What geeks can learn from gays

It's time for scientists to come out - and make a stand against woo-woo and waffle.

I've lost count of the number of times I've heard senior scientists lament the lack of appreciation for science in the general populace. "If only people valued science we wouldn't have all these problems with -" and here you can fill any number of our current scientific bête noirs - climate change scepticism, the belief that homeopathy is any better than a placebo, vaccine denial....

I sympathise with this point of view, which is why it makes my blood boil that some of those same senior scientists treat science communication either in the way Lindsay Lohan treats the highway code (as a rather troublesome bore) or pay it lip service, thinking the odd public lecture to the already-interested somehow gets them off the hook.

It still amazes me that Carl Sagan was ridiculed by many of his peers, who regarded his work in public engagement as something that devalued him - when the exact opposite was true. Richard Feynman suffered similarly from short-sighted colleagues - although, to be fair, he was also shagging some of their wives, so this may have had an impact. I've also had this conversation with brilliant scientists and communicators like David Eagleman and Robin Lovell-Badge, who tell me they often suffer the same disdain from many of their peers if they engage in communicating with the public.

Things have improved, though not enough. If I had a pound for every time in the last year I've heard Professor Brian Cox being lightly dusted down (out of his earshot) for "not really being a proper scientist" I could probably buy him quite a nice dinner. (Obviously I wouldn't tell him how I funded it.)

The people who so readily attack Cox don't realise he isn't making programmes for them. He's making pop videos about physics - and thank God. We could do with a few more pop videos about physics, frankly. I do a lot of work with schools and I can tell you that Brian does more to inspire teenagers about science than much of the current curriculum.

Part of the problem is, I suspect, a widely held belief that you can only really appreciate, value (and therefore truly champion) science if you've put in some serious hours actually doing it or, at the very least, reading a lot about it - so the answer to getting the public on science's side is to have more of us take scientific subjects at school, and read the weighty tomes of Roger Penrose and the like.

Really? I'm not sure. Here's a quick example. I'm not gay, but I believe discrimination based on sexuality is abhorrent. My bookshelf has no volumes by Armistead Maupin, my DVD collection none of the films of Derek Jarman. I hate musical theatre. I once considered seeing Judas Priest in concert, but didn't go. You don't have to be gay to care that society enshrines equal rights regardless of sexuality, and you don't have to do science to be concerned that our society is evidence-based.

So, perhaps we should ask ourselves: how did the gay community manage to get most people to care about something that, statistically, they have no personal investment in, while science is still battling to be valued by so many?

I'll tell you why. Because the gay community went out fighting. Science needs to do the same. Oscar Wilde once said: "As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination. When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular." Lazy pessimism and lazy thinking are vulgar and it's about time more of us stood up and said so.

In expressing this argument on my blog, I was challenged with: "Gays and blacks fought back because they were being discriminated against, denied access to basic rights, insulted, abused, and in many cases killed. And still are. That's really not a motivation which many scientists share, even the ones who are the victims of a bit of jealous peer gossip because they're on TV."

This is, of course, entirely right. My argument here isn't about motivations, but methods. I'm arguing that when an MP - say, oh I don't know, David Tredinnick - stands up and supports the view that homeopathy is better than placebo, or that surgeons can't operate under a full moon because of a lack of blood clotting (to quote just two examples) then maybe we should wonder if they are fit for more public ridicule than we have so far been able to muster.

Which is why, finally, it's so nice to hear the likes of Government Chief Scientific Adviser John Beddington saying: "We are grossly intolerant, and properly so, of racism. We are grossly intolerant, and properly so, of people who [are] anti-homosexuality... We are not - and I genuinely think we should think about how we do this - grossly intolerant of pseudo-science, the building up of what purports to be science by the cherry-picking of the facts and the failure to use scientific evidence and the failure to use scientific method."

I'm heartened by the popularity of Ben Goldacre. I applaud Simon Singh's recent libel battle. I look forward to Mark Henderson's Geek Manifesto. Things are getting better, but it's taken far too long - and there's still a long way to go. We've got a lot of catching up to do.

Max Planck famously said: "Science advances one funeral at a time." Let's make sure science communication doesn't carry on advancing at a similar pace. Particularly when we have a planet to save.

Mark Stevenson is the author of An Optimist's Tour of the Future. You can read an abridged extract here. This piece first appeared in the June 2011 issue of the British Science Association's magazine, People & Science.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times