On March 29, 2022, nearly 70 social and behavioral science researchers, students, university administrators, and other stakeholders participated in Social Science Advocacy Day. This annual event, organized by in the Consortium of Social Science Associations (COSSA), brings together advocates from across the country to engage with Members of Congress and their staff to explain why social science needs to be supported and how these sciences are putting people back at the center of policymaking. This year, advocates from 22 states met virtually with 88 Congressional offices in the House of Representatives and Senate. Below are reflections from three of them: a department chair, a doctoral student, and an undergraduate student.

Cultural heritage is today threatened on a number of fronts.

Embodied in the form of ancient archaeological sites and historical buildings, collections of antiquities, artworks, artifacts and archives, and as the lifeways of contemporary communities, cultural heritage comprises features of continuing existence and past accomplishment recognized by a social group as an enduring symbol of its identity. Benign neglect, devastating accidents, major natural disasters—and increasingly climate change—all challenge our ability to preserve cultural heritage. Think of earthquakes in Haiti and Italy and their ruin of historic buildings and galleries; remember the fires that wreaked havoc on Notre Dame and destroyed collections at the National Museum in Brazil; and imagine the loss of living cultural traditions among Inuit communities seeing massive warming in the Arctic. Social persecution, terrorism, and armed conflict too endanger the preservation of cultural heritage. Consider the burning of historical manuscripts in Timbuktu; recall ISIS blowing up the ancient trading center of Palmyra, the Taliban looting and trafficking ancient treasures; and recognize the Myanmar government’s persecution of the Rohingya for their religious and ethnic ways and the Chinese government for doing the same to Uighurs and Tibetans.

The World Health Organization defines an infodemic as the spread of “false or misleading information in digital and physical environments during a disease outbreak. It causes confusion and risk-taking behaviors that can harm health. It also leads to mistrust in health authorities and undermines the public health response.” The U.S. Office of the Surgeon General has declared health misinformation to be a significant public health challenge. In a December 20, 2021, interview on PBS NewsHour, outgoing National Institutes of Health Director Francis Collins expressed regret over the U.S. response to COVID-19 misinformation: "Maybe we underinvested in research on human behavior. I never imagined a year ago, when those vaccines were just proving to be fantastically safe and effective, that we would still have 60 million people who had not taken advantage of them because of misinformation and disinformation that somehow dominated all of the ways in which people were getting their answers."

Yet, despite widespread concern about the potential impacts of mis- and disinformation on health outcomes, we know little about the magnitudes of those impacts nor about their differential effects across sociodemographic groups. We also know little about cost-effective interventions that may mitigate those impacts and increase the spread and uptake of accurate health information.

When you look back on your life, you may think about a time when you failed at something. Maybe there was a time when you failed an important exam, or a time when you messed up a big presentation at work. Maybe there was something you just can’t forget about, even though you wish you could.

Failures seem to be universal and inevitable in our lives, and they can be really impactful. However, people differ in how they perceive failures. Some people may think that failures are aversive—a thing that should be avoided or else may lead to depression. Other people may believe that failures are chances for personal growth, just like the inspiring, if cliched, quote, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

Being bad at math can kill people. Even experts who should understand medical science and help us make good health decisions sometimes fail. In December, a doctor—let’s call him Dr. Smith—advised a tweeter’s elderly mom not to get the COVID-19 vaccine because "99% of people fight off COVID, but [the vaccine is] only 93% effective.” This doctor is blatantly wrong. He doesn’t understand the math and is giving life-threatening advice. When even some experts struggle with numbers, it’s easy to see the problem.

2020 thrust a new world of statistics upon us—numbers of cases and deaths, false positive rates, and percentages of open ICU beds. Many of us track these numbers to stay informed and feel secure, but we don’t always understand or use them appropriately. Communicating facts isn’t always enough. But when facts are presented in forms that make sense to us—using the science of science communication—leaders can inform and motivate better choices.

“At its core, Anthropology is about a simple idea—that the world is a better place if people understand one another,” wrote Alec Barker, past president of the American Anthropological Association. “For some that means basic research, because knowing more about people—their past, present, and prospects—is a worthy goal in itself. Others teach, helping students of all ages better understand the diverse ways of being human, and for others it means applying that knowledge in practical application. It’s the broadest of endeavors, encompassing scientific and humanistic approaches to people and their near kin, to how they communicate, come together, divide, develop and find meaning. That variety is its greatest strength.”

Anthropologists play a critical role by helping to mitigate the effects of the pandemic, developing basic protocols in medical labs, serving as “on the ground” expert witnesses, and yes, even helping reduce anxiety about an impending “robotic apocalypse.”

The COVID-19 pandemic has caused extraordinary devastation, claiming millions of lives and disrupting the economy and daily life across the globe. From the beginning, the course of the pandemic has depended on behavior – for example, whether people would engage in recommended public health actions like mask wearing and social distancing. Currently, the success of vaccination also hinges on behavior. While the successful development of vaccines is an incredibly important scientific breakthrough and their distribution and accessibility is critical, ultimately, the public’s willingness to get vaccinated will determine whether we bring this pandemic under control. Insights from the social and behavioral sciences can help ensure that efforts to encourage vaccination and address hesitancy succeed.

The Behavioral and Social Sciences Research Coordinating Committee at the National Institutes of Health (NIH), wanted to assist the public health community’s communication efforts to foster confidence in COVID-19 vaccines. To identify evidence-informed strategies for communicating about COVID-19 vaccines, we formed a trans-NIH working group consisting of behavioral and social science specialists across the NIH. On November 5th, 2020, the trans-NIH working group convened a multidisciplinary expert panel featuring 15 leading experts in public health and social science (e.g., communication, psychology, behavioral economics, health disparities, and anthropology). The expert panel was charged with identifying effective approaches for communicating about COVID-19 vaccines and suggesting ways these approaches could be tailored, targeted, and delivered to address the unique needs of diverse populations. The expert panel discussion formed the basis for recommendations about how government entities, such as U.S. federal agencies and partners at the state and local levels, could most effectively communicate vaccine-related information to a variety of constituents.

The insidious negative effects of racist stereotypes on African Americans’ academic performance was described in The Atlantic in 1999 by former National Science Board member and social psychologist Claude Steele in “Thin Ice: Stereotype Threat and Black College Students.” The research that Steele referred to throughout the article was conducted during the 1990s and published in several well-respected peer reviewed outlets. It made a splash and spawned an entire branch of research on the various ways that negative stereotypes deleteriously impact their targets.

As an assistant professor of psychology at that time, Steele’s work resonated strongly with me on both personal and professional levels. While delighted to be a member of what was then a top nationally ranked psychology department, I was acutely aware of my status as the only African American member among the 60-plus faculty in the department. I routinely encountered other faculty and graduate students who openly questioned my professional credentials and legitimacy, and even wondered aloud about whether I had what it took to be successful. It was not just that I was a young woman or that I was an African American. It was what I represented in toto, including the confidence and grit I needed just to be present, that most seemed to vex my detractors. So, in addition to managing the expected pressures of being an assistant professor within a research-intensive setting, I also worked hard to counter the stereotype-based expectations of inferiority that a considerable number of people held about me.

As the pandemic drags on, following COVID-19 prevention guidelines can feel like more and more of a challenge.

This kind of fatigue is not unique to pandemic precautions like sticking with social distancing, masking up and keeping your hands washed. With all kinds of health-related behavior changes – including increasing physical activity, eating healthy and decreasing tobacco use – at least half of people relapse within six months.

Think back to the start of April. Much of the United States was under stay-at-home orders. New York City was experiencing close to a thousand COVID-19 deaths a day, and new cases of this previously unknown disease were popping up all over the country.

Fifty years after Ruth Bader Ginsberg worked to secure constitutional equality for women, misogyny is still alive and well in the American political system. We only need to look at the Vice Presidential debate between Kamala Harris and Mike Pence to see the way in which gender is used to undermine the ability of women to lead. Women candidates like Harris are often talked over and interrupted repeatedly by their male opponents. Unlike men who are interrupted, they can’t redirect the flow of conversation with a sharp reprimand (or a “just shut up, man”), but must find ways to do so while maintaining likability. When they act publicly, women politicians are often denigrated, as we heard Trump do to Senator Kamala Harris after the VP debate.

Why does this matter? Research shows that when women candidates are belittled or their credibility or electability is questioned, it dampens other women’s political ambitions. While we saw a “blue wave” of women candidates in 2018, far fewer women than men aspire to elected office. Social scientists point out that American women are still shaped by traditional gender socialization, or raised to embrace traditional family roles. Unlike men, women rarely assume future partners will fully share these responsibilities; nor do they expect that future partners would quit a job or relocate to support the women’s professional aspirations. Many educated, professional women who seem appropriate for a political career work a “second shift” after returning home — and feel too time-crunched to run for office. American politics, long dominated by men, has a masculine ethos; women and men alike perceive political success as being linked to masculine traits such as self-promotion and fighting, and many do not think to encourage women to run for office. Women themselves often do not envision pursuing such a male-coded profession, which could make them appear to be more aggressive than nurturing. Additionally, women tend to be more election- and risk-averse than men and can be discouraged by barriers that men do not face, including sexist media coverage, intrusive questions about their life choices, overt sexual harassment, online misogynist abuse, or accusations of lying.