Scientific Communication Techniques

“Our messaging is not working” Enrique Ortiz, a veteran conservationist and founding member of the Andes Amazon Fund, has spent decades translating the complexities of ecosystems into action. But in his recent commentary for Mongabay, he issues a striking critique—not of science itself, but of how it’s conveyed. “Facts are not the most important part,” Ortiz writes. “The current narrative needs a re-thinking.” That rethinking, he argues, begins not with more data, but with deeper insight into how people process information, make decisions, and respond emotionally to the world around them. Ortiz’s concern is not that people are unaware of climate change. In fact, the majority of the global population acknowledges it. But many remain unmoved, caught in a web of abstract language, ideological filters, and emotional distance. Scientific accuracy, while essential, often falters in the face of cognitive and cultural barriers. Ortiz points to the findings of cognitive scientists and neuroscientists: facts rarely shift belief systems. Instead, people gravitate toward stories, experiences, and social cues. “When facing uncertainty,” he notes, “humans make decisions that are satisfactory, rather than optimal.” This disconnect, Ortiz argues, is especially clear in environmental communication. Words like “rewilding,” “green,” or “ecological” may have once inspired clarity, but have since become muddled through overuse or conflicting interpretations. Worse, they sometimes trigger skepticism or backlash. In this fog of abstraction, the human connection is lost. What’s needed, Ortiz suggests, is a new narrative strategy—one that harnesses the emotional power of stories and speaks to how people actually think and feel. He draws from his own experience as an educator: while his lectures on plant-animal interactions faded from memory, it was the stories that lingered. This phenomenon, known as “narrative transportation,” isn’t mere sentimentality. It’s a neurological reality that helps ideas stick—and decisions shift. Rather than continuing to warn of catastrophe, Ortiz believes we should share stories of adaptation and resilience. From Andean farmers modifying how they grow quinoa and potatoes, to everyday consumers making environmentally conscious choices, these narratives offer agency and hope. They bridge divides and foster shared values. “Our messaging is not working,” Ortiz writes bluntly. “We need a revolution in narratives—and in how we tell them.” That revolution may begin not in the lab or the newsroom, but in the quiet space where empathy meets understanding—and where change can finally take root. 📰 His piece: https://lnkd.in/gmrWBcc5 📸 Hoatzin. My photo.

Translating health science into understandable and clear health advice isn’t easy, especially on social media. And it’s not about what algorithms want us to do to engage their users. It’s about how people think. In the past three years, the World Health Organization worked on a project with Meta, using their Brand Lift Study tool to test how different kinds of message framings, built on behavioural science theories, affect how people perceive risk and act on it. In the paper below, we highlight a measles vaccination experiment in which we targeted parents of young children. We compared two types of messaging: - Verbatim: fact-based and precise “1 in 1,000 children who get measles will die.” - Gist: essence-based and emotional “Some children who get measles will die.” Both are accurate, but they communicate risk differently. Here are a few reflections from the process: - We need to design social media public health campaigns with behavioural science lenses, not just communication instinct. - We need to evaluate impact beyond likes and shares; focus on understanding and intention. - We must keep messages evidence-based but human; clarity matters as much as accuracy. What matters most isn’t how much information we share, but how people make sense of it. Small shifts in framing can change how people understand risk and how they act on it — which is the ultimate objective of public health communication. WHO project team: Simon Williams Elena Altieri Mohamed Gulaid Giselle Miguens Lisa Menning Karin Stein, MD, MScPH

“If you can’t be simple, you will be ignored.” That sentence is an oversimplification. I used it anyway. Not because the truth is simple, but because simplicity is the price of entry. In academia, we are trained to embrace nuance, caveats, and complexity. In public debate, especially around climate and energy, that instinct often works against us. Attention is scarce, timelines are short, and if experts refuse to offer clear answers, others will gladly fill the gap with simpler and often misleading ones. The title of my latest blog post is deliberately blunt. It’s the hook. What follows is the detail: an argument for thinking about communication as a ladder, where we lead with a clear takeaway and then layer in context, trade-offs, data, and uncertainty for those who want to go deeper. Simplifying is not dumbing down. It’s an act of translation. This comes with risks. Taking a position invites criticism. Being visible invites pushback. But in contested debates, silence and excessive caution are also positions, just ones that cede the ground to louder and less rigorous voices. If we want research to matter beyond the ivory tower, we need to learn to speak two languages at once: the rigorous language of the lab and the accessible language of the public square. Being right is not the same as being heard. https://lnkd.in/egnRHi8k

Found this 1980 ad about writing clearly. 65 years later, it's still the best writing advice I've ever seen: 1) Know exactly what you want to say before you start Most people start writing and figure it out as they go. That's why most writing sucks. Thompson says outline first, write second. Revolutionary concept, apparently. 2) Start where your readers are, not where you are Don't assume people know what you know. Meet them at their level of understanding, then bring them along. Most "experts" write for other experts and wonder why nobody gets it. 3) Use familiar word combinations Thompson's example: A scientist wrote "The biota exhibited a one hundred percent mortality response." Translation: "All the fish died." Stop trying to sound smart. Start trying to be clear. 4) Arrange your points logically Put the most important stuff first. Then the next most important. Then the least important. Seems obvious, but most people do it backwards. 5) Use "first-degree" words Thompson says some words bring immediate images to mind. Others need to be "translated" through first-degree words before you see them. "Precipitation" => "Rain" "Utilize" => "Use" "Facilitate" => "Help" 6) Cut the jargon Thompson warns against words and phrases "known only to people with specific knowledge or interests." If your mom wouldn't understand it, rewrite it. 7) Think like your reader, not like yourself Thompson asks: "Do they detract from clarity?" Most writers ask: "Do I sound professional?" Wrong question. TAKEAWAY: This ad is from 1960. The internet didn't exist. Social media wasn't even a concept. But the principles of clear communication haven't changed. Most people still can't write clearly because they're trying to impress instead of express.

Under the microscope, tissues and cells look complex and beautiful. But without context, their story can be hard to follow, much like the science behind them. That’s why I’m so passionate about accessible science communication. In biotech and life sciences, breakthroughs like gene editing and cell therapies are extraordinary. But if they’re hidden behind technical language, we miss the chance to inspire, build trust, and show their real-world impact. At Thermo Fisher Scientific, I’ve seen how storytelling can unlock that understanding. We tell stories about the researchers, patients and innovators behind science to bring discoveries to life, use formats like podcasting to make complex topics approachable to spark curiosity beyond the lab, and social media to turn small scientific details into moments of wonder for a broad audience. The communicator’s role is to help people see both the beauty and the meaning behind the work so that people can feel connected to it. The most successful science communicators are shifting their focus from complexity to clarity. 💡 They translate research into stories that resonate with non-scientists. 💡 They highlight the why behind innovation, not just the how. 💡 They use plain language without sacrificing scientific accuracy. When we make science more accessible, we don’t dilute it. We amplify it. And in doing so, we bring more people into the conversation, which is where real impact begins.

55,526 projects. All required to communicate their results. Science communication is no longer optional in EU research. It is a legal obligation embedded in how projects are funded. A new study in Public Understanding of Science by Luis Arboledas-Lérida examines what this looks like in practice, based on interviews with 26 professionals working on Horizon 2020 and Horizon Europe projects. The picture is more complex than expected. Project-based science communication has become one of the main institutional settings where society encounters research. It is structured, funded and planned through dedicated communication work packages, often with specialised teams and clear deliverables. But this institutionalisation comes with trade-offs. Communication is both enabled and constrained by funding rules. While projects include dedicated resources, cost-efficiency pressures often limit ambition. Most activities converge towards standard formats such as websites, social media and stakeholder events, with less room for experimentation or public engagement. At the operational level, the main bottleneck is internal. Communicators depend on researchers for content, input and visibility, but not the other way around. This creates an asymmetric relationship where communication is required, but not always prioritised. Many professionals describe internal coordination, not external outreach, as the most difficult part of their work. At the system level, scale creates its own problems. The multiplication of projects produces saturation. More outputs, more campaigns, more content competing for the same limited attention. Visibility becomes harder, and impact more difficult to measure. In some cases, communication risks becoming a formal requirement rather than a meaningful exchange. And yet, the perceived value remains high. Practitioners consistently see their work as contributing to transparency, accountability and public understanding. Communicating how public money is spent emerges as a central function.

How do you talk about sustainability and climate issues in your company? If you’ve ever found yourself struggling to make sustainability resonate with your team, you’re not alone. At Microsoft, for example, they’ve found that speaking the right "language" makes all the difference. Being a tech company, their conversations around sustainability are deeply rooted in a quantitative, data-driven approach after all, they’re engineers at heart. They use the same principles that drive their technology to frame sustainability risks and opportunities. But what if your company isn’t full of engineers? Every organization speaks its internal language, whether that’s the analytical mindset of finance, the creativity of marketing, or the operations-driven approach of manufacturing. Tailoring sustainability messaging to align with these unique perspectives can bridge the gap, making it easier for employees to see how it connects to what they do every day. One thing is clear across all industries though: the language of science is essential. Whether you're talking to your marketing team, engineers, or executives, scientific facts are the backbone of any meaningful conversation about sustainability. Data on carbon footprints, climate risks, and environmental impacts provide a foundation everyone can work with. According to the IPCC, we need to reduce global greenhouse gas emissions by 43% by 2030 to stay on track with climate goals numbers. Take Unilever, for example. They made sustainability a part of their company culture by translating climate goals into everyday actions for each department. Their marketing team talks about sustainable sourcing, while their R&D team focuses on lowering the carbon footprint of products. By embedding sustainability into every part of the business, Unilever is empowering all employees to contribute, leading to a 32% reduction in their environmental impact. Sustainability isn’t a one-size-fits-all conversation. But when you frame it in terms that make sense to your team, it becomes part of how your business thinks and operates every day. So, how will you start the conversation within your organization?

Last week, I reviewed 3 papers in a row that all had the same problem: Good data. Solid methods. No visible novelty. Not because the work wasn’t original, but because the authors assumed the originality would somehow “speak for itself”. It never does. If reviewers and editors need 20 minutes to guess what is new about your paper, they will almost always conclude: “Lack of novelty. Reject.” Here is a simple structure you can use to fix this in your next manuscript: 1. One-sentence contribution (yes, just one) If you cannot explain your contribution in one sentence, the reviewer will not do it for you. Ask yourself: “What does this paper do that no published paper has already done?” Write that sentence. Put a version of it in the abstract and in the last paragraph of the introduction. 2. Make the gap painfully clear Don’t write: “Few studies have examined X.” Write something like: What we think we know. What we don’t know (exactly what is missing, wrong, or unclear). Why this gap is a problem for the field. If the gap is vague, your contribution will look vague. 3. Name the type of novelty Most early-career researchers actually have one of these: Contextual: Testing known theory in a new context or population. Methodological: Using a new data source or technique that reveals what others could not see. Conceptual: Clarifying, extending, or slightly challenging an existing idea. Say which one you are doing and show how. 4. Use contribution language, not “what we did” language Weak: “We analyzed 500 surveys and ran regressions.” Stronger: “We show that the X–Y relationship reverses in setting Z, which existing theory does not predict. This refines how we understand X in volatile environments.” Same work. Different framing. Completely different response from reviewers. 5. Echo the novelty again in the Discussion The Discussion is not just “here are the results again”. It is where you say, clearly: What changes for the field because of your findings. Which assumptions need updating. Where the next person should pick up the conversation. If your final section could have been written before you ran the study, you are not explaining novelty. Your research can be novel, but invisible. Your job is to make the originality impossible to miss. #science #research #scientist #publishing #academia #professor #highereducation #researchservices #novelty #thesis #phd

Scientific institutions must create--and sustain--new kinds of roles so that researchers can provide the deep public engagement necessary to respond effectively to the escalating impacts of #climatechange. The status quo isn't working. My own role as a climate scientist-communicator is highly unusual: I'm a practicing scientist who spends a large fraction (now over half) of my time engaging the public, and the rest of my time actually conducting research. This year, I've given over 200 news interviews & worked with outlets behind the scenes to develop their coverage. I also work with state/federal agencies, brief members of state/national legislatures, and more. Increasingly, all of this requires a high degree of both personal and institutional flexibility: I'm constantly realigning my schedule in response world events, weather/climate disasters, and unpredictable but important requests from all over the world. That makes me quite visible as a public-facing climate scientist--you've probably seen me around! But with that visibility does not necessarily come tangible support from funders & institutions. In fact, my own funding is still on track to potentially run out in 2024. The focus of this Nature World View piece is not intended to be about me! Instead, the goal is to draw attention to a much broader problem: The reality that deep public engagement by domain experts is not really supported *anywhere*--and that desperately needs to change. This is not just a problem in climate, either--it's a much deeper issue not unrelated to the (ongoing) collapse of many journalistic outlets and the general loss of places offering nuanced and meaningfully contextualized discussions on any number of complex issues. Another reality: it's even harder for scientists from marginalized groups. Taking on poorly supported roles that actively invite public scrutiny and can even incite harassment is tall order for those who already face barriers to even more traditional science careers. Ultimately, I'm hoping that using my own rather large megaphone can help draw attention to this challenge. I'm raising it in the context of climate change communication, but I'm really hoping folks see this for the much larger societal challenge that it represents. What can institutions do? Well, the first recommendation sounds boring but would actually be transformational: Find ways to break from institutional inertia & foster culture of "administrative flexibility" that allows for new kinds of roles that blend practice & engagement. Then, yes, it is a question of funding. Universities and funding bodies rapidly need to find ways to tangibly support scientists spending a large fraction of their time engaging with the wider world--and the answer can't continue to be "Well, what about nights and weekends?"

The climate movement has been running the same playbook for decades. Inform people. Remove barriers. Change behavior. Inspire. Push solutions. Publish reports. When there's a crisis or emergency, get louder. And when it doesn't work, try harder. It's not working. What research in trauma, depth psychology, and psychosocial science has shown us: people aren't disengaged because they don't care. They care deeply. What looks like apathy is protection. A psychic defense against something genuinely overwhelming, in a culture with no infrastructure for that kind of reckoning. You can't nudge your way through that. Something is shifting. Climate psychology is going mainstream. After decades, practitioners are starting to be trained in listening, attunement, relational intelligence. We are catching up with decades of neuroscience and trauma research. The field is starting to ask different questions. Not: "how do we get people to act?" but instead: "what would make it safe for the care that's already there, to come forward?" Not" "how do we motivate people" or "remove barriers." Instead: "How can we help people navigate their anxiety about the bigness of these systemic crises, and instead focus on what we CAN do?" That's the reframe. And it changes everything. Examples can be seen in Kite Insights "Debatable" formats that foster actual real talk and discussions, the recent collaboration between Climate Psychology Alliance and the National Emergency Briefing, and so many more. New post on Becoming Guides: https://lnkd.in/grGZqUSx