Last month, I visited the spectacular new astronomy exhibit at our city's science museum with my nine-year-old niece. As we stood mesmerized before a wall-sized image of the Pillars of Creation, she tugged at my sleeve and asked, "Who took this picture?" I realized I didn’t know. The stunning image hung there without attribution, as if it had simply materialized from the cosmos itself.
That moment made me realize how often the human story behind our understanding of space disappears. We celebrate discoveries but erase the discoverers. We share knowledge but hide its origins. This creates a fundamental disconnect in how we understand science.
When we read about the expansion of the universe, we rarely learn about Vesto Slipher, who first measured galactic redshifts, or Henrietta Swan Leavitt, whose work on Cepheid variables provided the crucial yardstick Edwin Hubble needed to prove this expansion. Their stories vanish, and with them goes our understanding of how scientific knowledge actually develops.
This pattern repeats itself across space science communication. An article about Mars might mention its thin atmosphere but omit any reference to the decades of work by planetary scientists who determined its composition. A lesson about black holes might describe their behavior without acknowledging Katie Bouman, who played a key role in developing the algorithm that created the first-ever image of a black hole.
"The erasure of attribution creates a false impression that scientific knowledge simply appears, fully formed," explains Dr. Mei Wong, a science historian at Pacific University. "In reality, our understanding emerges through collaboration, conflict, and persistent questioning—human processes that disappear when we fail to attribute properly."
For organizations that produce space science content, this attribution gap carries hidden costs. When the Riverside Planetarium launched their new show about exoplanets two years ago, they initially focused solely on the planets themselves. Visitor engagement was moderate, but exit surveys showed a troubling pattern.
"People found the show interesting but felt disconnected from it," explains Javier Martinez, the planetarium’s director. "They couldn’t see themselves in the story we were telling." The breakthrough came when they revised the program to include the stories of the astronomers behind the discoveries.
"Suddenly, our audiences could see that science isn’t done by untouchable geniuses," Martinez continues. "It’s done by curious people who ask questions and develop creative ways to answer them. Our attendance increased 40% after we made that change."
Research suggests that content without proper attribution can:
What might attribution-rich space science communication look like? Consider how differently these two approaches present the same information:
Without attribution: "The atmosphere of Venus contains sulfuric acid clouds that make its surface impossible to see from space."
With attribution: "When radio astronomer Venera Polyakova analyzed the Pioneer Venus data in 1979, she discovered something surprising: Venus is shrouded in sulfuric acid clouds that completely obscure its surface from space-based telescopes."
The second approach doesn’t just add a name—it transforms a disembodied fact into a human story of discovery. It shows science as a process rather than a product. It provides a thread that curious readers can follow to learn more.
The effects of attribution practices represent fascinating territory for exploration. How does attribution affect audience engagement across different demographics? What approaches work best for various formats and contexts? What is the right balance between thoroughness and accessibility?
These questions don’t have simple answers. That’s why we’re inviting organizations that create, fund, or distribute space science content to join us in a collaborative case study exploring attribution practices.
This isn’t about implementing predetermined solutions or guaranteeing specific outcomes. It’s about investigating an important dimension of science communication together. Participating organizations will help shape the study design, contribute content examples, and gain early insights from our collective findings.
Like the astronomers whose work we seek to properly acknowledge, we’re approaching this with curiosity rather than certainty. We have questions rather than answers. And we believe that by exploring together, we might discover more effective ways to tell the complete story of humanity’s greatest adventure—our ongoing journey to understand the cosmos.
If your organization is interested in joining this exploration, I’d welcome a conversation about how we might collaborate. Sometimes the most important discoveries come not from looking outward at the stars, but inward at our own practices.
Still thirsting for knowledge?
