How bumble bees inspired a network of tiny museums

If you told me five years ago

that today's I'd be delivering a talk

about our individual power
to make a difference,

I would have cringed.

It was my job to study
huge global systems.

I was a researcher at NASA using
satellite data to study the big picture.

You can see a lot of things from space,

like every ecosystem on earth
being threatened

from pretty much every angle,

and global inequality in air
and water safety.

And these kinds of things
would keep me up at night.

And then outside of work
I'd use this bird's-eye view

while thinking about
our huge social structures

like education and media and health care,

and it looked to me like
they were all really struggling too.

So I felt like the world was just trapped
in this huge self-amplifying system

that was just spiraling
towards destruction.

And of course I wanted
to do something about this,

and I felt so small and utterly powerless.

But I started to feel a little differently
as my perspective shifted

from the macro towards the micro.

It began with bumblebees.

I was using satellite imagery
and field research

to study these amazing ?? pollinators

to see how they were doing in the midst
of their own environmental crisis

in Southern California.

And from the macro view,
I saw 22-lane freeways,

endless suburban sprawl,

and water being diverted
from parched rivers

to grow lawns in the desert.

It was pretty grim.

But on the ground,

there were actually some small
opportunities for optimism,

these tiny patches of resources

known as habitat fragments.

If the right kinds of plants for growing
along the edges of a Costco parking lot,

and if in the neighborhoods nearby

there were native plants
in people's gardens,

and in the canyons that were too steep
for people to put their suburbs in,

there were native plants
instead of grasses,

then all of these in between spaces

would actually add up to create
a network of habitat fragments.

And this network meant that the bees
could traverse through the concrete desert

feeding from and pollinating
the native plants.

And these plants that the bees depend on
and that the bees sustain are essential.

They stabilize our steep hillsides.

They provide food and homes to thousands
of amazing species of animals,

and, critically, they are helping
to curb our devastating cycle of wildfires

by preventing the growth
of those invasive grasses

that fuel the vicious flames
that we're all too familiar with.

It's a really vital
and interconnected system,

and some people could see
how they were a part of it,

and so they acted

as habitat fragment gardeners.

They planted native plants in their yards,

and they even were tending
to the land in corporate parks

and in public canyons.

In my research, I could
actually see the impact

that even one passionate
gardener could make.

And then, repeated across the region,

their habitat fragments were adding up
to make a more resilient ecosystem,

not a perfect system, not by a long shot,

but at least a system that was
less likely to totally collapse

under impending pressures
like further development and drought.

So I was looking at the world
through this lens

when I found myself in the waiting room
of a public hospital in Brooklyn

with my partner Charles,

and we were sitting across
from a group of teenagers

who were slumped in their chairs

and bored out of their minds

and just refreshing their phones
over and over again,

and in a neighborhood

with some of the lowest high school
graduation rates in the city,

this waiting room felt
like a social habitat fragment

just waiting to happen.

So, we did some research to see
what kinds of resources could we add

to spaces like this one

that would make an impact.

And we settled on museums.

Museums are the most trusted source
of public information,

more than the media
and more than the government,

but they also cluster
in wealthier neighborhoods.

New York has 85 museums in Manhattan

and the Bronx has eight,

even though these two boroughs
have almost the same size population.

And then expensive tickets mean
that a lot of people can't go to museums

even if they live nearby.

And these little injustices,
they just go on and on

and they add up to create
sweeping inequalities

in knowledge and empowerment.

Across the US,

almost 90 percent of visitors
to art museums are white,

and even at the Smithsonian's
network of free museums,

almost half of their adult visitors
have graduate degrees,

which 10 percent
of the broader population has.

So it became clear to us
that even though museums

are these amazing educational
and social resources,

they're not reaching everyone,

and a lot of museums are aware of this,
and they're trying to change it,

but there's all these structural hurdles
that are slowing them down.

So we set out to create
a distributed network

of museum habitat fragments.

Working from a donated shipping container

with the volunteer help of our friends

and dozens of very generous scientists

from all across the globe,

we built our first prototype,

the Smallest Mollusk Museum.

Mollusks are these tentacled,
slimy shape-shifters

like oysters and octopuses
and the giant squid,

and if you've ever seen
an alien in a movie,

then I'll bet you
it was inspired by a mollusk.

Their slimy sci-fi vibes

make them really fun tour guides
for a biology museum,

and they can teach us
about the systems that we all share,

with a wake-up call.

Of all the animal extinctions
documented since the 1500s,

more than 40 percent have been
our friends, the mollusks.

So we tested this museum across the city

to see if it resonated
with all kinds of visitors,

and it did.

People really liked learning from it.

So we built a fleet
of tiny science museums,

each one small enough to fit
into preexisting locations

with information dense enough
that they could still pack a punch,

and they're modular,
so they can be distributed

at a scale that can reach everyone.

And then we partnered with libraries

and community centers and transit hubs

and the public hospitals

so that we could transform
their in-between spaces

into habitat fragments
for social learning.

And, fittingly, we named
our fleet of museums "Micro."

Even though each
habitat fragment is small,

it provides the essentials.

It draws people in
so that they can explore

and learn together in a social way,

and then distributed across the landscape
we're able to invite people everywhere

into conversations around science.

When we partnered with
a public hospital in the South Bronx,

we became the Bronx's first
and only science museum.

Yeah, that's really weird.

And really quickly,

families started coming by with their kids

and schools started arranging field trips,

all to this tiny museum in the front lobby
of the public hospital.

(Laughter)

And the museum became so popular

that we started hiring local students
to be museum docents