Special Report: Where Are Today's Black Scientists?

New Ph.D.'s are at a 10-year low as cultural and educational obstacles keep blacks from careers in science and engineering As ambitions go, Nola Campbell's do not seem grandiose. The senior at Roosevelt High School in Washington, D.C., just wants to get a Ph.D. in chemistry and become a scientist. But the odds are against her, for one simple reason: Campbell is black. The statistics paint a bleak picture of her chances. In 1987 only 222 blacks received Ph.D.s in the sciences and engineering. That number represents 1.8% of all United States doctorates awarded in those areas, although blacks comprise 12% of the country's population. Even more alarming, the number has declined despite years of efforts to offer better educational opportunities to minorities: 10 years ago, blacks received 288 science Ph.D.s. And the decline is unique to blacks. The numbers of new Hispanic and Asian American science doctoral recipients have been rising steadily throughout the decade (see chart). So, can Campbell - one of 11 children in a family that came to the U.S. barely 20 years ago - become one of the few blacks to earn advanced degrees in science? She does have a few things going for her. She attends a high school that is able to nurture her interest in science, a rare quality for most inner-city schools. She has parents who, although not college-educated, stress the value of a college education. She even has a role model - a black woman teacher whose eighth grade basic science course turned her onto the subject. But even a respectable high school record - she maintains a B+ average - might not be enough to boost students like Campbell toward their goal. Blacks entering college typically have poorer academic backgrounds, including grounding in science, than do their white counterparts. Their dropout rate is high. Even those interested in science may be forced to opt for less technical careers. In fact, were it not for a family friend who works in a laboratory at Howard University, Campbell might have fallen into the trap of inadequate preparation. A regular customer at the family's grocery store, the friend used to quiz her about her school work. One day he heard something he didn't like. "`Aren't you taking physics?' he asked me one day," Campbell recalls. "`No,' I said, `I'm taking typing II.' And he said, `You'd better get your act together and take physics.'" By his next visit, Campbell was enrolled in physics. Campbell is also taking advanced chemistry this year - an unusually heavy load at a school where most seniors think more about parties than subatomic particles. But she accepts it as the price she must pay for a career in science. "They call me a nerd," she says about some of her classmates, "but it doesn't bother me. I know I'm not." Still, why should one care whether Campbell - or any other black teenager - becomes a scientist? One possible answer, of course, is that society has a duty to see that its minority members are adequately represented in the professions. But there is a more pragmatic answer as well, one that is being heard increasingly in top science and engineering circles. Put simply, many experts fear that this country's ability to compete in an increasingly technical world is in jeopardy because fewer and fewer U.S. citizens are going into science and engineering. And right now, minorities such as blacks offer a huge and largely untapped pool of potential talent. "It's a national imperative to get high-quality people in technical positions," says Joseph Danek, director of the National Science Foundation's division of research initiation and improvement. "And you need special programs to attract and retain more women and minorities." That need will grow, say Danek and other educational policy experts, because of ominous trends. The overall number of 22-year-olds is expected to decline for the next dozen years. At the same time, the number of college-age white males, the labor pool from which future scientists have traditionally been drawn, is becoming a smaller percentage of the total student body. In fact, by the end of the century blacks, Hispanics, and Asian-Americans will make up 42% of U.S. public school enrollment. By the year 2004, NSF officials predict there will be a shortfall of 8,000 Ph.D.s in the U.S. in the natural and engineering sciences. That shortfall stems not only from the shrinking pool of college students, but also from science's failure to win the hearts and minds of the nation's undergraduates. Business is now the most popular major on college campuses, attracting fully 20% of all students. In contrast, barely 10% of students graduate with degrees in the physical and biological sciences. Reports a 1986 study by Harvard researchers: "Science is [viewed as] important but boring." But if attracting middle-class whites to science is difficult, finding future scientists among today's minority youth is a particularly daunting task. Blacks especially are often alienated from the process that leads to a career in science. "Many students, when they get to the 12th grade, don't know what scientists do," says Leonard Wilmer, chairman of the division of natural sciences at predominantly black Southern University in Shreveport, La. "They haven't seen a black scientist at work, and they don't know anything about the occupation. They are influenced by sports more than anything else." The low overall economic status of blacks also plays a part. "High school students of lower socioeconomic status are much less likely to plan science and engineering majors than are those of high socioeconomic status," reports the congressional Office of Technology Assessment in a recent report. An informal survey by The Scientist of established black scientists turned up a nearly homogeneous sampling of middle-class scholars, many of whose parents or relatives were professionals. The inner-city black from an impoverished, uneducated family who overcomes his or her background to earn a Ph.D. is a rare breed. In fact, none of the education experts or black scientists contacted by The Scientist could cite even one example. Yet a comfortable upbringing alone is only one ingredient in the recipe for a science career. For blacks, as well as whites, it often takes a role model. Mondibo K, for example, a third-year biology major at Morehouse College in Atlanta, traces his interest in biomedical research to a black biochemist that his family knew when he was growing up in Columbus, Ohio. "Observing him in his day-to-day activities - that's what sparked my interest," he recalls. "I didn't necessarily see what he was doing as a scientist, but the more I was in contact with him, the more I learned about his profession." The importance of seeing - and learning from - those who have already negotiated the hurdles to become black scientists is aptly illustrated by the 100 or so historically black colleges and universities. While such institutions represent only 5% of U.S. colleges, they grant about one-third of all undergraduate degrees earned by blacks. Their alumni make up 45% of all black graduate students in science. But black role models are rare. And that puts an extra burden on those few scientists who, in addition to trying to become successful in a predominantly white world, are expected to nurture new generations of minority scientists. The demands on their time can become excessive. "This is my third professional appointment," says cellular endocrinologist James Wyche, who came to Brown University last year as a scientist and a part-time associate dean of biology. "And it's clear to me that no one understands the plight of minority scientists. I'm just barely keeping my head above water; [as dean] I have only half a day to do the research and teaching that other faculty do in an entire day. It's a stressful, anxiety-provoking situation." Adds a department chair from one well-known historically black college, who requested anonymity, "I haven't done much research lately, and it worries me. But it's important that I wear a number of hats: A mentor should provide more than a laboratory." The desire to serve their community is one more drain on the already tiny pool of future researchers. Take the example of Lynda Jackson-Assad. Trained as a microbiologist, Jackson-Assad nevertheless decided in 1983 that she could better improve the lives of black children in her native Mississippi as a physician than as a researcher. "I enjoyed the autonomy of research," says Jackson-Assad, now in a pediatrics residency program at Howard University after receiving her M.D. degree from Meharry College in Nashville, Tenn. "But Mississippi needs adequate and quality health care, and as a researcher I really couldn't make much of a dent in that problem. As a physician I can." Jackson-Assad still plans to be an important influence on the lives of young blacks. And she is not alone in feeling that obligation. Many educational institutions and professional societies now sponsor programs and internships that give young black students a chance to see what scientists actually do. Mondibo K participated in such a program, offered by his high school, that fueled his desire to pursue a career in the laboratory. One of the oldest and largest of these programs is the 20-year-old Project SEED, run by the American Chemical Society, which provides disadvantaged high school students with summer experiences at industrial research facilities across the country. A 1979 survey of 355 SEED alumni, of all races, found that more than three-quarters of them were completing or had finished a college degree. But kindling an interest in science isn't enough. Students often arrive at college woefully ill-prepared for the courses they must take. "Nationally, 50% of all black freshmen flunk out," notes Reginald Wilson, director of the office of minority concerns at the American Council on Education. Citing a study of Chicago high school seniors who planned to attend college, Wilson says that "80% of them thought they had received a good high school preparation. But almost none of them had taken an academic track, and very few had three years of science or math." Educators agree that any national agenda for improving minority participation in science must begin with an across-the-board effort to improve the curriculum at all schools. Bassam Shakhashiri, NSF's assistant director for science and engineering education, deplores the scientific illiteracy that stems from a weak curriculum. "One out of every three U.S. high schools does not offer a single physics course," he notes. "Eighteen percent offer no chemistry, and 8% no biology." Clearly worried about the predicted future shortfall in scientists, NSF last year spent $90 million of its $139 million education budget on programs to improve precollege science education. Although critics note that the figure is still only 7% of the foundation's overall budget, it a major step forward after a 1982 decision by the Reagan administration to wipe out NSF's educational programs. One new initiative will spend $12 million over five years to develop and test science curricula for minorities in projects based in Atlanta, Puerto Rico, and New York City. In fact, educators say that federal funds are an essential ingredient in the formula to attract more blacks into science. And many observers blame the policies of the Reagan administration for halting whatever progress was made during the 1970s. The administration made drastic cuts in the successful TRIO programs - Upward Bound, Equal Opportunities Centers, and Talent Search - that sought to help disadvantaged youths. Another crippling blow was the decision to hold financial aid programs to a level below the spiraling costs of a college education, thereby cutting off a crucial source of support for many black would-be college students. A new study by the American Association of State Colleges and Universities, for example, shows that the number of students from families with incomes under $10,000 who enrolled in college for the first time decreased by 16% between 1978 and 1982. For blacks, the decline was 30%. "We are definitely dependent upon student financial aid," says Otis Williams, assistant dean of the office of minority student affairs at the University of Illinois. "Even after they graduate, students owe thousands of dollars, so they want to work" instead of pursuing a graduate degree. The recent OTA report makes the same point. "Both incurred debt and foregone salary are big issues with minority college students," says Daryl Chubin, project director for the study. "We need to show students why a career in science is exciting and rewarding, for its own sake." More than 1,100 minority students in northwestern Louisiana have gotten that message over the past 20 years through a project run by Wilmer and his colleagues at Southern University. Eighty percent of the students have gone on to college, Wilmer notes, and 65% have pursued careers in science. Half of the chemists in the Shreveport area, he says with pride, have gone through the eight-week summer program on campus. The key to its success, he explains, is early exposure to science, as early as visits to junior high school chemistry classes. Wilmer figures that the sooner he can reach them, the better. "I have a brother whose son is a great football player," says Wilmer. "He started that boy out in fifth grade. That's what we need in science. If you start when these kids are young, you can mold them into becoming scientists." Hugh McIntosh is a freelance writer in Washington, D.C. Material for this article was also provided by Anne Diffily, managing editor of the Brown Alumni Monthly magazine.

Special Report: Where Are Today's Black Scientists?

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