A few years ago, I had a chance to bring Bill Nye into a story about the Great Lakes. He was running the Planetary Society — Carl Sagan’s old post — and had millions of science-hungry followers. My pitch was simple: connect the public's fascination with space to the mysteries of Earth’s own unexplored frontiers — deep freshwater sinkholes in Lake Huron, ancient ecosystems, and the links to alien oceans like those on Jupiter's moon Europa.
It was a ready-made narrative bridge, and Bill was in.
This wasn’t hypothetical. I had direct contact with Bill’s second-in-command. He was confirmed as interested. I brought the proposal to the head of communications at my office within NOAA. There was interest there too. But then, everything stopped. No call. No email. No follow-up. The moment passed.
That missed opportunity wasn’t just frustrating. It was emblematic of a larger, systemic failure in science: a persistent reluctance to prioritize communication, even when the cost is high and the stakes are clear.
Today, scientists are losing jobs. Programs are vanishing. Budgets are being stripped to the bone. This isn’t happening because the science is flawed. It’s happening because science has failed to bring the public along. In the absence of clear narratives, bad ones take root. And as a filmmaker who works at the intersection of research and public awareness, I’ve seen what happens when the story isn’t told.
But I’ve also seen what happens when it is told, and told well.
My film, “The Erie Situation,” explored the causes and consequences of harmful algal blooms in Lake Erie — complex problems shaped by policy, pollution and power. In one scene, we featured a local man who frequently fell ill after spending time on the lake. That moment of human experience helped shift perception of the issue. And more than that, it shifted the course of actual research.
The University of Toledo Medical Center credits the film — and their interaction with our crew — as the inspiration for launching a community health study on the long-term effects of harmful algal blooms. That same man is now part of the study. That’s the power of storytelling when it’s done right.
Stories like this make science visible. They give people a reason to care. My friend Eddie Verhamme, a former president of the International Association for Great Lakes Research, understood this; he was instrumental in guiding our team through the scientific and policy dimensions of the algal bloom crisis. Without his trust and collaboration, the story wouldn’t have reached the public in the way it did. That kind of vision should be the rule, not the exception.
But far too often, researchers and institutions still treat communication as a side task — a luxury, or worse, a risk. The assumption is that science will speak for itself. That assumption is wrong.
We are living in a moment where science is being actively
