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My graduate school story is somewhat unique. I began working on the Ph.D. I am receiving today more than five years ago at Arizona State University in Tempe, where the temperature as currently around the melting point of lead. I started working for Jonathan Posner (sitting over there), as an undergraduate way back in 2006, and stayed with him all the way through grad school. So now, in 2013, my working relationship with my advisor has lasted longer than quite a few marriages do. But now we're separating amicably. [to Dr. Posner] I'm sorry...I need to move on. [his response: "The feeling is mutual."]
Anyway, I wrote my dissertation on tiny metallic wires that propel themselves. They don’t have
any moving parts, they’re just little pieces of metal. But somehow, they move when you add hydrogen
peroxide to the solution. I saw a
lecture about them, and I thought it was interesting that nobody had tried to
rigorously understand why they move, and so I investigated, and investigated
some more, and after a while it was my project.
Then, 2 years ago, almost to the day, Dr. Posner
told the research group that he was moving to the UW, and he wanted all of us
to come with him, and I’m standing here, so I guess you know my answer. I was excited to move to the Northwest and
study here at UW, and I’ve enjoyed taking courses in our lovely ME department,
as well as expanding my scope by taking courses in applied math. With a patient and understanding girlfriend
back in Phoenix, it was a tough decision, but I’m glad I made the move.
But now it’s over.
And here we all are. We did it. Today I’m
asking myself the same question I’m sure many of you are: why did I do this? Was this worth it? How have I evolved as a person since I
started school? I can’t speak for all of
you, but I would argue that one of the biggest things, if not the biggest
thing, that I got out of grad school was what happened outside of the lab. Let me tell you a story.
Right as I was beginning graduate school, I first
heard about a guy named Brian Greene, who is a theoretical physicist at
Columbia University. He wrote a book
about his own specialty, string theory, for the general public called The Elegant Universe. I didn’t know too much about string theory,
only that it was incredibly abstract and mathematical. And yet Greene managed to make it fun. He managed to convey the basics of one of the
most abstruse theories of particle physics without showing a single equation. I was captivated, not only as a scientist,
but as a person. At the same time, he
was getting ready to launch the inaugural World Science Festival, similar to
the Seattle Science Festival that’s just wrapping up. Long story short, I began reading his other
books, watched his TV specials, and I eventually paid for my own plane ticket
to fly to New York City to participate in the WSF.
One of Professor Greene’s main messages, that I have
come to agree with over time, is that more and more, science is playing a
fundamental role in daily life, and yet the public’s awareness and appreciation
of science is not necessarily commensurate with their dependence on it.
This audience is all too familiar with many of the
issues humanity is currently facing: what to do about climate change, alternate energy sources, nuclear proliferation, the consequences of GMO food, the possible future of humanity in space, potential asteroid impacts, treating diseases like tuberculosis and diabetes; what do these have in common?
These issues, at their core, are scientific problems. They are not political issues or moral issues. They are
scientific. And as we know, scientific
problems demand scientific solutions. There’s
a lot of debate (and hype) swirling around these issues, but oftentimes the
science is cast aside, in the periphery of the discussion at best. But the science is what should inform what we
do. That especially applies to the
policymakers who ultimately determine, to a large extent, what we will
do.
So what can we, as the latest graduating class in
mechanical engineering at the University of Washington, do about these problems?
I would say that the people on the front lines of
science and engineering, you and I, should strive to be communicators of what
we do. Now, of course you will
communicate as an engineer; it’s a fundamental aspect of the job. When I say communicate, I don’t just mean sending
technical reports to your boss or publishing journal articles. I mean talking to the public. And I don’t just mean being willing to talk
to the public, I mean actively seeking out opportunities to do so. It is
up to us to make sure what we do is presented effectively and accurately to
non-scientists. I would like to see
scientists getting more involved in public life.
An example: the US House Science Committee currently
consists of 40 members. That includes 14
attorneys, 8 who work in business, 4 physicians, 4 career politicians, 3
educators, 3 real estate executives, 1 rancher and 1 career military
officer. Only Thomas Massie, a
Republican from Kentucky, has bachelor’s and master’s degrees in engineering from
MIT. He sits on the Subcommittee on
Energy. But what if we had an atmospheric
scientist serving on the Subcommittee on the Environment? How about a rocket propulsion-trained
aerospace engineer on the Subcommittee for Space?
Communicating science to the public isn’t always
easy, but it benefits the communicator too.
Even for someone like me, who’s been doing math and science for most of
my life, being a communicator has helped me to rediscover the joy and meaning
of being a scientist and engineer. Science
is vital to a full life, just as literature, art, music, and theatre are.
So today, as you celebrate, think about how you
could bring your work to a wider audience.
Let’s share what we do with the world.
Let us strive not just to be the best engineers we can, but to be the
most effective communicators we can.
Because in doing so, we will become better engineers.
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