Last month, climate scientist and author Kate Marvel stepped down from her role at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies, where she had dedicated over a decade to examining climate change. In her resignation letter, she attributed her departure to the Trump administration’s actions against the scientific community.
“I anticipated that our work would be questioned,” she stated, “but only because its implications were politically inconvenient. I never expected that science itself would come under attack.”
Marvel joins a wave of over 10,000 science PhDs who have exited the federal workforce since President Trump assumed office in January 2025. This period saw the administration remove the Goddard Institute from its historic location at Columbia University, dismantle the U.S. Global Change Research Program, discharge nearly 400 authors of the forthcoming National Climate Assessment, and annul the legal framework for regulating greenhouse gases.
Grist conversed with Marvel about her resignation, the void left behind, and the role of spite as a potent yet undervalued sentiment in climate discourse.
Q. Your resignation letter says, “I’m leaving because I want to tell the truth.” What truth couldn’t you tell inside NASA that you can tell now? Are we talking about a distinction between scientific truth-telling and political speech?
A. It was about scientific truth-telling. I’m not claiming to be devoid of political opinions or values. I am a human being, after all. However, I feel my political views are of little consequence because I lack the expertise. I can voice complaints about the administration, but others can articulate those concerns more effectively.
My departure wasn’t driven by a desire to criticize politics. It was due to restrictions on discussing our scientific findings with the press. If we can’t share our discoveries, what is NASA’s purpose? It was incredibly frustrating.
Q. You told Scientific American that there was no single push over the edge in terms of leaving NASA. But I’m curious about how you think about that decision. In some sense, you study feedback loops for a living. Did the departures of other scientists make it easier or harder for you to leave? And does that dynamic worry you?
A. I carefully considered the exit–voice–loyalty framework: determining the most effective way to contribute when your organization is erring. The effectiveness of staying or leaving depends on one’s role. Some NASA personnel are more effective when they remain, such as those with supervisory duties or political insight. If I had such a role, I would have stayed.
However, my focus was research, specifically on the Earth’s climate. Observing climate change is inherent to our work. I decided that to continue my research and communicate it, I needed a more conducive environment.
“There is quite a lot of self-censorship. A lot of, ‘This proposal is definitely not going to be funded if I say the C-word in it.’”
Q. Something like 10,000 STEM PhDs have left the federal workforce over the last year, to say nothing of the dissolution of the U.S. Global Change Research Program and the dismantling of the National Climate Assessment. With respect to the people who are still there: Can you share whether the work is being censored? Are people self-censoring? What does a federal climate scientist’s day actually look like right now?
A. That’s one of the challenges: I’m not entirely sure, as we were evicted from our building and are no longer co-located. We lack a shared space to exchange ideas, and I only saw most of my colleagues on occasional Zoom calls.
People were attempting to continue their work, but without guidance, it was a matter of choosing tasks you deemed necessary and pursuing them, leading to a lack of coherence.
There’s significant self-censorship. Proposals likely to be unfunded if they mention climate are rephrased with terms like “multi-decadal Earth system predictability.” This verbal gymnastics occurred during the first Trump term as well.
Q. Some colleagues and I just published an analysis of the National Science Foundation grants database as a means of illustrating how researchers are describing their work these days. You basically see phrases like “climate change,” “global warming” — all the standard descriptors — drop off a cliff as of 2025, and then substitution phrases like “extreme weather” spike by 60 or 70 percent.
A. Indeed. The Earth has undergone significant changes and continues to do so. The physics of greenhouse gases doesn’t alter with political shifts.
My colleagues have been very cautious in their communications, avoiding policy endorsements while representing NASA. They focus on conveying scientific expectations based on emissions scenarios. The administration was not targeting policy responses but the fundamental truths.
Q. And now the U.S. has withdrawn from basically every multilateral attempt at addressing that reality: the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, the Paris Agreement, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Yet climate modeling is a global enterprise. It requires global data, global validation, global cooperation. What does it mean for the science when the country that built most of these modeling centers cuts itself off from the international infrastructure that makes the models work?
A. It’s a significant setback. While physics remains universal and other countries have capable scientists, losing U.S. leadership in shaping and guiding research narratives is short-sighted.
Historically, the U.S. has excelled in scientific endeavors, attracting global talent due to robust funding and stable institutions. Losing this leadership might lead to other countries stepping in, benefiting them disproportionately.
“You want to get the science out there for everybody to use. Because your salary is not dependent on selling something.”
Q. So who fills the vacuum? When our trusted public institutions can’t do this work, who does? Should we be worried about whose models end up informing those decisions?
A. We should indeed be concerned. Publicly funded science operates on different motivations. Researchers aim to produce high-quality work, garnering citations and peer recognition, rather than profit-driven outcomes.
Q. I saw you had a grant proposal to model the effects of solar radiation management on plant growth; not to advocate for geoengineering, but to generate evidence that policymakers would need to understand the landscape. And the proposal went nowhere. Meanwhile, private actors and other governments are moving forward on geoengineering research with arguably far less transparency.
A. If these discussions are left to private entities, the incentives and motivations differ greatly. Geoengineering raises profound questions, and it’s crucial to have unbiased scientific assessments. I’m concerned about losing that impartial guidance.
Q. As I understand it, your recent work has been on carbon-cycle feedback. That’s arguably one of the most consequential unknowns in all of climate science. Can you help me understand what’s at stake?
A. Distinguishing between feedback types is essential. Physical climate feedbacks address changes due to atmospheric carbon dioxide, like cloud or ice dynamics. However, carbon-cycle feedback explores how much emitted CO2 remains in the atmosphere.
Currently, the biosphere absorbs about half of human-emitted CO2, which is commendable. However, this may not persist, especially under adverse conditions. Understanding future atmospheric CO2 retention is crucial, involving complex scientific collaboration.
Q. And meanwhile, those teams of people are shrinking. In fact, one of the things that haunts me is that the organ we use to do the research, the human brain, is itself being altered by the phenomenon under study. Heat degrades working memory and executive function. Chronic stress reshapes the hippocampus. Wildfire smoke exposure has neuroinflammatory effects. You yourself have written about running world-ending simulations and the emotional weight of that work. Do you ever think about whether the conditions of doing climate science in 2026 are affecting the quality of the science itself?
A. Absolutely. There’s a palpable sense of, “What’s the point?” If our warnings are ignored, what are we doing?
There’s a lot of frustration, feeling politicized despite merely presenting facts. Being blamed for these truths is disheartening.
Scientists are introspective, often dwelling on perceived faults, even when they might not be at fault.
“I don’t think we solve this without getting mad. I don’t think we rebuild science without getting mad.”
Q. Your book, Human Nature: Nine Ways to Feel About Our Changing Planet, is organized around some of these feelings. You argue that climate scientists are allowed to have feelings about the planet they study and that perhaps the rest of us should, too. That’s the opposite of a norm in science that says feelings are noise as opposed to signal. How do you think about the relationship between emotional honesty and scientific credibility?
A. The book emerged during tumultuous times. Given the behavior of those in power, no one should ever feel impostor syndrome.
There’s no contradiction between being human and adhering to scientific rigor. Pretending to be purely objective is misleading; we should remain open about our values while ensuring data accuracy.
I have struggled with anger, my least favorite emotion. Yet, I believe that rebuilding science necessitates some level of anger.
Spite can be a powerful motivator. Recognizing those who wish us to concede fuels the resolve to persevere.
Oh, you want me to despair? Fuck you.
That’s an emotional stance! Persistence demands an emotional investment, beyond mere scientific justification. Belief in the cause is crucial.
Q. What would you tell early-career climate scientists right now who are trying to figure out whether there’s a future for them in this field in the United States? And what does the scientific community owe the people who stayed inside the federal government?
A. Whether you left or stayed, thank you. If you’re an early-career scientist hanging on or seeking other meaningful work, thank you. There’s no singular right path; it’s chaotic. Navigate it as best you can. If you find a lifeboat, take it. If you’re rebuilding, that’s great. Let’s support each other.
The plight of early-career scientists is the most distressing aspect. While I’ll manage, those starting out face hurdles. It’s crucial for experienced scientists to listen and help ensure a better future for newcomers.
Q. You’re a climate modeler. Most climate modelers I know aren’t particularly optimistic. What does your crystal ball say about the state of climate science ten years from now?
A. People are angry. Many who would have quietly conducted research now find themselves galvanized. This growing resistance won’t allow the destruction of climate science.
Optimism is essential. Surrendering isn’t an option. We must do better.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
