Science seems increasingly distant from the lives of citizens, even though it has very concrete repercussions on everyday life. How did we get to this point?
I believe we’ve reached this point due to a combination of factors. For years, science has been perceived as something “other”: a difficult language, confined to laboratories or academic publications. Meanwhile, the complexity of the world has increased—pandemics, climate crisis, technology—and people have found themselves having to make daily decisions with a scientific basis, without having the tools to do so.
On top of this, there is a trust issue: science has moved fast, but communication hasn’t kept pace. And when science doesn’t occupy the space of information, fear and disinformation do.
But it’s not the “fault” of citizens, nor only of scientists. It’s a cultural short circuit in which everyone has played a role: the scientific community, which for too long has spoken among itself instead of to people; institutions, which haven’t always invested in scientific literacy; the media, which often favor controversy over explanation; and social networks, which amplify what is simple, emotional, and polarizing—everything that science is not.
The result is that citizens have been left alone to navigate complexity. It’s not an individual failure: it’s a systemic one.
The good news? We can correct it. What we need is an alliance: scientists who speak clearly, institutions that invest in knowledge, media that once again become allies of information, and citizens who are placed in the condition to understand and participate. The distance that has formed is not irreversible—we simply need to decide to bridge it.
Climate change is one of the issues on which research has focused the most in dialogue with institutions and society. Why do skeptics and open opponents of science-based decisions still exist?
I think the reason skeptics and opponents persist, despite decades of solid data, is that climate change is not just a scientific issue: it’s an identity-based, economic, and cultural one.
Accepting the climate crisis means accepting that we must change our lifestyles, economic models, and political priorities. It’s uncomfortable. And whenever science asks society to change, a part of society resists.
There is also a psychological factor: climate change doesn’t speak the language of the emergencies we’re used to. There’s no immediate “boom.” It’s slow, cumulative, seemingly distant—even when it’s already here. The human brain struggles to perceive threats that advance gradually.
Then there is organized disinformation. Climate denial has never been a spontaneous phenomenon: for years it has been fueled by economic interests, manipulation campaigns, and groups that had much to lose from change. Even today, part of public communication is polluted by messages that sow doubt even where science is unshakeable.
And finally, there’s a matter of trust. Science speaks through data, but people make decisions based mostly on emotions, identity, and the communities they feel part of. If science cannot enter that value system, it stays outside the conversation.
The point is that climate science doesn’t have a problem with evidence: it has a problem with listening, trust, and narrative. And that’s why today, more than ever, we must accompany data with stories, dialogue, and the ability to explain to people how the climate crisis affects their lives—and especially how they can help solve it.
In 2025, producing knowledge is no longer enough if that knowledge doesn’t reach people and doesn’t turn into concrete choices—before the immense crises we’re facing (climatic, health-related, environmental, energy-related, food and water supply) overwhelm our species and the future of our children.
Science alone is not enough: we must have the courage to show our faces, leave the labs, and speak with clarity and honesty. As a scientist and a mother, I feel this is my duty: to turn what we know into what we can change—now.
Are there successful, positive examples of dialogue between science and institutions that can serve as inspiration today?
Absolutely yes—there are several positive examples showing that science can effectively engage with institutions and lead to concrete results.
Take the ozone hole, for instance: in the 1980s, the scientific community studied and exposed the massive use of CFCs. Thanks to rapid and clear dialogue with governments and international institutions, the Montreal Protocol was adopted, allowing the ozone layer to recover. An extraordinary success—science basically saved the planet.
Another example is the fight against polio. Thanks to scientific research, health programs, and the support of civil organizations like Rotary International, the Global Polio Eradication Initiative has reduced cases by 99.9% worldwide since 1988, saving millions of children from death or severe disability.
There are also virtuous local examples related to climate change: cities and regions that have adopted science-based policies, accelerating the energy transition, protecting ecosystems, and investing in sustainable infrastructure. These aren’t just numbers—they are communities showing how dialogue between science and institutions can become concrete, life-saving action.
These examples teach us something fundamental: science can guide change, but only if it is listened to and translated into courageous decisions. And there is no time to waste.
The most widespread life form on Earth is microorganisms. How are they affected by climate change?
Climate change isn’t only transforming the world we see—it is revolutionizing the invisible microbial world, with direct consequences on our health.
Melting ice releases ancient microorganisms: some already pathogenic, others potentially dangerous, many carrying antimicrobial resistances to drugs we use today. These masses of microbes end up in oceans and waterways.
Rising temperatures heat the oceans and fuel extreme weather events. Data collected since the 1980s show that after such disasters, spikes in gastrointestinal and respiratory infections consistently occur in affected populations.
At the same time, heat pushes disease-carrying vectors—mosquitoes, ticks—along with their natural reservoirs, from birds to small mammals, into areas once considered safe. Diseases once confined to specific ecosystems can now reach new regions and communities.
Microbes, unlike us, adapt easily to a changing climate: learning to grow at higher temperatures makes them better able to colonize warm environments like the human body. Moreover, heat accelerates the molecular mechanisms by which bacteria exchange resistance genes, making them increasingly insensitive to available medicines.
The climate crisis is therefore also becoming a microbial crisis. This is why we must act now—before the crisis turns into an emergency.
Can you tell us about a particularly surprising or encouraging discovery from your research?
I’m a very fortunate scientist. One of the discoveries that has moved me most in my career was made in collaboration with a research group at the Meyer Children’s Hospital in Florence, where we identified mutations in an adult who had always been considered autistic, but which were actually linked to a treatable metabolic disease. Thanks to this interdisciplinary work, we were able to intervene concretely, changing that person’s life.
Alongside this, I developed antimicrobial nanobodies—small molecules capable of fighting bacteria resistant to antibiotics or lacking treatments—and in fact created an innovative therapy for anthrax. I also discovered and described the bacterial exoskeleton for the first time, and the role of epigenetics in their cell cycle—essential knowledge for new treatments.
These discoveries remind me every day that the infinitely small can have a gigantic impact on people’s lives and on the health of our planet. Science is not abstract: it saves lives and can change our future.
Could you recommend a book and a film that you consider essential today for understanding the value of your work?
I would start with my book “Viaggio nel mondo invisibile” (Fioravanti A., 2025, Aboca Edizioni), because it is a hymn to science and a call to collective responsibility. It was born from an act of love toward humanity and the conviction that knowledge is the most powerful tool we have to face our time. It explores the world of microbes and the invisible connections that govern life on the planet and our health, reminding us that what we don’t see determines everything we do see.
It is especially important today, in a historical moment marked by climate, energy, war, health, and food-and-water crises. The book is an invitation to act together: science provides data and knowledge, but it is up to citizens to demand that political decision-makers turn that knowledge into concrete and forward-looking choices. Acting consciously and responsibly means making your voice heard, asking for evidence-based policies, and protecting our shared future.
I would also recommend another book, The Gene: An Intimate History by Siddhartha Mukherjee, which shows how genetic knowledge can transform lives, and a film, Contagion by Steven Soderbergh, which highlights how crucial invisible scientific work is in confronting global crises.
Taken together, these works remind us that studying the infinitely small is not abstract: it is key to protecting and changing the world—but only if citizens, scientists, and policymakers act together.