By Jeffrey
Mervis Feb. 22, 2018 , 2:00 PM
Last month, Randy Wadkins prepared for the
spring semester at the University of Mississippi by reviewing his notes for the
advanced chemistry course he has taught for many years. Then the professor of
biochemistry, who grew up near the university's Oxford campus and received his
Ph.D. there, forced himself to step outside his comfort zone: He flew to
Washington, D.C., where he asked strangers for money.
Wadkins is running for U.S. Congress, and his
fundraiser took place in a neighborhood restaurant just a few kilometers from
where he would like to be working come January 2019. Wadkins warmed up his
small but enthusiastic audience with a story about picking peas as a child
every Saturday on his grandparents' farm to supplement his family's meager
pantry. It reflects his "I'm just an ordinary person like you"
message to Democrats in Mississippi's first congressional district, who on 5
June will choose a standard bearer to oppose the Republican incumbent in
November.
The candidate voiced his anger about the state
of U.S. politics with the young professionals, who shared his distaste for the
policies of President Donald Trump and the Republican majority in Congress. A
dysfunctional and hyperpartisan House of Representatives, he told them, might
work better if more of its 435 members were scientists like himself. Then came
his pitch: "I'm here to help make that happen, and the first step is by
taking your money."
Wadkins, who studies biomolecular structures
to better understand cancer and how to treat it, is part of what some
commentators are calling a historic groundswell of candidates with backgrounds
in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM). At the federal
level, at least 60 science candidates are bidding for seats in Congress,
according to 314 Action, a D.C.- based nonprofit advocacy group formed 2 years
ago to encourage scientists to engage in politics. The candidates—mostly
firsttimers running for House seats—include a physicist who spent 2 decades at
a prominent national laboratory, a clinical oncologist at a top-rated cancer
center, a former chemistry professor at a 4-year state college, a geologist
trying to document every aspect of a tiny piece of the Mojave Desert, and a
postdoctoral bioengineering fellow. Some 200 people with STEM backgrounds are
also running for state legislative seats, 314 Action estimates, with a similar
number vying for school board and other local- and county-level positions.
Almost all are Democrats energized by what
they regard as a rising antiscience sentiment pervading Washington, D.C.
"I'm afraid we're entering a dark era, with science, reason, and education
under attack," Wadkins told his supporters. "And I think members with
scientific training can help prevent that."
The science vote
Follow our rolling coverage of 2018's science
candidates
But first, science candidates must win their
races. Most face long odds. For starters, voters may be impressed by a
candidate's scientific credentials, but such background is rarely a decisive
factor when they go to the polls. In addition, most of this year's STEM
candidates are political novices who are starting out far behind their
opponents when it comes to knowing how to run a professional campaign.
The demographics of the district can also be a
huge barrier. Even a well-funded and well-run campaign probably won't be enough
for a first-time Democratic candidate to win in a traditionally Republican
district.
Initially, the biggest challenge for most
science candidates is raising money. Those running for a House seat should
expect to spend at least $4 million in the general election, experts say, and
that figure could be much higher in urban areas with costly media markets. A
primary race traditionally costs much less, although this year some candidates
have already raised more than $1 million with their primaries still months
away.
But politicos say the usual rules might not
apply this year. Democratic leaders are hoping for a wave election, one in
which they can flip enough Republican seats to gain control of the House and,
if things go especially well, the Senate. And scientific expertise may be more
important than usual, muses Kyle Kondik, managing editor of Sabato's Crystal
Ball, a widely read election tip sheet run by Larry Sabato, a political
scientist at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.
"Voters are often looking for something
that they don't have now," says Kondik, who is based in Washington, D.C.
"And to the extent that the Trump administration is seen as
anti-intellectual, a candidate with a scientific or medical background may seem
like an attractive alternative."
The first big test for this cohort of science
candidates comes on 6 March, when Texas holds the nation's first primary
elections. Several candidates are running to
become Democratic nominees in that Lone Star state's House districts. Primaries
in other states stretch into September, and then there are only 2 months before
the nationwide general election on 6 November.
Wadkins likes his chances in his
Mississippi primary, where to date only one other person has thrown their hat
into the ring. (The filing deadline is 1 March.) But Wadkins knows that even if
he wins his party's nomination, he'll face a steep climb in trying to unseat
Representative Trent Kelly (R). Trump won the district by 33 points over
Democrat Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential race, and Kelly beat his
Democratic challenger by an even bigger margin.
I’m afraid we’re
entering a dark era, with science, reason, and education under attack.
Randy Wadkins, U.S.
House of Representatives candidate
For the moment, however, Wadkins is focused on
getting his message out: Kelly has been all too willing to fall in line behind
Trump and Republican leaders, and voters need someone who will fight for their
interests. Doing so takes money—a precious commodity in his district.
"I'm a Democrat running in one of the
poorest districts in the poorest state in the nation," he says. So,
Wadkins has cast a wider net, with a fundraiser last fall in Silicon
Valley—organized by a colleague who spent a year at Stanford University in Palo
Alto, California—as well as the January event in the nation's capital.
Wadkins is no stranger to Washington, D.C. In
2015, he took a sabbatical year to work as a congressional science fellow for
Representative Steve Cohen (D–TN) on health care issues. (The program is
managed by AAAS, which publishes Science.)
Although there were no high rollers in the
crowd, which included several other former fellows, Wadkins was pleased to net
$3000. That amount, added to the $55,000 he'd raised by that point, has been
enough to fuel a campaign that competes for attention with his academic duties.
But it is an order of magnitude less than many other candidates around the
country have amassed.
The lawyers, executives, and career
politicians who typically seek federal office often enjoy long-cultivated and
extensive networks of wealthy donors who fuel their campaigns. Scientists
generally lack such networks. And once they reach out to their natural
constituency, they quickly discover that the average scientist isn't rich,
isn't used to contributing to a candidate, and isn't politically active.
"Most academics don't make a lot of
money," says Molly Sheehan, a bioengineering postdoctoral researcher at
the University of Pennsylvania. She's running as a Democrat in the seventh
congressional district of Pennsylvania, an open seat in suburban Philadelphia.
"They also aren't like lawyers, who view their political donations as a
business expense and are willing to shell out $1000," adds Sheehan, who as
of 31 December 2017 had raised about $35,000 and loaned herself $170,000.
"Academic scientists think that $100 is a big deal."
Chemist
Phil Janowicz, who is running for a U.S. House of Representatives
seat in a district near Los Angeles, California, says raising money has
been a major task.
MATT GUSH
Phil Janowicz, a former chemistry professor at
California State University in Fullerton who is seeking the Democratic
nomination for the 39th congressional district in southern California,
typically spends mornings with political activists, in hopes of winning their
backing. In the evenings and on weekends he's knocking on doors and attending
small gatherings to introduce himself to voters in a district that leans
Republican, but went for Clinton in 2016. But the rest of his time is devoted
to fundraising. "I wake up thinking about raising money, and I go to sleep
thinking about raising money," says Janowicz, who runs an education
consulting business with his wife out of his home. "I will spend about 8
hours a day, 6 days a week, raising money."
Those efforts had generated $160,000 by the
end of December 2017, and Janowicz has loaned his campaign an equal amount.
That has allowed him to hire a full-time campaign manager and even open a small
office—a luxury for some candidates.
One science candidate who appears to have
mastered the art of fundraising is Joseph Kopser, a 20-year Army veteran and
entrepreneur with an engineering degree from the U.S. Military Academy at West
Point in New York. He is running as a Democrat in Texas's 21st congressional
district, a Republican stronghold in the central part of the state.
Kopser had amassed $678,000 by the end of
December 2017, far outpacing any of his three primary opponents. In fact,
Kopser claims that his fundraising prowess pushed the Republican incumbent,
Representative Lamar Smith, chairman of the House science committee, into
deciding last fall not to seek a 17th term. (Smith's official statement said
simply that "this seems like a good time" to retire.)
The size of a candidate's war chest is an
imperfect metric of their viability, notes election pundit Kondik. That's
especially true for primary elections, he says, which attract voters who are
likely to be paying attention already. Instead of expensive ads aimed at
swaying undecided voters, primaries require an army of volunteers trying to
boost turnout among those already on your side. Still, Kondik notes dryly,
"Every candidate would rather have more money than less."
Beyond money, candidates need a message
that, ideally, both distinguishes them from their primary opponents and
positions them for the general election. For those with science backgrounds,
that message usually includes references to their training in analyzing large
amounts of data, their adherence to evidence in weighing the issues, and their
conviction that science and technology are essential to the country's future.
"I'm a father of three, a cancer doctor,
and an award-winning researcher from MD Anderson [Cancer Center], and I deal
with facts every day in my job" is how Jason Westin recently introduced
himself at a candidates' forum on climate change in Houston, Texas. Westin, who
until recently ran clinical trials testing treatments for lymphoma, is running
in a crowded field for the Democratic nomination in a House district—the
seventh—that includes Houston's affluent west side. The winner will challenge
the veteran Republican incumbent, John Culberson.
That potential matchup gives Westin another
rhetorical target. "My first commercial describes how I will stand up to
Trump and the Republican Congress against their attacks on science," he
says. "When I'm in Congress I'll use facts and science to fight back for
us."
Geologist
Jess Phoenix, who is running for a House of Representatives seat in California,
is running a bare bones campaign that emphasizes outreach on social media.
JESS PHOENIX CAMPAIGN
Such words are sure to resonate with the
research community. But there is little evidence that a candidate's views on
science influence how people vote. Savvy candidates must find a way to apply
their scientific knowledge to issues—the economy, health care, immigration,
national security, and such social issues as abortion and same-sex
marriage—that voters do care about, says political scientist Norm Ornstein, a
resident scholar at the American Enterprise Institute in Washington, D.C. Along
the way, he adds, they need to avoid talking down to voters and coming across
as know-it-alls.
Kopser, for one, appears to be taking such
advice to heart. In remarks and campaign materials, he emphasizes his military
and business experience and focuses on top-tier issues such as health care and
jobs. Kopser, who founded and sold a transit company focused on optimizing
urban commuting, also calls himself a "clean energy warrior" and
highlights the need to address climate change. But the campaign is careful to
talk about climate in ways it hopes will resonate with different blocs of
voters, says Ian Rivera, Kopser's campaign manager.
"When we're in downtown Austin, we talk
about rising sea levels … and other broad environmental impacts," he
explains—a topic important to urban, liberal audiences. With veterans, climate
becomes "a question of national security. … We talk about how changing
climate patterns dried up crops in eastern Syria," helping fuel the rise
of the Islamic State group. In rural Gillespie County, climate is "a
pocketbook issue" because peach farmers there "are selling North
Carolina peaches at their farmers' markets because the [Texas] winter never got
cold enough to kill the pests."
Money does allow a candidate to use paid
advertising to amplify key talking points. Westin, for example, is using
excerpts from a short campaign video for 30-second ads on CNN. "It's not
possible to knock on 700,000 doors," he explains. "And CNN is a rich
target. Our polling shows that most voters don't really know any of us."
Candidates with fewer resources, however, are
pursuing less expensive ways of getting out their message. Their efforts
include large doses of door knocking and community events, and heavy use of
social media such as Facebook and Twitter.
"I think I can reach people through
social media," says Jess Phoenix, a geologist running in a strong
Democratic field for the chance to oust Republican Steve Knight from the 25th
congressional district in California, which covers the northern suburbs of Los
Angeles. Political groups gave her a lot of advice on how to structure her
campaign, she says, but "it wasn't working for me because it all relies on
having an extensive donor network of rich people. … I want to have my campaign
funded by regular people. If that means I have to do things on a shoestring
budget, I will."
Phoenix has already applied that barebones
approach to a research project she and her husband launched 5 years ago. Dubbed
Blueprint Earth, its goal is to catalog everything from soil microbes to clouds
in a 1-square-kilometer patch of the Mojave Desert. But she acknowledges that
running for Congress has required a whole new level of social media presence.
Patrick Madden, a professor of computer
science at the State University of New York in Binghamton, thinks he has found
a way to help Phoenix and other scientists amplify their reach on social media.
Madden, a Democrat, found himself with some unexpected free time last fall
after he dropped his bid to represent New York's 22nd congressional district to
make way for another candidate backed by the party. He's used it to develop a
website, activeresist.com, that allows science-based candidates to promote two
or three news stories each day.
In essence, Madden says, his software is a
twist on the same techniques that Russian operatives and others have used to
spread fake news and try to influence elections through social media. But
instead of bots pushing content into users' newsfeeds, the retweets and likes
will come from real people, including voters in their districts.
No matter how effective social
media might be at reaching voters, it can't replace the blood, sweat, tears,
and face time that a candidate must put in. And for many science candidates,
that has meant abandoning or dramatically reducing their professional
activities to take up politics.
Physicist
Elaine DiMasi hopes to represent Long Island, New York.
KAREN CURTISS
Last summer, for example, physicist Elaine
DiMasi gave up a tenured position at the Department of Energy's Brookhaven
National Laboratory in Upton, New York, to run in the first congressional
district of New York on Long Island. (As a federal employee she couldn't do
both.) That was a gamble, as election handicappers say she is a long shot in
her bid to win the Democratic nomination and take on two-term incumbent
Representative Lee Zeldin (R).
DiMasi works on deciphering the structures of
biological materials using Brookhaven's National Synchrotron Light Source. It
requires persistence and attention to detail, traits that have also proved
useful as a candidate. "Politics is about showing up," DiMasi says.
"I would go into a room of influential people, and the first three times I
showed up they didn't care. But on the fourth time, they'd say, ‘Oh good,
Elaine's here.’ A scientist might well wonder: ‘What did I do differently?’ I
simply offered myself."
Such persistent networking is part of the
interpersonal skills—she calls them the "politics part of a
campaign"—that are separate from the nuts and bolts of running for office.
And it doesn't come naturally. "You can only learn it from
experience," she says.
In Texas, cancer researcher Westin hasn't
totally quit his state-funded job. Instead, he handed off his clinical trials
to colleagues and reduced his clinical hours to 1 day a week. He did so, he
says, to make sure that nobody could argue that "the state of Texas was
paying me to run for office." The schedule has left him 6 days a week to
campaign.
On 6 March, Westin will find out whether that
was enough. Regardless of whether he and others succeed, however, those who
want the science community to become more active in politics see this year's
campaigns as a wonderful opportunity for scientists to apply their skills and
experience in a new realm. "We're part of a profound experiment,"
DiMasi says, "and I love that."
First up: Texas primaries on 6 March
Lone Star state holds nation's first tests
This year's race to control the U.S. Congress
kicks off with a 6 March primary election in Texas, and scientists are among
the contenders.
In the seventh congressional district on
Houston's affluent west side, clinical oncologist Jason Westin is one of four
candidates seen as having a good shot at the Democratic nomination for a seat
in the House of Representatives. In November, the winner will oppose Republican
incumbent John Culberson, who heads a House subcommittee that sets budgets for
science agencies including NASA and the National Science Foundation. Culberson
has coasted to victory since his first race in 2000. But the district's voters
preferred Democrat Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential race, and Democrats
believe a strong candidate could beat him.
In the 21st congressional district in central
Texas, the retirement of Representative Lamar Smith, the Republican chairman of
the House science committee, has set off a feeding frenzy. Eighteen candidates
are vying for a chance to retain Republican control of a district that
stretches from southern Austin to northern San Antonio.
Four Democrats are hoping an antiRepublican
wave election could allow one of them to capture the open seat. In the mix are
Joseph Kopser, an Army veteran and entrepreneur with an engineering degree, and
Mary Wilson, a former mathematics professor turned minister.
In a third contest, Jon Powell, a retired
geologist, is seeking the Democratic nomination in southeastern Texas's 36th
district, now represented by Republican Brian Babin. But Powell is a decided
underdog: He badly trails his Democratic challenger in raising money, and the
eventual nominee will face long odds, as the district is one of the most
Republican in the nation.
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