Why It’s Important for Scientists to Be Good Speakers

Dr. Mashiur Rahman

It’s just past midnight. Sitting alone in a hall in Dhaka, you’re making a slide deck under the glow of your laptop. Tomorrow morning, you’ll stand in front of your supervisor and present your thesis idea. But there’s another voice in your head asking—”What if I can’t explain it properly?” This fear isn’t new. Every year, more than half a million students in Bangladesh engage in university research one way or another—projects, theses, clubs, conferences. But when it’s time to communicate their findings, their throats go dry, their eyes are glued to the floor—a familiar scene on our campuses. We think knowledge is enough; we don’t need a voice. But reality is the opposite; a discovery survives only when it’s shared.

In today’s world, science isn’t confined to the laboratory. Now it’s in parliament, in courtrooms, in TV studios, and on YouTube tabs. Globally, about 70 percent of research funding comes from government and private organizations, where scientists aren’t the ones making decisions—the decisions are made by boards, ministries, foundations. And among those, it’s the scientist who can bring their work into human language who gets heard. In a major international survey in 2023, it was found that 58 percent of PhD graduates don’t feel comfortable explaining the impact of their research in just two minutes. This discomfort leads to the most ruthless outcome—becoming irrelevant.

Imagine a young researcher from Rajshahi discovers a new biological solution to a rice disease. His results are solid on paper. But if he can’t stand in front of an agriculture officer and explain how this solution can cut farmers’ costs and boost yields, how will his discovery ever reach the rice fields? According to UNESCO, in the developing world, about 40 percent of innovations don’t reach the field simply because of weak communication. Here, good speaking isn’t a luxury; it’s the bridge. From lab to village, data to decision, graph to a story of life—this bridge stands only when your voice is strong.

The situation is even harsher in the context of Bangladesh. Here, scientists are often caught in the trap of two languages—English or Bangla, technical terms or stories. We stand at seminars and use words that both belittle the audience and push science further away. But the job of a good speaker is just the opposite: to break down complexity and make it human. Look at the world’s most influential scientific speakers—from Carl Sagan to Fei-Fei Li—they talk about research like people, not machines. Their voices carry warmth, and their words are signposts.

Being a good speaker isn’t just about holding a microphone. It means searching for stories. Stories of people within data, ethics hidden in graphs, the future lurking in figures. Today on social media, a one-minute video can sway public opinion, and science videos on TikTok have reached almost a billion views daily—the big question behind this number: if science doesn’t find its own voice, whose will it be? Conspiracy videos? Fake medicine? Ads for miracles?

This is where speaking becomes an ethical act. When you speak on stage, you’re not just building your own career—you’re investing in the decisions of society. Climate policy, vaccine skepticism, food security—victory in these battles comes through voices. According to World Health Organization data, millions are put at risk every year due to misinformation on health. The only voice that can reduce that risk is the scientist’s. But if that voice trembles, someone else will fill the gap.

We often say, “I’m a scientist, not a speaker.” That sentence hides a kind of self-deception. Being a scientist means being the first speaker—standing before nature and asking questions, before a paper and making arguments, before people and painting the future. Whether you’re a good student or a fiercely curious thinker—the answer lies both in your lab and in your voice. Who you are is also written in your silence.

You might think, “Voice is innate.” No—it’s built. Just as you learn from mistakes in the lab, you can learn on the stage too. The first talk will shake, the second will falter, but in the third, fire will spark from within. Statistics show students who get public speaking training are 35 percent more likely to secure research funding. If this number was just a number—that would be something. But it means a third of the doors to your dreams open.

In Bangladesh, there’s surprising talent that hasn’t learned how to share. The mother who wipes her eyes with her scarf while saying, “My son is a good student,” doesn’t realize—a good student can be lost if he’s not a good speaker. When we bring our work into human language, only then can a mother understand that her son’s lab paper can become crops in the field. Only then does the scientist become the pride of the family, the lantern in society’s hand.

Your fear, your hesitation—these aren’t reasons for shame, they’re signposts. They’re telling you, there’s something inside you that doesn’t want to remain confined to paper. Your words want to go out. And when, for the first time, you speak about your work with conviction, you’ll see—the room lights up, not just for your audience, but inside you as well.

Being a good speaker means choosing the profession of lighting lamps. You decide—in the crowd of bad news, science won’t be the softest voice, but the truest. May your voice carry not fear, but responsibility; not noise, but clarity; not ego, but humanity. And one day, when you step down from the stage, someone will go home with a new question. That question will be your greatest publication.

Tonight, don’t just close your slide deck. Add one line—not the name of your research, but its meaning. Tomorrow, you won’t just talk, you’ll create. The future wants to hear your words. Speak. With responsibility. Not in silence.