The Sun will rise on the morning of December 22 and find most of humanity still living. I can say that with a great deal of confidence, though my scientist’s brain tells me I should say the world “probably” won’t end tomorrow. After all, there’s a tiny chance, a minuscule probability…but it’s so small we don’t have to worry about it, just like we don’t have to worry about being struck down by a meteorite while walking down the street. It could happen, but it almost certainly won’t.
My confidence comes from science. I know it sounds hokey, but it’s true. There’s no scientific reason—absolutely none—to think the world will end tomorrow. Yes, the world will end one day, and Earth has experienced some serious cataclysms in the past that wiped out a significant amount of life, but none of those things are going to happen tomorrow. (I’ll come back to those points in a bit.) We’re very good at science, after centuries of work, and the kinds of violent events that could seriously threaten us won’t take us by surprise.
Why the World Won’t End
So where does this stuff come from? Whose idea was it that “the end of the world will be on December 21, 2012”? The culprit, according to those who buy into the idea, is that the end of the world was predicted by the Mayas in their mythology, and codified in their calendar. However, it’s pretty safe to say that the Mayas didn’t really predict the end of the world, even though I don’t know much about the great Mayan civilization that existed on the Yucatan peninsula in what is now Mexico from antiquity until the Spanish conquest.
See this calendar? It’s being touted as a Mayan
calendar in articles about the “end of the world”,
but it ain’t Mayan. It’s an Aztec calendar. Please
don’t mix up civilizations.
The Mayas were the only people in the Americas known to have developed a complete written language, which is part of how we know a lot about them despite their destruction by the hand of European invaders. In particular, we know about their calendar, and the divisions they used. We use what’s called a decimal system for numbers, based on the 10 fingers of our hands. That’s why we break things up into decades (ten years) and centuries (ten decades), as well as a millennium (ten centuries). The Mayas liked different divisions of time: their b’ak’tun is approximately 394 years, and they placed a certain significance on a cycle of 13 b’ak’tuns. (I suspect the Klingon language in Star Trek borrowed some of its vocabulary from ancient Mayan.)
In the “Long Count,” one version of the Mayan calendar known to us, the present world came to be on August 11, 3114 BC. That world will end at the close of the 13th b’ak’tun from that creation day, which happens to be December 21, 2012. However, there’s good reason to think that the Mayas didn’t believe this would be the end of all things: other calendars exist that refer to an even longer span of years, stretching thousands of years into the future!
Even more importantly, though: the Mayan cosmology (their view of the universe) was cyclic, as in many other religions. This world was not the first in this cosmology, and it won’t be the last. In such a view, the true universe is eternal, and the cycles of time are a kind of divine rebooting, which don’t really end anything. The end of the 13th b’ak’tun might be a transformative event in the Maya cosmology, but it’s not the end of the world.
Frankly, I’m not sure why we should care even if the Mayas did believe this was the end of the world. As I said previously, there’s no scientific reason to think the world will end tomorrow. But maybe you might think there’s a non-scientific reason—divine intervention to wipe out the Earth, perhaps. However, I’d venture to guess that most of us don’t adhere to the Mayan religion. Their gods are not the gods most people worship. The prophesied arrival on Earth of Bolon Yookte’ K’Uh, the Nine-Footed God is not something central to my belief system, and probably not yours either.
In fact, millennial thinking is far more a Christian thing than it is a Mayan thing—or frankly most other religions. When people talk about the supposed end of the world tomorrow, they use the Christian terminology: Armageddon (referring to Megiddo, a place in northern Israel, named in the Book of Revelation as the site of the last battle) or the apocalypse (literally the “uncovering”, when all that was hidden becomes revealed). These weren’t concepts in the Mayan religion, and nothing in the Christian religion says the world will end on December 21, 2012.
The World Will End…Eventually
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
Science tells us the world won’t end tomorrow. It also tells us the Mayan cosmology is wrong: time doesn’t go in cycles forever. Earth began 4.5 billion years ago, and will end in about 5 billion years more—at least as a livable world, which is what counts for us. In between its beginning and end, it is defined by cycles: the length of rotation (days) and the time to travel around the Sun (years), with its associated seasons. Other cycles are pretty arbitrary: centuries and b’ak’tuns don’t have any particular significance in terms of astronomical events.
The end of the world as we know it will happen in about 5 billion years, when the Sun ceases fusing hydrogen into helium in its core. When that happens, the Sun will grow into a red giant star, swallowing up Mercury and Venus. Earth probably won’t be devoured, but with the Sun’s surface so much closer, things will become distinctly unpleasant. It’s unlikely the atmosphere or oceans could survive, meaning the end of most life. (Some microbes could probably continue to live underground. That kind of thing is a story for another day.) However, 5 billion years is a long time from now.
Could another cataclysm overtake us before that time? Yes. As you may know, about 65 million years ago, a large asteroid smashed into Earth, an event that at least helped end the reign of dinosaurs, and ushering the extinction of many other species.
Unfortunately, we can’t rule out the possibility that could happen again. There are enough asteroids and comets in our Solar System that could eventually cross orbital paths with Earth; if a large specimen collided with us, it would be devastating.
However, we’re talking about tomorrow. No asteroid will strike Earth on December 21: astronomers keep careful track of everything near our planet, and nothing we know of is on a collision course with Earth for the near future. Asteroids and comets are really the only things we have to worry about doing serious damage for life on Earth, but you can sleep easy tonight and tomorrow night: we’re safe.
If you could somehow see the planets during
daylight hours, here’s how they would
appear tomorrow at noon. There’s no
alignment. (You can see this for yourself
using the free planetarium program Stellarium.)
Some people have talked about fairly far-fetched ideas: alignments of planets, or lining up Earth, the Sun, and the center of the galaxy. The planets of the Solar System aren’t aligned tomorrow—the image shows where several of them are in relation to the Sun at noon. Jupiter isn’t anywhere close to the planets you see. You’d need a pretty strong imagination to say they’re lined up in any way: while they do lie along a line, that’s the way they always are, since they all orbit the Sun more or less in the same plane. Alignment with the galactic center is even more simple to dismiss: about once a year, the Sun appears aligned with the galactic center in the sky. And nothing happens.
Another explanation I’ve seen involves a mysterious planet called “Nibiru” or “Planet X,” which either will collide with Earth or otherwise generate a baleful influence. Phil Plait, the Bad Astronomer, has a lot about the Nibiru nonsense, so I won’t repeat what he says. Suffice to say Nibiru doesn’t exist: there’s no evidence for it, and (surprise!) it’s not anything that came from Mayan mythology to begin with, so there’s no reason to associate it with a December 21 apocalypse.
A Positive Conclusion
Science, I think, is reassuring in the midst of panic. Why people like to scare themselves and others with misguided ideas of the world’s end, I am not qualified to say. I don’t know how many people are convinced the world will end tomorrow, compared with the number of people who are either wholly skeptical or those who might be a little worried. However, let me reassure you again: the world will not end tomorrow. We can take comfort in the knowledge that December 22 will come, 2012 will end, and a new year—a new cycle—will begin. Any remaking of the world is up to us, so rather than worrying about imaginary apocalypses, let’s commit to improving the lives of those who live on our magnificent planet.
My workaday business is scientific editing. I just completed a behemoth job of hundreds of pages, all focused on reporting the findings of clinical trials (meaning trials involving humans instead of other animals) of a drug that keeps people alive. Among those trials was one in which healthy people participated, which is one way that companies who develop therapies test their treatments. It’s important to know what outcomes are in healthy people as well as those who are targets of the therapy. I read in these papers how the healthy people responded to the therapy–how they underwent needle sticks for blood draws so that researchers could analyze seemingly every last chemical in their blood, how they dealt with side effects minor and greater, including headaches, vomiting, and other distress, and how their participation helped researchers determine the need for a lower dose. As I read about them and the details of their participation, I though, “Wow.” Here are these healthy people entering clinical trials–yes, they do get paid–and their participation helps guide the application of these therapies for people who would die without them. That is some citizen science. If you’ve ever taken an FDA-approved drug for anything, you’ve benefited from these people–paid or unpaid–who have entered into clinical trials. We’re all beneficiaries of their contributions, their blood draws, urine samples, headaches, gastrointestinal distress, and time away from their families. And when it comes to women, we can contribute to these trials in many, many ways. Becoming a part of clinical research means being a part of the practice of science. When I think of the importance of women in clinical research, I think about women like Elizabeth Glaser, who established the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS foundation before she–and one of her two children–died of AIDS. Part of the foundation’s focus is funding research into AIDS prevention and cure in children. Elizabeth contracted HIV while receiving a blood transfusion during the birth of her daughter, Ariel, and she passed the virus to both her daughter and her son, Jake, who followed. Ariel died in 1988, but Jake is now a healthy adult, still alive in part thanks to his mother’s work to fund research and to people who participate in clinical trials for therapies against HIV/AIDS. Today, December 1, is World AIDS Day. The theme for this year’s day is, “Leading with science, uniting for action.” Since the advent of the first-reported cases of HIV in 1981, more than 25 million people have died of AIDS worldwide. In 2008, 2 million people died, in spite of therapies that now save lives. Almost everyone who now lives with HIV lives in low- and middle-income countries and has no access to these effective therapies. There still is no cure for HIV. In the United States, about 1 million people have an HIV infection. Of these, women represent about 27% of new infections each year and 25% of those infected. Clinical trials are one critical way that these women–and their children–can have medical interventions they need to remain healthy. It is one way to lead with science, to unite for action. Not every day is World AIDS Day, but every day, someone, somewhere–a woman, mother, sister, daughter–needs medical interventions. Historically, women have been underrepresented in clinical studies. Mother, scientist, and four-time breast cancer survivor Susan Niebur, now in deep pain from metastatic breast cancer, has called–repeatedly–for more research into fighting metastatic breast cancer. As she notes, no woman survives this cancer. Thirty percent of cases of breast cancer progress to metastatic (spreading) breast cancer, yet only 3% of funding goes to researching it, even as most women diagnosed with it die within three years. Niebur observes that wearing a ribbon does not cure cancer. She writes, “I just want more time.” Part of giving women with breast cancer more time is participating in clinical research studies–studies that need both women who have cancer and women who do not–so that research can advance, drugs in the pipeline can move forward in testing. As Niebur has written, we need an Army of Women willing to get into the trenches of research, get needle sticks, give up urine, and possibly vomit occasionally, so that other women–all women–can benefit from clinical research. If that need on behalf of other XXers isn’t sufficient, keep in mind that participation in trials can also include other benefits. More and more women are finding that participation pays, literally, sometimes in the thousands of dollars. But it’s not just the money–some women have even reported that their participation has led them to better health, given them more time to spend with their children as they make this money in a few days at a time throughout the year. These are not trivial benefits, and the contributions women make when they participate in trials are not trivial either. Would you like to learn more about clinical trials, how they work, and where you might find one in which you could participate? A place to start is ClinicalTrials.gov, a database of ongoing and past trials in the United States and around the world. After all, in spite of all of those personal benefits for a participant, the most important part for those who suffer and die is that you participate. In this case, you do not ask science what it can do for you. You ask, on behalf of girls and women and everyone everywhere, What can you do for science? Emily Willingham
A big brother, practicing the art of allofathering.
By Emily Willingham, DXS managing editor
On Mother’s Day, scientist and blogger Kate Clancy wrote an excellent post at Scientific American about allomothers, the people in your circle of friends and family who support mothers in their mothering. In thanking the allomothers in her life, Clancy included in that list her husband because men can be allomothers, too. Although this site is called Double X because we want to bring evidence-based science–and yes, some snark–to women, tomorrow is Father’s Day. So today, we’re shifting into XY gear and talking about allofathers.
We all have or had fathers. Some for better, some for worse, some we may never have even seen. Many of us also have had other men in our lives who participated in a father role or who supported our fathers in the same way that Clancy writes about supporting mothers. The funny thing is, a Google search on “allofathers” confuses Google so badly that it actually declines to do that search and instead offers a search on “allomothers.” When you force it to search “allofather,” you get only three pages of scanty hits, some of which reference a more general “alloparenting.”
Why no love for the allofathers, Google? Fathers these days need allo support as much as mothers, or at least, the fathers I know do. As Paul Raeburn writes in this Father’s Day piece:
The grindingly slow recovery of the economy is making it hard for fathers to earn enough to help support their families. Those who do have jobs are working more hours, taking time away from checkers and family dinners. In many families, both parents are working, leaving less time for fathers and partners to work on their relationships with each other.
He notes that fathers these days thrive in a habitat that allows the time with family, time to do things other than make a living wage, although that remains an important feature of fatherhood and a key goal of every father I know. In fact, that emphasis means that my spouse–who is also the father of my children–is at work right now, on Saturday, after already putting in overtime through the week. Indeed, he may have to work tomorrow, on Father’s Day, and is looking at a midnight deadline Monday night. There will be no games of chess with Dad this weekend.
The work is difficult enough and in a trying environment. And pushing against this need to work hard and keep a job is also a desire to have the kind of family time those of us in the United States have come to expect on weekends, particularly when we work salaried weekday jobs that ostensibly promise weekends off. That means that on top of the anxiety associated with stacking 20 or 30 extra hours onto a 40-hour work week to meet a tough deadline, my husband and my children’s father also feels angst about this inability to be a part of our family time. These are first-world problems, I realize, but that doesn’t make them any less real for us and our children.
So I’m allofathering for him. Yes, I’m the mother, but I’m also supporting my husband’s fathering role, in part by doing things that assure him that we’re all OK, and in part by doing things with our sons that people might think of as stereotypically “dad” activities: fishing, baseball, football, soccer, hiking. But I also have taken on the things he usually does around the house, like emptying the dishwasher Every Single Time, vacuuming, and doing the laundry. Bless the man, he usually does all the laundry. But I do miss the other allofathers in our lives.
We no longer live a stone’s throw or a short-ish drive from our extended family, but when we did and still when we visit, the allofathers are abundant. My children have uncles who take them fishing, monitor group infighting among nine cousins, catch snakes with them, play football and soccer with them, and take them on hikes and (fruitless) dove hunting. My husband does his share of allofathering for their children, reading books and playing with the youngest, making dinners, and serving as an ever-necessary playground monitor. And my children have a grandfather who builds things in his shop for them, closely monitors their BB gun target practice, wanders for hours with them in nearby woods to find animal bones, and patiently acknowledges every single mystifying LEGO construction and rambling imaginary story surrounding it.
All of these alloparents expand the parenting and support and safety net for my children. They are the village raising my sons, and my children trust them implicitly. These allofathers summon up reserves of energy they probably didn’t know they had and in spending this time with their nephews or grandchildren, they add layers of complexity and different insights from father figures that my children wouldn’t otherwise have. They also model for children like my sons the many roles a man can have through life.
As humans, we fit several features of species that engage in this extra-parental parenting, including typically having a single offspring at a time, a relatively small number of offspring over a lifetime, and an extended period of parental investment, and being part of a highly social species with tight family bonds. It may be that as our culture evolves so that the father role expands into what was previously considered maternal territory, we need to more closely consider allofathers as well as allomothers. These factors that characterize us as an alloparenting species can add up to benefits and greater success for mothers and fathers and children alike. At any rate, I know that’s been the case in our family.
When I was growing up, I had four grandmothers and four grandfathers. Half of them were “step” grandparents, obviously, but I loved the fact that I had all of these grandparents, blissfully unaware in my childhood of the fractures and angst that had led to their presence in my life. Among these step-grandparents was the man who married my mother’s mother. They met over square-dancing, he a handsome architect, she a tiny, fiery single mother who could sew some kick-ass square-dancing outfits.
Through various unanticipated turns in Life’s do-se-do, after marrying my grandmother, this man one day became father to two of my cousins. From their early childhoods, he has been their father, even though for the rest of us cousins, he was our step-grandfather. Along with my grandmother, he committed himself to rearing them and being their parent, and today, in part thanks to his steady, calm presence, they are successful, happily married parents themselves. Without his stabilizing influence, their paths might have been much less straightforward.
While what my step-grandfather did crossed over from alloparenting to being an actual father, my own children have a step-grandfather of their own who, I think, epitomizes allofathering. When we visit, he has a ready store of caps available for all the cap guns he buys them by the dozen (if you think there are a lot of guns in this post, there are; it’s Texas). He actually builds–builds–go carts and other motorized vehicles to take them buzzing around the large property where he and my mother live and maintains a fleet of bicycles for them to ride. He will drop anything to run a quick errand just because one of the youngest generation expresses a wish for a certain treat or toy. Ask him to make you an ax from a stick and a rock, and he’ll do it masterfully. He attends every volleyball, baseball, or basketball game my niece and nephew have and has simply been a steady and much-loved allofather figure in the lives of all of the youngest generation in our family.
When I think of men like these who enter into lives already structured around complex family interactions and who take on without comment or resentment the care and loving of the children in that family, I wonder if I could be as kind or selfless. Of course, I hope that I could. These little people are, after all, children, and they need love and support and classic grandparental spoiling and an understanding that parenting and parental love come in different forms and different ways of expression. To all the allofathers in my life, I–and my children–are extremely grateful. To all the fathers and allofathers out there, happy Father’s Day. And may I say, I think you all warrant more Google hits.
***Special thanks to Kate Clancy for her post on allomothers and to Paul Raeburn for his post about the role of fathers today, which certainly drove my thinking about this topic.***
These views are the opinion of the author and do not necessarily either reflect or disagree with those of the DXS editorial team.
Deborah is the first Mexican woman to graduate with a physics PhD from Stanford University. She is a physicist, author, and media personality whose initiatives to popularize science have impacted thousands of people around the world. Her passion is to popularize science and motivate young minds to think analytically about the world. This has led her to pioneer learning initiatives in schools and universities in Mexico, Africa, the US and Israel. She is a frequent public speaker and has been recognized by numerous media outlets such as Oprah, CNN, WSJ, TED, DLD, WIRED, Martha Stewart, City of Ideas, Dr. Oz Show, Celebrity Scientist and others. She regularly appears as a science expert on different international TV networks; currently she is the TV host of National Geographic’s “Humanly Impossible” show. And she will appear on the Discovery Channel’s upcoming show ‘You’ve Been Warned.’ You can find Deborah on Twitter, or on her blog, Science With Debbie. You can also find Deborah telling her story for The Story Collider.
DXS: First, can you give me a quick overview of what your scientific background is and your current connection to science?
I grew up in Mexico City in a fairly conservative community, and as a child, I was discouraged from doing and studying science. My parents, family, and peers would all ask, “oh, why don’t you study a more feminine career?” Although I was pretty good in school, I wasn’t exactly a math wizard. I used to say that I loved philosophy and physics – because philosophy was a deep discipline of asking questions about the world. And physics studied the world itself.
It was clear when I was born that my personality waswas quite different to the one of my mom. When I was growing up, my mom was scared because she didn’t know what to do with this little girl that was smart and always asking questions. She is not a naturally curious person, so she kept trying to tame down my curiosity and kept telling me not to tell boys that I was interested in math and science because I would never find a husband. According to her, the life goal for a girl was to find a husband, have kids, and that’s it. Women didn’t have to have a career. (Not that there is anything wrong with not having a career.) My high school teachers and counselors were not so different and encouraged me to go into philosophy or literature, not into math or physics. And my friends in school told me I literally had to be an out of the world genius to be able to study physics.
Given the circumstances, I started studying philosophy in Mexico. There were some classes with logic, and some with a little bit more math, and those were the ones I just devoured! And, at the same time – secretly – I was reading the biographies of scientists. For some bizarre reason, I was hugely attracted to their life stories. I didn’t have any family members, or anyone else for that matter, that had pursued a career in science, so I didn’t have a mentor or a role model. I felt an extreme kinship with Tycho Brahe, who in the late 1500’s was locked in a tower, doing all of these calculations for years, hated by everyone in the town. Go figure! I felt some kinship with these scientists. But I didn’t have the courage nor the means to switch majors. I did confess that I wanted to study another area (physics), but in Mexico one cannot study two majors. So, I studied philosophy for two years.
In the middle of it, I felt way too curious about science and I decided to apply to schools in the US. It was hard at the time because college in Mexico was a lot cheaper than in the states. At the private school where I was attending, my tuition was about $5,000 per year. If I were to come to the US, I would be looking at costs exceeding $35,000 per year. I couldn’t really ask my dad to help me with that price tag so I started to apply everywhere and anywhere that had scholarship opportunities.
I ended up getting a letter from Brandeis
University saying that they would let me take this advanced placement test and write an essay, which, if I did well, would give me a full scholarship. I received a full Wien Scholarship and was to continue studying philosophy in the US. This was probably the nicest thing that has ever happened to me because it opened the path of opportunity.
Brandeis transformed me as a person – I saw females doing science! But, the bravado moment that changed my life was a very general course called Astronomy 101. The teaching assistant, Roopesh, was a very sweet man from India and he saw that my eyes would just light up when I was in that class – I was much more curious than the random student that was just taking it to fulfill some requirement.
At the end of that year, Roopesh and I
were walking around Harvard Square and stopped to sit under a tree. I started to tell him, with tears in my eyes, that I just don’t want to die without trying. What I meant by that is I don’t want to die without trying to do physics. Everyone’s questioning of my decision made me question my actual ability. Everyone telling me ‘no’ hampered my development. I mean, I was good at math, but I definitely didn’t have the same background as all the kids coming in with advanced math and physics courses.
I told Roopesh that I don’t even remember how to solve the equation (a+b)2 – even my algebra was rusty! But, he believed in me and went back to his professor and told him my story. This professor decided to meet with me and ends up telling me about someone who had done this sort of thing in the past. His name was Ed Witten and he went on to become the father of string theory.
He said “Witten had switched from history to physics, and I will let you try too.” With that, he handed me a book on vector calculus called ‘Div, Grad and Curl’ and told me that If I could master it in three months by the end of the summer, they would let me switch my major to physics and also let me bypass the first two years of course work. This would allow me to graduate by the time my scholarship ran out.
I have never in my life experienced the level of scientific passion condensed into such a short amount of time and I am jealous of the person I was that summer. I had so much perseverance and focus. I don’t think I can ever reproduce that intensity again. From the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep, and even in my dreams, I only thought about physics. Roopesh, who became my mentor for the summer, taught me.
I always wanted to pay Roopesh for his tutoring, but he would never accept any money. He told me that when he was growing up in the mountains of Darjeeling in India, there was this old man who would climb up to his home and teach him and his sisters English, the musical instrument Tabla, and math. Roopesh’s father always wanted to pay the old man for his tutoring, but the man always declined. The man said that the only way he could ever pay him back was if Roopesh did the same thing with someone else in the world. And by mentoring me, Roopesh fulfilled his payment to the old man.
Out of that, that became a seed for my physics journey and purpose. It is now my life’s mission to do the same for other people in the world – especially women – who feel attracted to science but feel trapped. They for some reason, whether it is social, financial, etc., just can’t find the way toward science. That is the motivation that dictates my actions.
I was able to pull it off and graduated Brandeis Summa Cum Laude with highest honors in physics and philosophy. I went back to Mexico afterwards to figure out what to do next and to spend some time with my family. At the same time, I did a master’s degree in physics at the largest university in Mexico UNAM. My curiosity for physics didn’t diminish and in 1998, I randomly applied to two physics PhD programs in the US. I applied very, very late, but, fortunately, I won a merit-based full scholarship from the Mexican government who provided me with funding, which made it easier for me.
Because I loved biophysics, I did a search on who was doing this line of research. I came across Steven Chu, who is currently the secretary of energy. At the time I was applying, he was at Stanford and was one of the first to manipulate a single strand of DNA with his ‘optical tweezers.’ To me, his story was fascinating! Without really knowing who he was other than what I found on the web, I wrote him an email asking him if I could work in his lab. Had I known who he was – that he had just won the Nobel prize in 1997 – I would have been too intimidated.
I was admitted to Stanford and was invited to work with Dr. Chu, but after two years I decided to switch labs. As expected, it was a very challenging environment and having only studied two years of physics at Brandeis, I wasn’t as prepared as most of the other students. I struggled for the first two years. Everyone worked so extremely hard at Stanford and there I was, struggling to be the best, but, in the beginning, I couldn’t even be average.
Fast forward four years. I had worked my butt off and ended up becoming the first Mexican woman to graduate with a PhD in physics from Stanford. It was the best day of my life – I kept thinking that I was so blessed to have my parents live to see this! It was so moving, I was crying so much and I couldn’t believe what had happened. My friends had flown in from all over the world to be with me. It was amazing.
When people hear what I do, they – especially teenage girls – feel intimidated. But, when they hear the whole story, their tune changes. I tell them that I know what it is like to not understand something. I was not the kind of person where comprehension of my science came naturally. But I did it. And if I can do it, anyone can do it! My story can be inspirational to someone who comes from a background completely lacking in science because they, like me, can reach their goal.
DXS: What ways do you express yourself creatively that may not have a single thing to do with science?
I was always a very curious girl growing up. I had a lot of interests, one of which being theatre. I wanted to be an actress when I was young, but my father didn’t let me pursue that as a career, which was probably a good idea. But, during high school, I went to an after school drama program. I wrote my own plays – three of them – and performed one of them. I was in heaven when I was on stage.
In NY, I have tried to do a little bit of that. Of course, I’ve never done any big roles, but I will be an extra in a film, or if there is a small production being made in Spanish, I will play a part. It doesn’t matter how big the role is – I just love doing something creative and getting into a character.
DXS: What types of productions and/or films have you done?
I don’t think I would come up in the credits as an extra, but I did a movie with Simon Pegg, Kirsten Dunst and Megan Fox in the movie “How to lose Friends and Alienate People.” It was a very, very fun film! In theatre, Jean Genet, who is a French playwright, has a play called The Maids, and I was the madame.
DXS: Do you find that your scientific background informs your creativity, even though what you do may not specifically be scientific?
Debbie talking to the TEDYouth audience about waves.
I have a concept that I call “physics glasses.” And what I mean by that is, for me, physics is not a subject that you just teach in a complex way in a classroom. Rather, physics is something that is related to everyday life. From the moment you wake up, you can just put on your physics glasses. It is a mode of thinking – it is a way where although reality can be very rich and diverse, physics goes very deep and it abstracts commonalities, general principles that apply to many things. To give you an example, I asked the kids in the audience of my TEDYouth talk, “what do the sun, the ocean, and a symphony orchestra have in common?” When just looking at them on the surface, there isn’t much in common. I mean, they are all beautiful things but they are not obviously related. But, to a physicist, they are all waves. You have sound waves, light waves, and water waves and you can interchange many of the concepts in physics to explain all three.
Where most of us see the world with our eyes through light waves, other might see the world differently. Take, for example, my friend Juan, who is blind. He “sees” the world with sound waves – he senses sound as it bounces off the objects around him. Through this, he can bike, play basketball, and do a load of activities using sound as a guide. This is one of my favorite analogies because, really, physics “infects” the way I see the world.
Deborah the Physicist model
To give you a more specific example in the creativity realm, when I got to NY, I felt really un-feminine. When I was studying physics, I felt that if I was even slightly feminine, I wouldn’t be respected. It didn’t help that some of the other women in the physics program at Stanford were more of a “guys girl,” always wearing a baseball cap and t-shirts. Now, since I am Latin, I first showed up wearing a skirt to class, but I quickly learned to dress down. Looking feminine would assure that no one would talk to me in class.
So, when I got to NY, I had an explosion. I wanted to know what it was like to express myself as a woman and my friend suggested that I do some modeling. So I did. It was a brief, lasting about a year. But during that time, my friend, who was a designer from Mexico, asked me to work with her and I wrote and did some videos about the physics of fashion, which also included the physics of high heels video.
Some people could consider fashion to be superficial, but not me. I love fashion and color. But, other scientists generally looked down upon you for liking this sort of thing. This fueled my desire to prove to everyone that there actually is science everywhere, including fashion, and that they shouldn’t be snobs about it. There is complex science in how different materials work, how they interact with the environment and you can prove to the women, like my mother and friends back home who think that science has nothing to do with their everyday lives, that it has EVERYTHING to do with it. So I talked about a Newtonian theory for color – how to pick the right color for you based on how much light the color would reflect on that day, etc.
DXS: Like a more sophisticated version of colors based on your “season?”
I also did pieces on the materials, including some of the newest engineering accomplishments with fabric. For example, I hooked up with a woman and helped her to design a fashionable and very scientific coat. It ended up costing $11,000, but it was made up of nano fibers and it had a patch in it that could detect the temperature and the probability of rain. Based on this probability, it could change permeability of the fabric. It was a very light coat that was comfortable in nice weather, but when it would rain, it would become impermeable to water once it detected a high probability of rain, transforming into a raincoat.
DXS: That’s incredible! I wish it wasn’t $11,000!
DB: Yeah, that’s usually the problems with these technologies. They are often so novel, but one day I’m sure we can figure out how to make things like this scalable.
Science is very much what guides my thinking when I am being creative and I wish I had more time to do creative things while being influenced by a scientific mindset.
DXS: It is so cool that physics has such an incredible overlap with everyday living. Like, when we take a shower, I want to know “how is the water getting pumped from the ground or through pipes and make its way out of the showerhead?” But, as a biochemist, I often find it hard to relate everyday things to biochemistry, but I would like to!
DB: Its funny that you say that. When I try to teach girls that the worst thing they can do is memorize. Critical thinking is so important and they shouldn’t take anything at face value, and they should even question teachers and authoritative figures in their lives. Always ask: what goes into making this? Why is this here? Why is it this way and not another? Constantly ask questions. That s the gift that physics will give you.
DXS: Have you encountered situations in which your expression of yourself outside the bounds of science has led to people viewing you differently–either more positively or more negatively?
Without saying I am a scientist, I can tell you that people have come up to me and told me that before they even hear me speak, they think I am dumb. They are usually surprised that I am smart! I think it is because I am bubbly and friendly and that often makes an impression as being unintelligent. For them it seems that if a woman is intelligent, she is very cold and distant and serious.
I’ve met a lot of physicists, and yes, some of them do tend to be that way, often as a reaction to how others treat them. Or, people would say to me that, because I am Latin, my cultural identity comes across as being warm and the last thing they’d expect me to be into was something as cold as physics. So yeah, I have definitely been judged so many times!
It even happens in my current job on Wall Street, especially with my male peers. When there are off site client meetings, I’m often accompanied by my male sales colleague. Sales people are generally required to know less about the complexities behind our risk models compared to someone on a more research-oriented role, like me and he will bring me along to these sales meetings in case the potential client has more sophisticated questions that go beyond what he can comfortably answer. Many times upon meeting the clients for the first time they think that I am the sales person, there to be the smiling face to sell them something, and that he is the risk modeler. They always direct their mathematical questions to him.
It came to a point where I became so annoyed that I decided to stop caring. Now, my sales colleague goes out for drinks with the clients and I know that I am going to be invisible. So I don’t go anymore. I know that I am always going to struggle to get the full intellectual respect in that industry – it will always be a challenge.
DXS: Have you found that your non-science expression of creativity/activity/etc. has in any way informed your understanding of science or how you may talk about it or present it to others?
Yes, absolutely. For example in Mexico, unlike the US, you absolutely have to do an honors thesis project as an undergradin science. Because I had already studied philosophy for four years, I wanted to do a thesis project in philosophy. But I also wanted to do one in physics. I recall that back in 1997, when you presented a dissertation in front of the physics community, if you had any power point, forget it. You would be immediately be called dumb or not a good physicist. Because, who takes the time to do something fancy! If you had any color in your presentation, forget it!
So, literally, the smartest students in physics were people who didn’t really communicate that well, or didn’t really speak English that well, or just didn’t really make an effort. Their slides were on those overhead projector things with those rolls of plastic sheets, and most of their talks were so confusing and couldn’t be interpreted! But they were respected! It was just assumed that if the formula looked complex, they were probably right.
So what I did was completely different. I infused my talk with my spiciness and color. I did an artwork of liquid crystals, which was my research at Brandeis. Liquid crystals are little cigar-shaped molecules that actually make up the screen of your laptop. If you pass an electric field through them, they all orient themselves and that is how we can use them for displays in our laptops and TVs.
I colored these cigar-shaped molecules with purples and reds and greens, and I tried to explain it at the most basic level. This is because of one my philosophy professors in Mexico, who told me that if you cannot explain what you do to your grandmother or 6 year old niece, you don’t understand what you are doing – I loved it!
And I said to myself that I shouldn’t care what they think. I pretty much expected to not gain a lot of respect from the physics department, but it had the opposite effect! I actually had one of the professors from that department come up to me and tell me that he had never really understood what a liquid crystal looked like or what it really was! He said that “finally I understand [liquid crystals] because of your drawing. Thank you!” It was incredible!
To see the effect on people and from then on, I bounced up in down, I made jokes, I put in creativity. It doesn’t always have a great effect on very serious audiences, but the younger generation is definitely appreciative. When it keeps going well, you gain confidence. And, for me, I even started wearing high heels to the next talk. When someone commented about my attire, I would counter, hey I have a PhD!
DXS: How comfortable are you expressing your femininity and in what ways? How does this expression influence people’s perception of you in, say, a scientifically oriented context?
This question is deep and a little bit of a struggle at the moment. This is because I still have that fear – when I arrived in NY, I did that short stint in modeling and I expressed myself and I would dress very creatively – just like my other girlfriends who were not scientists. But I did feel a little bit of a backlash. By that I mean that I would post a photo of myself on Facebook or something like that. They were pretty pictures, not at all seductive or provocative, and my high school mates, usually male, would write me saying: “I always knew you as a serious person and you have achieved so many things – I am just telling you for your own good that this can really damage your image.” That made me reply with “so you’re telling me that being smart is actually kind of a bummer?” That actually means that I have to dress very differently from what other women wear for the rest of my life?
I remember feeling very upset about all of that. I think that not being taken seriously is still a little bit of a fear of and I think my website has damaged my serious image a little bit. As a scientist, I was very secluded from the outside world. I didn’t have a lot of friends when I moved here, but I did know an amazing and powerful woman who happened to be the CEO of Blip TV. She was insisting that I do videos! So she invited me to her place and showed me how to do video. Being the quick woman that she was, she asked me to make up a name for myself on the spot. When I didn’t answer, she instantly coined “The Science Babe” for me. I was like, sure, what a cool idea!
It was kind of a cute name, but because English is not my first language, I don’t always understand some of the cultural connotations associated with some English words. A few months later, I started to get a few emails from mothers who were upset that I was using my looks. They would say things like “Are you saying that women have to be in the kitchen or wear short skirts to be scientists?” I would answer that no, that was not it at all. I would further explain that I was trying to change the definition of “babe.” If you are smart, if you are empowered, you will be a babe no matter how you look. I am trying to shift what people think of when they think “scientist.”
I don’t feel quite successful with The Science Babe. It seems like there are quite a few people, especially some from the older generation, who say that they’d love to introduce me to fancy science organizations but are worried that the name “the science babe” will make it difficult. Also, I had the BBC wanted to talk to me about doing a TV show in NY, and then they said but there’s so much bad stuff out there about you! And I was like, what do you mean? They answered “All these things with the “science babe” brand…”
It doesn’t happen all the time, but some people are really critical about the science babe theme, citing that its way too feminine. Other female scientists that haven’t gone that route have perhaps discounted my seriousness about science. They assume that what I am doing is not really that important because I do focus on the science everyday life, which is simpler, and it is too much color and too much vivaciousness for our field. I feel like my femininity has decreased over the last few years because I’ve been too nervous about not being taken seriously. It s almost like the balance tipped the other way. I feel like perhaps I’ve feminized things to a fault and now I want to appear more serious. So, I am changing my website to “Science With Debbie” because I really felt the backlash.
It is a struggle to find the balance between being able to express my femininity and presenting myself in a way that people will take me seriously. In a way, I wish I had a little more courage to not care that much about what people have to say about the science babe but, unfortunately, agents have told me that if I don’t go to the “dumbed down version of femininity” I would get better speaking engagements. Being feminine has literally affected my career, and it’s because of other people’s perceptions. I’m never going to be bland, but I will try to change things so I am more serious
DXS: Do you think that the combination of your non-science creativity and scientific-related activity shifts people’s perspectives or ideas about what a scientist or science communicator is? If you’re aware of such an influence, in what way, if any, do you use it to (for example) reach a different corner of your audience or present science in a different sort of way?
The fact that I am approachable and pretty down to earth has allowed me to reach corners of society that more distant and fancy scientists would never even consider. For instance, I am going to a small university to give a talk. Some of my friends ask why I even bother, especially considering that this insitution is not the most renowned university. But, I feel the opposite – it is these corners that need the influence the most! Similarly, when I go to Hispanic high schools, many of the mothers have never seen a scientist. And there I am, a scientist from Mexico, speaking to them and their kids. It is that powerful combination of being a smart and warm female that can be shocking, which is cool.
In line with this, there was an experiment where women were asked to draw a female scientist. Most drew a plain, relatively unattractive woman. Immediately when you break that mold, it has an incredible effect. People say, “Hey! She kind of looks like me and she dresses like me. Maybe I can do science too!” Some girls are afraid that by being smart, boys won’t talk to them. My femininity allows me to be a voice in a field that has tended to isolate themselves from the public, which is bad. Some of my colleagues have become a little snobbish. The fact that I have serious credentials (PhD and 2 postdocs) shows that I had to work like crazy – looks and personality can only go so far. It s hard work that gets you there! Serious science communication has a lot of math and problem solving in order to explain things accurately to the public. So I still feel like I am doing science!
Our mothers were nothing like either of these people. (Source)
(Warning: We are having some fun, so what you are about to read does not explicitly contain science but does reference soy, onanism, tubed meats, and vacuums. In keeping with the DXS mission, however, we have embedded a little science here and there in the links. )
While the celebration of mothers is not a new concept, the modern version of Mother’s Day is a far cry from the ancient festivals that honoredCybele. However, in 1907, whenAnna Jarvis invented the modern Mother’s Day as a means to pay homage to her own mother, it was not her intention to use moms for profit.
But, alas, by the 1920s, this well-intended national holiday quickly morphed into the cash cow we see today. Sure, it is nice to receive a gift, but perhaps capitalism has since stripped Mother’s Day of its original meaning, and for the first week or two in May, we are bombarded with advertisements that claim to know what item every mother must have. From this, many sites have done us all the great favor of curating these cannot-live-without gifts into a single, easy to navigate list (financial kickbacks notwithstanding), often broken down into natural June Cleaveresque categories like “kitchen” and “for the home” (read: how to cook for everyone and keep shit clean).Besides the fact that these lists can be generalized to every gift-giving holiday for the lovely lady in your life, even Don Draper himself would scoff at many of these suggestions. Because we at DXS wish to ensure that your Mother’s Day experience is the best it can possibly be, we present you with a different kind of list – one that provides the most valuable unsolicited advice you will ever receive when it comes to choosing for dear old mom. Here, you will be schooled on what not to get for the woman that gave you life.
Flowers. One of the most suggested gifts for Mother’s Day is flowers. What woman doesn’t love flowers? Well, one who does not need one more thing to water, or sees her own mortality in each dried up petal aimlessly floating down onto the floor that had just been cleaned. Oh, and those tears you see building up in our eyes? Not tears of joy. You better back up or you might get caught in a sneezing fit of fury because, frankly, the last thing we want to do on “our” day is pretend that we like feeling like our heads will explode. And let us not forget how those flowers came to be available in your local flower shop or supermarket in the first place… from Colombia?
Soy Candles. Soy. For the last decade or two, we have seen the magical benefits of this plantproduct popping up in pseudoscientific “reports” in quality magazines like First for Women. And now, soy-pushers all over the intertubes will willingly exclaim that soy is the superior material for the production of candles, allegedly “soot free” (they aren’t really). Sure, anything soy-based will help the American Soy Farmer keep up with the Joneses, but a candle is a candle and unless you are also giving me a golden ticket to enjoy its inherent ambience whilst I soak in my imaginary claw-footed tub, full of bubbles and rose petals and the sultry sounds of Barry White, save it. Plus, I’d rather not burn my house down (again).
Gift Baskets! What says “I admire you like a work colleague” more than a gift basket? Sure, smoked cheeses and tubed meats taste fine after a few martinis, but when enjoying such delicacies, I prefer to do it while watching my co-workers photocopy their ass cheeks. Some things just don’t have the same effect in the home.
Teething Necklace. One website was flashing necklaces all over the place – but these weren’t just any old necklaces – they doubled as teething necklaces for the baby. Anyone who knows anything about a teething baby knows that, despite the alleged pain babies feel (hey, I don’t remember it, do you??), moms suffer the most. So instead of the necklace, why don’t you go ahead and take the dang baby for a few hours and give me a much deserved break? I’ll even sweeten the deal and throw some Tylenol in the diaper bag. And, in the strange and rare event that I might want rope burn on my neck, I’d rather get it from some fantasy role-playing in the boudoir. Take that as you will.
Vacuum Cleaner. If you really think that I want another reminder of how much I have to pick up after you and all of your friends – who regularly come over and wipe out all of the food I just deposited into my refrigerator – then yes, go ahead and buy me a vacuum. I mean, it is not like I don’t already spend all of my “free” time vacuuming the floors, so why not give me the gift that embodies what you really think of me (your maid)? Plus, Dyson has been showing commercials non-stop for a sale that runs until Mother’s Day, with the clear implication to get your mother (or if you are a mother to get yourself) a vacuum for Mother’s Day. So if you do decide to get a vacuum, make sure you have $500 for it. Remember, though, that a vacuum is really empty space, so you might want to consider getting me something more tangible–and fun.
50 Shades of Gray. Well, maybe I am not too opposed to this, but let it be known that I will probably need about ten minutes (give or take) of “alone” time after each time I pick up this series. As long as you are OK with this, I am OK with this. By the way, did you know that there are really more than 50 shades of grey?
We hope you will seriously consider this advice. After all, we really don’t need more shit to take care of, water, clean with, or… actually, we can always use some more good reads. Happy Mother’s Day!
Of Heroin, Honorable Mentions, and Hawkeye: A day I will never forget
By Double X Science Biology Editor Jeanne Garbarino “I look forward to seeing you in 3 months when you will be a whole person again.”
Those were my parting words to a special person in my life who was embarking on an undoubtedly difficult journey toward sobriety. It was only 7:45am on Friday, June 1st, but already I had learned that the strings from a bikini top make a good tourniquet, and I actually held the syringe that, only moments before, contained a bolus of heroin. I am still trying to believe that this really was the last time.
As I attempted to wrap my head around what was happening, I remembered a description of a heroin high as told to me by a former addict. According to this person, being on heroin feels like you’ve been swaddled in a warm blanket, and gently rocked by a loving mother, except the loving mother was actually the devil.
Though I could never really understand what it feels like to be hooked on heroin, this helped me make some sense of it. But, as much as I wanted to be sympathetic, I also wanted to grab my friend by the shoulders and scream. “Why have you done this to yourself? Why have you done this to us?” It has truly been a difficult time, watching this person struggle. And finding out that I can’t control any of it was probably the hardest lesson I’ve ever learned.
Still, life must go on.
I took a few deep breaths, which helped to quiet the tremble, and began to gather my thoughts. What was it that I had to do today? As if I flipped some switch, I began to plan out my day – renew my parking permit, finish that Western blot, read that thesis, and get that new post up on the site.
Then, around 8:15am, I received an unexpected phone call. It was Liz Bass from the Center of Communicating Science at Stony Brook University. She was calling to see if I could make Alan Alda’s World Science Festival discussion about the Flame Challenge, which was to occur at 4pm that afternoon. Not really knowing what was in store, I quickly accepted (um, hello, Alan Alda). A second phone call about 20 minutes later informed me that I would be joining Alan on stage. Was this really happening? In about 30 minutes time, I went from despair to elation. I also went to the store to buy a skirt since I was already in transit to my lab (and was dressed like a “scientist”).
As I sat on the train, I began to reflect. Much of my free time during the month of March was dedicated to producing an entry to Alan Alda’s Flame Challenge contest, which, in an effort to raise science communication awareness, asked scientists from all over the world to define a flame to an 11 year old. Because I enjoy working on a team, I asked my fellow scicommies, Deborah Berebichez and Perrin Ireland, to join me on this endeavor (three times the brain power!). For several weeks, we worked on the script, and regularly discussed our progress during late night Google hangouts (which is a fantastic way to collaborate). This was mostly due to the fact that we all have day jobs and obligations outside of work. Luckily for me, Debbie and Perrin were willing to meet at a time that coincided after my children’s bedtime routine.
This experience was truly fun and rewarding. Each of us has a certain set of strengths, which when combined, seemed to just synergize. We literally examined every word in the script to make sure that it was clear, concise, and hopefully captivating. Furthermore, we wanted to make sure that it was something an 11-year-old would both learn from and enjoy.
But, we did labor over one particular issue, and that was our use of the Bohr Model to represent an atom. While this model might be commonplace in many classroom textbooks, scientists now know that electrons exist in orbitals, also known as electron clouds, and the calculations to determine the exact location(s) of an electron are based on probability. Clearly, this was something very different than stating that electrons simply orbit around a nucleus.
The analogy that electrons travel around the nucleus in the same way that planets travel around the sun is downright inaccurate. However, this is an analogy that is still commonly used and is, in my opinion, a great example of how we sacrifice accuracy for simplicity. I believe that this is the greatest challenge for a science communicator.
As we talked through this issue, we tried to not lose site of the actual mission, which was to explain a flame to an 11 year old. Would it help our story to break down the currently accepted atomic theory or would it detract from it? In the end, we decided to keep our atomic structure simple, but noted that it was a simplified version of an atom. We figured that by having this little disclaimer, it would inform our audience that there is more to it that what we showed, and maybe it would lead them down a road of scientific inquiry.
Perhaps it was this attention to detail that landed our Flame Challenge video a spot in the top 15 entries (FYI there were close to 900 entries). Or perhaps it was because our entry was cute and artistic. Whatever the reason, we proudly accepted our honorable mention, and I was looking forward to discussing our video with the man himself.
Getting back to Friday, June 1st. I arrived at the Paley Center for Media around 3:30pm (in a new skirt) and was immediately brought up to the 11th floor and into the green room of Alan Alda. There, I met my fellow awardees (a combination of finalists and honorable mentions), and of course Alan Alda, who was fantastically charming and funny. We all sat, around an old table, on which was a lovely array of cheese, nuts, banana chips, and get this, Swedish fish! I don’t know what it was about the Swedish fish, but seeing this candy helped calm my nerves.
Alan helped us all to break the ice, and discussed his plans for the event. Apparently we would be leading a panel discussion, and I would be on that panel. On a stage. In front of a very large audience. And it was to be webcasted. So I popped a few of those Swedish fish and told myself to not be nervous.
As my jaw worked to chew those sticky sweet candies, I couldn’t help but think about when I was a kid and how I used to sit with my dad and watch M*A*S*H. I never would have believed you if you told me that I was going to be hanging out with Hawkeye when I was older. But, there he was, telling us about the birth of the Flame Challenge. I was tempted to ask him where Corporal Klinger is these days, but decided that my time would be better spent getting the plan for the panel firmed up in my brain.
After some quick chitchat, we were asked to make our way to the auditorium. Seating was charted and mics were checked and around 4pm, it all began. About an hour into it, we were asked to come on stage. Each of our entries were highlighted, followed by a chance speak our piece. Add in some Q&A from the audience and the panel discussion was complete. A hearty round of applause later, I found myself getting whisked away for pictures.
When the dust began to settle, I grabbed a beer and started to decompress. I just couldn’t believe how this day turned out, especially given its start. The stresses my family and I have been dealing with have certainly taken its toll on all of us, and I am grateful for that little dose of Hawkeye to help lighten things up. I’m not sure if I will ever experience a day like that again, but that’s ok with me.