Women Scientists: Everything and Nothing Has Changed

Many scientists are familiar (or should be) with the tragedy surrounding Rosalind Franklin and her contribution to unraveling the double helical structure of DNA. In 1951 at King’s College London, Franklin was a research associate in the lab of John Randall. Another associate in the same lab, Maurice Wilkins, was away when she joined, and when he returned, he mistook her for a lab assistant instead of a peer. Apparently his mistake was acknowledged, but strained relations persisted between the two. His blunder was not uncommon nor surprising given the climate at King’s College, which at that time excluded women from dining rooms, among other things, and at the end of the day, Franklin’s colleagues would go drink at male-only pubs.

Franklin’s project was to use x-ray diffraction (the use of x-rays to create images of crystallized solids) to study the structure of DNA. According to PBS.org, “Franklin made marked advances in x-ray diffraction techniques with DNA. She adjusted her equipment to produce an extremely fine beam of x-rays. She extracted finer DNA fibers than ever before and arranged them in parallel bundles. And she studied the fibers’ reactions to humid conditions. All of these allowed her to discover crucial keys to DNA’s structure.” Her x-ray photographs of DNA were “the most beautiful X-ray photographs of any substance ever taken,” according to J.D. Bernal. Known as Photo 51, this picture was shown by Wilkins to Watson and Crick without Franklin’s knowledge. Also feverishly working to elucidate DNA’s structure, Watson and Crick were able to use this data to supply the missing puzzle piece, and their findings were published in Nature in 1953, alongside a supporting article by Franklin. In 1958, Franklin, who was now working on the structure of viruses in Bernal’s lab (she produced 17 papers on the subject in 5 years) died from ovarian cancer at the age of 38. She worked at the bench up until the final last weeks of her life. In 1962, Watson and Crick together with Wilkins were awarded the Nobel in physiology and medicine for this work; Franklin was omitted since the prize is not awarded posthumously, although, sadly, her exclusion would not have been unexpected had she still been alive at the time.[1]

Franklin’s neglected contributions have been the subject of much analysis and criticism (see Anne Sayer’s Rosalind Franklin and DNA, or simply google “Rosalind Franklin”). Rightfully so, she has become a sort of figurehead for the failure of exceptional women scientists to be properly lauded (or even acknowledged) by history. There are many others — For example, have you ever heard of Jocelyn Bell Burnell, Esther Lederberg, Chien-Shiung Wu, Lisa Meitner, or Nettie Stevens? No? I hadn’t either until a 2013 National Geographic article pointed out their substantive contributions to astronomy, physics, microbiology, and genetics. The short list of women showcased in the Geographic article watched Nobels for their research get bestowed on male advisers and male colleagues, were passed over for promotions (or even denied decent work conditions) and excluded from paper authorship and textbook mention; this is referred to as the “Matilda Effect” — repression or denial of the contributions of female scientists to science.

Today, few women scientists experience such deplorable conditions and conspicuous exclusion from their own research’s findings. However, while the unabashed variety of discrimination is less prevalent, it is still in existence. This is especially true of the sexual harassment of women, which, while certainly not exclusive to academia, does underscore the pervasiveness of powerful men feeling entitled to use women to fulfill their every (menial) need. According to Buzzfeed, Michael Eisen, professor of molecular biology at the University of California-Berkeley, “People are willing to excuse bad behavior, including sexually inappropriate bad behavior, if people are productive scientifically,” said in response to recent accusations lodged against Michael Katze, the powerful microbiologist who made his name studying virus-host interactions in influenza, SARS, Ebola, and other similar diseases. Apparently, between writing grants and making TV appearances, the esteemed scientist was also a bigot, allegedly coercing women in his lab to engage in sexual relations and degrading chores in exchange for money and lavish gifts.

And then there was the Tim Hunt debacle in 2015. The Guardian reported that the English biochemist and Nobel laureate, who admitted that he has a reputation for being a “chauvinist,” said to the World Conference of Science Journalists in Seoul, South Korea: “Let me tell you about my trouble with girls … three things happen when they are in the lab … You fall in love with them, they fall in love with you and when you criticise them, they cry.” While he has said that he is in favor of single-sex labs, he has also graciously stated that he doesn’t want to “stand in the way of women.” His words provoked an outcry from women scientists on social media, some of whom took to posting pictures of themselves in the lab wearing head-to-toe personal protective equipment under the hashtag #distractinglysexy. BBC news pointed out that in most cases, when the Twittersphere erupts over cases of sexual harassment there is typically a range of debate about the issue; in this instance, however, nearly all of the posts about the story were critical of Hunt’s comments.

These egregious examples of modern-day sexual discrimination and harassment are, thankfully, not the norm. But women scientists of today are more likely to face more subtle transgressions that can be difficult to prove, and I have been subject to this myself. A former advisor gave one of my male colleagues co-authorship of a paper with me, an elevation of his contribution that I did not think was deserving. I repeatedly protested, only to be continually rebuffed by the senior author with vague or thinly veiled (or simply wrong) reasons as to why this person was being given so much credit. Did this happen because I am a woman? I do not know; I’ll never be able to say for certain, although, I have my doubts that he would have done this to a male scientist. Regardless of the reasons, conscious or otherwise (see next section), behind his decision, what alarmed me most was that I started to question myself. I started to wonder if perhaps my research for this paper (over a decade of experiments done mostly by me) wasn’t as crucial as I had thought.

It can be difficult to substantiate gender bias in the absence of an overt display and a history of similar behavior. And there are powerful societal forces at work: both sexes are known to favor men over women. In 2012, Yale University researchers created fictitious students named Jennifer and John, whose training and achievements were identical. Either John’s or Jennifer’s resume was sent out to 127 professors of biology, chemistry, and physics at six top US universities. The professors were asked to evaluate the applicant and make a salary offer. Although Jennifer was rated as more likeable, John was viewed as more competent, and researchers preferred to mentor him. Additionally, John was offered a salary of nearly $4000 more than Jennifer. The lead author of the study, Corinne Moss-Racusin, has stressed that the participants were likely unaware of this bias and were “affected by enduring cultural stereotypes.” According to the PNAS paper, people are “affected by enduring cultural stereotypes about women’s lack of science competence that translate into biases in evaluation and mentoring.” The study’s findings are even more striking given that the woman was perceived to be more likeable.

However, failure (by both sexes) to perceive women scientists as both likeable and competent, as opposed to either/or, for example, seems to underscore a trend particular to the US. Eileen Pollack, author of The Only Woman in the Room: Why Science is Still a Boys’ Club, addresses this and related topics in the book, which is a hybrid memoir of her experiences as an undergraduate physics major at Yale and a critique of science culture in academia and its treatment of women. She relays her conversation with Meg Urry, professor of physics and astronomy at her alma mater: “Urry told me that at the space telescope institute where she used to work, the women from Italy and France ‘dress very well, what Americans would call revealing. You’ll see a Frenchwoman in a short skirt and fishnets; that’s normal for them. The men in those countries seem able to keep someone’s sexual identity separate from her scientific identity. American men can’t seem to appreciate a woman as a woman and as a scientist; it’s one or the other.”

As Pollack (and many other studies) argue, it is the repeated exposure of women to such stereotypical views that undermines our perception of ourselves (and other women), and which likely accounts for the lack of women in STEM fields especially at its highest levels. In her book, Pollack points out that the disparity between the sexes in the sciences is largely a cultural, and not biological, phenomenon. She refers to significant research in support of her claims, which were ignited, in part, by former president of Harvard Lawrence Summers’ suggestion, in 2005, that there may be inherent differences in scientific and mathematical aptitude between boys and girls that might account for the paucity of tenured women in these fields.

The Mathematical Society attempted to answer whether sex differences could contribute to perceived differences in mathematical aptitude by analyzing the performance of women in other cultures. Their study concluded that scarcity of women “is due, in significant part, to changeable factors that vary with time, country and ethnic group. First and foremost, some countries identify and nurture females with very high ability in mathematics at a much higher frequency than do others.” While it isn’t unexpected that societal encouragement (or discouragement) can affect a student’s ability to perform, this has also been confirmed in a frequently cited study from researchers at the University of Michigan. Students with similar backgrounds and abilities in math were divided into two groups: one group was told that men perform better on math tests than women, and the second group was told that despite what they may have heard, there was no difference. Then both were given a test. The findings? In the first group, men outscored women by 20 points; in the second, they outscored women by only two.

Pollack highlights the opinion of Londa Schiebinger, professor at Stanford and author of Has Feminism Changed Science?, who believes that women are conspicuously absent in STEM fields because girls are raised to be modest, while boys learn to exaggerate their intelligence and success. Further, girls take the boys’ limited appraisal of their skills at face value, and feel even worse about themselves. Schiebinger cites a study that found that 75% of the women who gave up science, compared with fewer than half the men, mentioned low self-esteem as their reason.

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.” This catchphrase espoused by the Saturday Night Live self-help guru, Stuart Smalley, played by Al Franken in the early ’90s, resonates with me a lot these days. I find myself uttering some version of this whenever recurring self-doubt rears its head. When I made it into the University of Chicago as an undergrad, and later was accepted into the only PhD program I applied to, at Columbia University, I shook my head in disbelief. Surely, they had made a mistake. It would only be a matter of time before they realized I was an imposter. How could someone from modest beginnings in Brooklyn with working class parents compete with those who boasted Ivy League lineages and attended the best private schools? I studied more than most, playing a perceived game of “catch-up”; school was equal parts captivating and anxiogenic. As I witnessed achievement after achievement by my friends, I questioned whether or not I truly belonged. Despite my insecurities, I excelled.

It wasn’t until graduate school that I felt the earth had given out from beneath me as I realized that my prospects were tightly intertwined with that of my adviser’s and his opinion of me. For most women I talk to, encouragement is not a key component of the adviser-graduate student/postdoc relationship. Not everyone is cut out to be an academic researcher, but I wonder how many qualified women have fallen by the wayside because of this missing critical piece. Jo Handelsman, the senior author of the Jennifer/John study, believes that women need more reinforcement than men, but only because women spend their lives resisting the stereotype of the male scientist, but also because “men don’t realize they’ve been getting this subliminal encouragement all along, as well as the explicit encouragement.”

When push came to shove, I walked away from that authorship fiasco because I knew I would not win and I had too much to lose (read: a powerful enemy). There are many things that, as a junior scientist, I have no control over. However, my perception of my self-worth is something I, alone, should command. It’s not just a matter of feeling more confident in my abilities and my decisions, and most days, I still don’t. But it is this mistrust in ourselves, this perpetual questioning of our own authenticity and our value, that in many ways, makes us complicit in all the “micro” (and not so “micro”) assaults that we endure. We are often enablers of our own unfortunate fates by failing to see that something is amiss in the first place. Fighting subliminal bias while shouldering our own versions of “imposter syndrome” may seem insurmountable, but I do not believe it is beyond correction. To a large degree, this bias is a generational symptom that improves as the old guard dwindles, taking outdated beliefs with them. Are things as bad as they were? No. Could they be better? Always. We do not need to wait for evolution to render this belief system obsolete. But, before we can begin to propel more women into the upper echelons of STEM fields, there must be acknowledgement by the collective conscious of all the ways in which girls and women are marginalized and the extent to which our own lack of self-assurance contributes.

[1] In The Double Helix, Watson includes descriptions of his own dreadful behavior towards Franklin, whom he often dismissed and called “Rosy,” a nickname she never used. In the epilogue, he does include a fair description of Franklin’s work and recognizes his own shortcomings in interacting with her, including apologizing for using “Rosy.”

Lauren Tanabe is a freelance writer based in Detroit with a Ph.D. in Pharmacology and Molecular Signaling from Columbia University. She is currently looking for opportunities to tell stories that reflect the poetry and beauty inherent in science, as well as all things sad and humorous related to academia, motherhood, and found tucked into the random and ridiculous moments of everyday life.