In our elements

LakeDistrict - 12

I have been coming to the Lake District on and off for much of my life. It is my favourite corner of England. I first came in 1981 when I was seventeen, as one of half a dozen venture scouts from Ballymena on a summer youth hosteling trip.

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Then, in the early nineties, we would make annual trips to gather here with my wife’s siblings and their families, overseen with smiles and cooking by my tireless mother-in-law. At first our children were too small to go on the walks with their elder cousins – my wife is the youngest of seven – but later we graduated to the rambles in sunshine and rain up and down the tors and dales south-west of Ullswater. Those trips petered out about ten years ago. Grannie and Grandad grew tired, and the cousins grew up and struck out on their own. But now we are back again, just our family, and it is such a pleasure to rediscover the remoteness of this place.

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We have returned to our favourite haunt and rented a small house just below tiny Patterdale. Straddling a kink in the road that squeezes the traffic into single file, the village has a hotel, a pub, a small grocery shop that sells sweets, waterproofs and basic foodstuffs, and a phone box.

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Our rental house faces east. The windows look out across a green field, over a drystone wall to the slopes beneath Rake Crag, which changes from moment to moment as the Earth turns, as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, or as the clouds descend to draw wispy veils over the Crag. Here time is paid out by Nature’s elements, not by any ticking clock.

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I had forgotten how much the elements take hold when you are in the Lakes: the ever changing light; the enveloping silence, broken only by gusts of wind, slooshing streams, or the shucking noise as with each step you pull your boot free from the clutch of the boggy ground; the rough touch of the rock when scrambling with hands and feet up steeper slopes. As I stood close to the edge of the hillside on our way up Round How, wisps of cloud drifted up and over me, fogging the view of the valley below and smothering us all in its cold, grey embrace.

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If you set off in the right direction, the villages and most other signs of human habitation are soon lost from sight. The cares of work fall away. Next to the colours and undulations of the landscape, the gushing streams, the varying sky, the working of your muscles, they become unimportant.

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They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but is there anyone who could look upon this sweep of hills and say it is not beautiful? Here Nature is absolute, in beauty and in power. The splendour we could see in every direction. We felt her power when our map mis-reading took us up the side of a ridge where the ground was suddenly more in front of us than beneath; after a grasping, limb-tensing crawl, we crested the top and collapsed breathless and frightened onto the grass. We gave thanks for the gentler traipse down the other side to the glittering tarn.

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Elsewhere, the rough-hewn paths were scattered with stones washed down the valley by last winter’s rains – Nature’s admonishment that the Earth will shape itself, whatever humankind’s temporary pretence at control. The thought when it comes – you have to focus hard on where you put your feet – is sobering, but also somehow lightens the mind weighed down by life’s busy-ness. Here, now, in this moment with the people who matter most to me, I’m fine with it.

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Comet NEOWISE – catch it if you can

Comet NEOWISE has come but not yet gone. If there is no cloud cover for the next night or two, you might be able to catch its wispy presence low in the north-west before it fades from view.

Don’t feel bad if you haven’t heard of comet C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE), to give this heavenly traveller its full name. It was only discovered on March 27 this year. There is no previous record of NEOWISE in human history because the last time it was in this neck of the solar system was about 7000 years ago. That’s how long you’re going to have to wait for it to come back it if you miss a sighting in the next couple of days.

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If like me you inhabit a light-drenched metropolis, you’re unlikely to have dark enough night skies to see NEOWISE with the naked eye. But with a bit of practice, you should be able to see its faint upward smear with a half-decent pair of binoculars. 

The trick is to look  the to the north-west to find the Plough (also known as the Big Dipper)  and scan downward. My old Science is Vital pal, Andrew Steele has made a nice little video to help you find it.

This is what I had to do last night. I got my first glimpse at about 11 pm through the trees that block out most of the north-westerly view from my back garden. To get a photograph I took my binoculars, camera and tripod out onto the street. There I had a clearer view, but struggled to find an observation spot away from the street lights that didn’t make me look like I was poking my long lens into people’s bedrooms.

It took quite a bit of hunting to find the comet with the camera. I used a brute-force method, switching back and forth with the binoculars and taking snaps get the comet in the frame. If I were more familiar with the capabilities of my camera (Olympus OMD EM-5 MkIII, with a 75-300 mm zoom lens), this wouldn’t have taken so long.

Comet-Neowise glowing in the night sky, just above a rooftop Just above the chimney and to the right

Having found the comet, I could zoom in and experiment with shutter speeds to try for a decent shot. Unfortunately I am an amateur’s amateur and don’t have the gear needed to compensate for the rotation of the Earth. It turns faster than you might think, so even a 15 second exposure means that the comet and nearby stars show as short trails.

Comet Neowise - 15 second exposure Comet NEOWISE – 15 second exposure

By cutting back to 4 seconds, I could get sharper shots. You lose a bit of definition of NEOWISE’s wispy tail. But glowing green core still shines.

Comet NEOWISE - 4 second exposure Comet NEOWISE – 4 second exposure

I’ll be the first to admit that these pictures are not the greatest. Andrew got a much better image last night by stacking multiple photograph to get clearer shot. Professional photographer, Will Gater, did even better. But this was my encounter with NEOWISE, my moment of intersection with a fellow traveller. I wonder what it will find when next it swings by the neighbourhood?

 

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Augmented reality: me and my hearing aids

Reality augmentation: a pair of hearing aids

My new best buds…

When I started out on this blog back in ’08 I made a passing observation about my age, having noticed I was increasingly lifting my glasses to read the date on my watch. Not long afterwards I upgraded to varifocals. Now I have another upgrade to report: I have acquired hearing aids.

It was not an easy transition. On the face of it, why wouldn’t getting a pair of hearing aids be just like getting glasses? You can even get them from opticians these days. But it’s a much bigger deal and it’s taken me at least two years to get over my… embarrassment.

I’ve endured tinnitus in my right ear for four or five years now and I had a clear diagnosis of hearing loss in late 2018, but couldn’t bring myself to give hearing aids a try. However, I’ve grown tired of manoeuvring myself into position in meetings, turning my better left ear towards conversants and, as often as not, cupping it to hear questions from students. And my family have been losing patience with me for not noticing that they’ve spoken, or wanting to turn up the TV or turn on the subtitles. It was time to listen to what they – and my ears – were telling me.

When I finally went back to Specsavers a couple of weeks ago, the audiologist told me that I was ahead of the pack. Maybe he was just being nice, but apparently most men wait about 10 years before asking for help. How typical of us.

Lockdown probably made the decision easier because I’m working from home and less likely to be out and about. Most of my interactions with colleagues and friends are straight to camera so my ears are less in view. Even if I do turn my head, social distancing from the barber over the last few months means that the little pods tucked behind my ears are largely hidden from view.

Side view of Stephen's head - with hearing aid bud just visible

Over ear

I’m still adjusting to a brighter world of sound. I am hearing more and finding it easier to keep up with conversation. My voice sounds stranger to me, somehow sharper and more metallic, and my footfall on our creaking kitchen floor cracks my head like never before. I’m told my brain will accommodate my augmented reality and to help with that the hearing aids are slowly increasing the gain over the first three weeks. Given that my disability is age-related, it is some comfort to know that my body still has some capacity to respond to the world.

The nerd in me is enjoying the Bluetooth capabilities of my new best buds. I can now accept a call on my iPhone by tapping on a button just behind my ear. Music from my phone is also routed directly to my ear drums – no headphones required. These little techno-joys help to offset some of the discomfiture of my confrontation with infirmity, even if I’m still not sure about my calendar pinging right inside my head to remind be of an upcoming Zoom call. Which I guess is a reminder that all of our realities have been ‘augmented’ these days.

 

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UK R&D Roadmap 2020: big picture poses big questions

The latest in a long line of R&D strategy documents from the UK government reveals some promising evolution in its strategic thinking. But while it touches on a wide range of complex and interacting challenges, the precise direction of travel is still unclear

UK-RD-Roadmap-2020.p11

It’s easy to be cynical – and hard to see past the immediate threats posed by the government’s mishandling of the Covid-19 pandemic – but anyone interested in the UK research base and how it might be made to work better should have a look at the new UK R&D Roadmap, which was published on 1st July. You can get a quick overview from the three-page executive summary (p5-7 in the PDF version), but it is worth delving deeper. For those without a couple of hours to read the whole thing, let me try to pull out a few key points. I will leave discussion of the plans for the commercial innovation ecosystem to wiser heads and focus on those aspects that struck me, a university-based academic.

First off, there is much that is good in the roadmap. Right up top (p5, p11) there is a clear recognition that the UK research needs to be a “mix of curiosity and application” and that this will resonate with the deepest motivations of most researchers both to explore the world around them and to solve its most pressing problems. It’s less clear exactly how that mix will be sustained, particularly since much of the Roadmap is devoted to describing how UK research will be harnessed to economic and strategic priorities. However, the prominence given to the idea of balancing discovery and exploitation is grounds for some optimism.

Second, to commitment to researcher mobility is loud and clear (p22). A new Office for Talent will facilitate international mobility. And the recently announced Global Talent visa is already buttressed by the restoration and enhancement of rights to work in the UK for overseas graduates and postgraduates. Further reform of talent visas are promised, though the details remain vague. Of course to a large degree these measures merely counteract the loss of freedom of movement within the EU triggered by the government’s Brexit policy and reverse decisions made by previous Conservative governments, but it is at least heartening that the dead hand of Theresa May has finally been lifted from UK research policy.

Third, the roadmap discusses the creation of a new R&D People and Culture strategy (p19) which will foreground better support for early career researchers and technicians, and address long-term structural inequalities by aiming to attract more diverse pools of talent – in part by ensuring that research leaders are equipped with the skills to manage people properly. These are aspirations that have been floated in earlier documents (such as the UKRI’s 2018 Strategic Prospectus) and many questions remain as to the extent of commitment and the plan for implementation, but it is nevertheless encouraging to see people-focused concerns becoming embedded in discussions about research policy. In this latest roadmap there is acknowledgement that some of the positive researcher behaviours observed in response to the Covid-19 crisis, such as “collaboration, knowledge-sharing and support for colleagues feeling the impact” now need to be properly recognised and rewarded if they are to become systemic.

UK-RD-Roadmap-2020.p51

Fourth and finally, following an impulse that has perhaps also been reinforced by Covid-19, the Roadmap espouses a national commitment to open scholarship (p51). This includes mandated open publication, strong incentives for data and code sharing, and – though the language here is vaguer – support for new infrastructure to help make this happen. The devil will certainly be in the detail, but as a public statement this is already some distance from the equivocations of the Finch report and its aftermath.

So far so good. And yet many questions remain. Part of the purpose of documents of this sort is to be aspirational, but sooner or later reality must be faced. In places the roadmap is surprisingly honest in its appraisal of the UK’s problems and challenges, but as I read through the questions just kept piling up.

UK-RD-Roadmap-2020.p12

Some of them are posed by the Roadmap itself – this is a discursive document that aims to start a conversation. But coming from a party that has been in power for a decade during which the R&D agenda has only gained in importance, we might have hoped the government could have dug a little deeper prior to publication. Perhaps that reflects inexperience within the current administration?

Thus on page 12 the Roadmap asks us to consider “how we can provide the most effective forms of funding and management for researchers and research organisations, incentivising work of the highest quality”; how we can “take bigger bets […] in genuinely transformational areas of science and research”; how to do “horizon scanning”; how to “remove barriers to interdisciplinary research”. None of these questions is new and all of them have complex and context-dependent answers.

Elsewhere, the sense of a government determined to put in place a viable career structure for early career researchers ebbs away. On page 20, after reassuring the reader that the government should not wait for perfect data before taking action, the roadmap states rather blandly that “we will […] identify action we can take to increase support for early career researchers…”. Fresh thinking on an old problem is promised, but you have to ask why it wasn’t brought to bear while the roadmap was being written.

The importance of place is mentioned frequently and rightly so. One of the most pertinent questions raised but not solved by Brexit is (p59) “How should we ensure that R&D plays its fullest role in levelling up all over the UK?” Here again, plans are unclear. The specific question on p35, “whether our existing, core funding schemes deliver sufficient economic benefit to places across the UK” has a ready but unuttered answer: no, they don’t. There follows some nebulous discussion about collaboration between stakeholders (the devolved administrations, business, academics, universities, charities and local leaders), but where are the plans to create new institutions, or to leverage the strengths of the existing asymmetrically distributed research base to foster growth in regions where it is most needed? Given the repeated assertions in the document about the need to work with the devolved administrations, one has to hope that the Johnson government’s interactions with them on R&D policy will be smoother than has been the case during the Covid-19 pandemic; there is a further and urgent question here of how the English regions will be given a voice in shaping the research base to their needs.

The other place mentioned, though somewhat less often, is Europe. While many warm words are expended on Britain’s international research vision and the desire to remain a close and friendly partner in EU R&D schemes, the plan in the event of a no-deal Brexit – a dangerous prospect that Prime Minister Johnson regards insouciantly – amounts only to meeting funding shortfall and putting in place “alternative schemes” (p7). The Roadmap might recognise the important role of international organisations in supporting multilateral research projects, but no mention is made of the loss of this vital facility as a result of the government’s enthusiasm for divorcing our European partners.

Universities, which in are more important parts of the UK R&D ecosystem than in many other European countries, get short shrift in the Roadmap. Reassurances about the value of discovery research notwithstanding, the renewed focus on strategic research raises questions about institutional autonomy. There is a nod to the problem caused by the fact that UKRI research grants do not pay the full cost of research, obliging many universities to subsidise research from overseas student tuition fees – a source of income that is now under severe threat. The Roadmap provides lukewarm reassurance (p57): “We will work with other funder to consider opportunities to fund a greater proportion of the full economic cost of research projects in universities.”

A line that might cheer up the universities, if they can bring themselves to believe it, appears further down on page 57: “we should aspire to run a [Research Excellence Framework] that is fair, unbureaucratic and rewards improvement.” That aspiration to reduce bureaucracy is a recurring theme of the Roadmap. But the problem is not defined in any detail; and nor are solutions laid out. Instead we are told (p36), “we will find new ways to track the development of R&D capacity across the UK […] but without adding to unnecessary bureaucracy; or elsewhere (p51) that “we will eradicate unnecessary bureaucracy – keeping in place only those check and approvals necessary to manage public money […] and take informed decisions”; or (also on p51) that “UKRI will reinvigorate participation in the peer review system through ensuring the system is easy to work with.” This is all very laudable, particularly when coupled with the Roadmap’s determination to embrace risk and to swallow the failures that will inevitably ensue, but is it not also horribly naïve? It smacks of the romantic notions of unleashing disruptive innovators and agile scientific geniuses that are to be found in Dominic Cummings’ musings on science and government. They would be a lot more persuasive if they had a some substance.

Which begs a final question: who wrote the Roadmap? It was not launched with a speech by Alok Sharma, the Secretary of State, or by Amanda Solloway, the Minister for Science, Research and Innovation, leaving questions as to their personal engagement. It’s hard to think of any of the recent science ministers – David Willets, Greg Clark, Jo Johnson, Sam Gyimah or Chris Skidmore – passing up an opportunity to sell their vision. For all its lack of detail, the Roadmap exhibits seriousness of intent; in many places it articulates a positive and outward-looking vision of the future of UK R&D that should be welcomed and engaged with. But if it doesn’t have a loud and visible champion in government, where is it headed?

 

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The Flattened Curve

The lockdown might have flattened the curve of infection and death, but it has also flattened the curve and swell of life. Existence has shrunk to fit within four walls; life ‘outside’ has largely been compressed within the flat rectangles of my phone and computer screens.

Life in lockdown

You might think that, as an academic, I would revel in the life of the mind, the kind many of us now have to accept whether we like it or not. And I do, normally. It has been no great inconvenience to me to continue working from home, but while I still go to work every day, I am no longer going out to work. The daily plunge into the noise and grit of London amid the press of my fellow commuters, the cut and thrust of meetings and lectures, the faces and places of the university campus – all these things have fallen away. Instead each morning after breakfast I climb the stairs to our small spare bedroom. A home office that I would use occasionally on the weekend has become my daily retreat, wherein I commit to a timetable of days that feel long and weeks that seem short.

Outside of work I have time for reading, for dipping into box sets on TV, and for the occasional ‘trip’ to the theatre. My wife and I have enjoyed the National Theatre’s online programme, sometimes joining with friends for drinks over Zoom before the show and at the interval. We keep in touch with family and friends through messaging and video calls. It is odd to think how a technology that only a few years ago seemed the stuff of science fiction has become such a commonplace. That facility is not available to my parents, however, who are secluded in a nursing home and a fog of fading memories; to them I write letters.

So, there is no shortage of activity and yet it feels like inactivity. All attempts to look outward seem to direct the gaze inward. We need the colour and commotion of the real world to move us out of ourselves. Without it the palette of life shades into monotony. When at the start of each video call people ask how it’s going, I can only think to say how boring life feels.

Metropolis on the horizon

London – a mirage on the far horizon

And yet, I am among the lucky ones. Across the country the virus’s pitiless bill of death and grief has had to be paid many thousands of times over, but it has not yet landed at my door. For many more people, even if death has not wrenched away family and friends, the lockdown has cost jobs and livelihoods. Although the government’s support schemes offer them some mitigation, the fears of an uncertain future must surely tighten the strains of confinement and privation. I have some small share in that uncertainty but can be reasonably confident that my university job is safe. I have family around me – there are four of us in this household and we rub along well for the most part; the wrinkles that trip us up from time to time are only small.

Even so, I don’t really know just how lucky I am. Social distancing extends far beyond the two-metre limit imposed on encounters in the park or at the supermarket and has long been a feature of our segregating society. For those of us who enjoy a comfortable existence, it is an effort to access the crueller experiences of people who do not. That effort is harder still when self-isolation is national policy rather than a habit acquired in the rush through modern life. Which is not to say that it is impossible. There is no shortage of news or commentary and I do not intend to add much to the latter here, not today at any rate. But the coronavirus pandemic has unpicked our pretensions at equality, disproportionately targeting black or minority ethnic people, shredding the lives workers for whom a full-time job is not enough to pay the bills, stalling the lives of the young, and dumping the burden of care for children and the elderly where society still thinks is its natural home: the backs of women.

Already I see that my attempts to look beyond my own circumstances are driving me to broad generalisations. I can’t speak for everyone or every situation and it is perhaps foolish to try. For the time being, life feels suspended and detached. It might provide time for reflection, but I remain unsure of my grasp. For now, it must suffice to try to keep the bigger picture in view and seek out the stories of others. The pandemic has separated us out, but it has also heightened awareness of our common humanity. This virus crosses borders far more easily than our politics has ever done. Even if some leaders are using it to stoke the flames of nationalism, I hold to the hope that many among us will see the hiatus as a time of preparation, so that when the moment comes to re-engage – as surely it must – it will be with renewed new vigour and purpose.

 

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The still unsustainable goal of university ranking

The new and improved Times Higher Education (THE) Impact Rankings 2020 were published this week with as much online fanfare as THE could muster. Unfortunately, they are not improved enough.

Screenshot of Duncan Ivison's article, which is surrounded by an advert bragging about Sydney University's ranking

Sydney University’s Duncan Ivison makes case for impact rankings. And then you notice the advert.

The Impact Rankings score participating universities on how well their activities contribute to the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), which range across issues such as poverty, gender equality, climate action, health and well-being, peace and justice. Although the compilation of the rankings is primarily motivated as a way to celebrate the real-world impact of what many universities do, a noble aspiration that I applaud, the core methodology remains unfit for purpose. At its centre, as with almost all rankings, there is an intellectual hollowness that undermines the whole project, and it is disappointing to see that the THE has yet to take responsibility for their methodological shortcomings. It is even more disappointing to see some universities abandon critical thinking in their rush to embrace the results.

In an article published just before the Impact rankings announced, Duncan Ivison, the Deputy Vince-Chancellor for Research at the University of Sydney, welcomed the increased focus on university activities that advance the SDGs. He notes that:

“there is now a remarkable global consensus on the importance of the 17 domains identified by the SDGs and the challenges we face in ensuring the well-being of our people and our planet. The framework provides a way for governments, industry, civil society and universities to consider how they can contribute to addressing these global challenges.”

I agree with Ivison that the attention brought to these important components of university missions is a useful contribution to a much wider debate within society about what governments, and the publics they represent, should expect of their institutions of higher learning.

Where I part company with Ivison is in the tenor of his caveats about the ranking process. His notes of caution are too lukewarm. He warns that too narrow a focus on impact (a common, though not entirely unreasonable, preoccupation of governments) risks undermining investment in curiosity-driven research that can have major but unanticipated impacts, and closes by conceding: “There are limits to what universities can do and the SDGs don’t capture everything about the impact of our research.”

They sure don’t. But the problems run deeper. When the 2019 Impact Rankings were published, I wrote a detailed critique that I think stands the test of time, so I won’t repeat the argument in detail. In essence, I identified three major problems of arbitrariness and incompleteness within the THE’s ranking methodology:

  1. Six of the seventeen SDGs were not included.
  2. The rankings are based on an overall score made up of four components: the score for SDG17 (‘Partnerships for the goals’ – a measure of collaboration and promotion of best practice in work towards SDGs) and the three highest scores that the university is awarded for any other SDG. The pragmatism in this approach is obvious, but it means that the overall scores are incommensurable – the THE is not comparing like with like.
  3. The score for each SDG is made up of an arbitrarily weighted tally of very different activity indicators (e.g. research, student numbers, policy development) that, as well as providing only approximate and incomplete evaluations of a rich spectrum of endeavour, are – again – incommensurable. I dissected the problematic nature of these tallies for SDG3 (Good health and well-being) and SDG12 (Responsible consumption and production) last year.

Only one of these issues has been addressed in the latest ranking. All 17 SDGs are now included, but the largest flaws in the process are untouched. As a result, the THE clings to a methodology that despite taking insufficient account of the false precision and the uncertainties introduced by the proxy nature of the indicators used to ‘measure’ actual performance, still claims to be able to distinguish universities on scores that differ by 0.1%. It is laughable to claim this level of precision. It is to universities’ discredit that they go along.

But there is an even more serious problem. Not one particle of the work of universities towards the SDGs, trumpeted so much by the Times Higher, counts towards their score in their World University Rankings, which the THE considers to be their ‘flagship analysis, […] the definitive list of the top universities globally’. These are the rankings that increasingly drive institutional behaviour – and competition between them. Each year’s announcement of the THE’s World Rankings is festooned with stories about this or that university rising or falling, winning or losing in the race to the top. The precise opposite of the collaboration that Ivison, waxing lyrical about the Impact rankings, points to as necessary for humanity to face our global challenges. When push comes to shove for the rankings that matter, the THE assigns impact a weight of precisely zero.

Cynically, one might suppose that part of the rationale for creating their impact rankings is to divert attention from the growing chorus of criticism of university rankings. That cynicism draws strength from the continued lack of response or action from rankers to valid criticisms of their methods. As I wrote last year, “Rankers need to embrace the full complexity and diversity of what universities do, while at the same time being more open about the uncertainties in the measurements and the incompleteness of their analyses.”

But I am not given to cynicism. I still believe that, at heart, many of the people involved in rankings work want the best for our universities and our world. The THE deserves credit at least for expanding the range of university activities that are publicly rated and they are by no means the only ranker that needs to engage with the sector with a great deal more rigour. But their present methods are still unsustainable, and my offer to work together to improve them stands.

La-Normale

And indeed, the moment is opportune. Stranded and stalled as we all are by the COVID19 lockdown, we have a chance to reflect and rethink. The task before us aligns with broader economic and societal concerns that have been brought painfully into focus by our present predicament. Leading economists such as Paul Johnson and Mariana Mazzucato, and even the Financial Times are calling for fundamental changes to the workings of capital and the social contract. Their calls echo the longer-standing appeals of philosopher Michael Sandel and entrepreneur and writer, Margaret Heffernan, to recognise that our obsession with numbers, with performance, with efficiency, with the bottom line, and with ranking is obscuring the thing that really matters – the quality of people’s lives.

 

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Three weeks

Just three weeks ago, on eve of the weekend, my wife and I met an old friend for dinner at a restaurant in Southwark. Even then, the most normal things in the world were beginning to feel risky.

Two metres apart

Our friend works for Public Health England, but even if he hadn’t, the conversation would still probably have locked onto the coronavirus pandemic. We could feel it coming – my university had already decided to move all teaching online – and could see it in the news reports from Italy, France and Spain; but somehow we still couldn’t bring ourselves to believe it was part of our lives. When we’d sat down to eat there were only a few scattered diners in the restaurant. By the time we got up to say our goodbyes, the place was full. 

For me, the pandemic arrived over the weekend when another friend, a virologist in Wuhan, emailed to express his shock and dismay that the UK government had opted to rely on a herd immunity strategy to get the country to the other side of the crisis. He painted a vivid and chilling picture of the severity of the disease and the high mortality that would result when health services became overwhelmed. The British policy was ‘cold-blooded and brutal’, he wrote. I relayed the information to my friend at PHE and to a colleague at Imperial College who is heavily involved in coronavirus work, though by then it looks as if the government had already decided to change tack.

On the Monday (16th March) I went in work but not as normal. Fortunately, I was able to go in late and head home early, avoiding the most crowded times on the train and the tube. I returned with everything I would need to work from home and sat in silence with my wife on the sofa to watch the Prime Minister announce the first stage of the UK lockdown. Then it was real. 

But it would take another week for the PM to shut pubs, restaurants and shops, and insist on full social distancing. In his sombre broadcast on the evening of Monday 23rd March, Johnson looked earnest for the first time in his political career. He is a ruthlessly ambitious and deeply unserious man, but on this occasion even ‘Boris’ had the wit not brush away the threat of the situation as the fear-mongering of doomsters and gloomsters.

So here I am, three weeks in to the new normal. I gave no promises when I started writing this blog back in 2008 that I would have anything particularly insightful to say and I feel pretty much the same today. For me the change has been significant but hardly debilitating. I can get on with my job and have no immediate fear that it will be snatched away from me. My working and social lives have contracted to the size of a laptop screen, but everyone in my household remains healthy; we have enough to eat and drink, and are lucky enough to have a garden.

I know it is not the same for so many others – far from it – but it is hard to get a grasp of that. The new normal has brought with it a new kind of distancing from the world, in spite of the endless streams of news and numbers about the the pandemic’s march of misery. That can hardly be healthy. I have signed up to volunteer for the NHS; however, I was slow to do so and have heard nothing back. I am still doing full days at my job but feel strangely disconnected from it. I can’t make out if I’m making any real headway. My mood waxes and wanes. I have enjoyed as much as anyone the funnier side of the lockdown that peppers my twitter feed with jokes and silly videos, but there are the times when levity just seems wrong. Who to turn to then to figure that out? I am fortunate to have my family around me of course, but still miss the stir of friends and colleagues. I guess that is why I thought I would go back to my blog, even if tonight I have no answers and little idea of where we’re headed.

 

Posted in Science | 2 Comments

This is not my Brexit day

It is 31st January 2020 and as of 11 pm tonight the UK will no longer be a member of the European Union. We have arrived at Brexit day.

U2 and the EU

But this is not my Brexit. I did not want it. I did not vote for it. I argued against it with as much reason and reasonableness as I could muster. Throughout the referendum campaign, I never heard a political, economic or democratic argument sufficiently rooted in reality to mount a credible case for leaving the EU. I’ve still not heard one. Brexit will not satisfy those who voted Leave because of political and economic neglect. The solution to those problems lies elsewhere.

This is not my Brexit. In the immediate aftermath of the vote on 23rd June 2016, I was angry and upset. I had thought that even if the vote went the wrong way, an enormous dose of British pragmatism would be brought to bear to smooth the transition, but I soon learned how badly I had mis-judged the situation. Theresa May’s premiership will be remembered, if at all, for the vacuous phrase ‘Brexit means Brexit’, the cold hardening of her anti-immigrant instincts, and her blindness to the fissures that have opened up across the UK, which left her incapable of learning the political lessons of the Brexit vote.

This is not my Brexit. The arrival at No. 10 of Boris Johnson – mendacity made flesh – is a depressing confirmation that Leave campaign’s “dishonesty on an industrial scale”, in Michael Dougan’s famous phrase, has become the new normal in British politics. Johnson may have secured a parliamentary majority sufficient to deliver Brexit, but did so with a minority of the votes cast. So far he has offered little but his trademark bluster to paper over the divisions within the country. Brexit remains a largely English ‘victory’ and a hollow one at that. Somehow we have to find a way to re-unite as a country but also as a people that looks out to the world with generosity, honesty and humility. I see none of these qualities in our current prime minister.

This is not my Brexit. Johnson has played recklessly with nationalist sentiment, inflated the fantasy of British exceptionalism, and stood by while some of his fellow-travellers stirred xenophobic bile into the national discourse. The result has been chilling for millions of Europeans who made Britain a home where they hoped to build a future. The country’s humanity has been diminished alongside its international standing.

This is not my Brexit and this is not my Brexit day. I cling to hope but will mourn the severance. If I have learned one thing in the past three and a half years, it is that nationalism is a cancer that humanity may not survive. It is the root of racism. It thrives on separation when the world desperately needs to find its common humanity. By the happy accident of being born in Ireland, I have been able to apply for an Irish passport. I will not revel in my Irishness, but in the fact that I remain a citizen of something greater – the EU. Even then, I am no longer satisfied. I look forward to the day when my documentation proclaims me what I truly wish to be: a citizen of the world.

 

Posted in Science & Politics | 9 Comments

2019 in 31 photographs

My computer tells me I took over 3,700 photographs in 2019. Yikes!

Photos of 2019

However, I have winnowed them down to just 31, should you care to take a look. I have been fortunate this year to travel far and wide – or should I say reckless? Either way, if you click on the image above, it will take you to the album on flickr.

 

Posted in Scientific Life, Travel | 2 Comments

Books read in 2019

In a kinder, happier age, when I used to write regularly for the Guardian’s science blog network, I would post summaries of the books I had read at the end of each year. Since the network closed in 2018 I have rather lost the habit. Looking back a the list of titles I got though in 2019, I realise how much I share with Robin Ince the problem of retention. I can only marvel at those who seem to be able to analyse the plotlines and arguments of books that they have read months and years ago. My recollections are more impressionistic. I should take more notes.

Superior - by Angela Saini

But let me at least share with you my impressions, such as they are. Here, in the order that they were read, is my year’s worth of books.

  1. A Bigger Prize: why no one wins unless everyone wins, Margaret Heffernan
  2. The Hunt for Vulcan, Tom Levenson
  3. Science 3.0, Frank Miedema
  4. The Good Immigrant, Various
  5. Heroic Failure: Brexit and the politics of pain, Fintan O’Toole
  6. I’m a joke and so are you, Robin Ince
  7. Utopia for Realists, and how we can get there, Rutger Bregman
  8. The Tyranny of Metrics, Jerry Muller
  9. Invisible Women, Caroline Criado Perez
  10. Superior: the return of race science, Angela Saini
  11. The New Silk Roads: the present and future of the world. Peter Frankopan
  12. Made to Stick, Chad and Dan Heath
  13. Natives: race and class in the ruins of empire, Akala
  14. Intelligence, Stuart Ritchie
  15. The Lagoon, Armand Marie Leroi
  16. The Gene Machine, Venki Ramakrishnan
  17. Beyond Weird, Philip Ball
  18. Adventures in the Screen Trade, William Goldman
  19. Red Notice, Bill Browder
  20. Manhattan Transfer, John Dos Passos
  21. The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt
  22. Why do so many incompetent men become leaders? Tomas Chamorro-Premuzic
  23. Generous Thinking: A radical approach to saving the university, Kathleen Fitzpatrick
  24. Translations, Brian Friel

It has been another bad year for reading fiction – just two novels and one play. Co-incidentally, both novels were largely set in New York, separated by about a century. While I disliked the fragmented, panopticon storytelling in Dos Passos’s Manhattan Transfer, Tartt drew me page by page into her intricate web of love and loss. The movie version of The Goldfinch was a bland disappointment, but Fabritius’s original painting, which I finally saw in the Mauritshaus in The Hague in October, radiated complex, new life.

The Goldfinch - in the Mauritshaus, The Hague

It’s also not been a great year for reading books by women – just five-and-a-half* out of twenty-four. That said, it’s arguably also been a good year since three of my top four picks of 2019 were by women: Angela Saini’s Superior, a magnificent and powerful exposition of the science of race and the racism of science; Caroline Criado Perez’s brilliantly illuminating Invisible Women – which does that rare thing of making you see the world anew; and Margaret Heffernan’s A Bigger Prize, a lucid and disarming examination of the dark side of competition.

The fourth spot goes to The Lagoon, by my Imperial College colleague Armand Leroi, whose affectionate and deeply informed guide to Aristotle’s science I found wonderfully companionable. (I reviewed Superior for the Cosmic Shambles blog back in July and would agree with every word of Adam Rutherford’s assessment of The Lagoon. I’m afraid I only managed to tweet about Heffernan’s and Criado Perez’s books).

Beyond that, I enjoyed to a greater or lesser extent every book I read. Levenson’s The Hunt for Vulcan was a nicely wrought tale of how science actually works, while O’Toole’s Heroic Failure helped me a little more to deal with the pain of Brexit. In Natives Akala provided a personal and political examination of racism in the UK; along with The Good Immigrant it was a chance to listen to voices that are still too often unheard.

Peter Frankopan’s The New Silk Roads returned in the 21st Century to the ground he had covered historically and magisterially in The Silk Roads (which I read in 2017), while Philip Ball’s Beyond Weird did not disappoint; if it still left me somewhat baffled, that is only because I raced through it on my summer holiday. When relaxing I should really stick to easier reads. On that same holiday I enjoyed William Goldman’s gossipy Adventures in the Screen Trade, a behind-the-scenes look at the movie business and was electrified by Bill Browder’ terrifying story of corruption and murder in Putin’s Russia (Red Notice).

This past week I have finished off Kathleen Patrick’s Generous Thinking, which touches on the over-metricisation of academic life, a theme also covered in Muller’s The Tyranny of Metrics and Bregman’s Utopia for Realists. I have found inspirational material in all three books for my roles championing equality, diversity and inclusion at my university and as chair of DORA, an organisation campaigning to reform research evaluation. All three authors are searching for ways to repair the damage done to ideas of the ‘public good’ by the relentless machinations of the market**. I will surely draw on their wisdom in the year to come.

Translations - the stage at the National Theatre

And finally, I went back to Brian Friel’s Translations, a play I first saw in Boston in the mid-1990s and then again a couple of weeks ago at the National Theatre in London. Although I felt that the drama was ill served by the staging in the most recent production, I was sufficiently stirred to revisit a text that is a richly layered meditation on language, history, memory, and belonging.

None of the above does proper justice to the books or their authors but I hope it might light a few flickers of interest for some people. I have already embarked upon my first title for 2020, Oliver Morton’s The Moon: a history of the future, which even in the first chapter is proving to be poetically entrancing.

 

*About half the authors in Nikesh Shuklah’s edited collection, The Good Immigrant, are women.

**While I’m on the subject of the ‘public good’, let me also recommend Michael Sandel’s lecture, A New Politics of Hope, a humane and much-needed response to the populism that seems to have overtaken the UK and the US.

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My carbon bootprint

What was your carbon footprint for 2019? Mine was more of a bootprint, almost entirely because of flying.

Airplane - B&W

International travel has long been considered one of the perks of academic life, something that lifted the job out of the ordinary and cemented our membership of a trans-national community of scientists and scholars. Over the years I have travelled to Grenoble and Hamburg for experiments, to Tokyo and Honolulu for meetings with collaborators, and to places like Beijing, Santiago (in Chile) and New York for scientific conferences.

For much of that time, though I may have travelled far, the trips were relatively infrequent. Some years, particularly early in my research career, I did not venture beyond these shores. Now that I have clocked up a few more years and moved into management and policy work, I have also been clocking up the air-miles.

2019 was my worst year yet. By my count, I gave at least 26 invited talks over the last twelve months, 16 of them outside the UK. I travelled abroad on five further occasions on university business and to attend grant panel and advisory board meetings. I also flew to Ireland six times to visit my elderly parents, and my wife and I treated ourselves to a trip to Marrakech at Easter. As well as keeping count of the number of journeys, I was moved this year to tot up the amount of carbon dioxide added to the atmosphere by my travels. The results are pretty shocking.

There are a variety of online tools with to help you work out the impact of your air miles,  which (from my limited testing) give similar results. More or less at random I used the calculator at www.carbonfootprint.com, and got the results below.

Carbon Footprint from flying in 2019

These numbers are a bit squishy because there are factors that are tricky to take into account. For example, long-haul is ‘better’ than short-haul, because taxiing and take-off use proportionately more energy; and newer planes are more energy-efficient. The tally also depends on how many of the seats on the plane are occupied and where you are sitting: fuller planes and economy seats that take up less room are less damaging to the environment per passenger mile. You can also choose in this calculator (as I have done) to take account of radiative forcing, the increased effect on global warming of carbon emissions at high altitude – which increases your total by a factor of about 1.9.

Even so, I will assume that the resulting tally is reasonably robust and mine is very large. By flying for work I effectively added 20.6 tonnes of CO2 into the atmosphere and a further 4.0 tonnes because of family visits and that trip to Marrakech, making a grand total of 24.6 tonnes. That compares to the annual total for each UK citizen (averaged over all domestic, industrial and commercial activities, including transport) of about 5.6 tonnes. That number is 8.6 for the average EU citizen, 16.1 in the USA, 2.4 in Brazil, 1.9 in Morocco and 0.6 in Nigeria (see Wikipedia for the full list).

Globally, transport accounts for about 22% of carbon dioxide emissions. Of the various modes of transport flying is the most damaging (closely followed by cars with a single passenger). As someone who commutes to work by train and tube, I don’t do many miles by car each year, but clearly my flying habits are problematic. Not only am I among the 15% of British people who take 70% of all domestic and international flights, I am in the 1% that takes over twelve flights a year.

Although almost all of my trips in 2019 have been due to my work to promote equality, diversity and inclusion in higher education, and to advance DORA’s campaign to reform research assessment in the academy, my efforts to make the world a better place are undermining climate campaigners who are trying – increasingly desperately – to save the planet from harm. I might allow myself some mitigation because of the nature of my work, but there’s an obvious dilemma here and I need to cut back on my travelling. But how?

There are some practical measures I can take. I already make pretty good use of the train where the time-penalty is minimal to non-existent – always within the ‘mainland’ UK and for trips to Paris, Brussels and Amsterdam. With better planning (and websites like www.seat61.com), I should be able to extend the range of my train-travel but there are practical limits on that. When invitations come in, I will also think harder about whether I should accept and ask more pointed questions about the purpose of the meeting and the size of the audience. I can also consider alternatives to me taking the trip. For DORA-related invitations, for example, I can do more to call on members of our steering committee and international advisory board who may be geographically closer to the host (I have already done this for a meeting I was invited to in New York next summer). And although giving a talk by video-link is still very much a second-best option, both because of the unreliability of the technology and the loss of face-to-face contact that is still so enriching in this networked age, I’ll start seriously considering that as an option as well.

These are small steps – probably too small. I don’t imagine for a moment that Greta Thunberg will be impressed. It is at least a start, but to help me go further – and perhaps be more radical – maybe you can leave a comment to say what you are doing to reduce your carbon bootprint?

 

Posted in Science, Scientific Life, Travel | 10 Comments

Time for reflection

I think of Sunday as the last day of the week, not the first. Today, at the end of a hard week on political and personal fronts (though why the political and personal should be seen as separate I am not sure), I flew to Ireland to visit my parents. I am writing this on the plane back to London.

Flying to Ireland

This week’s election has come and gone and delivered a result that leaves the country in a deeply worrisome state. The Conservative victory was built on simplistic sloganeering, evasion of hard questioning and the scattering of misleading claims across social media. It’s a strategy that can win elections but which, if a divided and mis-managed opposition can get its act together, will unravel as soon as reality bites. 

There will surely be a heavy reckoning, but it may take longer than many of us might hope for the hard hand of consequence to be felt. In the meantime, the Conservative manifesto and Johnson’s autocratic instincts present clear and present dangers to core national institutions such as parliament, the judiciary and the BBC and Channel 4. 

Prime Minister Johnson may have warm words now about the need to “let the healing begin” but this is a man whose defining feature is a lack of care for the truth. There is no point in listening to what he says. His government must be judged solely on its actions. Perhaps, perhaps (why is hope so slow to die?) because of the surprising Conservative victories in traditional Labour strongholds in Wales and the north of England, he means what he says about investing in the NHS? My hard head resists. So let us keep count of the number of nurses and the actual levels of investment. 

As far as science is concerned, there may be a promise to double the R&D budget, but let us keep watch on what really happens. Science is Vital may have hung up its boots, but I hope CaSE will continue to keep government R&D policy under the microscope. 

Johnson’s determination to wrench the UK out of the EU, on a timetable that no-one who understands international trade relationships thinks credible, will surely damage our participation in multilateral funding schemes that are the envy of the world. The groundwork for that was laid by the blinkered and venal anti-internationalism of Theresa May’s tenure; the Daily Mail might have crowed, but our foreign colleagues were left scratching their heads at Britain’s loss of contact with the realpolitik beyond our shores. Johnson might be cut from more liberal cloth but we can take little solace from his advisor Dominic Cummings’ professions of interest in research. For all the words that he has expended in his blog posts on the topic, Cummings has yet to steer his boss to a plan for R&D investment that makes scientific sense; or one that attempts to bridge the divides exposed by Brexit between those who are comfortable with Britain’s place in Europe and those who are not. 

It is all so horribly depressing – government by mendacity and an opposition in disarray. But we cannot afford to lose hope. Life must stumble on and somehow we must find a way to reconnect politics with integrity and with what’s real. 

In the meantime, at the personal level, life cannot help but stumble on. Sometimes it stumbles to a halt. To the dreadful election results of last week I have to add news of the death of my sister-in-law’s father – a kinder Englishman you could not wish to meet – and the passing of the father of a good friend in France. The first was expected and feared, the second a saddening shock. And then today I visited my own parents – ailing, confused and upset. The candle gutters; theirs has been a hard year. I look at them, once so strong, and fear selfishly for my own future.

Stage set for Translations

The week was leavened by my birthday, celebrated with our grown-up children at a production of Brian Friel’s Translations which, though a tad disappointing on some technicalities of the staging, still had the power to stir this Irish heart.

So I’m not done yet. While I still have my wits about me, I can hope for a better future and keep on trying to do something about it. 

 

Posted in Science, Science & Politics, Scientific Life | 1 Comment