Recently, I’ve become a bit hyperfixated on the idea of context. I think that decontextualization of our selves is a major source of the current ills of our society; without context, we lack connections that are essential to engaging meaningfully in society. It is to the benefit of “the powers that be” for us to conform with a normalization of non-contextual living. If we don’t think within historical context, it’s easier for history to be repeated. If we don’t engage with our environmental context, it’s easier not to notice the severe changes to our climate. If we don’t engage with our community context, it’s easier to look the other way when our peers and neighbors’ livelihoods are threatened.
Pause, for a bit of context you need about me: I am a graduate student in astrophysics, and I work with the Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope and Vera Rubin Observatory teams. That’s all you need to know for now.
As a part of my obsession with re-contextualizing myself, I have been looking for gaps in my understanding of my place in this universe. This project, Cosmogonies, was born of these internal reflections, and a realization of one gap in particular (of which I’m actually quite embarrassed). Yet I firmly believe that I am not alone in possessing this knowledge gap— I just think it’s something that maybe not many have thought too hard about. Actually I would believe that almost all of my peers, colleagues, and mentors probably possess this same one. Behold the gap:
I have no real idea who Nancy Grace Roman and Vera Rubin are.
We learn little of history in the course of an astrophysics degree, and what history we do learn centers on old, European white men— Galileo, Copernicus, and Kepler, and in modern history, Hubble, Eddington, and Hawking. This is not totally shocking. But I have been working on Roman and Rubin projects for 4 years and 1 year now, respectively, and I know close to nothing about the women for whom they are named.1
I am told that Nancy Grace Roman and Vera Rubin were “pioneers” in my field, and that as a woman working in astrophysics I tread the trail which they blazed. But I fear that the path is overgrown from years of neglect, and a historical sign posting does not actually do the work of clearing the weeds anew.
I actually detest this simplistic narrative anyways, as though there is a sole man-path and a woman-path, or a Black- and a white-path, or an [insert minority and oppressor pair here] path, to accomplish any task, and that we all must tread one or the other. This is fundamentally untrue. All individuals tread their own path, as they bring with them to their work their own history, their own biases, their own thoughts, and their own feelings. I have known many a #WomaninSTEM who detested other women, and who did not think other women belonged in the field (whether they were conscious of this bias or not).
Just because Roman and Rubin were women, it does not necessarily mean that they were activists for equality in their fields. And even if they were advocates for womens’ rights, it does not mean that they would have stood for an intersectional, equitable vision of the field. It also does not mean that they would have liked me (which, having been socialized as a woman, I can’t help but fixate on).
So, this contextual gap becomes a project. I plan to learn as much as I can about the two women under whose names I work, yes, but this is about more than basic historical knowledge. It’s about context, not just for my work but for myself, who I am, and who I have become as a person through choosing this work.
The names Nancy Grace Roman and Vera Rubin were pasted over original (uncreative) names of upcoming major observatories, in a haphazard attempt to acknowledge #WomeninSTEM (derogatory). But what’s in a name, really? Does assigning a new collection of letters and sounds to a project change anything fundamental about the way it came into being and the way it will operate going into the future? Does a name carry a person’s legacy innately, or do the letters and sounds need to be imbued with history in order to have an effect? Does it really count as honoring these women and their work, to ask us to use and memorize their names without educating us about who they are? Would Nancy Grace Roman and Vera Rubin like me?
Throughout this project, I will attempt to answer some of the questions posed above. I must note here that this project is thus inherently vulnerable; in seeking to learn about Roman and Rubin, I am also seeking to learn about myself and my place in this story. So in addition to attempting to answer the more serious questions, I will also, with the most genuine reflections I can muster, track my thoughts and feelings, my sense of belonging, and my sense of identity. I will iteratively reconstruct my understanding of the context in which I work.
This level of vulnerability is daunting to me, but I believe it is the only way to approach this subject with honesty and integrity. So with grace, please allow me to start here:
I am afraid of this journey. I grapple with extreme insecurity of my place in this field on a day-to-day basis. I truthfully do not believe that I belong, and I truthfully believe that these women did. I wonder whether this belief is a comparison out of jealousy, or insecurity, like one I might project about someone who is beautiful having a perfect life. I fear that I will learn that it is not a projection, that it’s true these women were special, and that I and others like me and do not, in fact, belong.
I hold in my hands this set of burning questions. My intention is to bring those questions forth to you, that we may explore them together and hopefully warm some compassion and understanding towards ourselves and one another.
This post is here to serve as a prelude to this project, for you and I both to look back on later as we reflect on where we started. In Chapter 1 of Cosmogonies I will lay out more concretely the questions and central themes driving this exploration. And I’ll explain the title. And then we will be on our way.
You could argue that this is a personal failing. That I should have gone and read about them if I was so interested. I will respond to this argument with two points:
First, I had no choice but to learn about Kepler and Hubble. Their histories were included in the curricula through which I worked to acquire my degrees. I cannot say the same for Roman and Rubin. It is therefore a failing of the standard academic programming in these fields, and not of my own, that I should know the history of the namesakes of two major astronomical observatories and not two others.
Second, it’s actually somewhat difficult to find information about these women. Aside from Wikipedia, which we were well-trained in school not to trust, there is not a lot of accessible information about Nancy Grace Roman and Vera Rubin. A biography of Rubin was published recently— I could not find one on Roman.