Sarah Olson

Tell me a little bit about your origin story. When and how did you learn you loved reading and writing about science?

 

“I grew up homeschooled and graduated from a small charter school with a focus on performing arts, so there was never much of an emphasis on science and math. Most of my childhood, I believed I was born without the ability to succeed at math and science. It was my first semester of college when I learned that was a lie. An earth science class completely changed my mindset. It was a hard class, and most of the people taking it were not science majors. Instead of feeling intimidated, I rose to the challenge and loved every moment I spent studying. The professor took me under her wing and encouraged me to consider majoring in science. That's the reason I've become such a fierce advocate for science literacy. I truly believe science is for everyone, that it just involves skills and knowledge you simply learn and practice. The more I explored my curiosity for the natural world, the less I saw science, and even math, as this intimidating field only the smartest people could be involved in. It's why I love science books so much. They make science accessible to everyone, not just Ph.D.s, which is exactly how it should be.”

 

What is the backstory for your blog, Read More Science? What’s your favorite popular science book you’ve reviewed and why?

 

“I started college with the intention of studying literature, but as I fell in love with science, the two passions naturally found a harmony in science nonfiction. I started reading whatever books about science I could get my hands on. Lab Girl by Hope Jahren made a particularly profound impact on me because when it first came out, I was considering abandoning my English major to study a biological science. It wasn't until I read Eileen Pollack's The Only Woman In The Room: Why Science Is Still a Boy's Club that I finally made that change and transferred into Oregon State University to study microbiology. But I think my favorite book review, or the one I most enjoyed writing, is the one about From Eve to Evolution by Kimberly Hamlin. It perfectly encapsulates my interest in the intersection of feminism, science, history, and religion. My own life is reflected in this strange meeting of different fields: leaving a strict religious background to pursue science, becoming an advocate for gender equality, and wrestling with the history of science and religion in my writing.”

 

When did you first start seeing yourself as a science communicator? What does that role mean to you?

 

“I first started seeing myself as a science communicator the summer I interned for a university newsroom, writing press releases about research. I was launching my blog at the same time and first beginning to understand how diverse the role of a science communicator can be. They're not just journalists writing front-page news about exciting developments in science. In fact, most of them aren't. A science communicator can look like a hundred different people: a natural history museum tour guide, a first grade science teacher, or a public information officer for a research institution, for example. Anyone who brings science to the public is a science communicator, even an undergrad using Twitter to share experiments they try at home. The more loosely we define science communicator, the better — it should be inclusive and accessible. It should be something we learn about early in our studies, not halfway through a career in research. I have had people with doctorate degrees and years of experience and technical expertise ask me, who hasn't even finished a degree, how to write and communicate better. The more we weave good writing and communication habits into the standard curriculum for scientists, those experts — and the public — will benefit from the ability to eloquently share their work.”

 

You’re at Oregon State now, studying microbiology. What has your academic arc been like and what have you most enjoyed studying so far?

 

“I have not had the privilege of a fun, four-year college experience. These have been the most challenging years of my life, and the end of my undergraduate studies continues to elude me. Last year, I had the opportunity to share my experience with the New York Times, which was scary and exciting and humbling. This is a difficult question for me to answer. I have had to take a lot of time off school to work, as I am putting myself through college. It's messy, and hard, and exhausting, but I believe it will be worth it in the end. I am grateful for the opportunity to study science. This past fall, I thought that my financial situation would prevent me from continuing my degree, but Twitter worked together fundraising to help cover my expenses. When I am in class or working on an assignment, I think about that act of generosity and support, and feel renewed in my goal. I have particularly enjoyed taking classes on science writing, which is part of the Science, Technical, and Professional Communication Certificate here at Oregon State. The program is part of the reason I decided to transfer here from community college.

 

When I eventually finish my bachelor's degree, I intend to go to graduate school. I am currently pursuing the possibility of continuing at Oregon State with a master's degree in microbiology, with the hope of researching the microorganisms that live near methane seeps off the Oregon Coast. Another option I am considering is a degree in the history and philosophy of science, which would allow me to research and write about science and religion. Either way, my goal would be to write about science in my career when I am finished with the graduate program. I plan to publish books as well.”

 

You’re also very active on Twitter, both about science and your personal life. How did you decide to be so open on a public platform, and what have the benefits and consequences been of that choice?

 

“I joined Twitter reluctantly after a mentor managed to convince me to give it a chance. I never imagined I would be able to build such an amazing group of followers, and I've made genuine friends and connections. I learned quite quickly that sharing my unique voice, experiences, and opinions was something other people responded positively to. The first time I wrote about my experience being raised in a religion that denies and distrusts science, I received such an outpouring of responses that I ended up on the radio and was invited to write for a magazine. I realized that many people in science, including fellow science communicators, had little firsthand experience with communities that perpetuate science denial. But writing about controversial issues and boldly sharing opinions on social media has consequences: the first time a tweet I wrote about women's rights went viral, I got death threats and hateful emails. When I shared my experience choosing to get my vaccinations after growing up anti-vaxx, in a video campaign for the Oregon Health Authority, I dealt with trolling, hate, and online attacks for days.”

 

What do you do when you receive online hate? How do you react, and then cope with it?

 

“When I receive hate, whether in the comments of my articles or via email and direct message, I usually have one of two reactions. I laugh, block, and delete if it's outrageous enough to be shrugged off. Not all hate can be that easily dealt with. If it's particularly alarming, I have to take a moment to process it and collect my thoughts. I have received some pretty scary messages from men's rights activists and anti-vaxxers. I make an effort to conceal my exact location and activities now, as a precaution. Another way I have been learning to cope is by taking breaks from social media. At the moment, all of my social media accounts are temporarily deactivated and the only way people can reach me is via email. This gives me time to focus on myself and my work. 

 

But some people enjoy following me because I sometimes respond with wit and sarcasm to my haters. I think it's okay to do this in certain instances, when your followers can have a laugh or when you're trying to make a point. I get tired quickly of feminist accounts that spend all their time amplifying the platforms of trolls and haters by responding to nearly every hateful comment. I think it's important to be cautious of who you choose to retweet. The way I deal with this is by taking a screenshot of a comment or message, blocking and reporting the person who sent it and concealing their identity, and then posting on my account. I have decided not to lend my platform to the voices of people who spread hate, misogyny, and bigotry. I wish more people would take this approach — too often when a hateful tweet goes viral, we amplify the voice of the wrong person. My goal with responding to hate is to show that we cannot only rise above derogatory remarks, but we can make those voices of discouragement a little quieter. Giving "outrage attention" to people who spread messages of hate and bigotry only fuels them. There are ways to respond and criticize their message without amplifying their voice and platform.”

 

What was coming out of that religious, science denialist space like for you? What helped you realize that vaccinations were important, for example, or that evolution was real?

 

“When I graduated high school, I lived in the East San Francisco Bay Area while attending a city college there. I lived across the street from a church. I had been wrestling with losing my faith for the past few years, and one Sunday morning I suddenly decided to walk across the street and attend a service. I went to that church while I read about evolution and the big bang. I was mourning the loss of my faith, my old church community, and questioning the meaning of everything. But the realization I came to was that, whether or not I ever found faith again, I needed to embrace science and let myself study the things that interested me without feeling guilty for wanting to learn about them. I didn't have to hide Darwin's Origin of Species under my bed anymore, but I think in some ways I was still doing that metaphorically. It took me another year before I finally sat down with my parents and told them I was studying biology and changing my major. I only recently told them I am an atheist. It's been a long, hard journey. I actively read a lot about my former religion — I've also participated in public discussions with reverends about science and religion. I read books about creationism as well as evolution, just as I'm familiar with the arguments against vaccination as well as the evidence supporting it. In both the evolution debate as well as with vaccines, I've learned that people want to believe whatever validates their understanding of the world. But in both debates, one side is supported by evidence, the other by dogma. As I came to understand this, it's been easier and easier to recognize when an argument is rooted in dogma. I am trying to be careful not to fall into the trap of scientific dogma, as we must constantly remind ourselves that science has long been used to assert the authority of white men. Unfortunately, the atheist and scientific spaces are dominated by white men as much as my former religion is. 

 

One of the mistakes I made was initially asserting, publicly and loudly, that science and religion are completely incompatible. I now understand the nuances and complexities involved. I still see major theological holes and unresolved issues, and for that reason remain staunchly nonreligious, but I also recognize the ways in which faith is beneficial to people's lives. For that reason, I believe religious pluralism is important, and that all belief and lack thereof should be respected and tolerated. That's hard to put into practice when my own country's government is being manipulated by a nationalist religion with agendas that are anti-science and anti-equality. I am still trying to find a balance between respecting religion and fighting the forms of faith that deny science and equality.”

 

You talk a lot about feminism, queer identity, and being a woman in a STEM field. What do these topics mean to you and why is it important for you to talk about them publicly?

 

“I recently came out on Twitter as a nonbinary woman, after someone made a judgmental and derisive remark about my unconventional appearance. What was really cool about that experience was that the person — a random stranger over the internet — actually apologized afterwards. I've always perceived myself as neither distinctly masculine or feminine, but because I grew up in a homophobic environment, I was discouraged from understanding or even thinking about my bisexuality or my gender identity. It wasn't until I was an adult that I had the freedom to explore the language of queerness, that I found the words with which I could express the things I've known about myself but long kept hidden. Names and words have a particular power. Talking about gender and sexuality matters to me because I know what it means for that rhetoric to be forbidden. Growing up in a religion that represses your gender or sexuality, that convinces you that your existence is innately wrong, is damaging. I want to help facilitate a culture of acceptance and inclusion. I do it because I want the next generation not to feel ashamed of their truth. Our culture is still persistently transphobic, and conventions make it difficult to exist outside of the gender norm. Fighting gender roles and norms helps deconstruct the patriarchy.”

 

What are some strategies or lessons you’ve learned for how to best engage with people about science or feminist topics online? 

 

“The hardest lesson you'll learn is that you can't convince anyone of anything. This may sound disappointing, but it will eventually come as a relief. It's not your job to convince some troll called robotboy69 that feminism isn't a cult created to stop girls from dating him, or that women actually have contributed significantly to science throughout history. Sometimes engagement looks like lifting up young women in science by sharing their publications and videos and platforms. Sometimes engagement looks like helping teach people pronoun etiquette and that trans women are women. Sometimes engagement is simply befriending people in other fields so you can all learn about each other's work. Other times engagement is politely offering the facts when your weird aunt posts a piece of medical misinformation on Facebook. Whether or not she believes you is outside of your control.”

 

What would you go back in time and tell past-you? What advice do you wish you’d been given earlier on, that you might give yourself?

 

“A teacher once told my parents and I that she thought I showed great promise in science. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to believe her. If I had, I might have been brave enough to believe in myself. Had I let go of the external discouragement and internal doubts, I might have pursued my interest in science much earlier than college.”

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