Scientists can’t stay in their ivory tower

For decades, scientists were told to stay neutral, stay professional — and stay in the lab. But today, as U.S. researchers rally in the streets and lawmakers slash science budgets, one thing is clear: science can’t stay in its ivory tower anymore.

In March, over 2,000 researchers, students and supporters gathered across the United States to protest sweeping science and technology budget cuts. The Trump administration’s proposed budget for fiscal year 2026 — dubbed by some as a “skinny” or “beautiful” budget — proposes a 47% cut to NASA’s science budget and a staggering 56% cut to the National Science Foundation (NSF). Funding for climate change research has been virtually eliminated. Unless Congress intervenes, the U.S. faces the most severe science and technology budget cuts in modern history.

In response, scientists across the country are beginning to speak out. NASA employees held peaceful protests opposing the proposed cuts, while nearly 2,000 leading U.S. scientists — including over 30 Nobel laureates and numerous members of the National Academies — signed an open letter warning that the nation’s scientific enterprise is being “decimated” and issued an “SOS” to the public. The American Association for the Advancement of Science — the world’s largest multidisciplinary scientific society — also urged scientists to speak publicly and engage policymakers. As its CEO Sudip Parikh warned, “If enacted, the FY2026 budget request would end America’s global scientific leadership.”

This level of public mobilization by scientists is rare in the U.S., where most academics were trained to stay “above politics.” But in this moment, they realized something critical: Silence can’t protect science.

As a Japanese scientist who has lived in the United States for over two decades, I’m watching this unfold with deep concern — and a sense of deja vu. While Japan’s science funding hasn’t yet faced cuts on the scale of the U.S., the underlying threats are already present: public disengagement, institutional invisibility and a shrinking voice in policymaking.

In Japan, researchers are often taught that engaging in public debate or policy will jeopardize their credibility. We pride ourselves on being impartial and apolitical. These are admirable traits in scholarship — but dangerous in the public sphere. If scientists don’t tell our story — of discovery, impact and public benefit — others will tell it for us. And not everyone has science’s best interest in mind.

Already, we see mounting political and societal pressure around AI ethics, environmental policy and gender equity in STEM. These are areas where science should guide the conversation — not respond after the fact.

In the U.S., we’re seeing a cultural shift. Scientists are not just publishing papers — they’re writing op-eds, organizing briefings with lawmakers and speaking directly to the public. Their message is clear: Science is not separate from society — it serves society.

Japan, too, has ambitions to globalize its research base. Last month, the Cabinet Office launched J-RISE (Japan Research & Innovation for Scientific Excellence) — a ¥100 billion ($673 million) initiative to make Japan the world’s most attractive destination for researchers. While the U.S. faces historic cuts to science and technology funding, Japan is signaling its commitment to global scientific leadership.

But there’s a paradox: While the Japanese government actively seeks foreign talent, many domestic researchers still hesitate to engage with their own communities or shape the future of science policy.

One institutional tool the U.S. has embraced is the idea of “Broader Impacts.” Every NSF proposal requires researchers to explain how their work will benefit society — whether through education, outreach or broader societal impacts. Outreach is not a side project; it is baked into the mission of science. This expectation reflects a core reality: Most scientific research is publicly funded and scientists have a responsibility to give back to society. Japan has no such requirement, and as a result, science communication and community connection are often seen as optional — or even overlooked — in Japanese academic culture.

Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to visit Capitol Hill shortly after the Trump administration took office, as a member of the U.S.–Japan Network for the Future, a policy fellowship organized by the Mansfield Foundation and the Japan Foundation. I am honored to be the first scientist ever selected for this program.

Our cohort of scholars and policy practitioners engaged directly with congressional staff and U.S. agencies, gaining insight into how science and policy intersect — and often collide. We recently traveled to Tokyo and Kyushu, where cities like Fukuoka and Kumamoto are transforming into "Japan’s Silicon Valley,” driven by the semiconductor industry, government-backed startup accelerators and progressive immigration initiatives. These experiences underscored a critical truth: Science, diplomacy and innovation are inseparable — yet scientists remain largely absent from policymaking circles.

Now is the time for scientists to return to society — not just as experts, but as engaged members of the public we serve. We must listen, communicate and collaborate. In a divided information landscape, science alone will not speak for itself. We must.