I’ve heard many engineers and scientists say they want to “do something” about the inequities they see around them. Their first impulse is often to jump in with technical solutions, put together some data, write a paper, or create a detailed plan for improving schools or infrastructure. After all, we’re used to problem-solving with knowledge, logic, and structured analysis. But real life rarely fits neatly into an Excel sheet or a design schematic, and that’s especially true when we’re talking about racial inequities that run deep in our institutions and daily interactions.
I’m reminded of the time I sat in on a planning commission meeting in which a well-intentioned design proposal didn’t consider local cultural spaces valued by residents. In purely engineering terms, the plan was brilliant; it would have improved traffic flow and optimized land use. But community advocates stood up and explained that an open-air marketplace, cherished for generations, was slated for demolition under the new design. The plan’s proponents had access to mountains of data about traffic, walkability, and population density, but they overlooked the emotional and cultural significance of that marketplace. As soon as they heard the stories from neighborhood elders and families who relied on the market for their livelihood, these engineers realized the plan needed rethinking. It wasn’t enough to be “technically correct.” They had to pivot, collaborate with those most affected, and integrate feedback into a revised proposal that retained the market as a vibrant part of local life. The engineers realized that their knowledge didn’t automatically translate into effective action.
The good news is that our science and engineering backgrounds can help us navigate this discomfort. We’re trained to iterate, test hypotheses, and remain open to new evidence. That same analytical mindset can be reoriented toward the social and political realities that shape our neighborhoods. But the key is acknowledging that data alone won’t solve structural racism. We have to pair our expertise with empathy, which only comes from a willingness to be vulnerable, to ask honest questions, and to learn from people who have lived a different reality.
That might mean attending a city council meeting and realizing that there’s a deep cultural context behind an infrastructure project or volunteering at a local science fair and discovering that certain neighborhoods are consistently left out of STEM opportunities. As straightforward as it sounds to listen first, in practice, it can feel uncomfortable. We’re used to offering “answers,” and we might not like to admit that our vision of a solution doesn’t always match what communities actually need.
This is strongly supported by my new study, “Can Antiracism Training Achieve Lasting Change? Strategies for Sustainable Behavioral and Organizational Transformation”. Too often, we assume that explaining bias or describing historical injustices will prompt people to behave differently. Instead, this research demonstrates the importance of social-emotional learning, leadership buy-in, and continuous reinforcement. In other words, if we don’t engage our empathy, establish clear accountability structures, and follow up over time, any big breakthroughs we have in a training session will likely fizzle out once we get back to our busy schedules. If we don’t do the same in our work as scientists and engineers, we can’t bring antiracist practices into science policy.
I’ve seen this play out with colleagues who get involved in local policy. They’ll join an advisory commission or volunteer on a project to bring clean water technology to an underserved part of town. Initially, they might be brimming with technical expertise. But soon, they realize that the community’s concerns aren’t limited to water purification specs. People might be worried about costs, or they might suspect that outside experts aren’t truly listening to them. Sometimes, residents recall past projects that promised big improvements but never delivered. In these moments, the best thing we can do is slow down, set aside our preconceived notions, and say, “Help me understand what you’ve experienced. What does success look like from your perspective?” That level of openness can be surprisingly hard for STEM folks, yet it’s the starting point for building genuine trust.
My study gives a research-backed framework for why these steps matter. Without structural reinforcement, even the most enthusiastic leaders can fall back into old patterns of bias and exclusion. And without an emotional component, such as storytelling sessions or empathy-building exercises, the idea of “equity” may remain purely intellectual rather than something that genuinely influences day-to-day decisions.
So, if you’ve been wondering how you can bring your STEM background to bear on the issues of racial injustice and structural inequality, I would encourage you to start by looking at your own community. Ask which local policies most affect your neighbors and whether those policies reflect everyone’s needs. When you attend a meeting or join a committee, think about whose voices aren’t in the room. Consider these insights on social-emotional engagement and ongoing reinforcement: how can you implement them in your own workplaces, volunteering activities, or advocacy efforts? And most importantly, don’t be afraid of trial and error.
As engineers and scientists, we already know that breakthroughs often come from experimentation and iteration. By pairing technical expertise with empathetic listening, sustained follow-up, and active antiracism, we can truly make a difference in the places we call home. If we apply that same mindset to building inclusive communities, our local actions can become powerful catalysts for broader systemic change. We just have to remain curious, compassionate, and unafraid to challenge the status quo, both in our technical analyses and in our human interactions.
Editor’s Note
ESAL mobilizes STEM professionals for civic engagement while also realizing that expertise is most powerful when it’s placed in direct conversation with historically marginalized voices, and ESAL has made these practices a core part of our mission. Over the last few years, ESAL’s Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (JEDI) programming has reinforced this principle through workshops, community partnerships, and our own internal accountability measures.
We encourage members to bring feedback from their local engagements, both challenges and triumphs, so that we’re continually learning from real-world experiences and regularly revisit our recruitment and leadership structures to see if certain groups are being unintentionally excluded. Click here to learn more about ESAL’s JEDI initiative.
