From the Lab to the Legislature and Living Room: Science Needs Storytellers

By Melissa Mayer

In popular media, science is often portrayed as solitary: a lone scientist in a lab coat making a discovery in a petri dish. But in real life, the work is collaborative. And it isn’t over until we translate the science into a message that draws in the larger community—our neighbors, friends, and family—and drives home its relevance to society.

That’s the message keynote speaker Sonny Ramaswamy, Ph.D., former director of the National Institute of Food and Agriculture, shared at the Opening Plenary session on Sunday evening at Entomology 2025 in Portland, Oregon.

Ramaswamy, who describes himself as “preaching the gospel of science,” emphasized that, to rise to the level of effective advocacy, the message must be heartfelt.

“You can’t do it using jargon. You can’t do it using data. It’s gotta be clear and concise and personal. It’s gotta come from here,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest.

In addition to personalizing the message, effective advocacy uses plain language to describe how the work affects people and applies a positive tone to inspire the receiver.

And it’s never been more important or demanding to do, as science and its advocates face societal challenges ranging from climate change and geopolitical conflicts to the rising scourge of anti-science and anti-intellectual sentiment.

That’s why programs like ESA’s Science Policy Fellows train entomologists to be effective champions on the federal stage. And it’s why Ramaswamy practices what he preaches, sharing his gospel wherever he goes.

“It’s not just about Washington, DC,” he said. “It’s about our backyard communities. It’s about our churches. It’s about our synagogues. It’s about our schools. I’ll be standing in the men’s room at the airport … talking about insects, about science, about education, and why it’s important for us.”

The evening’s second keynote speaker, Margarita Lopez-Uribe, Ph.D., an evolutionary ecologist at Penn State University, employed her own storytelling to weave together the history of bees and bee science.

She said that, for decades, bee research was siloed into distinct fields until bees faced a crisis. In the mid 2000s, honey bee colonies began mysteriously collapsing. Keepers would open their hives—normally teeming with tens of thousands of workers—and discover just a handful with the queen.

“The media called this ‘the pollination crisis’ and used headlines that generated intense public and scientific attention,” Lopez-Uribe said. “For the first time, many people realized that the tiny insects we often overlook or think about as pests or vectors of diseases were actually holding up the global food system.”

That real-world emergency captured public attention and ushered in a new era of interdisciplinary bee research, stripping away previous isolation to solve problems together. It inspired scientists like Lopez-Uribe to reach into the community, folding volunteers into the work.

Both Ramaswamy and Lopez-Uribe see their own lives reflected in their messages. The former describes himself as a product of American investment in land-grant universities in India and science education more generally. The latter says that, like the bees, she migrated to North America to do her work.

Because science—from the work happening in the lab and in the field to the stories it inspires—is personal.

Melissa Mayer is a science writer and the human behind Washington State University’s science cat, Dr. Universe. Email: [email protected].

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