How to communicate science

Specialists can help

In early May, I hosted a workshop on disseminating economic history. This post is the first of a three-part series inspired by this workshop.

In the thick of this year’s heated debate over raising VAT in South Africa, economics professor Imraan Valodia noticed a strange omission. Despite substantial research – including his own – showing that South Africa’s VAT system is not especially regressive thanks to extensive zero-rated basic goods, virtually no journalists referenced any of this evidence. The gap was striking, considering the VAT hike controversy nearly brought the government to its knees, as Imraan put it. It is not an isolated case: time and again, important research fails to surface in major public debates or policy decisions. Why does this keep happening?

At a recent workshop in Stellenbosch, this question drew a blunt consensus: the incentives are misaligned for everyone involved, whether researcher, journalist, or policymaker. Academic researchers are rewarded for niche, internationally recognised studies, not for public-facing work; journalists must churn out attention-grabbing news on tight deadlines; policymakers are left to navigate a maze of information with little time to consult evidence. The result is that a vital link is missing. The argument for specialist science communicators starts here.

Academic economists, and researchers more broadly, are primarily rewarded for producing world-class research aimed at international journals, where methodological innovation and rigour are what count, rather than local relevance. As economics professor Dieter von Fintel observed, if you are publishing in the American Economic Review, you will never speak to a policymaker in South Africa. To get published in top journals, South African economists often have to explain or even downplay all the local ‘weirdness’ of our economy to a foreign audience. Once you are on that track, you risk losing touch with what matters at home. In essence, academics face a tough choice: speak to South African concerns or cater to a global academic audience. It is hard to do both.

This divide in incentives goes even deeper, shaping the very questions that researchers choose to ask. The so-called ‘credibility revolution’ in economics has emphasised rigorous causal methods, improving reliability. Yet, as economics researcher Josh Budlender pointed out, it also pushes scholars towards narrower, highly specific questions that are easy to answer with sophisticated methods, but not necessarily the questions anyone in the public cares about. The drive for technical credibility sometimes leaves academic work policy-irrelevant, or simply too esoteric for public debate. Comparative politics scholar Ken Opalo went further, arguing that academics often rush to causal identification without describing the actual problem, and sometimes end up providing answers to made-up questions. Hyper-specialisation and a fixation on method can leave valuable research stranded far from public relevance.

There is a further barrier: public engagement is seldom incentivised. Few universities count media work or public outreach in promotion decisions. In one University of Michigan survey, over half of faculty said they felt public engagement was not valued by tenure committees, while many worried about being misquoted or drawn into controversy. Younger academics may be more eager to engage, wanting to make a difference outside academia, but they are swimming against the current. Even when they do step forward, academics are trained to be experts in a narrow slice of their field. From the outside, a professor of economics is expected to comment on any economic issue; inside academia, it is considered bad form to stray outside one’s sub-specialty. Historian Bronwen Everill pointed out that many scholars simply do not want to be seen as speaking for someone else’s research, or stepping on a colleague’s toes. As a result, even when academics could add value, they stay silent in wider debates.

If academics are hesitant to reach out, many journalists face the opposite challenge: desperate for expertise, but under immense pressure to produce copy at speed and often on topics outside their comfort zone. South Africa’s media landscape, like much of the world’s, has seen newsrooms depleted and specialisation eroded. News24 editor Helena Wasserman described how today, news outlets are not just competing with each other but with Netflix and TikTok for attention. The consequence is that journalists must produce information that is concise, immediate, and engaging, even if it comes at the expense of nuance or context. Fewer specialist science writers remain, both here and abroad. Last year, National Geographic laid off its entire writing staff, and Popular Science closed its printed magazine, making deep cuts to its staff as well. General assignment journalists now cover topics ranging from crime to climate science, with little time or support for in-depth reporting on research.

This situation has bred a trust gap between academia and journalism. Academics worry, sometimes with good reason, that journalists will oversimplify or sensationalise their work. Valodia admits that he turns down most requests from journalists, because often the reporter has not done their homework and simply wants a quick quote or a ready-made take. Many researchers have stories of seeing their work misrepresented, their careful findings reduced to misleading headlines or soundbites. Claire Bisseker, a seasoned financial journalist, recognises this from the other side: the limitations of the news cycle are not well suited to drawing out nuanced, ambiguous conclusions. She noted that in her experience, it is rare for an academic economist to reach out proactively. The request almost always comes from the journalist, and when academics do respond, they are often unwilling to speak beyond a narrow area of expertise, making big-picture analysis hard to come by. Add the fact that junior journalists may lack editorial support or scientific background, and that editors sometimes choose attention-grabbing headlines over accuracy, and the potential for misunderstanding only grows.

Where does this leave us? The answer that emerged at our workshop is that we need a new kind of specialist to bridge academia, journalism, and policymaking. This person, whether referred to as a science communicator or knowledge broker, must understand research in its full complexity, but also know how to translate those findings into clear, accessible stories for the public and provide useful insights for policymakers. Knowledge brokers have described themselves as bridges between evidence and decision-making, using transparent methods to find, analyse, and communicate research for different audiences. Their credibility rests not only on technical skills but on trust, on being seen as unbiased and reliable in a noisy media environment. While policy analysts, university communicators, and science journalists all play parts of this role, the need is for professionals who specialise in this work, building deep relationships with researchers and understanding the needs of both policymakers and the public.

Specialist communicators are not just translators of jargon. They can surface relevant research at critical moments, as when a VAT hike is being debated, and help journalists and officials access the evidence that matters. They know how to provide context and narrative, not just numbers or academic caveats. Policy influence, after all, often depends on timing, framing, and understanding political incentives. A communicator who speaks both the language of academia and the rhythms of public discourse can frame research so it resonates without sacrificing accuracy. Policy, as several at the workshop argued, is built on more than just evidence; it also depends on understanding how narratives and incentives shape which research matters.

Some moves towards this bridging role are already visible. Some universities have begun strengthening their communications offices, hiring staff with journalism or public relations expertise to bring academic findings to wider audiences. These professionals can help write press releases, craft op-eds, and even turn research into short videos or infographics. Of course, trust remains a challenge; many professors are not thrilled to see years of work reduced to a two-minute clip. Another promising model is The Conversation, a platform where academics write with the help of professional editors, retaining final say over their work while making it accessible and newsworthy. Here, research reaches millions of readers and is tied to current debates, but without fear of distortion. This model illustrates how great science, left alone, does not speak for itself and needs to be made accessible.

But tools and platforms alone are not enough. What really matters is the steady, personal connection that turns research into public knowledge. Specialist communicators can build the long-term relationships that neither academics nor journalists, busy with their own incentives, have the bandwidth to nurture. They gain a deep understanding of a field, build trust with its researchers, and learn what policymakers and the public need to know. As Bisseker suggested, one of the most effective things a researcher can do is to find a trusted specialist writer and build a collaborative relationship. A skilled communicator, positioned between research and media, can convey nuance and narrative in equal measure.

Fixing the deep-rooted incentive problems in academia and journalism will not happen quickly. But by supporting specialist communicators, we can start to make a real difference. These professionals are the link between data and debate, between research and action. Imagine if, during the VAT debate, a well-informed communicator had been on hand to summarise the latest research for journalists, or to go on radio and explain why conventional wisdom was wrong. The public would have heard hard evidence, not just rhetoric. By investing in these bridging roles – through universities, media organisations, or independent knowledge brokers – we can ensure important research is not lost in journals, but reaches the conversations that matter. That is the case for specialist science communicators.

In the next post in this series, I’ll explore how new media platforms are changing the landscape. For now, the lesson is simple: bridging the gap between science, media, and policy is essential if we want richer public debates and better evidence-informed decisions. Those who can speak all these languages fluently are our best hope of making it happen.

‘How to communicate science’ was first published on Our Long Walk. Thank you for supporting my writing. The images were created with Midjourney v7.