When Florida’s surgeon general Joseph Ladapo recommended that communities stop adding fluoride to their water last November, Anil Oza recognized it wasn’t merely a state-level public health decision. In an article for STAT, Oza, a 2024-25 Sharon Begley Science Reporting Fellow, placed the move within the broader political context of the growing influence of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. — then President Trump’s nominee for HHS Secretary and an outspoken critic of fluoridation. Oza’s coverage examined both the scientific evidence supporting water fluoridation and the emerging political forces aligned against it, illuminating what was really at stake: a decades-old public health intervention that experts had long considered one of the greatest achievements of the 20th century, but which suddenly faced an uncertain future.
Since Oza joined STAT last fall, he has established himself as a journalist with an uncommon talent for detecting the ripple effects of policy decisions across scientific communities. He covers issues ranging from controversial meta-analyses of fluoride’s health effects to executive orders that now threaten billions of dollars in NIH funding. Drawing on his background in neuroscience and science communication, Oza brings analytical precision to these politically charged topics. His work is further distinguished by his pursuit of diverse expertise — including bench scientists, historians, economists, and politicians — to dissect how scientific priorities form. As Oza puts it, he seeks “every possible version of expertise that could exist on a topic.”
In a recent conversation, Oza discussed the merits of covering the social process of science, the complications of reporting on contested scientific territory, and the challenges of building trust with sources who are hesitant to talk with the media. The following interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Your reporting explores the machinery of science policy rather than just scientific discoveries — like your recent coverage of NIH grants being abruptly paused. What first sparked your interest in examining these power dynamics?
I think there’s a question of what we as science journalists can offer that is unique and powerful. For me, that’s much more about the social process of science rather than just the published research.
When I talk to friends in academia, there’s this straightforward vision of science journalism: research happens, you publish, talk to a journalist, and it goes out into the world. But I think what we can uniquely offer is insight into the social process that led to that – how people get grants, the political processes by which research is funded and conducted, and how it impacts the world.
Any researcher can write about their own work, but we have something special to offer by taking a step back and examining that process. For better or worse, this involves politics, public interpretation, and how research creates change. That’s where the intrigue lies in stories like fluoride regulation or executive orders that misconstrue science.
Right now, there’s also a practical necessity to this approach. Our sources who are researchers and academics can’t focus on traditional study stories when it feels like the whole research enterprise is at risk. The appetite just isn’t there. Why read about a mouse study when the whole system feels precarious?
Your interest in health disparities predates your journalism career. How has that perspective shaped your coverage of issues like genetics research and biomedical funding?
Even before I was a journalist, when I was still figuring out what I wanted to do professionally, I was always interested in health disparities. I used to work at a hospital and did communications research on the coverage of health disparities. That was always my professional interest.
I started reporting as a student journalist at my college newspaper, where I did some coverage of health disparities — how the pandemic was affecting students, vaccination issues, those kinds of stories. When I graduated and started taking internships and fellowships, I definitely wanted to do more of this work.
But when you’re early in your career, it’s easier to get buy-in on straightforward study stories. Those are easier to tell, and it’s harder for a young reporter to mess them up. That made it challenging to pursue the more complex stories I do now.
Last summer at Nature, I wrote a story I was proud of about South Asians’ high rates of cardiovascular disease and the growing market for genetics research in that area. It took on an angle I hadn’t seen elsewhere — questioning the assumption that genetic differences explained these disparities when societal factors like intergenerational trauma and immigration likely played bigger roles. But that’s not the kind of story I would have gotten greenlit in my first internship. It was too complicated, even if I could see where it was going.
Your fluoride coverage examined an issue where scientific opinions, regulatory decisions, and public perceptions don’t neatly align. How do you approach reporting on such contested terrain?
The fluoride debate is so contentious because it uses the language of science. If you talk to certain researchers, they would argue the science is settled — that the benefits outweigh the harms unequivocally. Others disagree vehemently.
What makes it complicated is both sides have their own journals, published data, and lines of inquiry. Pro-fluoridation researchers point to epidemiological studies showing benefits, while anti-fluoride researchers highlight Canadian studies suggesting effects on IQ in prepubescent boys.
Navigating this requires substantially more work than a straightforward study story. It gets at fundamental questions about what we’re looking for from research: How much certainty is enough? Some researchers argue we have enough certainty to continue fluoridation at current rates, and most of the public is comfortable with that, but some aren’t. There’s a tricky line between not invalidating legitimate concerns and recognizing when we’re simply repeating studies to no effect. It’s similar to vaccine debates — you don’t want to dismiss people’s worries about their children, but at some point, continually studying the same question produces diminishing returns.
What fascinated me was RFK Jr. making fluoride one of his first priorities after Trump won. With all his valuable airtime immediately after the nomination, fluoride topped his list for “making America healthy.” That signaled something important about priorities.
One distinctive aspect of your reporting is how you integrate diverse voices beyond traditional scientific sources. How does this interdisciplinary approach enhance your coverage of complex policy issues?
I don’t know that I have much expertise in anything, but what’s important is quoting many different types of people. Yes, I’ll talk to whoever represents the “basic science” of a field — biologists, epidemiologists, public health experts — but I’m also often talking to social scientists like historians and science and technology studies scholars who critique the sciences. That’s often where the most interesting insights come from.
I try to seek out every possible version of expertise that could exist on a topic. I had a story a couple weeks ago that quoted a historian, an economist, a biologist, a politician, and a scientific funder — all very different people with insight about this narrow thing. You just have to be aware of all the different facets that affect the process of science.
I love that discomfort of interviewing new people when I don’t know what will come of it. They could say the most insightful thing you’ve ever heard, whereas if you only ever speak to evolutionary biologists, you hear the same things repeatedly. When I’ve talked to many health equity people from the physician side, I start to hear the same perspectives. That’s when it’s nice to ask: What does a sociologist have to say? What does an economist have to say? What does a politician have to say? Those interdisciplinary perspectives make for much more interesting stories.
Your reporting on NIH policy shifts has clearly earned trust from high-profile sources. How do you build relationships with officials, scientists, and advocates when many feel their work is under threat?
Good reporting leads to more good reporting. With topics like fluoride that I’ve covered for months, researchers read my work and decide, “I’ll talk to this guy again.” As you build those relationships, you get more detailed analyses beyond surface-level answers. Sources start telling colleagues and friends, creating a network of trust.
Sometimes people I’ve reached out to who didn’t respond initially will see my published work and contact me saying, “This is actually quite good — if you need someone in the future, let me know.” Consistency and quality create credibility.
Equally important is thoroughly explaining our journalistic process. Many researchers simply don’t understand what journalists do. From my first contact, I explain what I’m hoping to achieve, why I’m reaching out specifically to them, and what the final product will look like. Before interviews go on record, I ask if they have questions about me, my outlet, or my approach — and whether they have concerns about speaking on this topic.
People appreciate this transparency because they often assume the worst — that journalists want something flashy rather than scientifically rigorous. The onus is on us to demonstrate we’re seeking truth just as much as they are. This builds trust that we’re worthy of their time and expertise.
Pratik Pawar is a student in MIT’s Graduate Program in Science Writing.
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