Katalin Karikó embodies Philly’s unapologetic spirit of grit and determination

I am a nerd. For as long as I can remember, I have been enamored by the Nobel Prize. That Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, established an international prize in the fields of STEM, and literature to recognize those whose curiosity, innovation, and determination set new boundaries, forged new paths, and created new realities seemed magical.

Nobel wanted to acknowledge those who changed the world. Early in my teens, I daydreamed that my loftiest goal would be to win the Nobel Peace Prize, together with a group of like-minded do-gooders. I knew that even if I failed, my work and career would be on an altruistic and fulfilling path.

What a thrill it was to wake up on Oct. 2 to learn that two Philadelphians had been awarded the Nobel Prize in medicine for their groundbreaking work in mRNA technology that led the way to the COVID-19 vaccine and revolutionized their field.

As an emergency physician on the front lines of the pandemic, the release of the vaccine was a lifeline — literally and figuratively. It helped both our patients and the health-care system as a whole, which was buckling from the waves of the sick and dying. But as a female physician and academic within the Philadelphia world of “eds and meds,” the accomplishment of Katalin Karikó — despite so many doubts, detractors, and barriers — is nothing short of heroic.

Karikó’s journey had garnered attention long before the announcement that she and her coresearcher, Drew Weissman, had won the Nobel. Even the Nobel organization referenced it when it quoted her the morning of the announcement: “Ten years ago I was kicked out and forced to retire.” Indeed, when Karikó first proposed the idea of mRNA-based vaccines, few took her seriously, and she struggled to get funding and support from other scientists.

Many women, not just in the sciences, have experienced variations of the same — who left or were pushed out of the realms in which they dedicated so much of their lives. They were forced to realize the limiting factor in their trajectories was not their lack of competency, work product, or innovation, but instead the shortcomings of the people and systems around them. Wendy Dean poignantly recounted similar stories in her book, If I Betray These Words, about when doctors have to compromise their oath to put patients first because of financial constraints on science and medicine.

Plenty of Nobel Prize winners tell similar stories, about how their groundbreaking ideas were initially dismissed. The difference between a trailblazer and a charlatan may only lie in the comprehension, vision, and creativity of the beholder.

» READ MORE: With Nobel Prize in medicine, a new laurel for ‘eds and meds’ in Philadelphia | Editorial

For Karikó, like other trailblazers, it was her determination that kept her going — she didn’t give up on mRNA technology, no matter how many doors slammed in her face. For others, it required someone to “get” it and support their work.

That support can be hard to come by, especially when a dominant culture prevails. Just look at Philadelphia medicine, which has a notable lack of diversity — and with it, differing lived experiences and points of view — in leadership. This is exacerbated by the prevalence of “academic inbreeding,” a common practice of hiring and promoting from within, and the decades-long tenures of the top tier, who may no longer be ideally suited to those they lead or the students they serve.

This further propagates and deepens the established culture. In these environments, the outliers may face disproportionate scrutiny, dismissiveness, or gaslighting. In 1995, with no money coming in for her research, Karikó was demoted. “Usually at that point, people just say goodbye and leave because it’s so horrible,” she told STAT in 2020. “I thought of doing something else. I also thought maybe I’m not good enough, not smart enough.”

Luckily for all of us, she remained steadfast and determined and did not let the self-doubt forced upon her to divert from her North Star. With the help and support of her family, she persisted and found new avenues for her work. In so doing, she changed the world — even saved the world in the midst of a ravaging pandemic.

To me, she now belongs in the pantheon of Philadelphia’s greatest heroes — personifying relentless grit and resilience, unflappable work ethic, unapologetic spirit and determination, and a track record that whispers “bring it” in the most Philly way.

She now belongs in the pantheon of Philadelphia’s greatest heroes.

Karikó could be the patron saint to all who have been undervalued, unappreciated, and unrecognized by those who were too narrow-minded — or too threatened — to recognize the potential for greatness that might be in their midst.

As a nontraditional scientist and physician, as a working parent filled with mom guilt, as a recovering academic, as a nerd, and as one who still dreams of changing the world — or at least having an impact that benefits others far beyond my realm — I am grateful to Karikó. She showed me and others how self-belief, pure intentions, willingness to start anew, and unwavering resolve can make all the difference. It is an honor to walk in the shattered glass she has left in Philadelphia and beyond.

Priya E. Mammen is an emergency physician and public health specialist. She is senior medical director of clinical integrity and a fellow of the Lindy Institute of Urban Innovation at Drexel University.

Editor’s note: An earlier version of this essay misidentified the founder of The Nobel Prize in economics; it was established in 1968 by the Central Bank of Sweden as a memorial to Alfred Nobel.