When Fear Meets Frequency
Dealing with 5G Panic (and Other Modern Myths)
The other day I was having Sunday lunch with my neighbours - what we like to call Gravy Club (although that has probably broken the first rule of Gravy Club), and the topic of self driving cars cropped up. I told them that this was coming very soon, in a level 4 style, so full self-driving under restricted circumstances.
They nodded, impressed… then frowned.
“Yeah, but I just don’t like the idea of that.”
Not “it’s dangerous” or “it doesn’t work.” Just an instinctive no. And honestly, I get it. Because fear of technology isn’t always about logic - sometimes it’s about trust.
If you’ve ever tried explaining reality to someone who is convinced that 5G is melting their brain, you’ll know - logic alone doesn’t always help. Because fear doesn’t play by scientific rules. You can quote studies, cite experts, even draw diagrams on napkins. But once fear’s involved, the conversation isn’t about radiation levels, it's about trust.
And that, really, is the heart of it. We can’t fight fear with facts alone. But we also can’t build trust without them.
Two kinds of fear
I think it helps to separate fear into two broad types: rational and irrational.
Rational fears have roots. They often grow from uncertainty, limited data, or valid concerns about unintended consequences. People who ask, “What if 5G affects my health?” or “How secure are self-driving cars?” aren’t anti-science - they’re curious, cautious, and human.
Irrational fears, on the other hand, have vines. They twist around emotion, identity, and misinformation. They thrive in places where mistrust of institutions is already high, and where complex science gets replaced by simple villains: “5G causes cancer”, “AI wants to kill us”, “Vaccines are tracking devices”.
Rational fears can be met with clarity. Irrational fears need empathy. The mistake we often make as scientists, communicators, or brands, is using one tool for both.
The rational kind: data, transparency, and dialogue
Let’s start with the reasonable crowd. These are the people who simply want to know what’s going on.
If someone worries that 5G masts might harm their health, it’s not helpful to laugh it off or say “the science is settled.” Instead, meet them where they are. Explain how electromagnetic frequencies work. That 5G sits on the non-ionising side of the spectrum, alongside Wi-Fi and visible light which means that it doesn’t have enough energy to damage DNA or cause cancer.
Then go a step further: share how safety standards are tested, and how the International Commission on Non-Ionizing Radiation Protection (ICNIRP) sets strict exposure limits well below harmful thresholds. Because here’s the key: information isn’t enough — people need to see that someone’s thinking about this properly. Transparency builds confidence. Curiosity builds connection.
A rational fear is a chance to build understanding — not to win a debate, but to build trust in the process.
It’s the same principle that engineers use: you don’t remove uncertainty by pretending it’s not there. You quantify it, model it, and communicate it.
The irrational kind: emotion, narrative, and identity
Now for the trickier kind. The conspiracy-fuelled, emotionally charged, and sometimes unshakable fears.
These aren’t really about the thing itself. They’re about control - who has it, who’s hiding it, and who’s been left out.
Someone who believes 5G causes COVID isn’t rejecting physics, they’re rejecting powerlessness. In their story, the world feels dangerous, unpredictable, and controlled by unseen forces. 5G becomes the perfect symbol: invisible, technical, and everywhere.
That’s why shouting “You’re wrong” rarely works - you only need to look at a debate on social media to know this! Because what they’re defending isn’t a fact, it’s a worldview.
So what can we do?
We start with empathy. We look for shared values: safety, wellbeing, fairness. We listen before we correct. And we tell stories that reconnect science with humanity.
For example, instead of saying, “5G doesn’t cause cancer,” we might say: “Humans have always feared invisible forces. When electricity was first introduced, people thought it could pull the iron from your blood. When microwaves arrived, many believed they’d sterilise you. But time and testing showed the pattern — invisible doesn’t mean unsafe.”
It’s not about agreeing with the fear; it’s about reframing it. Science communication isn’t the art of shouting louder. It’s the art of helping people update their stories.
How this plays out beyond 5G
This pattern repeats everywhere technology collides with uncertainty.
Take self-driving cars. Rational fear: "what happens in a crash? Who’s liable if the AI makes a mistake?" Irrational fear: “robots are taking over the roads and controlling where we can go.”
The first kind of fear pushes the technology forward — it drives regulation, safety standards, and robust design. The second kind of fear pushes it backwards — it fuels panic, viral misinformation, and suspicion.
Or AI in healthcare. Rational fear: "data privacy, algorithmic bias, transparency in decision-making." Irrational fear: “AI doctors will decide who lives and dies.” Same root (fear of losing control), different growth pattern.
And vaccines, of course, are the enduring case study. Rational fear: "side effects, long-term safety, medical ethics." Irrational fear: "chips, plots, and secret agendas."
In every case, communication succeeds when we diagnose which kind of fear we’re dealing with — before we start prescribing solutions.
Fear as a feature, not a bug
It’s tempting to treat fear as an obstacle to science communication. But in a way, fear is a sign that people are paying attention. You could think of it as curiosity, misdirected.
Every technological leap has triggered it. Electricity. Radio. The first vaccines. Even bicycles once inspired moral panic (“excessive cycling causes hysteria in women,” said the Victorians). We laugh now, but at the time those fears were deeply real. So maybe the job of the communicator isn’t to eliminate fear, but to evolve it — from reaction to reflection.
The bigger picture
At its core, science communication isn’t about winning arguments. It’s about building bridges — between expertise and experience, logic and emotion, evidence and meaning.
Because when fear meets frequency — whether it’s 5G, AI, autonomous mobility or the next wave of innovation — people don’t just need data. They need a story they can believe in.
And that story starts, as most good ones do, with understanding.
Foot Notes
Along with surely everyone else interested in science communication I'm a big fan of Hannah Fry, so the main excitement of the last fortnight has been the launch of The Rest is Science podcast, the lastest offering from Goalhanger.
For me the first couple of episodes have been good listening, and I'd not been aware Michael Stevens aka Vsauce, so was happy to to be introduced to his content - I think he is an excellent communicator.
One gripe from me though - the first episode is about water, described by Miranda Sawyer in The Guardian as a "lesson in chemistry".
Admitedly I have a chemistry bias, but how anybody talks about water for 37 minutes without mentioning the very unusual property that water expands when it freezes (due to hydrogen bonding) is beyond me! The consequence of this expansion is that ice floats forming an insulating layer on the surface of the water, allowing aquatic organisms to survive the winter. If it didn't, lakes, rivers and oceans would freeze from the bottom up and eventually freeze solid, thereby killing everything in that body of water.
To summarise:
no hydrogen bonding = no expansion on freezing = water freezes solid = no life on earth
Chemistry rant over!