website that featured these 24 tips for coming out, written ca. 2001, and also appearing in the rag XY at least twice during its initial run (oh, that bastion of white gay twinkness!) . I definitely read [online] these before I came out. #21 always hits me hard. Yes, we queers really did talk about this. And yes, I know kids booted out of their homes in the 2002-2008ish range. And yes, I’ve been someone’s escape route (thankfully not needed).

 

As I said, these are just a few of the links I find myself wishing I could quickly convey to friends & colleagues. I’m sure there are others that LGBTQ+ folk wish they could instantly transmit to someone straight, and equally I’m sure there are others that straight friends & colleagues found useful (add them in the comments!).

A collaborative effort to celebrate Pride month: the LGBTQ+ Rights Bot

Tags

conferences, LGBTQ, twitter

There are many topics that I often find myself explaining to my straight colleagues. Mostly it’s out of their desire to know more, or better understand my experiences as an out gay scientist. But in the 13 years or so since I’ve come out (and in fact for several years before then, too) the one thing that I’ve consistently had the most reactions of surprise from straight colleagues is that there are places in the world to which I simply refuse to travel because of anti-gay laws.

Professionally, this comes up in the context of field work, conferences, or other meetings. And each queer scientist I’ve met with and discussed this topic with has their own take (as well they should!) that balances their safety, personal take on the environment, and comfort. I know several out scientists who have extended field work (as in several months) in what I would term hostile countries, which works for them (or at least they make it work, for the time being).

But so far, every straight colleague to whom I’ve mentioned this had been entirely oblivious until we had the conversation. Some got it right away, others still think I’m being unnecessarily negative. “It’s not like you’re having sex”, one said. No, I’m not, but that’s because I’m married and my partner’s not there. What if I were single? What about the local collaborators, field techs, guides, and others one might be working with? We’d all be held to a different legal standard The presence of such laws, their enforcement, and public debate around them is often a litmus test for other things. I wear a wedding ring (and have for years, leaving a fairly unmistakable “dent”), and the most terrifying bit of conversation with folks I don’t know in a place where my safety isn’t guaranteed is “I see you’re married; what does your wife do?”

 

So as a public service, a combination of Twitter, R, and Wikipedia, and as an excuse to work on a project with my friend Dave Hemprich-Bennett, we present the LGBTQ+ Rights Twitter Bot!

This is a twitter bot (an automated account) that periodically samples data from this Wikipedia article on LGBTQ+ rights around the world, and tweets them out along with the countries’ flags. It’s entirely automated and selects the country and rights in random order, and sends it directly to your Twitter timeline. So perhaps an obvious question is, why?

It’s an attempt to make more broadly known the challenges that queer folk face around the world, which probably isn’t something many straight folk have thought about all that much. And it’s also a place to celebrate the victories where equality has been fought for, and won. The Wikipedia article is remarkably well referenced, and generally considered up-to-date, and is also easily incorporated into the code for the Twitter bot. More detail can be found the IGLA’s annual State Sponsored Homophobia report.

I’ve had the idea for this soon after I saw Dave’s other Twitter bot, The Bat-signal. And fortunately he was able to relatively easily adapt the code, and do the leg work. If you’re interested, you can see the code over on Github.

In a way, it’s quite fitting to roll this out during Pride, which itself is a simultaneous celebration of how far we’ve come, and a reminder of how far we have yet to go. The battle doesn’t stop with marriage equality in our home countries (if indeed we’re fortunate enough to have won that battle already).

 

With special thanks to Dave Hemprich-Bennett for his amazing bot-building skills, and suggestions for this post.

Why is engaging with ecological & organismal professional societies on LGBTQ+ diversity so hard?

Tags

diversity, LGBTQ, Pride month

It’s Pride month, which seems like as good a time as any to pose this puzzler that has been cartwheeling around my brain for the better part of a year now: why is it so difficult to get ecological or organismal professional societies to engage on LGBTQ+ diversity? And why is it when they do, they often muck it up?

For the last 3 years, I’ve been going to/organizing/hosting/thoroughly enjoying the LGBTQ+ STEMinar, a day-long all-STEM conference for LGBTQ+ scientists. It remains one of the absolute highlights of my year. At the most recent edition, a number of professional societies in the physical sciences announced they were banding together to look at diversity of and climate for their LGBTQ+ members, and knowledgeable sources have told me they had a fantastic response. This is a coordinated effort by the UK’s main professional bodies in physics, chemistry, and astronomy.

When July 5th was launched as the International Day for LGBTQ+ folk in STEM, even CERN got on board. CERN! Just look at the supporters on the Pride in STEM webpage… only the Society for Applied Microbiology to represent life sciences. Pathetic, I say. (And yes, I have sent this around to numerous ecology/organismal societies to encourage them to support it, and yet…)

And yet when I broach this subject with their equivalents in non-medical life sciences, it’s met with deafening crickets. On the surface, this seems counterintuitive. Life sciences is traditionally viewed as a more diverse field, particularly so for women, and so it should follow that it’s more likely to engage on other diversity & inclusion topics. But perhaps it’s because of this history of being more inclusive that the impetus to do more just isn’t there.

An equally plausible reason is the fragmentary nature of the professional landscape. There are of course the large bodies, like the British Ecological Society or the Ecological Society of America, but then each taxon has its own group, and even sub-groups (I know groups who focus just on one order of birds, for example). So there’s no overarching body to provide the leadership and demonstrate buy-in.

Or, the larger societies (*cough* ESA *cough*) tend to really get things wrong when they do try and do something. Rainbow “Ally” ribbons in Baltimore, anyone? Or the steps taken are mostly paying lip-service out of the desire to be seen to be doing something. Or they are putting all the labour on their LGBTQ+ members without support.

All is not rosy for LGBTQ+ scientists, dear reader. In a field in which many people spend time in the field, and with increased globalization of research I repeatedly have to explain that there are about 80 countries where being gay is illegal and I don’t exactly like going there. And neither do some other folks. Instead this is looked on as an annoying inconvenience (tell me about it!).

Compared to even 3 or 4 years ago, there has been an uptick in LGBTQ+ events at conferences (though as recently as 9 months ago, one ornithological society insisted that there was no need since everyone was welcome). Utter poppycock of the most foul variety. And it’s great to provide this social & networking opportunity, but a lunch, or evening social to “tick the box” of having done something isn’t sufficient.

So if you’re a member of a professional society in ecology or organismal biology, why not ask them what they’re doing for your LGBTQ+ colleagues? Why not encourage them to do more? And if they won’t, why not re-evaluate the idea of your membership in a professional body that values some members less than others?

MENSERC continues: men still dominate NSERC’s prestigious prizes

Tags

NSERC, Women in Science

NSERC (the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council) is Canada’s funding council for, well, natural sciences and engineering. And each year they recognize the crème de la crème of Canadian scientific & engineering research. Sort of.

It really helps to be a guy.

I first got riled up about this issue in 2013 (which, shockingly, is 5 years ago), at a time when no woman had ever been awarded the Herzberg Medal, colloquially known as the prize for ’Canada’s Top Scientist’. This changed in 2015, but has since resumed it’s male pattern blindness.

In fact, in 2013, 2014, 2015, and 2016, women were recognizes with 0% (!!!), 13%, 17%, and 19% of the prizes awarded. Hey, a positive trend! </scarcasm>

And I want to highlight that these are not competitive grants for which there is an application, but a nomination process meant to recognize excellence in Canadian scientific & engineering research.

After the first year, NSERC reached out in the comments to highlight that they took diversity seriously, and pointed to several initiatives. But this has not yet manifested in the upper echelons, clearly. So much so that one could easily refer to the organization as MENSERC.

So where do we stand with the 2017 awards announced recently?

• Herzberg Medal (“Canada’s top scientist”): man (only one woman has ever won this award, and it was in 2015)
• Polyani Award: man
• Brockhouse Canada Prize: 6 men
• Synergy Award for Innovation: 4 men
• E.W.R. Steacie Memorial Fellowships: 3 men, 3 women
• Gilles Brassard Doctoral Prize for Interdisciplinary Research: 1 man, 1 woman

For those keeping track at home, that’s 4/20 women winners, or 20%. The positive trend continues! </more sarcasm>

As the saying goes, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. I have no idea what goes in behind the shrouded curtain of NSERC deliberations when it comes to these awards, but something is clearly not working.

Meg Duffy has kept tabs on the US NSFs Waterman Award, with similar results. The comments on that post are particularly good, including the response from NSF.

There is also this article in Nature on the under-representation of women in the world’s national science academies.

So while NSERC is by no means an outlier, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t do better.