During the Christmas holidays of 1938, Lise Meitner took a walk through the snowy woods near Kungälv in western Sweden with her nephew, the physicist Otto Robert Frisch. Just months earlier, Lise Meitner had escaped Nazi Germany after nearly three decades of research in Berlin. In her pocket was a letter from her longtime collaborator, Otto Hahn, describing an experimental result that seemed impossible: uranium appeared to have produced barium after being bombarded with neutrons.

As they walked through the snow, Lise Meitner and Frisch found an explanation. Drawing on the newly developed liquid-drop model of the atomic nucleus, Meitner realised that the uranium nucleus had not transformed into a heavier element as scientists had expected. Instead, it had split into two smaller nuclei, releasing an extraordinary amount of energy.

Using Albert Einstein’s mass-energy equivalence equation, she calculated that the tiny loss of mass during the split accounted for this enormous release of energy. Frisch later borrowed the biological term “fission” to describe the process, and together they published the first physical explanation of nuclear fission in Nature on 11 February 1939.

The discovery transformed far more than physics. Within a few years, nuclear fission reshaped warfare, energy production, medicine and international politics, while fundamentally changing humanity’s understanding of the atom. For Meitner, however, the breakthrough also raised questions that would define the rest of her life: Who deserves credit for scientific discovery? What responsibilities do scientists bear for the consequences of their work? And can scientific progress ever be separated from the politics of its time?

For decades, Lise Meitner has often been remembered as “the woman who should have won the Nobel Prize.” While the debate over the 1944 Nobel Prize in Chemistry continues to attract attention, reducing her legacy to that single omission overlooks what made her one of the twentieth century’s most remarkable scientists. Meitner not only helped explain one of the greatest scientific discoveries in history but also demonstrated that scientific brilliance could exist alongside moral conviction. At a time when physics was transforming the modern world, she refused to separate scientific achievement from personal responsibility.

A Scientist Who Refused to Accept Limits

Born in Vienna in 1878, Lise Meitner grew up at a time when higher education remained largely inaccessible to women. Pursuing a career in physics required overcoming barriers that many of her male contemporaries never encountered.

Her determination was evident early. In 1906, she became only the second woman to earn a doctorate in physics from the University of Vienna. Two years later, she moved to Berlin to attend lectures by Max Planck, who had previously opposed admitting women to his classes but recognised Meitner’s exceptional ability.

Even then, opportunities remained limited. Women were not permitted to work in the main laboratories of the University of Berlin, forcing Lise Meitner to begin her research in makeshift basement rooms. Despite these restrictions, she developed a productive scientific partnership with the chemist Otto Hahn. Their expertise complemented one another: Hahn specialised in radiochemistry, while Meitner brought a deep understanding of physics. Together, they investigated radioactivity, identified new isotopes and, in 1918, co-discovered the element protactinium.

Lise Meitner’s contributions often unfolded in an academic world where women had to prove themselves repeatedly. She persisted nonetheless, eventually becoming Germany’s first female full professor of physics in 1926.

For Meitner, however, science was never about personal prestige. Friends and colleagues frequently described her as intensely curious, meticulous and deeply committed to uncovering the truth. She believed that science demanded intellectual honesty above all else.

Years later, she summarised that philosophy in a sentence that reflected both her character and her career:

“Science makes people reach selflessly for truth and objectivity.”

It was a principle that guided her through success, disappointment and exile.

Exile Changed Her Life, Not Her Values

The rise of Nazi Germany abruptly interrupted Lise Meitner’s career. Although she had converted from Judaism to Protestantism years earlier, Nazi racial laws classified her as Jewish. Following Austria’s annexation by Germany in 1938, remaining in Berlin became increasingly dangerous.

With the help of Dutch physicists Dirk Coster and Adriaan Fokker, Meitner escaped Germany in July 1938, travelling across the Dutch border with little more than a small suitcase and a handful of personal belongings. She eventually found refuge in Sweden.

Exile meant safety, but it also came at an enormous personal cost. She left behind the laboratory where she had spent nearly thirty years, her research equipment, many of her colleagues and the scientific environment that had shaped her career. At Stockholm’s Nobel Institute for Physics, resources were limited, and she struggled to establish the kind of experimental programme she had once led in Berlin.

Yet her intellectual curiosity remained undiminished.

When Hahn wrote to her describing the puzzling experimental results showing the presence of barium after bombarding uranium with neutrons, he admitted he could not explain what had happened. During her walk with Frisch that Christmas, she proposed that the uranium nucleus behaved like a charged liquid drop. Under the right conditions, it could split into two lighter nuclei rather than producing a heavier element.

It was a simple but revolutionary insight. Instead of creating new heavy elements, scientists had unknowingly discovered that atoms themselves could be split.

Within months, laboratories across Europe and the United States confirmed the phenomenon. Researchers also realised that each fission event released additional neutrons, making it possible for one reaction to trigger many more in rapid succession. This chain reaction would become the scientific foundation for both nuclear reactors and atomic weapons.

For Lise Meitner, however, the discovery represented something different. It was another step in humanity’s effort to understand nature. What troubled her was not the science itself, but how quickly political events transformed scientific knowledge into military ambition.

A Different Kind of Courage

As Europe moved towards war, many physicists found themselves confronting choices they had never imagined. Scientific discoveries that had once been pursued out of curiosity were now being assessed for their strategic value.

Fearing that Nazi Germany might develop an atomic bomb first, the United States launched the Manhattan Project in 1942. Many refugee scientists who had fled fascism joined the effort, believing that defeating Hitler justified the enormous moral burden of building such a weapon.

Meitner understood those fears. She had witnessed first-hand how fascism had dismantled scientific institutions and forced countless scholars into exile. Yet she reached a different conclusion. When opportunities arose for her to contribute to atomic bomb research, she declined.

Her response became one of the defining statements of her life:

“I will have nothing to do with a bomb.”

The decision was not an act of political protest against fellow scientists, nor did it reflect opposition to nuclear physics itself. Lise Meitner remained fascinated by understanding the atom and continued contributing to scientific research after the war. But she rejected was personal participation in developing weapons capable of mass destruction.

For Lise Meitner, discovering knowledge and choosing how to use that knowledge were fundamentally different responsibilities.

Unlike some later interpretations, she never argued that scientific research should stop because discoveries might be misused. Nor did she believe scientists could predict every future consequence of their work. Instead, she maintained that researchers remained morally responsible for the choices they personally made.

That distinction became the defining philosophy of her life.

Recognition Without Resentment

The end of the Second World War brought the world face to face with the devastating consequences of nuclear weapons. The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki demonstrated the immense destructive power that had emerged from the discovery of nuclear fission. Like many physicists of her generation, Lise Meitner was deeply disturbed by what she witnessed.

Although newspapers often labelled her the “mother of the atomic bomb,” she rejected the title. She had neither participated in the Manhattan Project nor contributed to the development of the weapon itself.

Her views were never absolutist. Lise Meitner did not condemn nuclear physics, nor did she believe discoveries should be abandoned because they carried risks. She understood that the same scientific principles that enabled the atomic bomb also opened new possibilities in medicine, electricity generation and scientific research. What mattered, she believed, was not the discovery itself but the values guiding its application.

Rather than offering simple answers, she accepted that science and ethics would always remain intertwined. The pursuit of knowledge demanded curiosity, but it also required humility.

A Nobel Prize That was Denied

In 1944, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry solely to Otto Hahn for the discovery of nuclear fission. Lise Meitner’s omission has remained one of the most debated decisions in Nobel history.

Historians have spent decades examining laboratory records, correspondence and Nobel Committee documents in an effort to understand why she was overlooked. Hahn’s work was recognised as chemistry, while Meitner’s decisive contribution lay in theoretical physics. Wartime conditions complicated communication, and later scholars have also pointed to the institutional barriers women faced within scientific establishments.

Yet what is perhaps most remarkable is Lise Meitner’s own response.

She never built her career around public resentment. Friends recalled that she was disappointed, but she did not allow the Nobel Prize to define either her work or her identity. Instead, she continued researching, teaching and speaking about the responsibilities of science. History, meanwhile, gradually became more generous.

Today, historians broadly agree that the discovery of nuclear fission was the result of complementary contributions. Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann produced the experimental evidence. Lise Meitner and Otto Robert Frisch provided the physical explanation that revealed what those experiments meant.

Recognition also arrived in other ways. In 1997, the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry named element 109 Meitnerium (Mt) in her honour—an enduring acknowledgement of her place in the history of modern physics.

More Than a Pioneer for Women

Lise Meitner is often celebrated as one of the greatest women in science. She achieved distinction in a profession that offered women few opportunities, becoming Germany’s first female full professor of physics at a time when many universities still questioned whether women belonged in scientific research.

Her strength, however, extended beyond overcoming discrimination.

She rebuilt her career in a foreign country under difficult circumstances. She made one of the most important scientific contributions of the twentieth century, yet watched others receive its highest honour. Through all of it, she remained committed to science without becoming consumed by bitterness.

She demonstrated that courage in science is not measured solely by groundbreaking discoveries. Sometimes it is found in the quieter decisions: insisting on evidence over ideology, defending intellectual honesty when politics intrudes, and remaining faithful to one’s principles even when doing so comes at a personal cost.

A Legacy Beyond Discovery

Lise Meitner never claimed that scientists could control every consequence of their discoveries. Knowledge, once uncovered, inevitably enters the wider world. Yet she believed that individual scientists always retained responsibility for their own choices.

That belief shaped every major decision she made—from pursuing physics when women were discouraged from entering the field, to rebuilding her life after exile, to refusing to participate in the development of the atomic bomb.

Her story reminds us that scientific excellence is not defined only by intelligence or technical achievement. It is also measured by integrity, resilience and the courage to act according to one’s convictions.

The inscription on Lise Meitner’s gravestone in Hampshire, England, captures that legacy in a single sentence:

“Lise Meitner: a physicist who never lost her humanity.”

In an era when scientific discoveries were reshaping the modern world, she showed that the pursuit of truth and the exercise of conscience need not stand in opposition. That is why, decades after her death, Meitner remains one of history’s strongest women in science—not only for what she discovered, but for the principles she refused to abandon.

Scientist Ankita Bansal is investigating cancer metabolism to uncover new pathways for precision cancer therapies and early detection. Her research aims to make cancer treatment more personalised, accessible, and effective for Indian patients.

In the evolving landscape of cancer research, where breakthroughs increasingly depend on understanding the invisible workings of cells, metabolism is emerging as one of the most powerful frontiers. At the centre of this shift is Dr Ankita Bansal—scientist, educator, and one of the new voices shaping India’s precision medicine ecosystem. As part of Education Publica’s ‘Women in Science’ series, Bansal represents a generation of researchers redefining not just what science discovers, but how it translates into real-world impact. An Assistant Professor at Jio Institute, Mumbai and recipient of the prestigious Ramalingaswami Re-entry Fellowship, her work focuses on decoding how cancer cells reprogram their metabolism—and how these hidden dependencies can be turned into targeted, patient-specific therapies. Trained across leading global institutions, Bansal’s scientific journey spans aging biology to cancer metabolism, united by a single question: how do we move from understanding disease to meaningfully improving lives? Her research now centres on identifying metabolic signatures unique to Indian patients, with the aim of building scalable, accessible precision therapeutics. At a time when India is positioning itself as a hub for translational science, Bansal’s work sits at a critical intersection—where biology meets technology, and where discovery is measured not just in publications, but in its potential to reach patients.

From Cells to Systems: Rethinking Cancer with Ankita Bansal

Ankita Bansal is exploring how cancer cells rewire their metabolism – unlocking new pathways for precision therapies tailored to Indian patients

What first sparked your curiosity about biology – and was there a moment when you knew research was the path you wanted to take?

It started with simple observations and asking “why?” Over time, that curiosity deepened into a desire to understand why living systems behave the way they do. I began tinkering with home experiments to tease things apart, though I never actually set out to become a researcher. I simply followed my instinct to test ideas and see what happens when you change a variable. It was only much later that I realized what I had been doing all along had a formal name: research.

During your PhD, your work showed that living longer and living healthier are not necessarily driven by the same genes. How did that discovery change the way you think about aging – and about what science should aim for?

Longevity without quality of life is not worth aspiring to. Healthspan is about independence, resilience, and the ability to engage with the world—it isn’t just a fixed number of years on a chart. This philosophy carries directly into my cancer work, where improving how people live, staying in remission, and catching cancer early matters as much as extending survival.

Science operates the same way. It is not just about metrics—publications, h-index, or grants—but the broader ecosystem: the people, the communities it touches, and how it shapes society.

Decoding Cancer Metabolism for Better Care

You’ve worked across systems from C. elegans to cancer cells. How has this shaped you as a scientist?

Training in C. elegans grounded me in systems biology and metabolism, constantly reminding me that disease is rarely a single-gene or single-pathway problem. Moving into cancer research reinforced the complexity of biological networks and the importance of thinking at the level of the whole organism. This journey shaped me into a scientist who views disease as a dynamic interaction between metabolism, environment, and time, rather than an isolated molecular event.

What fascinates you most about targeting cancer through its metabolism rather than more traditional approaches?

Cancer cells are highly adaptable, yet they remain dependent on specific metabolic sources. That paradox is what fascinates me; that dependency is a vulnerability we can exploit. Metabolism fuels growth. A cancer cell can carry every genetic mutation imaginable, but without access to specific metabolic building blocks, it cannot sustain itself.

It also opens questions beyond treatment: Why do some cancers stay in remission while others metastasize? What metabolic signatures appear early enough to catch a tumor before it becomes a clinical problem? Understanding these dependencies allows us to build early detection approaches that are scalable and accessible to broader populations.

Are there experiences from your global training that influence how you mentor students or run your lab?

If you cannot explain your science to a ten-year-old or a ninety-year-old grandmother, the project might not be good enough. In my lab, I want to train scientists who communicate well, take ownership, and think like mavericks—be the goat, not the sheep.

It is okay to fail, provided you learn during the process. I want people who question assumptions and feel safe doing so. This culture can be difficult to implement in India, where deference runs deep in academic structures, but that makes it all the more important to try.

Why is the gap between academic discovery and patient-ready products still so wide – and what needs to change?

The biggest misconception is that academia and patient-ready products exist in separate silos. They don’t; they exist on a continuum. While this is a global problem, it is particularly acute in India. Academia rewards novelty, while translation requires scalability and collaboration. You cannot simply license a ready technology and call it translation; you have to be part of the process from day one. Academia must take real ownership in nation-building, with the patient’s needs as the starting point, not an afterthought. Scientists, clinicians, industry, and policymakers need to be in the room together far earlier than they currently are.

Building a research lab from the ground up is no small task. As a woman leading a lab, what challenges have surprised you the most?

The juggling act that no one adequately prepares you for: running a competitive research program while raising a family. In India, the lack of high-quality childcare and reliable after-school programs is a significant challenge. It is a major hurdle that directly affects productivity and well-being. Being open about these realities matters, because pretending they don’t exist helps no one.

Gender disparities in science are still very visible in India. Where do you see genuine opportunities for change?

Every day is better than the last. Things are genuinely improving, and I don’t want to paint a picture darker than reality. The most persistent barriers remain inadequate childcare infrastructure and the “two-body problem.” Beyond that, there are no impossible bottlenecks. The trajectory is positive. The key is to keep making the case that these structural issues are solvable through dialogue and goodwill.

How can Indian institutions better support women in science?

We need childcare infrastructure, flexible timelines, and open communication channels. These should be framed not as “accommodations,” but as essential investments in retaining top-tier talent.

Did role models play a part in your journey?

My grandmother pursued a double MA after marriage and showed me that learning has no expiration date. My mother embodied the resilience required of a working woman, and my father taught me that success comes through sacrifice. My PhD mentor ignited my passion for research, even while facing her own health challenges, shaping my approach to science with both rigor and empathy. I also value the scientific dialogue I share with my husband, a scientist-entrepreneur whose translational outlook broadens my perspective.

Visibility matters. When women scientists share not only their achievements but also their doubts and unconventional paths, the journey becomes more accessible. There is no single template for success.

What excites you most about building a precision therapeutics lab in India right now?

Our time has begun. India is at a unique point in its trajectory—our Amrit Kaal. We have growing technological capacity, vast patient populations, and massive unmet clinical needs. Out-of-the-box thinking is now highly sought after. Translating discoveries into affordable, scalable solutions that directly impact patients is what motivates me every morning.

Looking ahead a decade, what legacy do you hope your work leaves behind?

I hope to leave behind frameworks that integrate metabolism, technology, and clinical insight to revolutionize early cancer detection. More importantly, I hope to foster a culture where science is patient-centered first—where we start with the patient’s needs, not the publication, and build everything outward from there.

In this edition of Women in Science, Education Publica introduces Prof. Le Roux, a leading behavioural ecologist and Assistant Dean in the Faculty of Natural and Agricultural Sciences, and Associate Professor in the Department of Zoology and Entomology at the University of the Free State. Her work spans biodiversity, mountain ecosystems, and the escalating threat of wildlife mortality on roads. In this conversation, she discusses what’s driving rising roadkill risks in Africa’s mountains, how vulnerable species are being affected, and why conservation planning must rapidly evolve to protect these fragile ecosystems. Women in Science is a recurring Education Publica column profiling women scientists from around the world — their work, journeys, and impact.

You’ve dedicated your career to behavioural ecology and zoological sciences. What inspired you to pursue this path, and how has your journey shaped the way you approach issues like wildlife conservation and mountain biodiversity?

I’ve always loved being out in nature, ever since the first time my father took me for a hike up Table Mountain. Growing up, I experienced first-hand how wild animals and wilderness can be good for the soul (not just for the planet and for our physical health) – and then, as an adult, I saw in Europe and North America how very little wildness remains over there. This has really driven it home to me that we, on this continent, have very precious, living resources that we need to protect – and these resources are particularly unique in mountains. Disregarding this in favour of mining and other capitalistic ventures is really just speeding us along to a dystopian future.

Your research highlights the growing risk of roadkill in mountainous regions, particularly for endangered and vulnerable species. How is the expansion of road networks affecting wildlife in these areas?

Quite simply, these areas were previously less accessible to humans and vehicles, and the expanding road networks are changing that equation. Species at high altitudes now become more exposed to potential invasive species (which humans transport deliberately or accidentally) and collisions with vehicles. Our vehicles move far faster than natural predators do, so escaping the risk of oncoming traffic is not something any species is particularly adapted to. Populations will need to learn to avoid traffic and/or roads, if at all possible. This is not usually possible.

You mentioned that certain species, such as African wild dogs, lions, and elephants, are particularly vulnerable to roadkill. How do IUCN categories help frame the urgency of this problem?

The IUCN sets the global standard for us to understand which species to focus on in terms of conservation efforts. Knowing that nearly 8% of the mammals killed in mountains were of conservation concern, we must realise that we cannot simply ignore the risk. We are not just killing common species—we are killing species already at risk because of hunting pressure, climate change, and other threats.

Your findings show that amphibians are killed at the highest rate in mountainous regions, while mammals face greater risk in low-lying areas. What explains this difference?

It is difficult to answer because there is very limited data on population sizes of amphibians and mammals at different altitudes. Mountains provide more variation in microhabitats, so there may be pockets of ideal amphibian habitats with more freshwater and cooler microclimates. When a road cuts through such a pocket, a single car could kill dozens of amphibians at the “right” time. This should be studied further. These microclimates do not affect large mammals in the same way. It is also unclear whether mammals are killed more in low-lying areas because of more vehicles or more mammals.

Many small species are killed simply because they are less visible. Is there a broader societal or policy bias that undervalues smaller species?

Humans have an affinity for larger, charismatic species. However, the patterns are not only due to our personal biases—it is also practical. Drivers see larger animals more readily and avoid collisions because of potential damage to vehicles. Small animals are easier to disregard. Some drivers even deliberately kill snakes, but this did not create a large spike in the dataset. With effective communication, we could make drivers pay more attention to small but “special” species. We can change our behaviour.

Unpredictable weather patterns and the topography of mountain roads contribute to wildlife-vehicle collisions. How can infrastructure or road design help?

Mitigation often involves wildlife crossing structures—overpasses or underpasses—and warning signs in high-risk zones. For this to work in mountains, planners need to identify these high-risk zones and determine which structures or traffic-calming interventions are feasible. This will be a unique challenge in mountain environments.

Your study, covering 10 countries and spanning more than five decades of data, reveals major gaps in data collection. What are the most pressing gaps?

There are vast gaps in our information on population sizes and densities of vertebrate species in most African countries. If you look at the Map of Life, you’ll see how little biodiversity data we have from central and west Africa. We also found no roadkill studies in these large regions. We need to support scientists in those countries to investigate the challenges and potential solutions.

Mountain regions host unique biodiversity. How does roadkill threaten these rare or endemic species?

Because of the topography and history of mountains, they frequently host critical, unique biodiversity. Many are biodiversity hotspots. These endemic species cannot easily escape climate or anthropogenic change because physical barriers limit movement. There is also only so far “up” they can move. This is different in lowlands. Roads bring a new threat to species already vulnerable due to climate change.

Data collection on roadkill is often inconsistent. What needs to change to get a more accurate picture of the crisis?

It would be helpful if we had an international body to coordinate monitoring of roadkill risk, but I am not aware of such a body. It is not a methodological issue.

How can governments and conservation groups balance infrastructure development with protection of vulnerable species?

City planners, municipalities, and ecologists need to collaborate. Rather than relying solely on Environmental Impact Assessments, ideas for green spaces, wildlife corridors, and ecological connectivity should be included at the design stage of new developments. Such planning benefits environmental health and human wellbeing. Architects and engineers should also be encouraged to “think green” from the start.

What urgent actions are needed from both the scientific community and the public?

Identifying roadkill hotspots is essential as a first step. There are many areas where roadkill risk is lower, so we need to know where to focus mitigation measures.