Beach Haven

Bibliography
Howe, Joshua P. 2014. Behind the Curve: Science and the Politics of Global Warming. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.
 
Review by Michael Beach
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There are two curves that give reference to the title of this book. The first was developed by Charles David Keeling in 1958. This was his projection linking increased carbon dioxide levels measured in the atmosphere with increased temperatures globally. As the book notes, much of the science of what today is called climate change is connected in one way or another with that original dataset and its resulting graphical curve. Politically, being behind the curve in this sense relates to actions taken or deferred by various national and international organizations.

The other curve Joshua Howe is more focused on, is about the assumptions that are made within the scientific community. Essentially, many scientists find data such as that developed by Keeling, then share that data assuming it will speak for itself and everyone will recognize the need to act. This thinking is linear in that science ‘discovers’, society ‘accepts’ and technology ‘enables’ some sort of course correction. Instead what the science community finds is that unless the political discussion happens throughout, or even if it does, the data will seldom ‘speak for itself’. In fact, much of the data has been called into question by all sorts of communities, professional and societal. The fact that scientists must form consensus on issues such as global climate change brings pause to the non-scientific. To some, consensus means not all scientists, and it also means not proven. To those connected with science, consensus has always been a part of how facts are established.

In fact, Howe points out how this relationship within the science industry, and between science and the community at large, is a long held tension that has always existed. He argues that science as a community should accept a need for contextual social influence and communication to help ‘sell’ findings. Limiting findings to just the ‘facts’ of research data is not likely to get the sort of outcomes science advocates hope for. The controversies created by the case of the Keeling curve and climate change is a good example of how science and society as a whole need to find ways to co-produce information from the facts of data. Howe notes that in some ways the science community has come to learn this lesson, yet stumbles still happen. One need only look at recent controversies over COVID-19, shutdowns, masks, and vaccines to see how the tension still exists. 
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Bibliography
​Heilbron, J. L. (1996). The Dilemmas of an Upright Man: Max Planck and the Fortunes of German Science. Cambridge & London: Harvard University Press.
 
Max Planck was a contemporary of Albert Einstein. They knew each other and worked on projects together in their respective roles in the physics community in Germany before WWI and in the interwar years. Plank provided some theoretical ideas that helped Einstein work out his special and general theories of relativity. Unlike Einstein, and many other of their colleagues, Planck was not Jewish. As Hitler’s Nazi party came into power, Germany’s scientists had to decide. Would they continue in Germany and serve ‘from the inside’, making the best they could of it? Would they stay and risk whatever the Nazis decided about their fate? Would they leave Germany and continue to pursue their scientific careers elsewhere? How vocal should they become, supportive of the new regime, publicly opposed it, or stay relatively quiet about political issues. Einstein left for America and became very vocal about his opposition to Hitler’s government. Plank decided to stay in Germany and continue his scientific leadership role.

For Planck, his decision, he said afterwards, was not to support Hitler, but to try to preserve German science and scientist from within. He encouraged Jewish scientists to remain in Germany as WWII approached. He also worked to shield them from policies that would put their positions and their lives at risk. Eventually he failed at both. In fact, he was even pressured to be openly supportive of Hitler’s government. On one occasion he attended a public meeting about the German scientific industry. It’s not clear how much pressure was placed on him, but he attended dressed in Nazi regalia and joined the crowd at the end in the Nazi salute, visibly mouthing a “Heil Hitler” as the meeting closed.
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German science, at least in the field of quantum mechanics, we often at the forefront of advancement. During WWII, theoretical lost to practical weapons creation. Most of the best minds left Germany so the field suffered even more from a sort of ‘brain drain’. Heilbron concludes, “Planck remained in office largely from a sense of duty owed not to individuals, certainly not to the state, but to the institutions of German science he served” (Heilbron, 1996, p. 207). Others noted by Heilbron thought of Planck more as a coward, or worse, a sympathizer. Perhaps his motivation is impossible to know for sure, even by Planck himself, yet his actions are unavoidable. In attempting to maintain status quo while everything was changing around him, his own standing and Germany’s as well were permanently damaged in the 1930s and 1940s. Nations that benefited by the emigration of German scientists are still world scientific leaders, especially in quantum mechanics.

BibliographyKaiser, David. 2011. How the Hippies Saved Physics: Science, Counterculture, and the Quantum Revival. New York, London: W.W. Norton & Company.

Reviewed by Michael Beach 

The title of this book makes the topic quite clear. David Kaiser compares the state of theoretical physics post World War II (particular the 1960s and 1970s) as compared with pre-war science. In particular he looks at a group that formed primarily at UC Berkeley known as the Fundamental Fysics Group (sic). Members of this at first informal group were generally trained in traditional experimental physics, but longed for the days of European salons of the 1920s and 1930s that included the likes of Albert Einstein and Michael Polanyi where one was more free to speculate.

The author makes a central point how in order to advance understanding, “a critical mass of researchers needed to embrace a different mode of doing physics” (Kaiser 2011, xiv). “They had to incorporate philosophy, interpretation, even bald speculation back into their daily routine” (Ibid.).

Members of the Berkeley interlocutors embraced ‘new age’ ideas around eastern mysticism, spiritualism, and the like. They looked to link physics with human psychological power through use of experimental drugs, among other empirical approaches. They called this sort of ‘science’ after the Greek letter psi with a goal “to plumb the foundations of quantum mechanics in search of explanations for parapsychological… phenomena: extrasensory perception, psychokinesis, the works” (Kaiser 2011, 65).

So how did the group of mostly grad students and dropouts employ ‘drugs, sex, and rock-n-roll’ to ‘revive’ theoretical physics? After WWII, most practitioners of physics were focused on empiricism and number crunching. The work was not appealing to the book’s documented physicists who fancied themselves above what Thomas Kuhn called ‘normal science’. They were looking to create revolutionary ideas in the tradition of Einstein. Their group discussions often revolved around ‘Bell’s Theorem’ that postulates how “quantum mechanics worked impeccably ‘for all practical purposes’” (Kaiser 2011, 25). Success of a number of them waxed and waned. Some of them produced very popular books. There was a great deal of focus on mental performances by the likes of Uri Geller. As the hype gained more notoriety, a number of debunkers emerged. One of the primary members, Ira Einhorn emerged as a sort of leader and guru to the group, and to non-physicists who shared similar interests. Unfortunately, Einhorn spiraled downward. He eventually killed his girlfriend and fled to Europe to avoid prosecution. Physics as an industry began to be less funded, and psi topics in particular became eschewed. Members of the group who did not get wealthy on their earlier popular books were forced to seek other ways to make a living including taking on everyday jobs.
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Kaiser notes how more recently a sort of resurgence of theoretical physics is upon us, and some members of the Fundamental Fysics Group have reemerged in the field. In general, they are avoiding the link with parapsychology. Event he idea of ‘psi’ has changed. The group no longer exists, but some of its early participants redubbed a more modern version as “PSI: Physical Sciences Institute” (Kaiser 2011, 241). One might recognize later versions of physics speculation in the form of ideas like chaos theory or the more recently debated string theory. 

Bibliography:

Sarewitz, Daniel. 1996. Frontiers of Illusion: Science, Technology, and the Politics of Progress. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Temple University Press.

Review by Michael Beach

Vannevar Bush was the head of the Office of Scientific Research and Development for presidents Roosevelt and Truman. He was charged to write a vision for the United States of post World War II science and technology. There had been debate over how much or little US government and military participation (read funding and oversight) was necessary in the pending peace time. The result was a report published under the name Science, the Endless Frontier. The report made a number of overarching suggestions. These assertions included that science brings ‘indefinite benefit', and that research is best left ‘unfettered’. Bush also argued that the scientific community holds itself accountable given it’s processes, and such accountability then gives science trusted authoritativeness. He concludes that if all this effort were sufficiently funded and left alone, that knowledge produced through science represents a form of endless frontier that is ever-advancing.

Daniel Sarewitz wrote the book referenced in this review as a sort of critique to the Bush report. He frames each of Bush’s major points as ‘myths’. He links them with Thomas Kuhn's 'paradigm' concept. From that perspective, those engaged in 'normal science’ would naturally question those seeking to overthrow that paradigm. After arguing against each Bush-myth, Sarewitz proposes in several chapters that science is a sort of marketplace and a “surrogate for social action” (Sarewitz 1996, 141). He finished the book making the case for a “new mythology” (Sarewitz 1996, 169). In his version of science, he stresses five ‘policy suggestions’ in lieu of Vannevar Bush’s policies. Sarewitz calls for expanding diversity among the ranks of scientists and an integration of what he calls “the human element” (Sarewitz 1996, 173). He goes on to suggest the need for more “honest brokers” (Sarewitz 1996) in science as described by Roger Pielke in his book by that name.

Here’s a link to my review of Pielke’s book:
http://bhaven.org/reviews/the-honest-broker

Sarewitz completes his policy suggestions by advocating a sort of scientific democracy that includes a worldwide R&D community. Bush might have found Sarewitz heretical to put social science on par with 'hard' science in terms of priority. Yet, what part of science does not involve the social? I assert that one can understand neither except in light of the other.

Bibliography

• Jasanoff, Sheila. 2008. "Speaking Honestly to Power." Amercian Scientist 96 (3): 240-243.
• Pielke, Jr., Roger A. 2007. The Honest Broker: Making Sense of Science in Policy and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

 
Review by Michael Beach
 
Roger Pielke reviews some of the various roles in which scientific and technical advisers place themselves when involved in the policy process. It really doesn’t matter the policy or governing body involved (political, corporate, religious, etc.). For Pielke, there essentially four ‘idealized’ roles. The pure scientist has “no interest in… the decision-making process” (Pielke, Jr. 2007, 1). Pielke’s science arbiter is someone who “serves as a resource for the decision-maker, standing ready to answer factual questions” (Ibid., 2). An issue advocate looks to limit the scope of choice, perhaps even getting someone to believe there is really only one good choice. The books namesake, an honest broker, is generally not a single expert, but more likely a panel of them representing some larger group such as an association of experts. This broker group helps to fully vet a topic to give the best consensus on a given scientific or technology topic. For Pielke, individual experts choose how they will add to a policy discussion, and decision-makers seek out different sorts of experts in these various roles. Pielke admits there may be other descriptors, and a person may act in more than one of these categories on different topics, or even within the same policy research concern.

In several areas, Sheila Jasanoff asserts conclusions that are directly opposite those of Roger Pielke as he expresses in his book The Honest Broker. For example, Pielke makes the argument that too much dependency on the linear model may in fact have the effect of politicizing science which is the opposite of what proponents of the framework claim. In his definition, Pielke asserts politicization of science involves advocacy which he defines as seeking to constrict policy options. In fact, advocacy seeks to narrow options to essentially one alternative cloaked as the natural outcome of scientific knowledge. He says this is a false notion that scientific knowledge compels a specific outcome.

In her review of his book, Jasanoff conversely argues that Pielke depends too much on a simplistic quadrant diagram of his own making. She notes how STS scholars have argued that forms of political engagement are not fixed in advance. It continually shifts. Where Pielke argues that the best role of science is to widen the number of the scope of policy alternatives. Jasanoff points out how widening the scope of choice does not always serve public interest. “Negotiated, knowledge-based consensus that compels a particular policy may depoliticize value conflicts” (Jasanoff 2008, 242).
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Perhaps the two authors can find common ground. Jasaoff sees a problematic tendency in scientists to naturalize values and social preferences that are embedded in science itself. Speaking about the idea of honest brokers in the form of panels in his final chapter, Pielke notes how scientists are humans and citizens. They have personal and professional values and views. It seems to me, if scientists can acknowledge their personal and professional values and how their perspective may be affected by them, the idea of honest brokers in the form of professional groups may be possible. As a typical STS argument, Jasanoff points out that the scientific process itself is value-laden. One conclusion to this typical STS position is how noting personal and professional values not only effect knowledge on policy evaluation, but effect knowledge creation as well, can ultimately help decision-makers to qualify scientific perspective as one of many considerations in creating policy. Understanding these human limits on objectivity would influence policy-makers not to discredit scientific advice, but also not to overweight it.

Porter, Theodore M. 1995. Trust in Numbers: The Pursuit of Objectivity in Science and Public Life. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Disinterested? Self-delusional? Both?

Theodore Porter describes two kinds of objectivity. The very approach of sorting kinds of objectivity would suggest objectivity is more than the positivist view, that it is the way to describe actual truth. Porter calls the positivist view mechanical objectivity, yet he questions if such objectivity really exists. He points out how theoretical (mathematical) reasoning is more easily shared, but has “no relation to any actual world” (p.14). Scientific knowledge for example depends on a correct approach in an effort to tame human subjectivity (p.21), yet the very act of taking the correct approach in itself requires definition as to available approaches and which would be correct. For Porter, truth is negotiated by a community of disciplinary specialists (p. 12), meaning it is really disciplinary objectivity.

Expanding on Porter, Funda Ustek-Spilda acknowledges his distinction of mechanical and disciplinary objectivity and how they seem to melt into a single negotiated objectivity. Ustek-Spilda gives specific examples in the form of how countries in Europe count asylum-seekers and refugees using a seemingly universal set of rules for counting people. The trouble is there is some ambiguity in the description of who to count and how, so local administrators have to decide on rules and processes to incorporate the definitions using the context of their specific country. The result is a mix-match of approaches and something less than universal data-sets.

The process of localized decisions makes the bureaucrats not just implementers, but effectively policy-makers in their aggregation of approaches. She notes several important STS-related concepts that support Porter’s argument about the predominance of disciplinary objectivity. Statisticians become performative in their approach in that they enact the social world in efforts to describe or represent it (p. 295). She describes how statistical methods are really like Latour’s idea of ‘sociotechnical’ in that the resulting data are neither completely technically nor socially produced, but rather are a product of both. Yet, there is power in the numbers that are eventually normalized and aggregated. She describes uncertainty absorption in that the discretion (socially influenced decisions) behind the numbers fade into the background as the numbers are accepted as truth. The numbers, though, are really a result of statistical rule-making based on interpretation, adaption, and application of abstract standards, guidelines and concepts (p. 295). Interesting how in his article, Warwick Anderson seems to advocate for that sort of approach in modeling using numbers seeking to "open up a space for greater ecological, sociological, and cultural complexity in the biopolitics of modelling" (p. 167).
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Given all this, can we even put any real trust in numbers? Perhaps with an understanding of all the caveats we can say some number represents some special set of circumstances, defined in a very specific way, under very specific conditions. Seems like so long as we consider numerical representation as a sort of ‘good-enough’ data to make a relatively informed decision there may be some reason to trust what numbers are telling us. At the same time, how likely is it for those who actually make decisions to understand and accept all that qualification language? It’s much easier to just ‘go with what the data is telling us’ and absolve oneself of personal responsibility. In this way there is at least an appearance (and maybe a self-delusion) of disinterested objective decisions.

 

Biagioli, Mario. 1993. Galileo Courtier: The Practice of Science in the Culture of Absolutism. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press.
 
Mario Biagioli spends little time in this book on the specifics of the scientific arguments of Galileo Galilei, though he does touch on a few high-level positions. Instead, Biagioli depicts how Galileo uses his scientific discoveries and invention of the telescope as means to position himself within the court culture of the Medici in Florence, and later in his life in papal Rome.

One of Biagioli’s arguments has to do with how patronage was used to maintain the power of the Medici and the Pope related through to putting ideas to the test (though testing processes might have been themselves questionable at times). It makes me think about science in the theoretical vs the practical. For example, G.E.R. Lloyd in The Ambitions of Curiosity: Understanding the World of Ancient Greece and China compared Greek and Roman ideals as differences of value around knowledge. Biagioli likens a differing of ideas to duels. He argues that the disputation was more important than the outcome in that honor is maintained in the fight itself. This perspective he describes as embedded in courtier life.

Patronage might be thought of as a sort of mentorship arrangement. As I understand it, a mentor would help a scientist in terms of collaboration of ideas, like say a more experienced scientist. The patrons as Biagioli describes them I think are more like sponsors by helping to set an agenda financially, if only indirectly. The sponsor hints at ideas they are willing to pay for through a broker, and the scientist woos a sponsor by properly framing research efforts, again through a broker. The sponsor-scientist relationship is clearly symbiotic in that the stature of each is raised by the position or ideas of the other. The greater the sponsor or broker, the greater the reputation of the scientist. The more striking the ideas of the scientist, the more prestige is implied upon the broker and sponsor. Interesting, sponsors do not directly pay a scientist so as not to seem to be buying loyalty. Instead the brokers act as go-betweens, not unlike a modern agent.

It might be argued that court patrons were more interested in gaining and flexing their power (giving titles, positions, making others do "their desires", etc). Perhaps they were less interested in only helping a client financially. Maybe the mentor role of the patron was more about mentoring the client in how to navigate the life of a courtier more than mentoring how to be a scientist. At the same time, I realize that my personal perspective on mentoring is based on how we might view the idea today. Back in Galileo's time the relationship described might have been thought of more like a mentor relationship.

One interesting perspective of Biagoli was how patronage was more stable under Florentine rule by the Medici family. Once Galileo moved to Rome to seek influence in the papal court it didn’t go so well for him. In that era popes tended to be old entering office, so they didn’t tend to last long before death caused a change in dynasty. As such, courtier influence waxed and waned quickly. In Florence, Galileo only had rivals of scientific prowess. In Rome, religious rivals tended to be as steeped in dogma as they were in power and face-saving struggles. As a result, when Galileo disagreed with a powerful Jesuit, he found himself in serious jeopardy. The arguments were in part about helio-centrism, but only in part. In his old age he was forced to recant some of his findings and lost much of his scientific authority.

​Mario Biagoli depicts an interesting picture of one scientist’s attempt at personal advancement through discovery, and the system of court patronage as a tool to raise standing of both benefactor and beneficiary. He also shows how such political and personal concerns influenced scientific findings, and argues that perhaps some similar influence happens still today. I tend to agree on this latter assertion. Science in many ways is beholden to whoever holds the purse strings. Perhaps funders don’t directly decide how science happens, but they do often determine lines of research by deciding which questions to pursue. 

Marcon, Federico. 2015. The Knowledge of Nature and the Nature of Knowledge in Early Modern Japan. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press.

Review by Michael Beach 

In this work, Marcon traces the study of nature (what we not refer to as science) beginning in shogunate Japan. The early part of the story parallels, and at times intersects, the scientific revolution in Europe. Initially Japan received most of its scientific knowledge from Chinese scholars. It came in the form of imported encyclopedias depicting fauna and flora. Japanese feudal lords decided it did not want to be dependent on China and commissioned its own scholars to created something uniquely Japanese. The effort eventually morphed into works collectively known as Honzogaku.

The Honzogaku is as much a system of classification as it is a specific book, though it is that too. Depending on who was in power, scholars evolved through various groups sometimes including monks, government officials, independent tutors, and eventually more modern university professors. Once Europe began interacting with Japan there were efforts to compare and contrast Japanese and European classification system along with naming conventions. One of the real struggles was the Japanese language itself was not homogenous. Often plants and animals had different names depending on which province the description was captured in.

The idea of the Neo-Confucianists who became scholars-for-hire hearkens to the early Greek system. In this case, they combined book publication, teaching, and appeals to power for patronage in order to secure their positions, often as lower Samurai, or Ronin, in the Shogunate court, Ekiken for example. This idea of a Samurai being something other than a warier broadens an understanding of how the Shogun court system was not that different from European courts.  In this case there were military, intellectual and priestly groups in competition with each other within the court system. The Neo-Confucianists juxtaposed themselves as direct opposition to the Buddhist monks of their day.

Marcon speaks to the turning away from the Honzogaku during the Meiji era, but also notes how some of the form of it continued. In some aspects the supporters of western-focused Japanese scientists have 'socially homogenized backgrounds' (p. 302) that focus studies on a form of service to the state. Marcon notes how some of this westernization has created a bit of backlash and regrowth of Honzogaku in opposition to western pharmacology in favor of 'traditional' medicine.

The Honzogaku and later works also incorporated ever-improving drawings of its documented subjects. One defining question was whether to depict a specimen with individual characteristics and ‘flaws’. Generally, drawings become more of an idealized form. Today, Honzogaku survives in at least two ways. Its drawings are in themselves great works of art as well as historical depictions. In addition, as mentioned earlier, some of its traditional medical information continues as an opposition to modern western pharmacology.
 

Latour, Bruno, and Steve Woolgar. 1979 & 1986. Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
 
Review by Michael Beach

​This work examines one of the large questions in the field of Science, Technology, and Society (STS). Are scientific facts discovered, or constructed? For the authors, facts are constructed.

Among the ideas of this work, Bruno Latour and Steve Woolgar describe reducing disorder in data as lowering noise, or increasing the signal-to-noise ratio (S/N) between data that support a specific hypothesis, and those that don’t. Data that don’t support a hypothesis are not necessarily counter-finding data, they are just not supporting data, hence noise. This is a concept I am very familiar with from my work in satellite and broadcast networking. It also directly relates to the authors’ concept of inscription. When data are created through process, the result is inscription. As theories become accepted they tend to change into tools to further test new theories. Tools can be physical machines or processes. When the machine or process become normalized they are said to be 'black boxed'. Such black boxes are no longer questioned, but are simply accepted. In labs, the machines (black boxes) referred to take information in and spit out printed material (data sheets or curves). It is the interpretation of data or curves that come to represent what matters in the argument for one idea over another. The more isolated one point of data is over others, the more distinct the information (higher S/N), and the more it supports a specific idea.
 
There are lots of steps along the way in the machine input, processing, printing, and transcribing of data into descriptive curves. Part of the work’s argument is that without all the manipulation a distinctive curve would not result. It is just as likely, the author’s say, that another set of complex manipulations could lead to a completely different looking curve, and a different conclusion. This is especially true if earlier curves had led to a different machine (black box) to process data in a different way.
 
My satellite and broadcast example includes the use of two tools. One is called a spectrum analyzer (SA), the other is called an integrated receiver decoder (IRD). Anyone who has ever worked with satellite or broadcast signals is familiar with these tools. In satellite, for example, after a transmit earth station (uplink) sends a signal to the satellite, and the satellite receives and sends the signal back to earth to a receive earth station (downlink), signal parameters can be both displayed by the SA, and made sense of by the IRD. Both machines have complex electronic systems within them. For example, the IRD has to first demodulate the radio frequency (RF) energy, then decrypt the data stream, then decode the information within the data stream, then transform the information into something a human can understand (audio, video, text). The SA similarly requires many parameter adjustments until the energy sent through the air can be displayed and measured in a standard format, typically comparing energy density levels at given frequencies (instantaneous or averaged over some period of time). Without all that effort the information does not really exist from the perspective of Latour and Woolgar. In fact, without the equipment, intelligence (audio, video, text) would simply be lost in space.
 
I’m reminded of basic communications theory. In order for communication to happen someone must have an idea, encode it (i.e. speech), and send it across a medium. The requirement does not stop there. Someone else must perceive the signal within the medium, and have the knowledge required to decode the information (shared language and context). Does the knowledge actually exist before all those communication steps are taken? Many in the field of STS would argue that knowledge not shared is not really knowledge. Chapter 5 of Laboratory Life emphasizes the need for a form credit in order to incentivize scientists to share or communicate findings, which in turn causes knowledge creation. This idea doesn't seem to sit well with Robert K. Merton's scientific norms, but are more akin to Ian I. Mitroff's counter-norms. Because of all the required inscription effort, the authors (Latour and Woolgar) argue that such knowledge is constructed rather than discovered.
 
Below is a typical SA plot. The square shape in the middle is the desired signal. The somewhat horizontally flat lines at either side are a representative measurement of the “noise floor”. There is never an absence of noise as radio frequency (RF) energy is always present everywhere. It is generated by the sun and many man-made devices. To obtain the S/N ratio is a simple comparison of the power measurement at a representative (average) frequency at the top of the desired signal as compared to power as measured at a representative (average) place in the noise floor. The two are then divided into a ratio. Depending on the sensitivity rating of the IRD in use, there is a minimum desired threshold. All measurements are in a decibel (dB) scale. Note the specificity of the measurement scales, as well as several 'settings' in the bottom right corner required to construct the graph. All of these scales and settings are adjustable within the black box of a spectrum analyzer. To Latour and Woolgar's point, changes in scales or settings (or principles and processes leading to creation of the SA) would yield data depicted differently on the plot.

Mavhunga, Clapperton Chakanetsa. 2018. The Mobile Workshop: The Tsetse Fly and African Knowledge Production. Cambridge and London: The MIT Press.

Review by Michael Beach

Among many threads, Mavhunga makes a point around ‘thingamication’. He shares examples throughout the book on colonial (and later) white perspective on African people as objects of study, control, labor, and information.

One striking example was the use of fences in building corridors through tsetse infested areas. Local labor was used alongside a thing called a bulldozer to clear forest where the land was too steep for the machine. They were also used to put in fencing, then funneled through those fences and ‘de-flying’ stations while moving along the fenced paths (182). The roads themselves were also a product of African labor, mostly built to allow for traffic between white-owned farms as well as for Africans to get from their homes to work in mines or on farms. These same Africans were able to move through traditional paths in ways that avoided infested areas during infested times before the belief that roads and fences were necessary.

Another particularly difficult approach from the perspective of Mavhunga was government creation of villages as a prophylactic. This effort removed people from their ancestral homes to gather them in new communities in between white-owned farms. Clearing and building up these small towns forced elimination of tsetse habitat (as well as habitat for nature in general), lowering the threat to sparse white-owned farms. The towns became a form of human shield. This approach lead to overcrowding of people in the buffer zones, and over burdening of the soils around the new towns (153). Mavhunga gives examples of eventual movement patterns adopted by officials that were not all that different than those previously employed by locals, but instead of preventative movement efforts these were about damage control (161).
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I’ll share one more human-as-object example. When authorities added chemical efforts to ‘mechanized phytocides’ (141) Africans again became a tool for the effort. While pilots sprayed less effectually from the thing called an airplane, African workers called ‘spray boys’ were given backpack pneumatic sprayers to go directly into the infestation. This put them as risk both from the fly and from the chemical poisons. Mavhunga offers a great deal of insight over several chapters about which chemicals were used during various periods and the effect on the fly, the plants, the environment, wildlife, and humans who both applied the poison and lived on the affected land. Decision makers only backed off aggressive use of chemicals when whites in the area began to complain after the shift from organic to synthetic pesticides (152).