The communication fallout: why nuclear messaging often misses the mark

And what we can learn from activists about storytelling

Recently at the Cheltenham Science Festival, just before I spoke at an event, I wandered through some of the exhibition stalls. The first stall I visited was run by a university physics team who were working on quantum computing. A researcher began explaining their work to me, and while he clearly knew his stuff, I was lost within seconds. He used jargon I didn’t understand, and never once made eye contact - he just stared at the screen in front of him the entire time. I waited politely for him to finish, then walked away, not only no clearer about what their team was working on or why I should care, but also disheartened by the experience.

That ought to be troubling, especially given that this was an outreach event specifically designed for scientific public engagement. And since I know a fair bit about quantum computing - certainly more than the average passer by - and was genuinely interested in learning about their research, I felt that they lost an easy win. Which is a real shame, since they were there manning their booth all week with the hope of engaging people with their field and research. And it begs the question: if someone like me, who’s already invested in science, couldn’t stay interested at a science festival, what chance does anyone else have?

Not long after, I passed a stall run by an environmental group. One of the activists tried to strike up a conversation with me, and I told him I was short on time, as I was on my way to meet a friend. “That’s fine,” he smiled. “It’ll only take a minute.”

I relented because he was so friendly and came across as relaxed. He opened with a question: “Do you know how we saved apes from being shot by villagers by stopping them from raiding their crops?”

Within a minute, I was hooked. He told me how they’d planted ginger, which chimps don’t like, around farmland in Uganda. Apparently, this simple solution created a “living fence” that protected crops, increased income for farmers, and reduced the conflict between humans and wildlife. It was clever, non-violent, and community-led. His storytelling was vivid and engaging. In just five minutes, I was surprised, impressed, amused, and inspired. He maintained eye contact the whole time, and I was so engrossed I didn’t even realise I was running late. Then, seeing that I had enjoyed his story, he asked for a donation.

Weeks later, I still remember the name of his organisation, but I can’t tell you what university the physicist was from, and I still can’t summarise what his research was about, or even remember what he said to me in enough detail to recount it here.

This experience is of course anecdotal, but it was striking to speak first to an expert and then to an activist like this. Even knowing what I know about some of these activist groups, I still understood and trusted the activist who held my attention.

This reminds me of an experience I had several years ago when I attended the March for Science in Bristol. After spending many years involved with various environmental organisations, I was surprised by the march’s sombre tone. There was no music, very few placards, and those I did see were neither particularly creative nor colourful. In stark contrast, I’d been to climate marches that felt like full-on festivals, with music blasting, huge vibrant banners waving, drummers beating out rhythms, and an infectious energy buzzing through the crowd. The difference was striking. The climate marches felt like a powerful, joyful movement full of life and passion. The March for Science, by comparison, felt muted and restrained, lacking that spark that turns a demonstration into a collective celebration and call to action. But more notable was the fact that no one spoke to me there. At climate events I had always found that the conversation flowed naturally, and I had even made friends on marches. It was therefore no surprise to me when the March for Science movement naturally fizzled out.

Yet the greater irony here is that these are experts who understand and respect data. So the question is, why do so many of these experts ignore the findings of social science?

Scientists have often disagreed me - sometimes publicly - over the role of storytelling in science. Yet there is masses of research to support its effectiveness. Research shows that people respond better to science when communicators use clear language, relatable examples, and narrative. Even nationally respected organisations like Aspen and MIT now emphasise using storytelling over jargon to build trust. Without establishing trust first, the facts are irrelevant.

A 2025 experimental study in Instructional Science found that narrative-driven biology lessons led to better understanding and knowledge transfer compared to traditional expository formats. Neuroscience and communication research highlights that emotional, first-person narratives boost memory retention, engagement, and empathy, which are essential for effective science communication.

When facts are embedded in narrative, they’re not just heard. They’re felt.

What happens when scientists fail to connect? We’ve seen it repeatedly: public fear of nuclear energy, resistance to evidence-based climate action, confusion during health crises. When the gap between scientists and the public grows, misinformation fills the space. And the cost isn't just misunderstanding, but lost lives, failed policies, and missed opportunities for progress.

Meanwhile, activists - particularly environmental advocates - have long understood the power of narrative. They speak in stories. They focus on people, problems, and solutions. They make eye contact. They persuade us with relative ease.

Research in social psychology shows that emotional engagement and collective identity are crucial for the success of social movements. Studies indicate that music, visual symbols, and energetic group rituals don’t just entertain people, but help to build solidarity, increase motivation, and make participants feel part of something bigger than themselves. These emotional experiences boost commitment and help sustain movements over time.

By contrast, the March for Science’s subdued approach may have limited its emotional impact and public resonance. Even in science advocacy, facts alone aren’t enough. To mobilise people and create lasting change, effective communication has to combine clear information with emotional storytelling and vibrant community rituals. When science misses that, it risks feeling distant and disconnected.

It’s not that scientists are poor communicators by nature. Although, interestingly, this appears to be the consensus among climate advocates. At an event I attended during Climate Week in London recently, the host declared in his presentation that “scientists are bad at communicating” and then a panellist later made the same argument. But I disagree that this is integral to studying science. I think the issue stems from two things: not seeing the importance of communicating well, and not being trained to tell good stories.

Unsurprisingly, this same event was fully focused on ‘renewables’ for the energy transition and solving climate change, and the word ‘nuclear’ wasn’t uttered even once. This was not an accident; activist storytellers know what they’re doing.

Herein lies the rub: while academic culture prizes precision and caution, it often punishes simplicity, emotion, or accessibility. And yet, if your work can’t be understood, it won’t be useful.

There’s a common saying in scientific communities that I’ve seen emblazoned on mugs and T-shirts, and most recently, it went viral in a tweet by a famous actor:

It might feel good to say it, but who is it really convincing? Immediately, the sceptical person’s feelings are hurt because you have told them that their beliefs don’t matter. It’s dismissive, condescending, and immediately puts people on the defensive and shuts down any chance of meaningful dialogue or persuasion. Beliefs are deeply tied to people’s identity, values, and experiences, and - whether or not those beliefs are factually correct - they often serve important emotional, social, or cultural functions. If your goal is to challenge misinformation or encourage critical thinking, this approach almost always backfires. But still, these tweets go viral, and scientists like and share them while feeling smug about it.

In contrast, a recent study emphasises the critical role of intellectual humility and the willingness to acknowledge the limits of one's knowledge and to revise one's views in light of new evidence when communicating science. The authors argue that scientists who exhibit intellectual humility are more likely to foster trust and understanding among the public. By openly acknowledging uncertainties and engaging in open-minded dialogue, scientists can bridge gaps between expert knowledge and public perception, ultimately enhancing the societal impact of scientific research.

I have seen the same thing with communicating about nuclear energy - messaging that raised red flags for me, but my feedback has been met with resistance from nuclear experts who insist on sticking to their traditional approach. In doing so, they often disregard extensive social science research about what works, and what doesn’t, when communicating complex and controversial topics to the public.

One particular case is how the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) handled the conflict at the Zaporizhzhia nuclear plant in Ukraine. On social media, a common fear I see expressed is that nuclear plants in war zones could lead to catastrophic devastation. Normally I respond that the Zaporizhzhia situation provides a useful real-world example for how safe nuclear plants are, as despite the severe conflict and the very real dangers involved, the worst outcome has not been a nuclear disaster, but rather, the shutdown of the plant, which cut off electricity supply to millions.

However, when I have shared this perspective, the responses have mostly been the following: “That’s only true because the IAEA intervened and kept it safe. If they hadn’t done so, we’d have had another Hiroshima.” A large and trusted organisation that was meant to be reassuring them with their communications, instead ending up feeding their fears and doubts. While the IAEA’s efforts in the war zone were undoubtedly important, the heavy focus on their intervention of having to intervene in order to keep the plant safe seems to have unintentionally heightened, not reduced, public anxiety.

What’s more troubling to me is that these fears were not primarily coming from nuclear opponents exploiting the incident to stoke anti-nuclear sentiment, but from nuclear supporters who trust the IAEA, but have found the constant emphasis on potential disaster more terrifying than reassuring. That alone has been enough to turn them off the technology. It’s not the way I would have approached potential disaster management communications, and I worry that no one is gathering feedback on this outreach to assess what they could be doing better, which means more of the same is to come.

This example highlights a critical communication challenge: even well-meaning efforts to reassure the public can backfire if they lean too heavily on worst-case scenarios or overemphasise the need for external “saviours” and - the most over-used word in nuclear communications - “safety.” Social science research teaches us that fear-based messaging, even if factually accurate, tends to increase anxiety and mistrust rather than inspiring confidence. It has to be approached carefully.

If we keep making these mistakes, we will keep feeding the fear that activists first planted in the 1960s and 70s. All communication has to be approached first with an understanding how people perceive risk, process information, and respond emotionally to frightening narratives like that of a conflict around a nuclear power plant. Without this, we risk alienating the very audiences we aim to inform and protect.

Although I have given specific examples, this isn't intended as a criticism of a single institution, but rather a broader call to arms to reassess communication strategies across the board. The public doesn’t need dumbed-down science and for us to feed their fears. The world around them already does that, whether through the media, activist messaging, or social media. What’s most needed is some balance, and acceptance that the best story doesn’t always come from the most scientifically brilliant mind. It comes from the person who knows how to connect. Which is of course, in the context of humanity, itself quite a brilliant thing.