American Scientist

When we talk about harassment in the sciences, the focus is often on the most scandalous cases—and there are plenty of recent ones to choose from, such as the one that induced astronomer Geoffrey Marcy to retire in 2015 from the University of California, Berkeley, amid public outrage, or the incidents that sparked the resignations last year of molecular biologist Jason Lieb from University of Chicago and paleoanthropologist Brian Richmond from the American Museum of Natural History. A slew of scandals and lawsuits over the past several years have demonstrated that scientists guilty of sexual harassment have repeatedly been allowed to continue their careers, enabling them to find new victims. But focusing on headline-making cases may avert attention from the underlying issues: institutional tolerance for patterns of behavior, legal or illegal, that create an unwelcoming environment for women and underrepresented minorities—and an incentive structure in academic science that resists changing this atmosphere.

A survey of 474 astronomers that Kathryn Clancy and others published recently in the Journal of Geophysical Research: Planets indicates that 40 percent of women astronomers of color and 27 percent of white women astronomers reported feeling unsafe in the workplace because of their gender or sex, and 28 percent of women of color reported feeling unsafe as a result of their race. However, most white male respondents were unaware of their colleagues’ experiences, a result that points to a knowledge gap that needs to be addressed. For example, 40 percent of the women astronomers reported hearing sexist remarks “sometimes or often” from their peers, in comparison with 23 percent of the men. And 21 percent of women reported hearing such remarks “sometimes or often” from their supervisors, whereas only 5 percent of men reported observing such behavior.

"By focusing on the most egregious harassment, we miss the areas where there is lots of opportunity to change."

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The gap between astronomers of color and white astronomers was similarly large with regard to racist remarks: Twenty-eight percent of astronomers of color reported witnessing racist remarks by peers, but only 9 percent of white astronomers reported it. Katharine Lee, one of the survey’s coauthors and a graduate student in Clancy’s laboratory at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, notes that white men, “even though they are the majority of the workforce in science…are either not seeing [the harassment of others] or they’re not taking the time to see these problems in their surroundings.”

The gaps between the experiences of people of color and whites in the science workplace, and between experiences of women and men, indicate a need for building awareness and providing training. “A lot of places [in academia] don’t even have diversity and cultural awareness training,” Lee says. “They just have general harassment training, and it doesn’t address a lot of issues around cultural stereotyping that can be problematic in the sciences.”

One can at the very least start building awareness, she says, by first considering a few questions: “Does everybody look the same where you work? Have you ever had people stop to think about why that is? Is it on purpose, or is it accidental? Are the tasks in your workplace being distributed fairly? Do you know if there are policies in your workplace [for reporting harassment]? If you don’t know, do you even know whom to ask? Would you feel comfortable in your workplace reporting a problematic behavior?” She asks these questions, she says, because “even if they don’t know of scandals or haven’t seen them in their own workplace, these smaller things lead up to an environment that makes a scandal more likely or makes it more likely that the scandal will be swept under the rug.”

Following standard methodology in the social sciences for studying underrepresented groups, the researchers note that the results from the survey are not necessarily representative of the prevalence of these behaviors, but do indicate their widespread presence. They also note that the survey numbers are probably low, given that these behaviors are often underreported. The workplace experiences of scientists of other gender identities need to be explored too; a small number of nonbinary gender and transgender people responded to the survey, but not enough to include in statistical comparisons.

Differences in workplace experience have noticeable effects. Clancy’s team found that negative experiences affected women’s career opportunities: Eighteen percent of women of color and 12 percent of white women in the survey said that they skipped professional events because they did not feel they would be safe at them. The number of women of color on science faculties has recently decreased, even as the number of white women faculty members has increased. Other studies have shown that both women and people of color experience more workplace incivilities than their white male colleagues, even when these incivilities are not explicitly based on gender or race. Although this phenomenon isn’t confined to the research community, there are aspects of a science career that can exacerbate the problem. “Harassment is not a unique problem,” says Lee. But she points out that lab culture has more “gray areas between when it’s work or not, as opposed to standard office work” and that the way power dynamics are structured makes it difficult for victims to feel safe calling out problematic behavior. For example, the person an early- career researcher works for, their advisor, will also be the person who evaluates whether or not they get a job.

The problems Clancy highlighted among astronomers are found in many fields of science. Her 2014 survey of women doing scientific fieldwork found that 64 percent had experienced harassment and 22 percent had experienced sexual assault while in the field. Remote work often means that it is unclear which institution is responsible, and colleagues work in close conditions. The problem is further complicated by a power dynamic characteristic of these kinds of mistreatment: Women were mostly harassed or assaulted by superiors. Other studies have also shown that people who are more junior in hierarchy are more likely to experience incivility, discrimination, and harassment—especially if they are women.

Lee adds that managers are chosen differently in academic science than in many other workplaces. She says, “A lot of people [in academia] get promoted because they’re good at a topic or skill, and they’ve never been given the management training that people in other fields might have gotten.”

The funding incentives in academic science also deter institutions from addressing harassment if a perpetrator is bringing in money. “There are people who feel like they can’t afford to fire somebody who has brought in a big grant, because they need that money to fund their other operations,” Lee explains. “We need to think more about how to fund good science and good scientists in a way that doesn’t place departments in this financial constraint.”

Revamping Legal Processes

Funding seems to have been a factor in the initial handling of the Marcy case; at first, Marcy was allowed to continue working at the university, even though four women had come forward alleging his inappropriate behavior and an investigation found that he had violated the university’s sexual harassment policy. These high-profile cases and research publications such as Clancy’s have brought renewed attention from the scientific community to this issue. A meeting of a National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM) ad hoc committee studying the effects of sexual harassment in academia met for the third time on June 20–21 in Irvine, California, to discuss the approaches that organizations and individuals can take to address sexual harassment in the scientific workplace. Committee members are compiling a report to guide leaders in science, and will meet again in October.

At the June meeting, several leaders from the University of California (UC) system discussed their efforts to change the legal framework and workplace culture following the high-profile Marcy case. After media stories about Marcy broke in 2015 and several other UC Berkeley faculty resigned after sexual harassment charges in 2016, the university’s faculty, outraged at the lack of discipline in the Marcy case and their lack of say in the matter, called for change. The UC system has dealt with this criticism head-on, putting new policies in place that address past problems, such as a lack of consistency, transparency, and faculty involvement.

Enobong (Anna) Branch, the chancellor’s faculty advisor for diversity and inclusive excellence at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and a social science expert on diversity issues in the workplace, observes that the UC system’s new legal framework “has clear authority lines, along with time lines and feedback loops, and they revised their process to allow for faculty feedback.” At the June meeting, she noted that the UC system has been engaged in a four- to five-year project concerning campus climate. “It started with a survey of all the UC systems, followed with reports, and then the establishment of equity officers who have formalized processes,” explained Branch. “On campuses across the country, these processes are not always that clear.”

These changes stand in clear contrast with the way things once were at UC Berkeley—and the way things still are at many other academic institutions around the country. Engineer Alice Agogino of UC Berkeley said during the June meeting that these policy changes have greatly affected the way such cases are handled: “I was chair of our academic senate about a decade ago. The process then was that the provost and the chancellor had the authority to make decisions themselves, without involving any faculty. There was no transparency; nobody would hear about it; and it never made it to a faculty committee. Some of the high-profile cases like the Marcy case never went to the faculty senate either, because of fear [that members would stand up for accused colleagues]—unjustifiably so, because at Berkeley it was the faculty that pushed back and said, ‘You should have been more aggressive.’”

Cultivating Inclusivity

Although improving the legal framework is imperative, that alone will not be enough to fully cultivate a workplace environment that feels safe and welcoming to diverse scientists, Branch points out. At the NASEM meeting, she noted that “there are real limitations in terms of faculty and department dynamics that the legal framework around harassment doesn’t cover well.”

"If the leader tolerates sexual harassment, more men will do it."

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To address the broader environment, in her first year in her current position Branch undertook a survey of the campus climate, the results of which will be published later this year. Campus climate surveys help academic institutions get a sense of how different people experience their campus—and what gaps need to be addressed. Branch says these surveys help institutions decide what an inclusive environment means to their community. Many problematic behaviors on the spectrum of gender harassment would not be dispelled by legal consequences alone. She explains, “Gender harassment is behavior that’s not necessarily sexual—it’s not intending to lead toward a relationship—but it [encompasses] broader things like objectification of or disdain for women. That [type of] gender harassment in and of itself is not illegal, but it can create a hostile environment. The most egregious harassment is a fraction of what most women experience on a daily basis. By focusing on the most egregious, we miss the areas where there is a lot of opportunity to change.”

Grassroots Efforts to Reduce Risks

Some victims of harassment have not waited for academic leaders to come around. Astronomer Heather Flewelling, now a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Hawai'i, learned of the difficulty victims of harassment encounter, she said, when she was stalked by a colleague. When the stalker showed up at her new apartment soon after she’d begun graduate school, she reported the episode to the police, who responded that they could not do anything without more proof. Later, at a professional meeting, the stalker showed up repeatedly. “It was terrifying,” she said, simply, as she explained her story at the NASEM meeting.

The professional society sponsoring the meeting at which Flewelling was stalked, the American Astronomical Society (AAS), had a code of conduct that prohibited sexual harassment. To report it, however, she had to seek out a senior colleague, tell them her story, and wait for the reporting process to play out. In the meantime, Flewelling had to either leave the conference for the sake of her safety or persevere under conditions of threat.

Spurred by this experience, Flewelling colaunched a grassroots organization called Astronomy Allies, which offers astronomers who have experienced harassment a safe space to be listened to and, if they choose, a place to officially report their harassment or to be supported in other ways. Allies in the program are vetted as first responders to victims of gender harassment. The Allies also began to offer safe walks in groups back to hotel rooms from an unofficial party that many astronomers attend for networking while at the AAS meeting. Astronomy Allies continues to grow and look for ways to improve its support. In addition to cofounding Astronomy Allies, Flewelling gave AAS feedback that they have since used to improve their reporting and response procedures.

A Need for Real Leadership

Although the ingenuity and determination driving grassroots efforts such as Astronomy Allies is worthy of praise, the need for such organizations suggests a lack of leadership on this issue. Paula Johnson, president of Wellesley College and one of the cochairs of the NASEM committee, made this observation during a panel discussion at the June meeting: “Some of these issues are taken up by the most junior people, who have the most at risk. If this is going on at the meetings and senior people know, then why is it, in fact, that the majority of the burden is on relatively junior people?”

Involving men in instituting change is essential. If men see sexual harassment as strictly a women’s issue or don’t consider it a problem, reforms will stall. Lee says, “You would be hard pressed to find a woman who would say that she hasn’t experienced this in her career. People who refuse to see this as a problem are the people that others won’t report incidents to. They help contribute to a workplace that feels hostile and where people don’t feel safe.” Indeed, research by psychologist John Pryor of Illinois State University, who is on the NASEM committee, shows that men who hold sexist beliefs are more likely to harass in certain contexts. “If the leader tolerates sexual harassment, more men will do it,” Pryor said at the June meeting.

One of the panelists at the June meeting, Jackson Katz of the Mentors in Violence Prevention, put it bluntly: “The missing piece has been men’s leadership.” Katz educates men about preventing harassment in a variety of contexts. He says that men have very few opportunities to open up about the ways that gender violence has affected their lives. He elaborated, “One of the key predictors of whether a man will challenge another man or interrupt another man’s abuse is if he thinks that other men agree it’s a problem and that he’s speaking for others who might be agreeing.” Katz said he would like to see science institutions demand that leaders be knowledgeable about these issues.

Researchers of and advocates for diversity and inclusion are in agreement that bridging differences of experience in the science workplace, as well as the knowledge gaps about these differences, will require new policies, training, vision, incentives, and hiring practices. It is no small task, but the good news is that there are clear steps institutions and individuals can take to move forward.