Mercury,
May/June 1996 Table of Contents
(c)
1996 Astronomical Society of the Pacific
With
his wrists locked tightly together, he could barely even swat the
mosquitoes in his cell. Wang Juntao, physicist and political activist,
had been arrested by the Chinese authorities for helping to organize
the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989. In jail, an unsterilized
needle poisoned Wang with hepatitis B; for a year the prison guards
denied him medical care. But as a result of appeals by the American
Association for the Advancement of Science and other scientific
societies, and an invitation by the National Institutes of Health
to bring Wang to the United States for medical treatment, the Chinese
authorities finally released him after five years of captivity:
April 23, 1994.
"It
may only be realized after China becomes democratic that scientists
in China have played such an important role," Wang wrote in the
winter 1995 AAAS Science & Human Rights newsletter.
And not only in China. The 1995 AAAS Directory of Persecuted
Scientists documents the cases of 526 scientists, engineers,
and health professionals in prisons the world over.
These
scientists embody the "public persona" that National Science Foundation
director Neal Lane has implored American scientists to adopt. As
we talk to -- and listen to -- the public about the benefits of
research, we need to speak of science not only as a provider of
goods, but also as a moral pillar of society.
For
many, this feels awkward. Studying the stars, a political act? Solving
equations, an affirmation of human rights? Many shake their heads
in wonder when they hear of Palestinian students who risked arrest
by sneaking onto closed campuses to work in labs, or the Ph.D.s
granted by University of Sarajevo in the depths of siege.
"Many
scientists consider their job to be science, narrowly defined,"
wrote Carl Sagan in The Demon-Haunted World, "and
believe that engaging in politics or social criticism is not just
a distraction from but antithetical to the scientific life." But
why? The very process of science -- its skepticism, its openness,
its self-criticism -- is, as Sagan put it, "a bulwark of a free
society." Sagan argued that "the openness of science and democracy,
their willingness to be judged by experiment, [are] closely allied
ways of thinking." Science has dispelled superstitions, such as
witchcraft, that used to turn people against one another; it has
promoted a skepticism that spills into all areas of life; it has
proven not only that people can work together across ethnic and
cultural lines, but that they achieve more when they do so.
The
Copernican Revolution and the Enlightenment, the philosophical movements
that created liberal democracy, began with scientific advances.
Today the social consciousness of science lives on in Scientific
American, the Federation of American Scientists, Pugwash.
As
a society evolves, so too must the role of science. Sagan characterized
science as the uneasy cohabitation of skepticism and wonder. His
and other discussions have focused on the skepticism. But Americans
today are skeptical, to a fault; we have little faith in
our collective ability, expressed through government, to improve
our society. What our public life lacks is the wonder: the idea
that together we can and will build a better society, that public
policy is a set of experiments to this end, and that disagreements
can channel rather than sap our energies. The slow retreat of Americans
to our private spheres, our familiar enclaves, is ultimately as
threatening to our science as direct oppression is to science in
dictatorships, for science is a public pursuit.
To
join the AAAS human-rights action network, send email to listserv@gwuvm.gwu.edu;
write "subscribe AAASHRAN firstname lastname" in the body of
the message.
Illustration
caption
"Crisis"
in Chinese. The Chinese word for "crisis" consists of two characters:
wei ("danger") and gi ("opportunity") --
something to ponder whenever you think about the crisis in Western
astronomy. Calligraphy by Xuan Hong. |
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