black scientist guy

Alright, picture this: you’re scrolling TikTok at 2 a.m., tea gone cold, and—bam!—some bloke in a waistcoat and bowtie’s explaining why black holes *ain’t* actually black, all while gesticulating like he’s conducting the Royal Philharmonic. You tap the screen: “Wait… who *is* this black scientist guy?” You’re not alone, love. We’ve all been there—staring at Neil deGrasse Tyson, or maybe Percy Julian, or hell, even George Washington Carver holding a peanut like it’s the Crown Jewels—and wondering, “Blimey, who built this genius?” The term black scientist guy isn’t just slang—it’s a cultural shorthand, a nod of respect, a cheeky-but-fond label for those luminaries who’ve cracked open the universe (or chemistry, or physics) while the world kept trying to dim their light.

Let’s rewind, shall we? Before the podcast era, before TED Talks went viral in Nando’s queues, there were black scientist guys doing Nobel-worthy work with *zero* institutional backing—some without even a lab coat to their name. Take Dr. Percy Lavon Julian (1899–1975), a chemist who synthesised cortisone and birth control precursors from yams—a move that literally redefined modern medicine. Or Dr. Charles Drew, who pioneered blood plasma storage, saving thousands in WWII… only to be barred from donating his *own* blood due to segregation. And don’t get us started on George Carruthers, who built the UV camera that flew on Apollo 16—while NASA’s own hiring policies quietly excluded Black engineers. These weren’t just “smart blokes”—they were black scientist guys who built bridges over rivers of bias, one peer-reviewed paper at a time.

Say “black scientist guy” in a pub in Bristol or a café in Glasgow, and nine times out of ten, someone’ll mutter, “Aye—the one with the *amazing* eyebrows?” Enter Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson: astrophysicist, director of the Hayden Planetarium, and perhaps the most recognisable black scientist guy on the planet. With over 15M followers, his Cosmos reboot (2014), and his podcast *StarTalk*, he’s made spacetime feel like a chat over a pint. His genius? Making quasars and quantum fluctuations *accessible*—not by dumbing them down, but by wrapping them in wit, pop culture, and that unmistakable New York cadence. Love him or find him a *tad* overexposed (we see you, Reddit), there’s no denying: Tyson’s turned the black scientist guy into a household archetype—part sage, part stand-up, all substance.

Now, brace yourselves—someone *always* asks: “What’s Neil deGrasse Tyson’s IQ?” As if brilliance comes stamped with a barcode. Spoiler: he’s never publicly disclosed it, and honestly? Fair play to him. Reducing a black scientist guy to a three-digit number is like judging a Beefeater’s entire career by how straight they stand in the rain. Studies show IQ tests are culturally loaded—designed in the 1910s to *exclude*, not include. And yet, the myth persists. Why? Because society’s weirdly obsessed with *quantifying* Black excellence—like it’s surprising it exists at all. Let’s flip the script: Instead of “What’s his IQ?”, ask: “What did his curiosity *build?” Tyson built planetariums, outreach programmes, and a generation of stargazers. That’s the metric that matters—black scientist guy impact, not IQ.

Visibility’s a double-edged sword, innit? The brighter the spotlight on a black scientist guy, the more folks reach for the shade. Tyson faced four sexual misconduct allegations in 2018—three from the *same* accuser via third-party blog posts, one anonymous. The National Academy of Sciences investigated; the case was dropped for lack of evidence. Tyson denied all claims “in the strongest terms,” calling the timing (amid #MeToo) “suspicious.” Now—important nuance: believing survivors *and* due process aren’t mutually exclusive. But here’s the rub: white scientists (looking at you, Richard Feynman, Stephen Hawking’s personal life…) rarely get *career-defining* scrutiny over unproven allegations. Why does the black scientist guy have to be *flawless* to be credible? That’s not fairness—that’s a higher bar, coated in bias.

Remember that Year 9 science lesson when Miss asked, “Who can name five scientists?” and the board filled up with Davy, Faraday, Newton… and *no one who looked like you*? That silence? It’s deafening. Seeing a black scientist guy host a BBC documentary or drop truth bombs on *QI* isn’t “tokenism”—it’s *testimony*. It tells a kid in Toxteth or Tottenham: “Your mind belongs here.” A 2023 Royal Society report found that Black students were 63% more likely to pursue STEM degrees if they’d seen *one* Black science role model in school media. One! Not a dozen. Just one black scientist guy saying, “The cosmos is yours to question.” That’s not optics—that’s oxygen.

Let’s talk brass tacks—or rather, lack thereof. In the UK, Black academics hold just 0.8% of professorships (Advance HE, 2024). Even when a black scientist guy lands a postdoc at Oxford, their grant success rate is 18% lower than white peers (Wellcome Trust, 2023). And don’t get us started on pay: a Senior Research Fellow might earn £48,000—decent, yeah?—but factor in London weighting, student debt (average: £45,000), and the “diversity tax” (extra committee work, mentorship, emotional labour), and that £48k starts looking like a Tesco meal deal. Meanwhile, white colleagues with *identical CVs* pull down £5–7k more. So when someone asks, “Why aren’t there more black scientist guys?”, the answer’s not “lack of talent”—it’s “lack of investment.”

UK funding gap by ethnicity (2023–24)

Gone are the days when the black scientist guy was a footnote in a textbook—now he’s headlining Marvel films (*cough* Shuri *cough*, but let’s not forget her brother T’Challa’s PhD in *physics*), rapping science on *The Rap Guide to Evolution*, or popping up in *Doctor Who* as the Time Lord’s brilliant mate. Even *Blue Peter* had Dr. Maggie Aderin-Pocock dismantling rockets in a sparkly blazer. This matters—not because science needs glitter (though, let’s be real, it helps), but because it shatters the “mad white-haired genius” trope. The modern black scientist guy wears durags *and* degrees, drops Drake lyrics *and* differential equations. He’s not “exceptional”—he’s *expansive*. And the kids? They’re eating it up like custard creams.

Here’s a grim stat: only 3% of named scientific instruments, equations, or discoveries honour Black scientists—even though folks like Dr. Marie Maynard Daly (first Black woman PhD in chemistry, USA, 1947) literally *mapped* how cholesterol clogs arteries. Or Dr. Edward Bouchet—the first African American PhD in *physics* (Yale, 1876)—who taught for 26 years at a segregated school because Ivy Leagues wouldn’t hire him. These aren’t “lost” stories—they were *buried*. But today? Projects like Black in Physics, 500 Queer Scientists, and the Royal Society’s “Inclusive Archives” are doing forensic historiography—combing old theses, lab logs, even ship manifests—to resurrect the black scientist guys history tried to file under “misc.” Respect due.

Fancy diving deeper? Brilliant call. Kick off at the homepage of Jennifermjones.net—where we’ve got the full dossier on unsung pioneers. Fancy more structured digging? Our Roles section unpacks how identity shapes scientific legacy. And if you loved this, you’ll *adore* our forensic profile of investigative legend: Duncan Campbell: Journalist Born 1944 – Legacy Uncovered. Because truth? It’s never just *out there*—it’s built, brick by brick, by the black scientist guys (and allies) who refuse to look away.

References

• https://royalsociety.org/topics-policy/publications/2023/diversity-in-uk-research/
• https://www.wellcome.org/grant-funding/insights/funding-decisions-and-diversity
• https://advance-he.ac.uk/data-and-analysis/staff-statistics
• https://www.nasonline.org/news-and-multimedia/news/sexual-harassment-investigation-statement.html