Science communication is beyond objectivity

By Jing-Lei Boschen

Can science communication be objective and neutral, or does communicating science reflect the values and priorities of us as the communicator? Rather than chasing objectivity, science communicators should ensure accuracy, accessibility, rigour and transparency about our perspective and intent.

We’ve been told that science is the gold standard of objectivity: neutral and unbiased. But what if that’s not entirely true? What if the moment that science is communicated – when someone chooses what to focus on, how to frame it and who to tell – the claim of objectivity is already gone?

It’s a question that is already being asked in the field neighbouring science communication: journalism, a profession built on the premise of truth, which is in the midst of a full-blown remodelling of objectivity. The arguments on both sides have a lot to teach science communicators.

Factual ≠ objective

Accuracy and objectivity are not the same thing. Accuracy refers to whether the information is correct – are the facts right, the figures verified and the claim supported by evidence? In contrast, objectivity refers to a freedom from personal bias or subjective interpretation – in theory, the account reflects reality rather than the perspective of the person conveying it. A piece of science communication can be completely factual, every claim verifiable, every figure correct, and still not be objective.

Science becomes objective when we try to communicate it. For example, which studies are covered? Which findings lead the piece, and which are ignored? Which experts are quoted, and who doesn’t get interviewed? Each of these choices reflects the priorities, assumptions and values of the individual writer.

Journalism has wrestled with this same problem. In 2023, Leonard Downie Jr., former executive editor of The Washington Post, published a piece arguing to move beyond objectivity. At its core, his argument was a pointed question: objective by whose standards? The traditional standard for objectivity has historically reflected a white, male, educated and relatively wealthy perspective, leaving countless communities without representation.

Not everyone agreed. Martin Baron, who succeeded Downie in that same Washington Post position, made the opposite case in 2024. Baron didn’t see objectivity as a flawed professional habit to be discarded, but the foundation of public trust. He argued that the objectivity of science ‘is at the very heart of our faith in the food we eat, the water we drink and the medicines we take.’ To move beyond objectivity, in his view, is not to pursue truth more honestly, but to risk the credibility that makes truth worth communicating at all.

This ‘objective’ stance matters enormously for issues like climate change, where defaulting to the so-called ‘balance’ of giving equal airtime to opposing viewpoints regardless of the evidence behind them results in a distorted picture. This is referred to as ‘both-sidesism’, the practice of treating two positions as equally credible even when the scientific consensus overwhelmingly favours one. In the case of climate change, this looks like presenting a climate scientist alongside a climate sceptic as though their views carry equal weight. It doesn’t reflect balance but instead actively misleads audiences about where the evidence actually sits. Often the stories we need to hear most are from the people who have lived them. Moving beyond a false standard of objectivity isn’t about abandoning truth, but pursuing it more honestly through people who truly reflect the community their reporting affects.

Baron pushes back on these points. He acknowledges that objectivity has been compromised by pretending that all assertions deserve equal weight, even when scientific evidence shows they don’t. Genuine objectivity, he argued, is more demanding: it requires an open mind, a rigorous method and a duty to report what you find to be fact.

All research has a purpose

In the discussion on objectivity, it helps to separate 2 distinct things: science as a practice and science communication as a craft. The case for objectivity is strongest when applied to the practice. A well-designed experiment produces results that are, in principle, independent of who ran it. For example, the melting point of ice is the same no matter who measures it, or whether it is measured in Tokyo or Melbourne.

The scientific process of peer review, replication, and open methodology exists to filter out individual bias and produce findings that stand up to scrutiny. From this viewpoint, the core data is as close to objective as possible.

However, the choices of what to study, how to design the experiments, and which results to show shape everything downstream. Every study is funded by someone, motivated by something and designed to answer a question that someone wanted answered. Governments, grant funding bodies, and research organisations have specific priorities. This doesn’t mean the results are false, but it does mean that the landscape of available scientific knowledge could be skewed to reflect these priorities.

A look at the archives: was it ever objective?

If objectivity leaves when we communicate science, it’s worth asking whether it was ever present in the archives.

In the early volumes of Nature, published in the 19th century, you will not find the impersonal, passive voice that we associate with scientific publications today. The prose is in first-person, descriptive and argumentative. This matters, but maybe not for the reason you might think.

Here is where an important distinction is necessary. A passive voice and an objective voice are not the same thing. A passive voice is a grammatical structure, it emphasises the action over the actor. In contrast, objectivity is a commitment to facts independent of personal feeling or agenda. A sentence written in first person can still be focused on purely observable facts, and a sentence written in a passive voice can carry a strong point of view.

So, the question for the early Nature volumes is not whether it used a passive voice (it did not) but whether it was still objective in the deeper sense. Was it focused on facts? Was it independent of personal feeling? 

Nature has acknowledged that its early volumes sometimes contain offensive and harmful language, including sexist, racist and other discriminatory content that would not be appropriate to publish today. This leads us to believe that it wasn’t entirely objective.

A 1921 Nature editorial titled ‘Anthropology and Empire’ argued that science should help govern ‘our subject races’ and that ‘when European culture comes intimately and extensively into touch with a lower culture,’ anthropology could smooth the process. Notice what is absent: any acknowledgement that these are value judgements. The point is presented not as political but as a given, the ‘neutral’ background against which science makes its observations.

Truman Capote complicated this further when he published In Cold Blood in 1966. The book began as a newspaper clipping – a brief report of the murder of a Kansas farming family. In a 1966 interview with George Plimpton, editor of The Paris Review, Capote described In Cold Blood as a narrative form that ‘employed all the techniques of fictional art but was nevertheless immaculately factual.’ Plimpton, who conducted the interview, described it as ‘remarkable for its objectivity – nowhere despite his involvement, does the author intrude.’ Yet, Capote’s sympathy, structural choices and narrative framing are visible throughout the piece. His point that voice and literary craft do not automatically corrupt factual truth showed that the line between objective and beyond objectivity was always thinner than we thought.

Science communicators face that same tension. The choices are always there: what to cover, how to frame it, who to interview and what metaphor to reach for. These are not neutral decisions, and pretending they are does not make science communication more objective. But there is a reasonable case for restraint. A science communicator who makes their perspective too visible risks undermining the credibility of the evidence itself, giving audiences a reason to dismiss the message rather than engage with it.

Perhaps the more honest question is not whether science communicators should have a point of view, but whether the field is ready for them to be transparent about the one they already have.

So, what should science communication be?

If objectivity is truly unattainable, or even unwanted, then the question is not how to achieve it. Barons’ argument that objectivity was never meant to be a view from nowhere but was meant to be a practice – the discipline of seeking evidence and following wherever it leads. By that definition, the two sides may not be as far apart as they seem.

The important question then becomes: what should we ask of science communicators instead?

Even amongst the debate of objectivity, 4 things seem crucial to hold onto.

The first is accuracy. Whatever else science communication does, it cannot distort the evidence. As we’ve discussed, accuracy is not the same as objectivity, but it is not optional either.

The second is accessibility. If science communication exists to inform and engage people with science, then clarity is crucial. The goal is not to oversimplify the science but to translate it and present it in a way that allows readers to engage with the evidence. This involves choices on what content to cover first, what to leave out and what metaphors and examples to reach for.

The third is to treat science communication like science itself. Have a process, method and ongoing curiosity. Test, revise, and seek out information that contradicts your views, and remain open to being wrong. Science communicators who apply that process to their practice are in a better place to convey facts to their audience.

The fourth is to be transparent about your call to action. A call to action is, by definition, an attempt to move someone towards a particular outcome or action. Perhaps, if we are trying to adhere to objectivity, this is where science communication should stop. The communicator informs, but the reader decides. However, it is also a position that issues such as climate change invite us to reconsider. The evidence is not in dispute among scientists. In this context, the call to action is not an option but is the point of the piece and an opportunity for change.

Perhaps the goal was never objectivity. Perhaps it was something harder, the willingness to be accurate, accessible, methodological and courageous enough to say why it matters. A science communicator who admits their perspective, shows their evidence and stands behind their conclusions may be far more trustworthy than one who hides behind the appearance of neutrality. The human part of science communication is not the problem – it is what makes science resonate, what turns data into meaning and meaning into action.

The question is no longer whether science communication is objective. It is whether to fight for what objectivity should have always been, or move beyond it entirely.