Abstract
Scientists are notoriously bad at communicating risk, and the public is no better at understanding it.
FOR THE RECORD
BY JENNIFER OUELLETTE
While zapping the convenience food du jour in the microwave, I noticed a July 10 New York Times article debunking the perceived health risks associated with microwave ovens. The article correctly concluded that proximity to the ovens does not cause cancer, yet scientists around the country undoubtedly rolled their eyes in exasperation that the issue needed to be raised in the first place.
The public's willingness to believe that modern technology is sinister, even as it reaps its benefits, often mystifies scientists. In vain, they point out that studies have shown no definitive link between power lines, cell phones, microwaves, or wireless internet access and cancer. Yet people cling to their fears of radiation. What can be done to counter this kind of panic?
The best answer lies in education, in the truest sense of the word. It's not sufficient to cite study after study and ask people to take scientists' word that microwaves won't give them cancer. The public needs to engage in critical thinking. Irrational fear is based on scientific ignorance and an imperfect understanding of risk analysis. Only correcting this ignorance will lead to lasting change.
The Times article had the right idea in debunking the microwave myth, but it could have made the point more forcefully by noting that ionizing radiation carries the greatest health risks, not microwaves or radio waves. Microwaves can cause damage to human tissue, but this would require huge amounts of energy, not the incidental signals emitted by common household devices.
When it comes to evaluating levels of risk, however, scientists shouldn't dismiss the public's concerns out of hand. Historically, the public has some cause for fear. The dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki produced psychological as well as physical fallout, as people realized how damaging gamma radiation could be. Accidents at power plants, such as Three Mile Island, have undermined public confidence in nuclear power, as have concerns about spent-fuel storage.
In the late nineteenth century, people thought X-rays were harmless. Once scientists understood the effects, they developed precautionary measures so society could benefit from X-ray technology and public health could be protected. Finding this critical balance between risk and benefit is essential. The tricky part is figuring out an acceptable level of risk and communicating that to the public without fanning the flames of their fears. Scientists generally do well at the former, and stumble badly on the latter.
For instance, most scientists are reluctant to say there is no chance of risk with any major experiment, such as the Large Hadron Collider soon to go online in Switzerland. Yet even if the risk is infinitesimally small, all the public hears is that there is a chance of a disaster occurring, such as the collider opening up a mini-black hole, and panic ensues.
Sometimes, this communication gap leads to the public underestimating the risk. For years, global warming was misrepresented as a scientific debate, when in reality, there was very strong consensus in the scientific community that global warming was indeed happening. Scientists' compulsive tendency to qualify every assertion–while desirable in an academic setting–diluted their findings in the public sphere.
Knowledge comes at a cost. That doesn't mean we shouldn't pursue it, because its potential benefit likely outweighs the associated risks. Marie Curie conducted most of her research on radioactive elements taking no protective measures. She even carried test tubes of radioactive substances in her pocket and stored them in her desk drawer because she liked the pretty blue-green light the substances emitted in the dark. She died in 1934 from aplastic anemia, most likely stemming from her exposure to radiation. I doubt she–or public health officials–regretted the years she spent doing the work she loved, even if it ultimately led to her demise. Ditto for the early X-ray pioneers.
Those who maintain that any level of risk is unacceptable might do well to remember that death is inevitable. Curie's husband and collaborator, Pierre, died long before his wife; he was hit by a vehicle while walking to his laboratory. Even if microwaves and cell phones really were out to get us, they would be just one small risk among countless others. We're far more likely to be hit by a bus.