Cultivating Science Language which Imagines Change

BY TIA BÖTTGER

Robin Wall Kimmerer’s words in her book Braiding Sweetgrass encapsulate the inherent value, perspective, and nuance which language can hold. Kimmerer is a master storyteller, and her book is the perfect demonstration of how science can be communicated to reach a broader audience, allowing connection and appreciation to be widely cultivated for information that is often inaccessible to the public, locked away in objective tones and language which prioritizes credibility within niche audiences. In a world in which our attention has become a point of profit and we are under increasing stimulation from more issues than we can put productive time into, scientific research must expand its traditional frameworks and consider communication as a crucial step in the scientific method. Loss of biodiversity is arguably the most universally relevant challenge of our time and requires public engagement as a first step towards action and change. However, as a recent coalition of non-governmental organizations and research centers summarized, “Biodiversity has not, broadly speaking, proven to be a compelling object for sufficient action to halt the degradation of the diversity of life on earth,” (2). Conservation efforts have failed to accommodate a diverse range of stakeholders, or frame the importance of biodiversity in the value systems of those affected. Because our experiences and relationships with nature and within our communities are so varied, the language with which we call attention to biodiversity must be varied in its perspectives as well. In particular, science can benefit from its appeal to emotion, imagination, and intrinsic values rather than creating separation by removing humans from the picture. By situating abstract ideas into frameworks which people best understand, the intentional and inclusive use of language can create action through its facilitation of a closer relationship, both with the direct impact of the issues at hand, and through the opportunity to build community on a local scale.

The term “biodiversity” was originally coined in a politicized context. It first appeared in the National Forum on BioDiversity in 1986, thereafter quickly being adopted without the capital D, as a term purposely invented for the audience of U.S. Congress and the general public to raise awareness and recognition of extinction threats (3,4). The term biodiversity has an inherently positive connotation, and thus the popular image on biodiversity has not been affected by much of the controversy typical of other major environmental issues (such as development and democracy, property rights, ecotourism, etc.) (4). “Biodiversity” has been argued to be particularly useful because it is an umbrella term, and thus is vague enough to be all encompassing and evocative in many different disciplines and contexts. Toepfer describes the “impressive success of the concept ‘biodiversity’ in the last decades, in particular in the arena of politics” as being largely due to “its power to amalgamate facts and values: the fact that living beings show variety on every level of their existence, and the assumed values that are associated with this variety,” (5). This leads to the argument that biodiversity is simply whatever the field of conservation biology aims to protect, making it inherently value-laden and giving it political power. The open-endedness of the concept of biodiversity makes it difficult to define and communicate however, and therefore the term must be used thoughtfully and transparently (6). Its vagueness can just as easily leave out engaging information, and importantly, the concept is more closely accepted and linked with some value systems than others.

In a discussion about framing conservation and the values embedded in scientific language, Elliott argues that biodiversity has conceptual features which make it reliant on acceptance due to the intrinsic value of nature, rather than referring to humans in relationship to nature, or its particular usefulness from an anthropocentric standpoint (6). The classic definition of biodiversity from the Convention on Biological Diversity reads as follows: “[T]he variability among living organisms from all sources including, inter alia, terrestrial, marine and other aquatic ecosystems and the ecological complexes of which they are part; this includes diversity within species, between species and of ecosystems,” (7). Nowhere within this definition is there a connection drawn to humans, nor the inclusion of the personal and emotional response which biodiversity can evoke. This is typical practice in scientific writing. Scientists have traditionally been trained to be impersonal and distant in their writing, establishing credibility and authority through a tone of “disinterestedness,” (8). Scientific prose prioritizes technical writing as opposed to visual writing, which makes it difficult to reach wider audiences. As with any form of communication, it is useful for talking to people who speak the same dialect: other scientists. When it comes to biodiversity however, other scientists very likely already have a value system built around and including nature. Audiences with less experience and exposure to natural wonders, which scientists have the great privilege of investing time and awe into. may feel excluded by this language, or develop mistrust towards its “cold” demeanor (8). Scientific language avoids bold, persuasive, or actionable steps, further enlarging the disconnect between scientific discoveries and those who can fuel them towards implementing solutions and enacting change.

Science language and the framing of scientific discourse is often reliant upon the inherent value of knowledge, however can easily be expanded to include other value systems by being mindful of the terms it employs, giving a greater focus to relational language and centering the “why” in a relevant human context. Carl Gough recognizes the overall sentiment that environmental crises have arisen from “our loss of a full and deep connection” and has developed a Theory of Change in response. He argues that to create change, we must first identify and understand the needs of a particular audience, as all action is driven by some form of need (9). Scientists may explore language describing conservation which has a narrower focus than biodiversity and is easier to relate to by engaging ethical values central to human prosperity. “Environmental justice” is one such term. Because biodiversity loss disproportionately affects marginalized, poor, and Indigenous communities who are most dependent on environmental resources, the concept of environmental justice captures the same concerns as those embedded in biodiversity (6). Linguistic and cultural diversity has also been shown to be co-occurrent with biodiversity hotspots, facing extinction due to the same sociopolitical factors which affect species outside of our own (10). Environmental issues have a history of being framed in terms of recreation purposes which favor privileged groups, gate-keeping the environmental movement, so language which recenters the most vulnerable at-risk groups is a necessary consideration. In particular, Indigenous groups often resent language which doesn’t include human impact and involvement, as Indigenous erasure efforts have a history of being framed under the context of preservation and conservation, and language such as “wilderness” and “pristine” undermines Indigenous management strategies which have vitalized natural resources and landscapes since time immemorial. By contrast, the concept of “food security” immediately highlights environmental wellbeing as being intertwined with human wellbeing, as does language promoting biodiversity such as a “life support system,” drawing direct connections to universal values, and weaving in terms such as “livelihood” “health” and “wholeness” (6).

Scientists should also be mindful to use language which is tangible and inspiring, invoking imagination and problem solving, especially when delivering information which can lead to despair and a sense of hopelessness. While science writing typically avoids figurative and emotive language, metaphors are a tool which are often embraced. Metaphors are of particular use because they can relate abstract ideas to lived experiences, increasing their accessibility (11). The nature of human conceptualization is reliant upon mapping meaning from one knowledge domain onto another, and thus metaphors can elicit a greater response and understanding of importance within a less familiar structure (12). In the context of biodiversity, examples of powerful metaphors in common discourse include the “web of life,” forests being the “lungs of the earth,” or nature being “green medicine” (4). Especially important are metaphors which foster new creative ideas towards a complex issue, and allow for the imagination of a hopeful future. The language we use to talk about restoration, remediation, rehabilitation, and environmental health originally stemmed from metaphor, creating terms which better reflect activities we know how to approach, which we bring care to in the context of people. An example that invokes creativity, inherent value, and optimism is the analogy between ecological restoration and artistic recreation (13).

The overwhelming amount of negative projections, declines, and reports associated with conservation science run the risk of creating even greater disconnect if solutions which engage the audience towards action and change are not centered. Just as metaphors fight abstraction to bring issues into a more relatable context, communication targeted to local communities who feel the effects of action is incredibly effective. A phrase that Carl Gough reminds us of in his Theory of Change is “think global act local.” We are psychologically more motivated to contribute when the results are made visible to us within our own sphere of reference (9). An additional benefit to this form of communication is that it can engage local histories and knowledge held in more personal formats and ways of knowing than western science frameworks usually accommodate. Incorporating storytelling can restore relationships and build the framework for collaborative solutions which foster care into the future. In particular, centering Indigenous peoples and their stories, which often instill relationship to the land, a sense of place, and lessons of respect and love for the natural world, would be an immense aid to conservation goals. Overcoming the exclusionary language with which science has historically distinguished itself can only be done with humility, and the recognition that scientific facts alone are not the only form of knowledge, and certainly not a producer of change. To quote Robin Wall Kimmerer once more,

“I envision a time when the intellectual monoculture of science will be replaced with a polyculture of complementary knowledges. And so all will be fed” (1).