Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
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Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association
journal homepage: www.elsevier.com/locate/pgeola
Earth stories: context and narrative in the communication of popular geoscience
Iain S. Stewart a,*, Ted Nield b
a
b
Centre for Research in Earth Sciences, School of Geography, Earth, and Environmental Sciences, Plymouth University, Plymouth PL4 8AA, UK
The Geological Society of London, Burlington House, Picaddilly, London, UK
A R T I C L E I N F O
A B S T R A C T
Article history:
Received 2 February 2012
Received in revised form 16 August 2012
Accepted 22 August 2012
Available online 18 September 2012
Geoscientists are increasingly being encouraged to present their work to the wider public, and even to
advocate more directly its policy dimensions. For those involved in geoconservation, that often entails
communicating geological information to people who have little or no Earth science background. A
review of current science communication thinking indicates that improving the geo-literacy of the
‘ordinary person in the street’ is unlikely to be achieved simply by educating them with basic ‘geo-facts’.
Instead, genuine and effective public engagement is more likely to come from conveying the deep-seated
‘context’ of our geological knowledge, and by presenting the wider culture within which Earth scientists
work. This inculcation of a popular ‘geo-culture’ can take its cues from mass-media representations of
Earth science (‘disasters and dinosaurs’) by recasting geological issues, concepts and knowledge in terms
of messages that have strong narratives, dramatic incident and human interest. Ultimately, the role of
such popular geological story-telling is less about delivering specific information about Earth science
issues and more about establishing the credentials of ‘brand geoscience’ in the public’s mind.
ß 2012 The Geologists’ Association. Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Keywords:
Science communication
Public engagement
Geological outreach
Mass media
Journalism
Geo-education
1. Introduction
Every UK geologist knows that the nation has a natural history
that spans over three billion years of Earth’s existence. Few
supermarket checkout assistants have that appreciation. That its
history has left its clues in the rocks underfoot – producing one of
the richest and most varied stretches of geological real estates on
the planet – is a revelation lost on your postman. Amateur
rockhounds may be only too well aware of how that diverse
geological underlay shapes the scenic grandeur of our land, but few
investment bankers have that familiarity. And those that read the
pages of this journal keenly appreciate how our nation’s rocks have
contributed to a cultural legacy that instilled some of the scientific
principles which guide our modern understanding of how the
planet works, but such enlightenment is unlikely to be shared by
your hairdresser. Even the fact that rocks, courtesy of the minerals
within them, powered our country’s industrial development is a
thought too far for most.
The point is that most ordinary members of the public – even
taxi drivers – lack any firm acquaintance with the bedrock on
which they live. They are for the most part blissfully unaware that
unassuming railway cuttings or riverside bluffs are listed as
Regionally Important Geological Sites (RIGS) because they
preserve fragile vestiges of our geological inheritance. Or that,
* Corresponding author. Tel.: +44 1752 584767.
E-mail address: [email protected] (I.S. Stewart).
by the same token, the holes in the ground from which our modern
urban fabric was once quarried are similarly portals into the past,
and hence are protected as Sites of Special Scientific Interest. For
those who are not geologically minded, this apparent indifference
to terra firma is arguably more an issue of detachment. No one has
told them that such places are important. Or at least, no one has
told them in a way that makes them care.
For this reason, the central concern of geoconservation – that
our rich and at times unique geological diversity is threatened – is a
message that has a relatively low priority amongst the public
(Prosser et al., 2011). Equally, the related notion that the UK’s
particular amalgam of rocks, minerals, fossils, soils and landforms
(geodiversity) is as valuable a resource base as its much lauded
ecological one (biodiversity) is one that still needs to fire the
popular imagination (Gordon et al., 2012). Such ideas are,
thankfully, increasingly formalised within relatively robust UK
regulatory frameworks which ensure a degree of statutory
protection (albeit locally augmented by voluntary conservation
schemes) (Burek and Prosser, 2008; Prosser et al., 2011), but
sustaining such guardianship over the long term needs a broader
and deeper public consciousness about both geodiversity and
geoconservation. In practice, it depends on local geoscience
outreach initiatives that build geological awareness, foster
understanding and facilitate involvement and activism among
the wider public. Professional geoscientists – academic and
industrial – can have an important role in this, by conveying the
nature of our science to communities, groups and individuals who
thus far have received little enchantment in geology. For the
0016-7878/$ – see front matter ß 2012 The Geologists’ Association. Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.pgeola.2012.08.008
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geoscience community, however, a key challenge in delivering this
aspiration is that ‘. . .we have yet to develop a still more versatile
bridge across the gap between helping users understand that
geology is relevant to them and making geological information
understandable to all’ (Walsby, 2008, p. 86).
In this paper, we explore one bridge between geology and the
public – that provided by ‘popular geoscience’. We do this as two
geologists who are also active Earth science popularisers, one (ISS)
an academic who presents geology in mainstream television
documentaries and the other (TN) a science journalist who writes
popular geology science books and edits a leading geoscience
magazine. Since many of the issues are those that underpin public
understanding of science more generally we review basic science
communication questions, such as what are the messages we want
to get across and who are the audiences we want wish to reach. But
the main sentiment of the paper is to distinguish communicating
‘geo-facts’ – geological information and knowledge – from the
deeper-seated embedding of ‘geo-culture’ – the context of Earth
science endeavours. In particular, we argue that an essential
element of public engagement in geoscience ought to be ‘storytelling’; the construction of a compelling narrative spine emerges
as a central construct in popular journalism and television
documentaries, and is one that can be employed more widely in
Earth science outreach.
2. Why communicate?
Today, the notion that scientists should communicate their
work beyond the professional community to the wider audience of
policy makers and the public seems broadly accepted (e.g. Royal
Society, 2006; Burchell et al., 2009). Most research and professional funding agencies now demand a public dissemination component, and so scientists in all fields are coming under increasing
pressure to deliver public recognition for their efforts. The cultural
‘sea change’ has emerged from the higher stakes of research, and
from an increased recognition by scientists, stakeholders, and
policymakers that scientists need to get their message out (Warren
et al., 2007). Most academic and professional geoscientists now
incorporate a public engagement element to their work, although
often it remains unclear if the underlying motive is to engender a
more positive public attitude to research, shape public debate
about key science issues, or reflect the potential reputational
enhancement of individuals, organisations or sponsors (Royal
Society, 2006). By and large, the scientific profession now endorses
public outreach as a cornerstone of scientific research and
innovation, yet there remain institutional asperities to achieving
that aim. For a start, the degree to which individual scientists
embrace the public in their work will come down to pragmatic
decisions about the degree to which their organisation will
prioritise this initiative (Marker, 2008). Public consultation and
dissemination are costly and time consuming so time and money
must be allocated by managers to support this effort. Likewise,
public engagement activities need to be recognised and rewarded
in opportunities for promotion and career development.
An additional constraint is that the process by which scientists
engage with those beyond the professional arena can be deemed as
being potentially hazardous. Public consumption of science is
mediated by various agencies (most prominently the media, but
also activist organisations, corporations and religious groups) and
there is much distrust among some scientists about the capacity or
desire of those agencies to represent science information fairly. The
main impediments for engaging with the media, for example,
include the perceived unpredictability of journalists and the
concomitant risk of incorrect quotation. This is part of a wider
concern among many scientists that engaging closely with the
public will incur a negative reaction from managers and of research
peers, especially because such incursions take time away from
valuable R&D, and so could be detrimental to career advancement
(Royal Society, 2006). Empirical surveys of actual scientist–media
interactions are more encouraging, however, suggesting that
dialogues between the two are more frequent and more positive
than previously thought (Peters et al., 2008; Bentley and Kyvik,
2011). In fact, those researchers most involved with public
engagement tend to have higher levels of scientific publishing
and enjoy higher academic rank with leadership roles.
Of course, not all scientists may be able or willing to ‘go public’;
6–10% of scientists polled by the Royal Society (2006) felt this way.
For some, the whole notion of communicating to the public
remains incompatible with the academic culture for unfettered
scholarly inquiry or the professional sensitivities of commercial
projects. Others will find the challenges of translating or
circumventing technical intricacies too arduous, or too far outside
of their comfort zone. Indeed, some departmental managers may
quake in their boots at the thought of certain of their staff
mediating with the public (Burchell et al., 2009).
Not surprisingly, many of those scientists who are keen to
undertake public engagement are looking for guidance and
training in this new domain. Some practical advice is available
for geoscientists (e.g. Forster and Freeborough, 2006) but only a
minority had courses in communication as part of their education;
only 15% in a recent global survey of geoscientists (Liverman and
Jaramillo, 2011) (Fig. 1). Moreover, most graduate training
courses in geoscience degree programmes emphasise communication to peers (how to present a paper, write an abstract, prepare
a poster etc.) rather than to the public. With little or no formal
training in the media, the majority of geoscientists that converse
regularly with the public are self-taught, their skills honed
through personal experience. Although successful communication is arguably an emotional rather than a technical skill, the
most effective communication demands formal instruction. For
example, if geoscience is really to inform genuine decision
making, then our emerging geoscientists may need training in
media relations and how the worlds of political advocacy and
science policy work (Schneider, 2008). What most media
professionals agree, however, is that the key communication
skills can be taught, developed and practiced (Somerville and
Hassol, 2011, p. 52).
And there are good reasons why scientists in general ought to
learn the basics of effective communication. Perhaps the most
prominent reason is that scientists, especially those in universities,
remain trusted figures by public and media (NSB, 2010; BIS, 2011).
In a social landscape where information can be misused by the
media or certain activist groups, academic scientists are widely
seen as the ones best able to minimise the potential for
misinterpretation and to evaluate the significance of their own
results (Liverman, 2008). In this context, a scientist that does not
accept responsibility for communicating their own work is likely to
have that work communicated by someone who understands the
science less well. Or worse, it will not be communicated at all.
3. What do the public know about geoscience?
An enduring complaint by scientists of all denominations is the
apparent scientific illiteracy of the public (Hartz and Chappell,
1997; Augustine, 1998; Gross, 2006; Mooney and Kirshenbaum,
2009). It reflects a long-held view within the scientific elite that, in
order to grasp the technological advances that drive society and
take their responsibility in civic society, people need to understand
the underpinning values and principles of scientific endeavour
(Durant et al., 1989). For many social commentators, such as the
UK journalist Andrew Marr, the degree to which the public
comprehended science was lamentably deficient:
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701
Fig. 1. Overview of geoscience opinions on media issues (Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011).
‘Most voters are frankly merely info-peasants, scientific
illiterates, vacant idiots at the mercy of the glossy corporatescience propaganda and newspaper hysterias. They are told a
‘government scientist’ is an authority, whether he’s spent his
life on earthworms or planets. They don’t ask about peer-group
review. They don’t even have a clear notion of scientific proof, or
the simple big discoveries that lead to the front-page stories
that shock them.’ (Marr, 1999)
Marr (1999) refers to this as the ‘deep comprehension gap’ but
science communicators know it as the ‘deficit model’ of public
understanding of science – crudely, that the public are empty
heads waiting to be filled up by scientific knowledge. In recent
years this mental model has now been replaced by more nuanced
conceptual frameworks (see Weigold (2001) for a review), but the
underlying premise of endemic scientific illiteracy remains rife. In
the US, for example, researchers have concluded that less than one
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Fig. 2. A visualisation of the sprawling, complex nature of modern Science, with the size of nodes proportional to the scientific output of different disciplines and the links
showing the interconnections between cognate fields (based on Web of Science) (BBC Trust, 2011).
fifth of residents meet a minimum standard of civic scientific
literacy (Miller et al., 1997).
Today, most science communicators would argue that it is less a
case that people need their knowledge ‘fix’ topped up and more
that they ought to be helped to appreciate the way ‘Science’ has
evolved. Most people’s attitude to what ‘Science’ is all about is
formed, both positively and negatively, at school, and many still
intuitively understand it as the holy trinity of biology, chemistry
and physics (BIS, 2011). Today, however, the scientific arena is vast
and disparate, and the corresponding realm of science communication is enormous and intricate (Fig. 2). Its sheer breadth is
highlighted by science journalist Sharon Begley (cited in Hartz and
Chappell, 1997) who noted,
‘I cover everything from archeology to genetics, neuroscience,
and physics. I do not do medicine, which is defined as anything
having to do with sick people. And I don’t do technology. I’ll do
genetics. I’ll do neuroscience. But once it gets into somebody
sick, I give it to ‘‘medicine.’’’
Somewhere amongst all that is geology. With little or no formal
educational background in geoscience beyond school geography
lessons most lay persons are unprepared for the new interconnected world of the ‘Earth system’ and for the high-tech wizardry
used to investigate it. Moreover, in the public sphere, geoscience is
competing with those equally novel science nodes depicted in
Fig. 2, and in each of these nodes scientists are expecting the public
to have a degree of technical literacy equal to the demands of the
advances that threaten to change and shape their lives. It means
that what is basic scientific knowledge to a particle physicist will
be different to that of a geneticist, a psychologist or indeed, a
geologist. Given that sprawling intellectual landscape, and
considering the remoteness of much of its hinterland for those
with only a distant recollection of high school science, how much
geology can we expect a public to know?
The extent of ‘geo-illiteracy’ is difficult to gauge, though
occasional surveys imply a patchy knowledge of some very basic
geological tenets. According to Hartz and Chappell (1997), for
example, a 1996 survey (Table 1) showed that although over threequarters of US adults sampled understood that the centre of the
planet is ‘very hot’, almost a quarter did not. Furthermore, over half
of them thought that the earliest humans co-existed with
dinosaurs. Such misconceptions underpin genuine geo-educational concerns, such as the challenges to evolution and Earth science
posed by the pseudo-science of Young Earth Creationism and
Intelligent Design (Buchanan, 2005; Nisbet and Nisbet, 2005).
Countering such apparent deep-seated deficiencies are initiatives
such as the National Science Foundation’s Earth Science Literacy
initiative (http://www.earthscienceliteracy.org/), which attempts
to set out ‘the ‘‘Big Ideas’’ and supporting concepts that all
Americans should know about Earth sciences’ (Fig. 3). According to
that scheme,
‘. . .an Earth-science-literate person understands the fundamental concepts of Earth’s many systems, knows how to find
and assess scientifically credible information about Earth,
communicates about Earth science in a meaningful way, and is
able to make informed and responsible decisions regarding
Earth and its resources.’
Of course, all this presupposes that there is body of unassailable
‘geo-facts’ that can be readily conveyed to a general audience. At an
introductory level that may not be especially controversial, but it
becomes more problematic with geoscientific issues where a
degree of uncertainty and even conflict may exist within the
geoscience community (Oreskes, 2004). That is particularly
pertinent in the context that, in the regulatory arena, those who
wish to contest mainstream scientific views do so by explicitly
exploiting technical uncertainty to enhance (‘manufacture’) doubt
in the public’s mind (Michaels, 2005a, 2005b). Given that, as we
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703
Table 1
Results of a quiz given by researchers for the National Science Board as part of a larger survey to determine how much American adults know about basic science issues, as
well as what their attitudes are towards science and technology. The survey was conducted for the National Science Board’s Science and Engineering Indicators 1996, and is
presented in Hartz and Chappell (1997).
Question
Answer
% correct
The centre of the Earth is very hot.
The oxygen we breathe comes from plants.
Electrons are smaller than atoms.
The continents on which we live have been moving their location for millions of years and will continue to move in the future.
The earliest human beings lived at the same time as the dinosaurs.
Which travels faster: light or sound?
How long does it take for the Earth to go around the sun: 1 day, 1 month or 1 year.
True
True
True
True
False
Light
One year
78
85
44
79
48
75
47
discuss later, the public often first encounters geoscience at times
of crisis (Deepwater Horizon) or controversy (‘fracking’), more
important than disseminating specific knowledge about geology
may be the effort of establishing a broader ‘geo-literacy’, in the
sense of knowing how our science really works. As Groffman et al.
(2010, p. 287) point out:
‘The public and decision makers need more than information
and technical knowledge – they need mental frameworks, or
models, for ‘‘connecting the dots’’ between otherwise apparently isolated events, trends, and policy solutions. These
linkages make it easier for them to recognize the connection
between their everyday lives, specific values, and various
environmental problems.’
It is a view also encouraged by those ‘upstream’ who use our
scientific knowledge – the policy-makers who base their judgments and decisions on scientific advice – as highlighted by US
Congresswoman Nancy Napolitano:
‘We do not know what you are focusing on unless you tell us.
You are plugged into the science world daily and discussing it
continually in your own terminology. We jump from issue to
issue and are lucky if we get to focus on any particular issue for
more than 30 minutes at a time. We depend on overloaded staff
to keep us informed and to identify key elements. Equally
important, scientists think and process information differently
than public policy people do. Scientists are taught to develop
hypotheses and then work to disprove them. In Congress, we
are typically trying to mesh your scientific knowledge into a
broader policy and regulation issue question.’ (Napolitano,
2011, p. 424)
Like all scientists, geologists both in academia and industry are
being expected to get more involved in the public arena,
particularly in terms of lending their expert voices to policy
matters (Oppenheimer, 2011). In the past this arena was regarded
somewhat as a line of communication with the public and
government in which scientists stood back from policy. These days
the public scientist will be entangled within a complex web of
interactions involving multiple feedbacks and in which scientific
information is only one voice among several (Fig. 4). That
entanglement means many geoscientists remain shy of this
expectation, perhaps preferring to restrict their activities to
promoting their science in schools and popular forums. But there
are pragmatic reasons for geologists to get involved in public policy
debates, not least because such interventions improve the quality
of public discourse and the information reaching decision-makers,
and because failure to intervene leaves governments with no
choice but to seek explanations from others, who may not be as
informed (Oppenheimer, 2011).
Fig. 3. Overview of the key ‘big ideas’ and supporting concepts promoted by the Earth Science Literary Principles (www.earthscienceliteracy.org).
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Fig. 4. Contrasting visualisations of science in the public arena: (top) a traditional
linear model whereby scientists hand information to the public and stand back from
the policy process; (bottom) a more complex and nuanced modern view whereby
science and scientists are often caught up in a web of interactions involving many
feedbacks.
Modified from Oppenheimer (2011, Fig. 1).
For those scientists who are committed to ‘going public’, the
questions become more about what can they expect in the way of
reception for their interventions and how can the maximise their
efficacy? To address those questions needs a more careful
consideration as to who ‘the public’ actually is.
4. Who are the public?
So far, we have referred loosely to ‘the public’ but who is it out
there that we are specifically trying to reach? Most geoscience
organisations tend to consider their public in terms of ‘stakeholders’ – those groups most likely to ‘use’ their information.
Arguably the easiest stakeholders for geoscientists to converse
with are fellow scientists in industry, the academic community and
government (Fig. 5). More vexed are the interactions with business
and government, where the challenges of communicating geoscience are compounded by the need to comprehend complex
institutional and decision-making structures and to compete with
an often equally baffling counter-jargon of ‘policy speak’ (Marker,
2008). Any geoscientists working in areas that impinge on
planning or other legal issues will readily appreciate the difficulties
in reading or writing documents replete with planning terminology and the associated lexicon of the regulatory framework (Forster
and Freeborough, 2006). Equally, those engaged in outreach with
teachers and other educators face by a bewildering maze of key
stage’ requirements, as well as curricula that vary between exam
Fig. 5. Summary of which groups geoscientists find it hardest/easiest to talk to
(Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011, Fig. 6).
boards and across national educational systems. Given such
complexity, it is little wonder that many scientists feel that
communicating what they know to the ordinary man or woman in
the street is a far simpler exercise, even if it might be done through
the mediating efforts of journalists and the mass media.
Yet communicating science to the general public is itself fraught
with challenges because the ‘public’ is in fact a disparate lot,
consisting of various groups of individuals who require different
information according to their own personal needs and interests.
One commonly used subdivision of the population is that of the
‘attentive public’, the ‘interested public’ and the ‘residual public’
(Miller, 1986; Miller et al., 1997; Miller and Pardo, 1999). The most
science-tuned are the ‘attentive public’, which make up 10–20% of
the whole. They are generally young and well educated (often with
university-level science courses) who regularly watch news and
read newspapers, and fairly routinely read popular science
magazines (or occasionally general science magazines like Science
and Nature). They are also the most likely to visit museums and
science centres, and constitute a small but informed audience that
will actively seek out information on technical issues. A far larger
proportion (40–50%) are ‘science interested’, typically being
somewhat older and more remote from science education but
nevertheless frequent viewers of television programmes on science,
technology and nature and weekly readers of science stories in the
newspaper. Often this ‘interested public’ claim to have a high level of
interest in a particular issue but do not feel especially well informed
about it. The least science-minded are the residual or non-attentive
public (or, more crudely, the science illiterate), who acknowledge
neither knowledge nor interest in science.
More recent reviews have expanded this collective of multiple
publics and refined their complex attitudes to science (e.g. OST,
2000). What has emerged ever more forcefully is that different
‘publics’ demand different science engagement approaches. For
example, a group that are the most likely to visit cultural institutions
such as museums and science centres may be far less likely than
average to have attended a science-based event or festival (OST,
2000). Moreover, disseminating very introductory science outreach
material may be wasted on or put off those ‘attentive’ individuals
who already possess a degree of scientific literacy sufficient to handle
a fairly sophisticated depiction of the scientific process. (Although a
note of caution here – according to Miller (1986), the unfortunate
reality is that despite the high level of science professed by the
attentive public, two-thirds of them are unlikely to pass a ‘‘relatively
minimal test of scientific literacy’’.) The information needs of the
interested public are more difficult to address but any approach to
communicating with this group ought to be non-technical, simple,
and pictorial (Miller, 1986). There is little consensus about the
information needs or wants of the residual public.
A key challenge for science communication is that these
multiple publics are scattered among the traditional stakeholder
groups. Although it is generally accepted that where science
informs stakeholder policy (government, business or education) it
should rely strongly on recommendations from scientific experts
rather than public opinion (e.g. BIS, 2011), still the central
arguments will be rehearsed in the public arena. And in that
arena, professional scientific advice competes with misinformed
rhetoric as the various ‘publics’ express perceptions and prejudices
inherited less from designated experts and more from the wider
popular science culture. In this context, it is difficult to convey
specific messages to specific targets. Instead, effective science
communication becomes more about engaging with people’s
interests, prior knowledge, social networks and values/beliefs:
‘. . .this informal learning is individually motivated, voluntary,
collaborative, occurs at irregular intervals, and is openended. . .It occurs throughout one’s life and encompasses a
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705
range of outcomes, including different dimensions of knowledge, awareness, interest, motivation, social competencies (i.e.
the ability to succeed as a member of society), civic participation and expression and consumer or individual choices.’
(Groffman et al., 2010, p. 286).
In other words, audiences do not receive science information in
a vacuum but rather assimilate it from their own individual
cultural context and use it for their own ends (Ziman, 1992).
Indeed, while scientists may have scientific ‘facts’ at their disposal,
the lay persons have local knowledge and an understanding of, and
personal interest in, the problems to be solved. This realisation,
arguably more than any other, has reframed science communication into a two-way interchange:
‘. . .What the past decade or so has brought to the fore. . .is that
where science is being communicated, communicators need to be
much more aware of the nature and existing knowledge of the
intended audience. They need to know why the facts being
communicated are required by the listeners, what their implications may be for the people on the receiving end, what the
receivers might feel about the way those facts were gleaned, and
where future research might lead. Communicators might also
consider that factual communications—while they may be
inspirational—probably have little lasting effect on knowledge
levels. People will pick up the knowledge they need for the task at
hand, use it as required, and then put it down again.’ (Miller, 2001)
In this guise, public understanding of science becomes a long
game in which we engage the public in a discussion about what
interests them (Miller, 2001). That discussion is a dialogue not a
monologue. It is less about providing information and more about
providing context. For Walsby (2008), a better public understanding of ‘what geology is’ and ‘what geoscientists do’ will come when
those messages are delivered in concepts, formats and language
that are recognisable to particular groups. One way to frame
geological information in more familiar ways is to consider not
what the public needs to know about geology, but rather what they
want to know about it.
5. Geology in the news
One way to find out what the public is interested in is to examine
the geoscience issues that the news media choose to bring to the
public’s attention. One recent analysis of UK ‘quality’ (i.e. broadsheet)
newspapers suggests that there is a healthy interest in geological
news stories (King and Hyden, 2012). According to that survey, the
number of stories about ‘Earth science’ had increased dramatically
over the last decade, and currently is greater than biology and more
than physics and chemistry combined (Fig. 6). It also highlighted a
media fascination with environmental disasters and crises – modern
and ancient – and with the weird, wonderful, and downright bizarre
elements of our planet’s distant past (Table 2).
Most scientists, of course, recognise that although the news
media are crucial purveyors and interpreters of geoscience
information, they also have their own agendas ‘. . .and public
education per se is not necessarily primary among them’ (West,
1986, p. 40). Thus, while there are some shared goals between
journalist and scientist, there are also important distinctions:
‘The scientist’s primary responsibilities are to disseminate
information, educate the public, be scientifically accurate, not
lose face before colleagues, get some public credit for years of
research, repay the taxpayers who supported the research, and
break out of the ivory tower for the sheer fun of it. The
journalist’s goals are to get the news, inform, entertain, not lose
face before his or her colleagues, fill space or time, and not be
Fig. 6. Comparison of UK broadsheet newspaper coverage of science in 2003 and
2011, showing that in the latest survey the number of stories about ‘Earth science’
had increased to 10% of all the stories (King and Hyden, 2012).
repetitive. Sometimes these divergent agendas work to mutual
benefit, but at other times they lead to conflict.’ (Weigold, 2001)
Uncertainty and suspicion about the media’s role in communicating geoscience inhibits many geologists from getting more
involved. In a recent survey of geoscientists, for example, 73%
thought that few members of the news media understood the
nature of geoscience issues (Liverman and Jaramillo, 2011), and
72% of respondents considered that the media was more interested
in negative stories about geoscience (Fig. 1). The potential for
negative stories is arguably at its highest when extreme geological
events bring the spectre of natural disaster (Liverman, 2008), and
in those circumstances the journalist’s role is especially acute:
‘. . .[the media] can play a positive role in education and
communication about hazards and risk. Responsible journalism
provides a very powerful mechanism for persuading politicians
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706
Table 2
The headlines of Earth science-related stories found in the 2011 survey of King and Hyden (2012).
Headline
Newspaper and date
Undisturbed for million years. . .until now
Meteorite smashes through roof of Comette family’s Paris home
Kazakh gas sector quietly gains momentum
Scientists count every grain of sand in erosion study
T rex just got bigger
Airlines feel the heat as volcano rumbles
The wonder gas that could cut your energy bill
Earthquake death toll may reach 1000
1000 feared dead in Turkish earthquake as survivors left to fend for themselves
Gone with the wind: the dinosaurs who kicked up a stink
Migration clue to giant size of dinosaurs
Did all life begin in a Greenland volcano?
Origins of life traced to a volcano in Greenland
Scientists scour suburbs for the rare space rock that fell to earth
Commodities. Advocates keep the shale gas flame alight
Hope amid ruins as quake city bids cathedral farewell
Obama to delay $7 bn oil pipeline
The science column. The law that shows why wealth flows to the 1%
The Times, 11/10/2011
The Guardian, 11/10/2011
Daily Telegraph, 11/10/2011
The Times, 13/10/2011
Daily Telegraph, 13/10/2011
The Guardian, 14/10/2011
The Times, 23/10/2011
The Times, 24/10/2011
The Guardian, 24/10/2011
The Times, 27/10/2011
The Guardian, 27/10/2011
The Daily Mail, 28/10/2011
Daily Telegraph, 28/10/2011
The Times, 07/11/2011
Daily Telegraph, 07/11/2011
The Times, 10/11/2011
The Times, 11/11/2011
The Guardian, 12/11/2011
to act and communities to take notice of scientific information.
Regrettably, the media can also be sensationalist and only
become interested in natural hazards when death and
destruction have already occurred’. (Huppert and Sparks, 2006).
Although most geoscientists probably appreciate that journalists need some kind of news ‘hook’ in order to translate an event
into a story, there is a recognition that ‘. . .journalistic valuations of
drama, personalities and novelty can serve to trivialize news
content, as it can also lead to the blocking out of news items that do
not hold an immediate sense of excitement or controversy’.
(Boykoff, 2009, p. 446). For the New York Times journalist Andrew
Revkin, a casualty of this ‘whiplash journalism’ can be the sense of
context:
‘. . .the media seem either to overplay a sense of imminent
calamity or to ignore the issue altogether because it is not black
or white or on a time scale that feels like news. This approach
leaves society like a ship at anchor swinging cyclically with the
tide and not going anywhere. What is lost in the swings of
media coverage is a century of study and evidence. . .’ (Revkin
2007, cited in Boykoff, 2009, p. 441)
Uncertainty and controversy fuel news stories just as ardently as
they drive scientific research proposals, but it is questionable
whether better public understanding of the underlying issues is
achieved by this. Whether it is stem cells, genetic modification of
crops (GM), or ‘fracking’, the pace at which science happens is
generally way ahead of the rate at which people can adjust their
cognitive frameworks to make sense of it (Gross, 2006). And if
information reported in a news story is not consistent with an
individual’s existing knowledge and values, then they are most likely
to misconceive it, or simply ignore it (Corbett and Durfee, 2004).
Despite their potential for misinformation, geological crises
offer rare opportunities where the public, through the media, are
actually willing to listen to a geologist explain their science. Often
in these fleeting windows ‘facts’ are sparse and contested, and
the urgency of action often precludes a careful analysis of the
underlying scientific context. If the talking point is one that the
public audience has met before, then it ought to be possible to
build on those existing inherited elements and rearticulate key
basic messages, with a reasonable expectation that they will hit
home. In contrast, if this is the public’s first real exposure to the
topic at hand, then the communication task is far more
challenging. In that situation, with no popular reference frame,
a geological expert can struggle amid the soundbites to establish
context and convey a sense of balance.
Establishing the basic grounding by which lay persons can follow
‘new science’ requires scientists of all creeds to be smarter about the
way they convey their knowledge to the public. The popular
digestion of a complex science article, for example, is greatly aided
by the inclusion of a brief background context that places the claims
a new research paper within the wider body of research that already
exists (Corbett and Durfee, 2004). But alongside a more effective
communication strategy there is also the need for scientists to have a
more nuanced appreciation of what the news agenda is and become
more savvy about the way the media frames science in the first place.
As Nield (2008) observes:
‘By always bearing in mind two crucial facts – that the news
media are not going to change the way they work to please
scientists, and that they should be approached as a branch of
the entertainment industry – all subsequent decisions and
behaviours on the part of scientists and their companies/
institutions will be more likely to be blessed with success.’
6. That’s entertainment: the medium of television science
In September 2007, a sample of a hundred final-year school
visitors to the University of Glasgow’s Open Day, were asked a
series of questions, including who digs dinosaurs?; what does a
palaeontologist do?; and, what does an archaeologist do? (Clark,
Fig. 7. Pie chart of who prospective students at the University of Glasgow think dig
dinosaurs (Clark, 2008).
I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
2008). Dinosaurs, being a firm favourite of the public’s imagination
and the subject of numerous films and documentaries, might be
expected to register strongly with the public, as would the
scientists that unearth them; indeed, dinosaur palaeonologists
have been more active than most professional geologists in
engaging with the public on their science. Despite this, the
majority of respondents to the first question, who digs dinosaurs?,
answered ‘archaeologists’ and only a third opted for palaeontologists (Fig. 7). When asked whether they knew what a
palaeontologist did, 83% claimed they did (with the remainder
either not knowing [11%] or never having heard of the term [6%]);
in comparison, a 100% of the sample felt they knew what an
archaeologist did.
This blurred perception of palaeontologists and archaeologists
may be because, in the public’s eyes, they both ‘dig up the past’. But
according to Clark it also reflects where the public turns to for their
sources of information. A US survey of the public perception of
archaeology (Ramos and Duganne, 2000) revealed that over half of
the respondents got their knowledge on archaeology from
707
television (which is presumably why 5% of the respondents to
Clark’s question of ‘who digs dinosaurs’ specified ‘Ross from
Friends’!); in contrast, newspapers, magazines, encyclopaedia and
books were quoted by a quarter to a third of those asked. In terms
of television entertainment (and general news exposure), archaeology simply outcompetes palaeontology (Clark, 2008).
Today, the bulk of the general public get their science from
television. According to the National Science Foundation (2008)
‘. . .in both the United States and Europe, most adults find out about
the latest S&T [science and technology] developments from
watching television. The print media rank a distant second. The
Internet, although not the main source of news for most people,
has become the main place to get information about specific S&T
subjects’. The latest US survey (NSB, 2010) confirms television’s
continuing primacy, though the Internet is now in second place
and its margin on other media such as newspapers and radio large
and growing (Fig. 8). The most recent UK survey (BIS, 2011)
indicates that half of people (54%) hear or read about science
through television, almost a third (32%) through print newspapers
Fig. 8. National Science Foundation Science & Technology trends: (a) Primary source of information, by use, 2008. (b) Primary source of information 2001–2008.
708
I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
Fig. 9. Comparison of BBC science coverage (news and non-news) to scientific output on the Web of Science (WOS) for various topics. The height of the bars, and the figures
above them, are proportions of each of the topics, in turn molecular, cellular and basic medical sciences; clinical research; general biology; chemistry; physics; climate;
geology; astronomy; and technology.
Source: BBC Trust (2011).
(32%) and only a fifth (19%) through the internet (though only 2%
use science blogs specifically as one of their most regular sources).
It seems that whilst those interested in finding out more about
specific issues head first to the internet, the general passive
consumption of science is delivered to most households through
popular mainstream television programmes.
In terms of television, geoscience tends to have a far higher
profile in non-news programmes than in news programmes
(Fig. 9). Whereas news is reactionary and topical, non-news output
tends to be a less frenetic media environment and therefore one
more conducive to establishing context. Making science documentaries for television and radio ought to afford more time (and
incentive) for media professional and scientist to develop good
working relations and appreciate each other’s demands and
potentially conflicting agendas. However, the reality is that here
too there is considerable room for confusion and disenchantment
(e.g. Harris, 2011). ‘While many academics would like their
research to be brought to wider attention through the media, few
understand how to go about this, what will make it attractive to
media companies, and how, finally, to explain their work to
cameras and microphones.’ (Harris, 2011, p. 156). Moreover, the
process can be remarkably disruptive, as Ira Flatlow, cited in Blum
and Knudson (1997, p. 41) observes:
‘. . .scientists who agree to become television ‘talent’ may have
no idea of the demands that may be made of their laboratory,
Dozens of phonecalls interrupt their work. Scripts have to be
written and rewritten. Then comes the invasion. Laboratories
are besieged by hoards of camera, lighting and sound people. All
work stops while those ‘TV people’ take over. Unsuspecting
scientists may balk at the commotion and decide that this is not
what they bargained for.’
According to Harris (2011), the solution is to gain an
understanding of how the broadcast media works and what they
are looking for when making programmes. In the following section,
rather than report specific concerns related by scientists and
documentary film makers about this process, we instead adopt a
narrative format based on an fictionalised account of experiences
from both sides to convey the essence of the tensions that typically
arise.
7. A narrative tale of miscommunication
It usually starts with a cold call from a researcher. They have
been given Professor X’s name by someone, or more likely a Google
search has picked up on some of his recent research work. The
researcher is interested in how his findings might contribute to a
new popular geology series that they are developing for BBC4. The
scientist’s interest is stirred – he pushes aside the work in front of
him and proceeds to quickly sketch out the bones of the research
and what he think its wider implications are. (Usually there is little
or no inquiry on the part of the academic about the thrust of the
programme. Also, is this a commissioned programme that is
actually going to happen, or is this ‘chat’ merely preparation for a
speculative pitch for funds that will be have the same anticipated
success levels as a research grant?)
Initially, the television researcher’s responses to even some
basic elements of the science show them to be woefully ignorant of
the general field, causing Professor X mild irritation. Little wonder,
the researcher is probably a physics or biology graduate in the first
few days of a placement, embarking on a rapid learning curve in
this foreign field of geoscience. With only a few weeks to put
together the script of a programme, the pressure amongst the small
programme team is intense. But the researcher is bright, and half
an hour in their sparring has become more confident and pointed,
usually instigating counter replies that; ‘ah, yes, good question –
you know, we really don’t know why that’s the case’. After 45 min
or so of awkward interrogation the researcher thanks the scientists
for some fascinating insights and rings off.
The scientist, perhaps ever so slightly glowing, wanders into the
staff room to causally mention that he’s ‘just been talking to the
BBC’. The researcher meanwhile reports back to his producer that
much of the conversation was unintelligible or off topic (for
invariably the programme team has shaped out a narrative spine),
except for one off-the-cuff remark about an intriguing research
finding that could give the programme makers a bridge between
two parts of their story. A return call from the researcher sets up a
I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
meeting to record a short interview. Again, rarely does the
academic inquire as to what specific tack the questions will follow
and how his contribution will fit into the overall arc of the
programme. Perhaps it is the silent euphoria of realising that thirty
years of painstaking (and at times marginalised) research is finally
about to see the limelight. The research sponsors will be pleased, as
will other members of the wider research consortium, whose
profile will be enhanced when the programme airs. Finally
something to write on that blasted REF Impact form.
Invariably it is only when the television crew turn up and the
interview commences, that the academic begins to be aware of the
bit part that his research is playing in the show. He is informed by
the director that his ‘sequence’ will last about 2 min. What’s more,
the programme makers want no mention of the various
collaborating research luminaries that have worked in partnership
to get the results, or indeed the past seminal work on which the
new research has built; apparently there is no time to unpick that
‘backstory’. Instead, the interview focuses on what Professor X feels
is a minor, even tangential aspect of his research, with no interest
in drawing out the deeper, more central implications of his work,
which are deemed ‘too technical’ for the audience to grasp.
Frustrated by what appears to be a superficial and contrived
exercise, the academic becomes reluctant to provide the ready
soundbite that tripped unconsciously off the tongue during that
initial phonecall; the early confidence and swagger is replaced by
caution and caveats as the shadows of his academic peers loom
ominously over the increasingly fractured interview. The director
too is frustrated by this sudden reticence to deliver what had been
forthcoming over the phone, and as soon as something close to
what is needed is ‘in the can’ the interview is brought to a polite
close. The ‘TV people’ depart – the director mulling over how best
to save this underwhelming contribution from being consigned to
the edit room floor – leaving an academic confused and unsettled
by the whole intrusive affair.
The sequence of events outlined above is admittedly a crude
characterisation of the myriad of experiences, good and bad,
between professional scientists and documentary makers, but it is
likely that anyone who has been involved in some way with
science on television (and radio) would recognise at least some of
the elements. Crucially, the mutually unsatisfactory conclusion
stems from a failure by both parties to communicate early on their
own agenda and what they wanted out from the exercise. Perhaps
more critical was not considering what each other needed to make
it a successful interaction. For the programme maker, that ought to
involve helping the academic cut the Gordion knot of conflicting
theories and interpretative nuances that litter the academic
territory (Harris, 2011). For the scientist, it ought to be empathising
with the challenges faced by the television or radio producer in
making difficult science digestable in bite-sized pieces. In that
regard, scientists could give some thought as to what actually
makes an interesting television or radio programme, what ideas
and material work (or do not work) when presented on the
medium, and, perhaps most importantly, what can they do to make
their basic message more engaging – more entertaining (Harris,
2011).
8. Talking geoscience: language and narrative
Rex Buchanan, a geologist/science writer at the Kansas
Geological Survey has spent twenty five years popularising
palaeontology and earth science and has come to one important
conclusion: as scientists, ‘we’re not very good at it’ (Buchanan,
2005):
‘We do a mediocre job of helping adults learn about and
appreciate science. Many of the science stories that I read in
709
newspapers or try to watch on television aren’t very engaging.
Some are too long, and many seem irrelevant. Popular science
too often seems like castor oil—something we should take
because it’s good for us, not because we want to.’ (Buchanan,
2005, p. 1)
The reasons for the apparent inability of scientists to
communicate outside the professional community are varied
and complex, but at the heart of the problem is the manner in
which we converse with our audience. People that are not overly
familiar with science tend to ‘tune out things that they think are
scientific and complicated’ (Gross, 2006, p. 680). Yet often it is not
the scientific principles and practices that are incomprehensible as
much as the language used by experts to express them (e.g. Goben
and Swan, 1990). We scientists are trained to think and write in a
strongly codified manner, which is appropriate when we are
talking amongst ourselves but not when we begin to communicate
outside our professional peer group (Liverman, 2008). More
effective communication can come from learning from the fields
of rhetoric, linguistics and cognitive psychology about how to
better organize our thoughts in a way that non-specialist
audiences might expect to receive them (Goben and Swan,
1990). Another improvement can come from acknowledging that
our scientific lexicon is overly technical; according to (Liverman
and Jaramillo, 2011), 61% of surveyed geoscientists considered that
‘most scientists are so intellectual and immersed in their own
jargon that they can’t communicate with journalists or the public’
(Fig. 5). At the heart of the problem is the belief that scientists
generally do not talk to the general public in their language.
‘Scientists typically fail to craft, simple, clear messages and
repeat them often. They commonly overdo the level of detail,
and people have difficulty sorting out what is important. In
short, the more you say, the less they hear. And scientists tend
to speak in code. We encourage them to speak in plain language
and choose their words with care. . .Many words that seem
perfectly normal to scientists are incomprehensible jargon to
the wider world. Use simpler substitutes. . .Try to use metaphors, analogies and points of reference to make results more
meaningful. (Somerville and Hassol, 2011)
As implied in the remarks above, the problem with language
extends beyond simply the words and phrases that we use, but also
reflects the way in which we organise those elements to make an
effective message. For the would-be geo-communicator, Buchanan
(2005, p. 2) has some specific advice:
‘Tell stories when you write about your work for non-scientists.
Use active voice, strong verbs, and words that help your
audience visualize your subject. Avoid jargon. Use analogies.
Vary sentence length. Geology has some great sounding words,
like ‘‘hoodoo’’ or ‘‘monandnok.’’ Use them (and define them).
Let that excitement of your work show through. If you’re not
passionate about your work, nobody else will be. Have fun
when you write.’
The idea of fun, passionate communication may seem a world
away from the more proscriptive, technical delivery that most
would-be scientists are drilled in. but the argument is that if we as
geoscientists are to convey our message to as wide a public as
possible then we ought to learn the tricks of the mass media trade.
The greater reach can be achieved by writing in prose that appeals
to the broadest possible audience:
‘Try to craft messages that are not only simple but memorable,
and repeat them often. Make more effective use of imagery,
metaphor and narrative. In short, be a better storyteller, lead
I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
710
Fig. 10. Scientists can communicate more effectively with the public by inverting
the pyramid of their usual presentations to colleagues. That is, start with the
‘bottom line’ and tell people why they should care.
From Somerville and Hassol (2011, Fig. 3).
with what you know, and let your passion show.’ (Somerville
and Hassol, 2011)
Of course, in reframing our scientific messages as stories in this
way, we run the risk of oversimplification. But although the charge
of ‘dumbing down’ is frequently made against populist science
programmes, arguably it is no more than adjusting the message to
suit the audience; an academic presenting an equivalent topic to a
first-year introductory class and then to a group of Masters
students will employ significant differences in language and
substance, yet there would be no suggestion that the strategy for
the former involved ‘dumbing down’. Simplification is a crucial
device in communication beyond our peers since, according to
Schneider (2008), ‘. . .without resorting to simplification it is nearly
impossible to communicate the implications of the scientific
results to a broad audience’.
Yet, as well as telling simpler stories, geoscience communicators ought to tailor them more to our audience’s needs.
According to Somerville and Hassol (2011), scientists are used to
communicating with their peers in a certain format, beginning
with background information, moving to supporting details, and
finally coming to their results and conclusions. But ordinary people
want to know what the science means for them – the ‘so what’
question. So, to connect with the public, science communicators
must invert that pyramid (Fig. 10) and begin with what their
audience cares about – ‘the bottom line’. Policy makers too, need
the same approach, as US Congresswoman Nancy Napolitano
notes:
Table 3
List of the top-rated BBC Horizon programmes (2000–2011) as indicated by public viewing figures. BBC Horizon – the flagship science strand on UK television – covers a broad
range of science topics, including health and engineering. Almost a third of the most popular science documentaries are geology-related. In fact, the Earth science proportion
is arguably higher than shown, because several of the remaining documentaries contain significant geoscience content (e.g. in ‘Archaeology’ – The Mystery of Easter Island,
Helike: The Real Atlantis; in ‘Climate’ – The Big Chill, Global Dimming; in ‘Physics’ – Freak Wave).
Film
Year
Subject
Viewers (millions)
Mystery of the Persian Mummy
Mega-tsunami
Supervolcanoes
The Fall of the World Trade Centre
The Big Chill
Death of the Iceman
Extreme Dinosaurs
Vanished – the plane that disappeared
The Atkins Diet
Prof Regan’s Supermarket Secrets
The Lost Pyramids of Caral
The Mystery of Easter Island
Freak Wave
The Bible Code
Saturn: Lord of the Rings
Secrets of the Star Disc
Making Millions the easy way
The Hunt for the Supertwister
Crash of Flight 587
The Dinosaur that fooled the world
What really killed the dinosaurs
The Truth About Vitamins
Averting Armageddon
Living Nightmare
The Next Megaquake
The Lost Civilisation of Peru
Is Seeing Believing?
Dr Money and the Boy with no Penis
King Solomon’s Tablet of Stone
Earthquake Storms
Dirty Bomb
Archimedes’ Secret
Helike: The Real Atlantis
The Secret of El Dorado
Fatbusters
Killer Lakes
Why do we dream?
Why Are Thin People Not Fat
The Secret life of your Body Clock
Global Dimming
Parallel Universes
T-Rex: Warrior or Wimp?
Japan earthquake
The Secret Life of Caves
Time Trip
2001
2000
2000
2002
2003
2002
2000
2000
2004
2008
2002
2003
2002
2003
2004
2004
2004
2004
2003
2002
2004
2004
2003
2003
2005
2005
2010
2005
2004
2003
2003
2002
2002
2002
2002
2002
2009
2009
2009
2005
2002
2004
2011
2003
2003
Archaeology
Earth science
Earth science
Technology
Climate science
Archaeology/climate science
Earth science
Technology
Medical/health
Medical/health
Archaeology
Archaeology
Physics
Mathematics
Cosmology
Cosmology
Mathematics
Earth science
Technology
Earth science
Earth science
Chemistry
Earth science/cosmology
Chemistry
Earth science
Archaeology
Neuroscience
Biology
Archaeology
Earth science
Technology
Mathematics
Archaeology
Archaeology
Medical/health
Earth science
Neuroscience
Medical/health
Biology
Climate science
Cosmology/physics
Earth science
Earth science
Earth science
Physics
5.10
5.00
4.70
4.20
4.10
4.00
4.00
3.80
3.70
3.60
3.60
3.40
3.40
3.30
3.20
3.20
3.10
3.00
3.00
3.00
2.90
2.90
2.90
2.90
2.89
2.87
2.83
2.80
2.80
2.80
2.80
2.80
2.80
2.80
2.70
2.70
2.68
2.63
2.61
2.60
2.60
2.60
2.51
2.50
2.50
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711
Fig. 11. A geological-themed children’s play area at the English Riviera Geopark in Paignton (Devon, UK) illustrates how elements of an area’s geological history can be
integrated into the popular culture of a community.
‘Provide clear, real-life examples of the potential implications
of your science. Explain to us the relevance of your science
within a context the average person can understand. Talk to us
in terms we can understand and can interpret easily. . .
Otherwise we get detoured by the acronyms and phrases
and miss the bigger story you are trying to tell.’ (Napolitano,
2011)
9. Dinosaurs and disasters: engaging with popular geoscience
In an earlier section we discussed how it appeared that, in
terms of popular demand, archaeology trumps palaeontology.
One important reason for that primacy is that archaeology, of all
sciences, is all about people, and stories about them. It is no
surprise that it sells beautifully in the media – just like
psychology and social sciences. It is a fact often overlooked by
scientists that most (other) people are mostly interested in other
people, and they are mostly not interested in anything else. The
fact that scientists are more interested than average in things and
ideas (like other academics) marks them out as mentally very
unusual – and it can create a barrier to their media work.
Scientists, being preternaturally interested in inanimate things
may not approach their explanations sufficiently from the human
angle. ‘‘Cannot the science stand by itself?’’ they often ask. The
answer is no.
Where Earth science frequently has the edge over other
physical sciences is that geology does have an innate capacity to
present a human angle. The most obvious example being the
people threatened by natural hazards. The inherent human drama
of modern geological emergencies make them especially popular
in mass popular culture, and that same drama can be extended
back into the deep time with tales of violent evolutionary
catastrophes and planetary crises. Similar to the predilections’
of the news media, modern geophysical catastrophes and past
biotic crises have also been the stable fodder for television science
over the last decade (Table 3). Such an enduring populist diet of
‘dinosaurs and disasters’ suggests a deeper attraction. A hint is
contained in a recent report by the BBC Trust (2011, p. 45) which
laments that the prime position on BBC radio and television nonnews output tends to be given not to those major sciences that are
the ‘giants’ of academic endeavour (see Fig. 2), but rather to the
small and isolated ‘minnows’ of astronomy, anthropology, and
geoscience. In other words, it would seem that the sciences that
have that are currently doing best on television are the ‘historical
sciences’, those that chronicle particular sequences of events that
occurred at given locations (from outcrops or regions to entire
planets) (Frodeman, 1995; Cleland, 2001; Dodick and Orion, 2003).
Collectively, the four historical sciences identified by Hull (1976) –
cosmology, geology, palaeontology, and human history – span the
breadth of ‘big history’, in which our human past is set within the
history of life, the Earth, and the Universe (e.g. Christian, 1991;
Speir, 2010). History and, by extension, archaeology have long
been popular with the general public, so it is perhaps not surprising
that geology – framed as part of our collective cosmic past – has
now also gained wider appeal.
10. Conclusions: brand geoscience
The current popular appeal of geology, both ‘in the press’ and
‘on TV’ is because it is able to provide epic narrative tales that
capture the public imagination.
These tales – about the turbulent history of our planet and the
inner workings of the Earth ‘machine’ – are powerful devices to
establish a coherent ‘geo-culture’. They are narratives that build
naturally on people’s intrinsic interest and fascination with our
human past, and provide the context by which ordinary people
can relate to and engage with more specialist geoscience
knowledge.
Raising awareness in the apparently more prosaic geology of
our doorstep can then be ‘framed’ in such stories about our natural
world, past and present. For those engaged in geoconservation and
geodiversity, a key message ought to be that by conserving our
rocks, soils and landscapes, we are conserving our collective
history. In that context, quarries, roadside sections and railway
cuttings become gateways to amazing lost worlds, packed full of
strange life and exotic environments: oxygen-stoked Carboniferous rain forests, Triassic salty deserts and Pleistocene ice-draped
hills. Even a children’s playpark can be transformed into portals
that transport people back to those unfamiliar worlds (Fig. 11). In
that sense the public’s apparent disinterest in its own geological
backyard in large part reflects a reluctance of geoscientists to play
the obvious trump card we have been dealt with: the layers of the
Earth as the ultimate storybook.
A final thought emerging from this argument is that geoscientists need to approach the media and the public less from the point
of view of educators. The reality is that science communication is
done not primarily for the conveyancing of facts, but (like all public
relations activity), for the purpose of inculcating warm feelings.
Even if facts are got across in a story, the chances are the public will
not retain them long. What they may retain however, after reading
a story with a strong narrative, full of incident and human interest,
is a favourable impression of ‘‘brand geoscience’’. And that is
arguably a much more valuable commodity.
Acknowledgements
The authors are grateful to Colin Prosser for his encouragement
to develop this article, and to Colin, Howard Falcon-Lang and an
anonymous referee for insightful reviews that sharpened the
thoughts expressed in it. The paper is a contribution to the IUGSGEM working group on ‘Communicating Environmental Geoscience’ (http://communication.iugs-gem.org/).
712
I.S. Stewart, T. Nield / Proceedings of the Geologists’ Association 124 (2013) 699–712
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