Science and Systematic Racism – Reed Magazine

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One year after the murder of George Floyd, the scientific community still needs to listen to more dark voices.

By Professor Derek Applewhite | December 16, 2021

(This essay was originally published in Molecular Biology of the Cell on August 31, 2021 under the title “One year since George Floyd.”)

It has been about a year since the murder of George Floyd, an unarmed black man, who was killed for a fake $ 20 bill in Minneapolis, Minnesota.1 2 3 In many ways his murder was no different from murders of thousands more murders of blacks in this country. 4 5 6

However, what sets George Floyd’s murder apart from many other high-profile cases is that it was filmed unambiguously, an act of bravery by 17-year-old black woman Darnella Frazier at a time when the world was mostly confined to home by a raging global pandemic.7 8 As a result, his murder resonated through society in ways that did not happen in my lifetime. While there have been other high-profile cases of police murders (Treyvon Martin, Walter Scott, Breonna Taylor and Philando Castile, among many others), these cases have failed to fully capture the attention from both national and international audiences.9 10 The murder of George Floyd was fundamentally different, and for once more than ordinary black people paid attention. His murder sparked protests across the country led by the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, and the demands for change were so loud people couldn’t help but hear.11 12 13 14

As a black, gay man who is also a scientist, I was in despair. All my life I’ve thought that if I work hard enough, if I’m kind and non-threatening, if I play the game and keep my head down, maybe I can be successful in academia. Maybe then I will be seen and accepted, not only by society, but by the scientific community. George Floyd’s murder reminded me and many of my black colleagues that our degrees cannot protect us, that our privileged middle-class education (if we had one) was not a shield. Our lives were no more than a fake $ 20 bill.

Science, which has always been a product of society, has not been impervious to these reverberations. At the end of June, my inbox began to slowly fill up with invitations to speak at several institutions for their series of seminars, retreats or special symposia. It was as if the scientific community, for the first time, realized that there were black scientists among them. In the throes of my own desperation and feeling that I needed to do something for my community, I started to say “yes”. I was not going to participate in the nightly protests that took place in my newly adopted hometown of Portland, Oregon. In addition to fearing that they would be the next to lose their lives at the hands of the police, 15 these demonstrations were taking place in the context of a global pandemic. I came to the conclusion that by accepting these invitations to speak, it could be my activism, my way of bringing about change, increasing visibility and being seen not only for myself but also for d other black scientists.

Before I write anything else, I want to be clear: I am extremely grateful to all the institutions and organizations that invited me and offered me a platform. I am extremely proud of the work of my students and of the research that we produce. I share my experiences in the hope that they may be instructive for the scientific community as a whole, but if I’m frank, there is a bit of anger.

I received over 15 invitations and gave three or four additional interviews during the year. Most of them came with the hope that I would also talk about my work in the area of ​​diversity, equity and inclusion. But here’s the truth: Prior to this year, I didn’t see myself as someone doing diversity, equity and inclusion work. I’m co-chair of the LGBTQ + committee of the American Society of Cell Biology and a member of the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion committee of the Genetics Society of America. I volunteer for both of these committees because they talk about something close to my heart, advocacy for minority scientists. (I use “minorized” instead of “minority” to specifically capture that people who belong to this group have had this word – and all the prejudices and stereotypes that go with it – imposed. It captures the active dynamic that creates the inferior status in society.) 16

I also embody these two axes of diversity; so, in a way, I just take care of myself. It is far from being a scholar or doing “diversity work”. I fully recognize that there are individuals who have dedicated their lives to this type of work with entire academic fields populated by accomplished academics. So I started guest lectures this year because I’m a black and gay scientist at a time when science struggled with its own systematic racism, under the guise of my nonexistent work on diversity, equity and l ‘inclusion.

What has this year really taught me? The first thing he taught me was that I missed something. Prior to George Floyd’s murder, I had only received three invitations to seminars from major research institutions and unfortunately all within one year of my term in office. It is after almost 6 years in my current position.

By giving these talks, I had the opportunity to meet some of the giants in my field, people that I have admired for years. I have received reagents, offers to collaborate, and a litany of great ideas that will help me drive my research agenda for years to come. I left some of those meetings really inspired and excited to start experiments. These opportunities would have been invaluable to me, pre-tenure. We could talk, I didn’t need to. I did it even without this networking and the benefits that these visits bring. Before applauding my ability to persist and be resilient, we should take an in-depth look at the systems that have forced people who look like me to be doubly resilient. If George Floyd had not been assassinated, would any of these invitations have taken place? If the last 6 years are any indication of a trend, I most definitely have to say not. Why did it take a murder and the reactivation of a civil rights movement for me to have the kind of interactions I now know that many of my straight white counterparts have had since the very beginning of their independent careers ? Let’s be clear: this is a systematic form of racism, pure and simple.

As I began to shop around, I was often asked to share a bit of my background or to include my work on diversity, equity and inclusion in my speeches. This has sometimes been done to the detriment of sharing the work of my laboratory. Although I was very happy to do so, it was very implicit in the invitations I received. Sometimes I felt like my inclusion was just ticking a box, appeasing graduate students so they could see that their department or institution was responding to their demands. It also had the consequence of making me feel as if my science was only performative. I was invited to do the work on diversity that the institutions did not want to do. This is the tension that I face, along with many other underprivileged scientists. I want to share my experiences with the hope that the next generation will get it better; but, my academic work is not about diversity, equity and inclusion. I fully recognize that it is my embodied diversity that brings me to the table; but, this is the science that I want to share.

When I first invited to give a seminar, I promised myself that I was going to be honest. It meant that I would speak the truth about my experience and lay my soul bare over and over again. What I hadn’t counted on was the emotional toll it would have on me. Reliving my own trauma on a regular basis drained me emotionally after these visits. In one of my “stops” (I’m using quotes here because these “tours” were all virtual), I met some queer, person of color (POC) graduate students. This session quickly turned into an emotional support group where I heard stories of abuse, racism and discrimination. It was almost impossible to keep my calm. The work on diversity, equity and inclusion is clearly extremely important, but, maybe, we could just start by listening to the needs of the students and have a little humanity.

Derek Chauvin’s trial passed and to my surprise, and to the surprise of many other blacks across the country, he was convicted and sentenced to prison.17 18 This, of course, is not justice, not even Close. Justice would mean that George Floyd is still alive and that he could live his life as he chose. We are also at the beginning of the end of the pandemic. In 6 months or less, we may all be back to life, more or less, like it was before George Floyd, before COVID-19. Does this mean that we stop fighting? Does this mean that I and a lot of other black scientists are suddenly disappearing?

For George Floyd, for countless other faceless blacks before him, I sincerely hope not. We must continue to give black scientists a platform. We must ensure that they too have the opportunity to network, collaborate and interact with the wider scientific community. This means that the invitations cannot stop. To go further, we need to ensure that black scientists are included on every grant review committee, are included on speaker lists at every national and international meeting, are funded, and are in the room where funding, la tenure and other critical decisions are made. do. We must recognize that systematic racism did not disappear with the condemnation and condemnation of Derek Chauvin. We must keep moving forward. And, for all of you young minority scientists (and allies) reading this, demand change and don’t take “no” for an answer. I’m so sorry that this has fallen on your shoulders, but that’s enough. The next generation of minority scientists should be recognized for their science without the added burden of creating their own space.

Tags: Diversity / Equity / Inclusion, Editor’s Choice, Professors, Research

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