Ben Barres tells his story in his own words
His autobiography will make you laugh, cry, and appreciate the underdogs of the brain
There are very few stories like Ben Barres’. There could be more out there, but as it goes, sometimes you need to hear someone else’s story before you can recognize your own.
It wasn’t until Ben Barres read a local news release written by a trans man that he had ever heard the term “transgender.” At the time, Ben was 43 years old and a tenured neuroscience professor at Stanford. The story was a memoir of sorts, written by a San Francisco trans person and activist, Jamison Green. It was that four page article that inspired Ben to address a long held discomfort with his body and find a therapist to explore the idea that he too might be transgender.
Last year, many of us mourned Ben’s passing. Fortunately for the next generation of LGBT folk, he captured his experiences as a trans person in his posthumous memoir, The Autobiography of a Transgender Scientist. I suspect that many scientists — LGBT and otherwise — will find his candid depiction of both his own life and scientific journey to be wholly inspiring.
The candor begins in the memoir’s foreword by Nancy Hopkins, who presents several emails written by Ben to various esteemed members of the scientific community, including NIH Director Francis Collins. Ben was, to put it lightly, livid about the state of gender equality in many scientific institutions. He fought tirelessly for policies to protect women from sexual harassment and refused invitations to institutions with extremely poor gender ratios. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve inviting me after sending that speaker list,” Ben wrote to one (undisclosed) institution.
In his recollection of his life and scientific trajectory, Ben doesn’t hold anything back. It is a story of many remarkable scientific achievements punctuated by intensely difficult moments, when Ben considered ending his academic career or even worse, his life.
Thankfully for the cellular underdogs of the brain, glial cells, Ben had incredible mentors and a supportive community. He came out to his friends and family in an email:
“I’m still going to wear jeans and tee shirts and pretty much be the same person I always have been — it’s just that I’m going to be a lot happier.”
Chuck Stevens, a scientist at the Salk Institute and a mentor to Ben replied,
“I have always been fond of the person in there and the gender makes no difference to me — I expect you will find the same with all of your friends. Let me know when to change to ‘Ben.’”
A few days ago, I ran into Chuck at a UCSD coffee cart and pulled Ben’s autobiography out of my bag to show him the passage. He smiled, “Ben was a wonderful human.” He recounted their exchange to me around his coming out, and shared some other similarly supportive and jovial remarks from other colleagues. One organizer of a Gordon conference apparently joked with Ben that he had thrown off the intended gender ratio — a prescient comment, indeed.
Much of the memoir is devoted to Ben’s scientific endeavors, and rightfully so. Ben thoughtfully guides the reader through the series of experiments conducted by his trainees. He writes with the precision of a practiced biologist, someone who has spent most of his life thinking about minuscule interactions between tiny molecules and brain cells. There is little conjecture but many thoughtful questions — some answered, some left for future scientists to tackle.
But when Ben writes about advocacy for gender equality and for more clinically-oriented research training, the passion is palpable. These passages read very differently from the descriptions of his science — they are urgent calls to action that stem from a life lived in the shadow of inequality. Ben has eloquently written and spoken about gender inequality, but his passages in this book (as well as the example emails in the foreword) are bare, first-hand evidence of Ben’s fury. He lived a very difficult life — he does not want others to have to endure what he endured.
As I suspect many others will feel, I recognized parts of my own story in Ben’s writing. On a plane ride back to San Diego, one passage caught my teary eyes:
“Many LGBT people in my generation share growing up with a shameful secret and consequent low self-esteem. Perhaps this may drive us to work hard to succeed in order to prove our self-worth.”
Wow, does this hit home. I grew up in a staunchly Catholic family, and I remember explicitly telling myself that I must do well in school and extracurriculars to make up for my major flaw — being gay. I had to demonstrate my worth through good grades, and hoped that in the end this would outweigh my sinfulness.
Throughout his memoir, Ben candidly recounts many feelings that will undoubtedly resonate with many in the LGBT community and beyond. His honesty and openness will not go unnoticed.
The Autobiography of a Transgender Scientist can be purchased on Amazon or through MIT Books.
If you’d like to learn about LGBT scientists, check out 500 Queer Scientists.
Many thanks to Catherine Hicks, Ada Powers, and Kale Edmiston for their input on this piece.
Twitter: @analog_ashley
