Who Qualifies as an “Expert” And How Can We Decide Who Is Trustworthy?
This article is part of the magazine, "The Future of Science In America: The Election Issue," co-published by LeapsMag, the Aspen Institute Science & Society Program, and GOOD.
Expertise is a slippery concept. Who has it, who claims it, and who attributes or yields it to whom is a culturally specific, sociological process. During the COVID-19 pandemic, we have witnessed a remarkable emergence of legitimate and not-so-legitimate scientists publicly claiming or being attributed to have academic expertise in precisely my field: infectious disease epidemiology. From any vantage point, it is clear that charlatans abound out there, garnering TV coverage and hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers based on loud opinions despite flimsy credentials. What is more interesting as an insider is the gradient of expertise beyond these obvious fakers.
A person's expertise is not a fixed attribute; it is a hierarchical trait defined relative to others. Despite my protestations, I am the go-to expert on every aspect of the pandemic to my family. To a reporter, I might do my best to answer a question about the immune response to SARS-CoV-2, noting that I'm not an immunologist. Among other academic scientists, my expertise is more well-defined as a subfield of epidemiology, and within that as a particular area within infectious disease epidemiology. There's a fractal quality to it; as you zoom in on a particular subject, a differentiation of expertise emerges among scientists who, from farther out, appear to be interchangeable.
We all have our scientific domain and are less knowledgeable outside it, of course, and we are often asked to comment on a broad range of topics. But many scientists without a track record in the field have become favorites among university administrators, senior faculty in unrelated fields, policymakers, and science journalists, using institutional prestige or social connections to promote themselves. This phenomenon leads to a distorted representation of science—and of academic scientists—in the public realm.
Trustworthy experts will direct you to others in their field who know more about particular topics, and will tend to be honest about what is and what isn't "in their lane."
Predictably, white male voices have been disproportionately amplified, and men are certainly over-represented in the category of those who use their connections to inappropriately claim expertise. Generally speaking, we are missing women, racial minorities, and global perspectives. This is not only important because it misrepresents who scientists are and reinforces outdated stereotypes that place white men in the Global North at the top of a credibility hierarchy. It also matters because it can promote bad science, and it passes over scientists who can lend nuance to the scientific discourse and give global perspectives on this quintessentially global crisis.
Also at work, in my opinion, are two biases within academia: the conflation of institutional prestige with individual expertise, and the bizarre hierarchy among scientists that attributes greater credibility to those in quantitative fields like physics. Regardless of mathematical expertise or institutional affiliation, lack of experience working with epidemiological data can lead to over-confidence in the deceptively simple mathematical models that we use to understand epidemics, as well as the inappropriate use of uncertain data to inform them. Prominent and vocal scientists from different quantitative fields have misapplied the methods of infectious disease epidemiology during the COVID-19 pandemic so far, creating enormous confusion among policymakers and the public. Early forecasts that predicted the epidemic would be over by now, for example, led to a sense that epidemiological models were all unreliable.
Meanwhile, legitimate scientific uncertainties and differences of opinion, as well as fundamentally different epidemic dynamics arising in diverse global contexts and in different demographic groups, appear in the press as an indistinguishable part of this general chaos. This leads many people to question whether the field has anything worthwhile to contribute, and muddies the facts about COVID-19 policies for reducing transmission that most experts agree on, like wearing masks and avoiding large indoor gatherings.
So how do we distinguish an expert from a charlatan? I believe a willingness to say "I don't know" and to openly describe uncertainties, nuances, and limitations of science are all good signs. Thoughtful engagement with questions and new ideas is also an indication of expertise, as opposed to arrogant bluster or a bullish insistence on a particular policy strategy regardless of context (which is almost always an attempt to hide a lack of depth of understanding). Trustworthy experts will direct you to others in their field who know more about particular topics, and will tend to be honest about what is and what isn't "in their lane." For example, some expertise is quite specific to a given subfield: epidemiologists who study non-infectious conditions or nutrition, for example, use different methods from those of infectious disease experts, because they generally don't need to account for the exponential growth that is inherent to a contagion process.
Academic scientists have a specific, technical contribution to make in containing the COVID-19 pandemic and in communicating research findings as they emerge. But the liminal space between scientists and the public is subject to the same undercurrents of sexism, racism, and opportunism that society and the academy have always suffered from. Although none of the proxies for expertise described above are fool-proof, they are at least indicative of integrity and humility—two traits the world is in dire need of at this moment in history.
[Editor's Note: To read other articles in this special magazine issue, visit the beautifully designed e-reader version.]
Time to visit your TikTok doc? The good and bad of doctors on social media
Rakhi Patel has carved a hobby out of reviewing pizza — her favorite food — on Instagram. In a nod to her preferred topping, she calls herself thepepperoniqueen. Photos and videos show her savoring slices from scores of pizzerias. In some of them, she’s wearing scrubs — her attire as an inpatient neurology physician associate at Tufts Medical Center in Boston.
“Depending on how you dress your pizza, it can be more nutritious,” said Patel, who suggests a thin crust, sugarless tomato sauce and vegetables galore as healthier alternatives. “There are no boundaries for a health care professional to enjoy pizza.”
Beyond that, “pizza fuels my mental health and makes me happy, especially when loaded with pepperoni,” she said. “If I’m going to be a pizza connoisseur, then I also need to take care of my physical health by ensuring that I get at least three days of exercise per week and eat nutritiously when I’m not eating pizza.”
She’s among an increasing number of health care professionals, including doctors and nurses, who maintain an active persona on social media, according to bioethics researchers. They share their hobbies and interests with people inside and outside the world of medicine, helping patients and the public become acquainted with the humans behind the scrubs or white coats. Other health care experts limit their posts to medical topics, while some opt for a combination of personal and professional commentaries. Depending on the posts, ethical issues may come into play.
“Health care professionals are quite prevalent on social media,” said Mercer Gary, a postdoctoral researcher at The Hastings Center, an independent bioethics research institute in Garrison, New York. “They’ve been posting on #medTwitter for many years, mainly to communicate with one another, but, of course, anyone can see the threads. Most recently, doctors and nurses have become a presence on TikTok.”
On social media, many health care providers perceive themselves to be “humanizing” their profession by coming across as more approachable — “reminding patients that providers are people and workers, as well as repositories of medical expertise,” Gary said. As a result, she noted that patients who are often intimidated by clinicians may feel comfortable enough to overcome barriers to scheduling health care appointments. The use of TikTok in particular may help doctors and nurses connect with younger followers.
When health care providers post on social media, they must bear in mind that they have legal and ethical duties to their patients, profession and society, said Elizabeth Levy, founder and director of Physicians for Justice.
While enduring three years of pandemic conditions, many health care professionals have struggled with burnout, exhaustion and moral distress. “Much health care provider content on social media seeks to expose the difficulties of the work,” Gary added. “TikTok and Instagram reels have shown health care providers crying after losing a patient or exhausted after a night shift in the emergency department.”
A study conducted in Beijing, China and published last year found that TikTok is the world’s most rapidly growing video application, amassing 1.6 billion users in 2021. “More and more patients are searching for information on genitourinary cancers via TikTok,” the study’s authors wrote in Frontiers in Oncology, referring to cancers of the urinary tracts and male reproductive organs. Among the 61 sample videos examined by the researchers, health care practitioners contributed the content in 29, or 47 percent, of them. Yet, 22 posts, 36 percent, were misinformative, mostly due to outdated information.
More than half of the videos offered good content on disease symptoms and examinations. The authors concluded that “most videos on genitourinary cancers on TikTok are of poor to medium quality and reliability. However, videos posted by media agencies enjoyed great public attention and interaction. Medical practitioners could improve the video quality by cooperating with media agencies and avoiding unexplained terminologies.”
When health care providers post on social media, they must bear in mind that they have legal and ethical duties to their patients, profession and society, said Elizabeth Levy, founder and director of Physicians for Justice in Irvine, Calif., a nonprofit network of volunteer physicians partnering with public interest lawyers to address the social determinants of health.
“Providers are also responsible for understanding the mechanics of their posts,” such as who can see these messages and how long they stay up, Levy said. As a starting point for figuring what’s acceptable, providers could look at social media guidelines put out by their professional associations. Even beyond that, though, they must exercise prudent judgment. “As social media continues to evolve, providers will also need to stay updated with the changing risks and benefits of participation.”
Patients often research their providers online, so finding them on social media can help inform about values and approaches to care, said M. Sara Rosenthal, a professor and founding director of the program for bioethics and chair of the hospital ethics committee at the University of Kentucky College of Medicine.
Health care providers’ posts on social media also could promote patient education. They can advance informed consent and help patients navigate the risks and benefits of various treatments or preventive options. However, providers could violate ethical principles if they espouse “harmful, risky or questionable therapies or medical advice that is contrary to clinical practice guidelines or accepted standards of care,” Rosenthal said.
Inappropriate self-disclosure also can affect a provider’s reputation, said Kelly Michelson, a professor of pediatrics and director of the Center for Bioethics and Medical Humanities at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine. A clinician’s obligations to professionalism extend beyond those moments when they are directly taking care of their patients, she said. “Many experts recommend against clinicians ‘friending’ patients or the families on social media because it blurs the patient-clinician boundary.”
Meanwhile, clinicians need to adhere closely to confidentiality. In sharing a patient’s case online for educational purposes, safeguarding identity becomes paramount. Removing names and changing minor details is insufficient, Michelson said.
“The patient-clinician relationship is sacred, and it can only be effective if patients have 100 percent confidence that all that happens with their clinician is kept in the strictest of confidence,” she said, adding that health care providers also should avoid obtaining information about their patients from social media because it can lead to bias and risk jeopardizing objectivity.
Academic clinicians can use social media as a recruitment tool to expand the pool of research participants for their studies, Michelson said. Because the majority of clinical research is conducted at academic medical centers, large segments of the population are excluded. “This affects the quality of the data and knowledge we gain from research,” she said.
Don S. Dizon, a professor of medicine and surgery at the Warren Alpert Medical School of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, uses LinkedIn and Doximity, as well as Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and most recently, YouTube and Post. He’s on Twitter nearly every day, where he interacts with the oncology community and his medical colleagues.
Also, he said, “I really like Instagram. It’s where you will see a hybrid of who I am professionally and personally. I’ve become comfortable sharing both up to a limit, but where else can I combine my appreciation of clothes with my professional life?” On that site, he’s seen sporting shirts with polka dots or stripes and an occasional bow-tie. He also posts photos of his cats.
Don S. Dizon, a professor of medicine and surgery at Brown, started using TikTok several years ago, telling medical stories in short-form videos.
Don S. Dizon
Dizon started using TikTok several years ago, telling medical stories in short-form videos. He may talk about an inspirational patient, his views on end-of-life care and death, or memories of people who have passed. But he is careful not to divulge any details that would identify anyone.
Recently, some people have become his patients after viewing his content on social media or on the Internet in general, which he clearly states isn’t a forum for medical advice. “In both situations, they are so much more relaxed when we meet, because it’s as if they have a sense of who I am as a person,” Dizon said. “I think that has helped so much in talking through a cancer diagnosis and a treatment plan, and yes, even discussions about prognosis.”
He also posts about equity and diversity. “I have found myself more likely to repost or react to issues that are inherently political, including racism, homophobia, transphobia and lack-of-access issues, because medicine is not isolated from society, and I truly believe that medicine is a social justice issue,” said Dizon, who is vice chair of diversity, equity, inclusion and professional integrity at the SWOG Cancer Research Network.
Through it all, Dizon likes “to break through the notion of doctor as infallible and all-knowing, the doctor as deity,” he said. “Humanizing what I do, especially in oncology, is something that challenges me on social media, and I appreciate the opportunities to do it on TikTok.”
Could this habit related to eating slow down rates of aging?
Last Thursday, scientists at Columbia University published a new study finding that cutting down on calories could lead to longer, healthier lives. In the phase 2 trial, 220 healthy people without obesity dropped their calories significantly and, at least according to one test, their rate of biological aging slowed by 2 to 3 percent in over a couple of years. Small though that may seem, the researchers estimate that it would translate into a decline of about 10 percent in the risk of death as people get older. That's basically the same as quitting smoking.
Previous research has shown that restricting calories results in longer lives for mice, worms and flies. This research is unique because it applies those findings to people. It was published in Nature Aging.
But what did the researchers actually show? Why did two other tests indicate that the biological age of the research participants didn't budge? Does the new paper point to anything people should be doing for more years of healthy living? Spoiler alert: Maybe, but don't try anything before talking with a medical expert about it. I had the chance to chat with someone with inside knowledge of the research -- Dr. Evan Hadley, director of the National Institute of Aging's Division of Geriatrics and Clinical Gerontology, which funded the study. Dr. Hadley describes how the research participants went about reducing their calories, as well as the risks and benefits involved. He also explains the "aging clock" used to measure the benefits.
Evan Hadley, Director of the Division of Geriatrics and Clinical Gerontology at the National Institute of Aging
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