Guest Post: Raise Your Voices
This post comes from an awesome WomanOfScience friend of mine. I hope you enjoy!
This post is about one of my first real experiences with gender bias, as a new PI in {life} science.
During my first year of being a new PI, I was invited to participate in a small workshop in my field. There were only about 80 of us, with most of us being PIs. It was an intense 4 day meeting alternating between talks and long, open-ended discussions about important issues in our research area. In many ways, it was fantastic.
However, I quickly noticed something that I found to be a bit concerning. While the organizers commended themselves for ensuring that almost half of the participants were women, I noticed that women almost never spoke during the extensive questions-and-answers sessions after each talk, nor did they ever participate in the lengthy “open” discussion periods. As a new PI in my field, still trying to get the lay of the land, I was hyper-aware of what my female role models were doing. And I was a bit dismayed that even the full professors who were women were not speaking up.
At first, I wondered, “Am I right about this? Am I just not noticing when women speak? Is my own unconscious bias coming through by dismissing their contributions? Or, are women really not speaking?” So, during the second day, I began to keep count. I made a tally every time someone spoke up, whether it was a male or female.
By the end of that second day, it was clear. Less than 10% of the questions or comments were from women, despite the fact that over 40% of the attendees were women. And several of the few questions from women were from me, the most junior female PI in the room. (I have always been pushed to ask questions of speakers, by my graduate and post-doctoral mentors, so I try to speak up as much as possible.)
But I was disturbed that women were not being equally represented in the discussions. One thing that I noticed was that, oftentimes, the men in the room seemed completely unfazed to spout some random off-the-wall idea that potentially made no sense at all, just to get conversation started. They weren’t concerned that their idea might sound idiotic. They weren’t concerned that their words might mean that they were incompetent.
In my (limited) experience, WOMEN DO NOT DO THIS. Women are careful to only state ideas that they perceive to be “important”. And since women appear to be uncertain whether their ideas actually are important, they rarely speak up at all. Why is this?
One answer comes from a really interesting article that I read just before I went to this conference.It discussed how transgendered people who have transitioned can provide interesting insights into how men and women are perceived differently. My favorite quote in the article comes from Joan Roughgarden, a biologist at Stanford who used to be male until late in her career. She says “men are assumed to be competent until proven otherwise, whereas a woman is assumed to be incompetent until she proves otherwise.”
Unfortunately, I have found this to be the case. I will admit, I was not nearly as aware of this bias when I was a graduate student at a top tier research university. In my class of around 30 students, 75% of us were women. I was not even aware of gender bias when I was a postdoc. Of course, I had heard of and read about unconscious bias. But I had not seemed to experience it myself or noticed any impact on my own career. It was only once I became a PI that I began to notice gender bias in my workplace in any real way.
I have long heard that one way to combat gender bias is to make sure that more people are aware of it, when it occurs, so we can at least pay attention to our unconscious bias and figure out ways to deal with it. Thus, at the bar at the conference that second evening, after I had discovered that only 10% of the questions were from women, I decided to bring it up among a small circle of friendly colleagues. It seemed natural to do so. It was a group of just a few of us, people in my sub-field who have known each other for years, a mix of 1 man and 3 women. Someone else had brought up the fact that women and men were almost equally represented at the meeting, and “Wasn’t that so great?” So I then replied, “Yeah, it’s great that the organizers did such a wonderful job. But you know what’s a little funny? Women are only asking about 10% of the questions, and they aren’t participating at all in the open discussions.” The women in my group made no reply. But the man said, “Are you sure? That can’t be right.” And I answered, “No, I am right. I actually counted today.” The guy was silent for a moment, looked at me right in the eyes, and said, “Well, then I think that you should spend more time thinking about science and less time counting how many questions are being asked by women.”
I was dumbstruck. I had asked more questions in that group than any other woman in the room, and his response is that I should be asking even more? And that it wasn’t possible for me to think about science and tally male/female counts at the same time? And that he didn’t see that it was an issue that women weren’t speaking up? And that he didn’t respect the fact that I might see it as an issue, as a new woman to the field? Two years later, this guy is still a close friend and colleague, a true supporter of me and my career. But he appears to be clearly unaware of gender bias in the scientific world, and how its insidious nature can undermine the confidence of women scientists.
My own response to my observation has been to continue to do what I can – to speak up when I can – to try to be a role model for other, younger women scientists to speak up and not be afraid. My students are REQUIRED to ask questions at seminars and meetings. And I teach them to not be concerned about sounding stupid. That I prefer them to be perceived as engaged and perhaps naive, rather than silent. Because if you are silent, you aren’t bringing anything at all to the table.
So, my call to other women scientists is to speak up. Speak your mind. Even when you are unsure of your ideas. Share your questions with others. Isn’t that what science is about? Asking questions that we don’t know the answers to?
More recently, now that I’ve been a PI for longer, I’ve become even more comfortable asking questions and speaking up. At the last meeting that I went to (about 300 attendees), I was again the most visible woman. I probably asked 2-3 questions each day of the 3 day meeting. I thought that most of my questions were pretty stupid. But I asked them anyway, especially when no one else seemed to be interested in doing so. At the end of the meeting, a huge leader in my field came up to me and told me that he had to meet me and share with me that he was so impressed with my “wonderful questions” and that I had been “more impressive than any junior female PI he has ever seen at a conference before in his 30+ years” of being a PI.
While I was glad that he noticed me and complimented my participation, and I am hopeful that my visibility might be a good model for the many, many young women in the audience that asked no questions at all, I do still find it a rather sad state of affairs that this guy had never seen a junior woman ask multiple questions at conferences before (or, at least, not recall seeing it). I will note that he (and everyone else that I spoke with) was also incredibly impressed by my grad student who accompanied me, as she asked several questions, as well. She was the only female graduate student to ask any questions during this meeting.
And while I’m hopeful that other women saw our examples, I also am concerned that most women are still too insecure and uncertain to ask questions themselves. Or, they simply do not realize just how valuable it can be to be visible. But one thing I’ve learned is that succeeding in academia (and life, really) requires me to confront my fears head on – to run into them. I used to be terrified – terrified – of public speaking. My fight or flight response was on full blast when I asked questions, when I spoke in front of people. But I forced myself to do it anyway. When I commended my student after she asked questions by telling her how brave she was, she replied that she was not brave, that rather, she “was terrified.” I explained that being brave does not mean that you are not afraid. Being brave means you do something EVEN THOUGH you are afraid.
So, I now make it one of my main goals to talk about my own insecurities, my own fears, and the importance of speaking up and being visible, whenever I have the opportunity to speak with students and postdocs. I am hopeful that the more times women hear it, the more likely there will be change. And that someday, when I go to a meeting, there will be just as many women asking questions as men.
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