Exposure, not ability, divides the global scientific community

A few seconds of silence can feel much longer than they are. When the first keynote of our recent cancer biology symposium for undergraduates at Universidad de Las Américas (UDLA) in Quito ended, I asked the audience if they had any questions. No hands were raised.

I was already worried that the students, most of whom were in their first or second year, would hesitate to speak after listening to a leading researcher from Europe describe the latest advances in pancreatic cancer diagnosis and treatment. In regions with limited research infrastructure, students often assume that cutting-edge science belongs elsewhere.

But then a hand did go up. Then another. Within moments, many more followed. The first student asked a sharp, conceptually sophisticated question that linked molecular pathways from the talk to the biology of metastasis. The speaker, visibly impressed, paused before offering a detailed response. More questions came, each more incisive. What began as a moment of anxiety became a revelation about scientific education in emerging regions.

In Ecuador, as in many countries across Latin America, undergraduate students receive solid scientific training but have little direct access to international research leaders. Few have attended global conferences or met the scientists whose names appear in their textbooks. We hosted this symposium with the deliberate aim of overcoming that problem. We invited senior figures in cancer biology to speak not to faculty, doctoral researchers or established experts but to undergraduates.

The question was simple: if we treat students as future colleagues rather than as passive learners, would they rise to the occasion?

They did. Immediately. More than a hundred attended the sessions in person. They took notes, approached speakers during breaks, and engaged with a confidence that surprised not only the organisers but also the invited guests.

Several scientists remarked that they had rarely encountered undergraduates who asked questions with such depth and clarity. Some offered advice on academic paths or recommended specific papers. A few suggested potential internships or collaborative opportunities. Many said they were moved by the intensity of the students’ curiosity. In discussions, they reflected on how refreshing it was to teach in a context where students engage with ideas out of genuine hunger to learn, rather than obligation. Several speakers told us that the respect, attentiveness and curiosity they saw at UDLA reminded them why they entered academia in the first place.

The reactions from students were even more striking. Many described the symposium as the first time they had seen themselves as part of the global scientific community. Meeting scientists they had previously known only through publications gave them a sense of proximity to research that is often missing in countries where postgraduate programmes are scarce.

Students spoke of feeling inspired, seen and motivated. They left with new ambitions, new mentors and a clearer sense of what a scientific career could look like. Some told us that the event had changed the trajectory of their studies. Others said that it was the first time they genuinely believed they could contribute to international research.

For universities, this matters. Institutions often invest heavily in infrastructure, technology and facilities. Yet a single week of direct exposure to global scientific discourse had an impact that many larger investments struggle to match. Bringing a small group of leading researchers to engage with students may not replace long-term training programmes, but it replicates many of the cultural conditions that make research thrive: debate, curiosity, intellectual openness and a sense of belonging.

Events like this can also influence student recruitment. When prospective students learn that leading international scientists speak directly to undergraduates in Quito, they see UDLA as a place where doors open early and where they are treated as active participants in scientific life.

And the scientists that participate leave with a transformed view of UDLA. Several speakers expressed enthusiasm for returning. Others told colleagues abroad about what they witnessed in Ecuador. A few even pledged to help build bridges between UDLA students and laboratories overseas.

This is a form of academic diplomacy that universities rarely consider. When influential scientists leave impressed by a university’s students, they become ambassadors for that institution. They carry that impression to conferences, to editorial boards, to selection committees and to the informal networks where much of global academia still operates.

This model is scalable. Universities across Latin America, Africa, South Asia and beyond can replicate it with discipline-specific events, virtual visits, hybrid conferences or intensive mentoring workshops. With relatively modest investment, institutions can give their students a glimpse of what scientific life looks like at the global frontier.

In an era in which knowledge moves instantly across borders, there is no reason for academic engagement to remain restricted to traditional centres of research. The experience in Quito showed that students in countries outside the scientific mainstream are not limited by curiosity, intelligence or ambition. They are limited by exposure.

Scientific potential exists everywhere, and universities can unlock it by opening windows to the world, rather than waiting for structural reforms that may take decades. In doing so, they do more than enrich their classrooms. They help reshape the geography of scientific possibility.

Iván M. Moya is a principal investigator at the Universidad de Las Américas Ecuador.