Select answers from Neeraja Sankaran, author of A Tale of Two Viruses: Parallels in the Research Trajectories of Tumor and Bacterial Viruses

Q: I wonder if you could talk a little more about why this particular animal-based sarcoma so captured the attention of these important scientists? Historically, why do some diseases get scientific study when others might not?

A: Opportunity is the first reason that occurs to me. So, to begin with it was a new problem—a farmer brought in a bird with a tumor and so it was what Peyton Rous investigated. After all, he had been hired at the Rockefeller specifically to do cancer research—at a place that was explicitly not an institute of cancer research. So there was little or nothing established there already—he didn’t get to walk into a lab and help tackle an on-going problem, as James Murphy who arrived a year or so later did. In 1910 Rous was new at the Rockefeller and I’m not sure that at the time he had even begun working any particular problem. So when the right opportunity came along—so opportunely (if you’ll pardon the overuse of the word)—he took it on.

Ease of the model also plays a part—one cannot investigate the transmissibility of human tumor to another human. So unless there is a suitable animal model for a disease one could not carry out certain avenues of investigation.

The fact that the sarcoma was transmissible not only by transplanting bits of cancerous tissue (not unusual) but by injecting cell-free filtrates of ground up tissue, made it unique and therefore not only interesting but also allowed him to stake out his own territory. The research actually stalled,  dried up quite early, in the face of discouraging data, negative results and leads, but since it was possible to maintain the tumor tissue—at I suspect relative low cost in terms of both funds and space—he decided to do so and supply it to others interested in further investigating the problem.

Turning for a moment to the “other” virus in this book, the bacteriophage, its 1917 discovery by Felix d’Herelle took place under very different circumstances. Here it was an offshoot/byproduct of an investigation into a very specific problem for very specific reasons. d’Herelle had been assigned the microbiological investigation of a particularly nasty outbreak of dysentery at a garrison stationed just outside Paris. Dysentery was a known disease with an established microbial cause by then (actually two since people had already distinguished between bacterial and parasitic, i.e. amoebic types, but the unusually severe symptoms of this outbreak had led the chief medical officer Bertillon to suspect that the bacterial strain was different. In d’Herelle’s words, “one did not need to be a great hygienist to find the cause…” But having pinpointed the cause fairly early, he continued to follow the cases of convalescing patients and an unusual finding during routine examinations of stools etc. led to his discovery.

To answer the second part of your question—why some diseases get attention and other do not—both extremes, i.e. continued negative results or very quick resolution of a problem might have the same effect, in a problem not being pursued. Continued negative results and dead ends might render a problem “unsolvable” until newer techniques are developed and give one idea for instance. The early trajectory of bird sarcomas is a good case in point. Rous himself stopped work on the problem as early 1915 less than 4 years after his initial discovery, quoting precisely the discouragement of negative results as his reason. And the field lay fallow for nearly a decade until new results from across the pond, revived interest all over the world. As for the negative impact of positive results—especially in the context of a hospital laboratory, where a laboratory investigation is undertaken for a specific goal, once that goal is achieved, then the case is closed and the investigator moves on. Or as it happened in the case of the bacteriophage, a new tangential discovery completely overshadows the initial investigation.

Q: The examples of correspondence you show are really interesting. What do they reveal about the scientific research process in the 20th century. How similar or different is the process today in an age of digital communication and data sharing?

A: I think one thing —the most exciting thing really—about using correspondence (epistolary sources) to reconstruct history is the immersion into the lives and times of the people writing the letters. And to me it was amazing how much some things change/have changed while others surprisingly feel as contemporary as if written yesterday! I studied microbiology before I ever became a historian and some of the things the scientists talked about were very familiar and it was actually quite remarkable to thing that ways of culturing bacteria growing them in the lab and identifying colonies had not changed in decades! But other references are completely obscure because they cite obsolete techniques etc.

One thing about research then vs. now that is striking is the pace—letters took much longer of course, (there’s a reason its been dubbed snail mail in this digital age)—and often materials took even longer. Also easier nowadays to send the same message to multiple people at once. Back when cc literally meant carbon copying, i.e. placing a sheet of carbon paper under the paper to receive an imprint of the original letter—that was much more difficult or impractical. But still these were mechanics. To give an entirely unsatisfactory answer to this question “the more things change the more they stay the same.” or equally unhelpfully—some things have changed drastically others remained the same. Exactly what the some and other are, however, varies in each case.

Q: Can you talk more about Rous s'working methods? How did they figure out the chicken virus?

A: I don’t think that Rous’s working methods were in and of themselves particularly unique. He proceeded rather systematically to examine the tumor at different levels: gross, microscopic, chemical and try to induce it in a new animal to try and pinpoint the cause. The Koch’s postulates scheme of searching for the cause of a disease was in place even if the disease was not infectious. The early papers (1910-12) go into the details of the initial plan of attack, so to speak.

It took a long time to figure the chicken virus—nearly a century if you think about the actual mechanism and some parts are being figured out even now, I’d venture to say.

Q: Is our understanding of what viruses are still evolving?

A: Oh absolutely! In the light of what they can do, new discoveries etc. Furthermore, they themselves are evolving. But our understanding of some of the basic characteristics, that set them apart from other categories of beings for instance, have not really changed since the 1950s.

Q: When did scientists start to see viruses? Was seeing viruses under a microscope, key to proving viruses caused some tumors?

A: May I refer you to chapter 6 of my book? Jokes aside, though, it sort of depends on the specific type of seeing. The crystallization of virus particles in the 1930s allowed us to “see” viruses—or rather, the configuration of their constituent molecules—in a certain way; the cultivation in different types of media—e.g. leaves of plants, bacterial cultures (both in liquid and on solid media), chick embryos and ultimately on cell cultures—offered a different set of pictures of viruses. These images are of the lesions they cause in their hosts. So while you could not actually see the viruses themselves, you could see them through their effects. Without a doubt though, it was the invention of the electron microscope (1937) that brought the viruses into the visual realm.

To the second part, I’d have to say, that this sort of seeing was not key... not really. What it did was to help clinch the evidence. But the similarity of viruses to other like-sized things in cells, etc., sometimes confounded matters instead of clarifying them. Even more than photographs (photoshop manipulators take note!) electron micrographs are open to both manipulation and, even more so to differing interpretations of what one was seeing.

Q: The APS sounds like a very rich archive! Do you have plans for future projects using these collections?

A: Would love to!

October 18-20, 2021

Papers for "Meanings of Independence" can be found below.  You will be required to enter a password provided by conference organizers to access them. Please contact Adrianna Link at [email protected] if you are attending the conference but have not yet received the password.

Papers are not to be cited or circulated without the written permission of the author

The following events will be held via Zoom (times listed in EDT)

Monday, October 18

1:00–2:15 p.m.: Sexuality & Identity in the American Revolution

"Violations, Mortifications, Transformations: The Pinckney Women Confront the Revolutionary War"
Lorri Glover (Saint Louis University)

“Slavery, Freedom, and Survival: Life at Westover Plantation in Revolutionary Virginia”
Ami Pflugrad-Jackisch (University of Toledo)

“Female Genius: Eliza Harriot and George Washington at the Dawn of the Constitution”
Mary Sarah Bilder (Boston College)

“'Damn the Bougre': LGBTQ+ People and the American Revolution"
John G. McCurdy (Eastern Michigan University)

Tuesday, October 19

1:00–2:15 p.m.: Slavery, Race, & Revolution

“'Cruel war against human nature itself’: Understanding the American Revolution’s Impact on Slavery within the Context of Imperial Governance"
Holly Brewer (University of Maryland)

“Reexamining Activism in the Revolutionary Era: The Life-Long Efforts of the Revolution's Soldiers of Color”
Benjamin Remillard (University of New Hampshire)

“A Call to Stand Up: Meanings of Independence for People of African Descent"
Sherri Burr (University of New Mexico)

Wednesday, October 20

1:00–2:15 p.m.: Contesting Power & Authority in the Age of Revolutions

 “Sigenauk’s War of Independence: New Indian Leadership and the Struggle for Autonomy in the Revolutionary Borderlands"
John Nelson (Texas Tech University)

“the disagreeable situation in between the Civil in the Military’: Prisoners of War and Local Governance in the American Revolution”
Susan Brynne Long (University of Delaware)

“Taxation With and Without Representation: The Union Crisis in Scotland, The  Imperial Crisis in North America, and the Prospects and Costs of Incorporating Union"
Ned Landsman (SUNY Stony Brook)

The recipient selected for the 2021 Jacques Barzun Prize in Cultural History is Paul Betts in recognition of his book Ruin and Renewal: Civilizing Europe After World War II (Basic Books, 2020).  Dr. Betts is a Professor of Modern History at St. Anthony’s College, University of Oxford.

Is the concept of civilization a grand illusion or an indispensable part of historical and political thinking?   Professor Betts’ remarkable book offers interesting answers to this question and also explores what it means to ask it.   He looks at the modern workings of ‘this old, troublesome, and much-maligned principle’, and suggests that a preoccupation with the fate of civilization is …  less the product of peace and prosperity than the result of rupture, vulnerability, and the drive for reform’.  After World War II, Professor Betts says, ‘the contest for civilization inspired a mixed crowd of advocates on both sides of the Iron Curtain’, and the title of his last chapter’ – ‘New Iron Curtains’ – offers us a sobering reminder of where we are.   ‘A new specter is haunting Europe’, but it is not Communism, and it is haunting other places too.  It is whatever mixture of racism, reaction and privilege Donald Trump meant to evoke when in 2017 he said we needed to defend the ‘civilized world’.  Or for that matter, what Winston Churchill meant when in 1947 he said ‘the real demarcation between Europe and Asia…  is… a system of beliefs and ideas which we call Western Civilization’.

Fortunately, civilization has other meanings, and Professor Betts tracks a large number of them through different, consecutive contexts: relief work and reconstruction after the war; encounters between religion and international politics; science, culture and domestic life as features of modern civility; the end of an old empire-dominated world; the rise and supposed fall of multiculturalism; the recurrence of colonial wars as ‘referenda on the myth of European civilization’.   Certain key events and figures emerge: the Nuremberg Trials, the Geneva  Convention, the Algerian War, the cultural work of UNESCO; Cardinal Mindszenty, Leopold Senghor, Pope John Paul II, Mikhael Gorbachev  -  Professor Betts says the meeting of the last two persons in 1989 was ‘perhaps the most dramatic episode that indicated the changing shape of European politics’.  And through it all ‘the bruised concept of civilization’ survives, even if its meanings often contradict each other.   The notions that a campaign could be waged ‘to civilize war itself’’, while civilization is also ‘a favorite rhetorical weapon’, do not sit comfortably together.    But Ruin and Renewal is not a comfortable book; it is a constant provocation to thought.

The Jacques Barzun Prize in Cultural History is awarded annually to the author whose book exhibits distinguished work in American or European cultural history.  Established by a former student of Jacques Barzun, the prize honors this historian and cultural critic who was elected a member of the American Philosophical Society in 1984.   

The selection committee consisted of Michael Wood (chair), Charles Barnwell Straut Professor of English and Comparative Literature, Princeton University; David Hollinger, Preston Hotchkis Professor Emeritus, University of California, Berkeley; and Robert B. Pippin, Evelyn Stefansson Nef Distinguished Service Professor, Committee on Social Thought, Department of Philosophy, University of Chicago.

The 2021 recipient selected for the Judson Daland Prize in Clinical Investigation is Sergiu P. Paşca.  Dr. Paşca is Kenneth T. Norris, Jr. Professor of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences, Bonnie Uytengsu and Family Director of the Stanford Brain Organogenesis Program, and Director, Stanford Neuroscience Stem Cell Core, Wu Tsai Neurosciences Institute at Stanford University. The 2021 Daland Prize was presented at the Society's November 2022 Meeting.

Sergiu Paşca pioneered novel approaches to investigate neuropsychiatric disorders by creating self-organizing, stem-based models of the human brain, including functional human circuits in a preparation he named assembloids. He creatively applied these innovative models to uncover mechanisms of several neuropsychiatric disorders, identify therapeutic targets, and reveal the power of molecular psychiatry.

Dr. Sergiu Paşca seeks to understand the rules that govern the assembly of the human brain and the molecular mechanisms that lead to psychiatric disease. His models have allowed him to map genetic variants associated with schizophrenia and autism onto human forebrain development and identify susceptible timepoints and cell types. At Stanford, he serves as the inaugural Bonnie Uytengsu and Family Director of the Stanford Brain Organogenesis Program– a university-wide effort to innovate and share advances in human brain disorders at Stanford and internationally. Taken together, these novel tools and discoveries made by Dr. Paşca are giving access, for the first time, to unique cellular aspects of human brain development and function and deciphering the molecular mechanisms of disease opening a new exciting era of molecular psychiatry.

The prize is named for Dr. Judson Daland, born in 1860, a prominent Philadelphia physician and outstanding figure in medical research who left the bulk of his estate to the Society to support research in clinical medicine. The prize recognizes outstanding achievement in clinical investigation, particularly patient-oriented research.  The $50,000 prize is presented every 3 to 5 years. In addition to the prize, a Judson Daland Fellowship is awarded annually using these funds.

The Daland selection committee members are Clyde F. Barker (chair), former President, American Philosophical Society, Donald Guthrie Professor, Department of Surgery, Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania; Lawrence H. Einhorn, Distinguished Professor, Livestrong Foundation Professor of Oncology, Professor of Medicine, Indiana University; Ronald M. Fairman, The Clyde F. Barker - William Maul Measey Professor of Surgery, Chief of Vascular Surgery and Endovascular Therapy, Vice-Chairman for Clinical Affairs, Department of Surgery, Professor of Surgery in Radiology, Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania; and John N. Loeb, Professor Emeritus of Medicine,  Columbia University.

Select answers from Jim McClure, General Editor and project director of the Papers of Thomas Jefferson editorial project at Princeton University

Q. What do we know about what caused the little ice age? (Joella Clamen)

A. This is an interesting, big question that is beyond my expertise. It is the subject of ongoing investigation by climate history specialists. There were likely multiple factors contributing to that cooling period. For more information, I would recommend looking at some of the chapters in the Palgrave Handbook of Climate History edited by Sam White and others; White's A Cold Welcome; Anya Zilberstein's A Temperate Empire; Dagomar Degroot's The Frigid Golden Age; and an older work, The Little Ice Age by Brian Fagan.

Q. Can we conclude that the Little Ice Age explains severe conditions described at Valley Forge during the Revolution? Thank you! (Anonymous)

A. I don't know enough about the conditions at Valley Forge to say how they fit into larger patterns. I can say that there were some severe winters in Jefferson's time. One for which there is information in his meteorological record and correspondence was the winter of 1804-1805, for which we provide some supplementary information on the website (https://jefferson-weather-records.org/taxonomy/term/382).

Q. Which parts of Jefferson’s practice changed overtime? If they did change was it because he innovated or because he was influenced by someone else? (Anonymous)

A. This is an excellent question, but hard to answer. When he added a column to the record for a new category of information or made notes about something, we usually can't tell if it's because he became interested in a new problem, was motivated by something he read or learned in conversation, or was able to acquire a particular instrument (which could be hard to get). We know that there were particular problems he became interested in, such as the water cycle (what quantity of water came to a particular area of land from precipitation), effects of land elevation on air pressure, and wind. We have had less success in tracing the origins of those inquiries than one might expect to be the case with someone like Jefferson.

Q. I noticed on the data view it said “no animals mentioned” and “no plants mentioned.” In what context was he making such comments? (Anonymous)

A. This may have been answered later in the presentation. Jefferson sometimes made miscellaneous notations in the observation record that, in the case of plants and animals, usually related to seasonal activity (such as leafing out of trees in the spring). We created data fields to make that information discoverable on the site even though Jefferson usually didn't set it off in a column of his table.

Q. Surprised that rainfall records spotty—he was in charge of a farm. (Glorianne Robbi)

A. I was surprised by this also. I haven't looked into the question of what people at the time were thinking about quantification of precipitation (and relationships of rainfall to climate). My impression is that for Jefferson and many others, the relationship of rain to the cultivation of particular crops was, much of the time, a matter of fairly broad empirical categories: enough, not enough, too much. 

Q. Did Jefferson’s other family members and/or neighbors record similar observations?  And might these be included in some way in future? (Endrina Tay)

A. Hi Endrina, thanks for the question. As for family members, not so much. Jefferson urged one of his sons-in-law, Thomas Mann Randolph, Jr., to make some observations, but there was an issue finding a proper thermometer, so not a lot came of it. There was more luck with friends and acquaintances, particularly James Madison and members of this family, who made a significant weather record. Much of that is at the APS and is part of their excellent digitization effort. Jefferson's papers include some weather records by other people, and our goal is to get all of that up on the Jefferson Weather & Climate Records site, either in the daily observations dataset or in the Other Documents section, depending on the nature of the records.

Q. This is fantastic! I worked on the digital translation of Madison's weather and agricultural data for the APS last summer. I had interpreted Jefferson's reasoning behind this large climate/weather collection was not just to have information about Virginia's climate, but also to reinforce the argument that America is livable. Could you speak a bit more about what his reasons might have been to nudge people like Madison to collect this data on such a large scale? (Molly Nebiolo)

A. Yes, as can be seen in Notes on the State of Virginia, Jefferson wanted to counter a view of some Europeans that the American environment, including climate as a key factor, produced less robust plants, animals, and people. He wanted to get a fairly granular picture of the American climate and to be able to make comparisons with other regions such as Europe.

Q. Thank you for this fascinating talk. Could we think about Jefferson’s motives behind this project and how he kept up with meteorological research in his time by going through his library, the books he owned, his marginalia (if any)? For instance, did he own copies of Louis Cotte’s Treatise on Meteorology, De Luc’s writings on hygrometers, the Palatine Society’s Ephemerides, etc? Did he present his observations to the Royal Society or other organizations? (Jin-Woo Choi)

A. As my colleague Bland Whitley helpfully noted later in this thread, we do know of particular published works relating to weather and climate that Jefferson owned. We have not found, so far in our work, as many direct lines from such works to his own activity and thinking on these topics as one might expect to see. However, there are some connections. For example, Jefferson's investigations into relationships between land elevation and barometric pressure were informed by articles he saw in the Encyclopedie Methodique. We know that from sets of notes that are not yet up on our site (but will be once we are able to get to them). As for publication of his data, Jefferson may have incorporated some of his own observations in Notes on the State of Virginia. In the 1810s he made compilations of data that were published later, after his death, in a serial called the Virginia Literary Museum. He did not present his observations to the APS or other organization.

[From Bland Whitley: Not a question, but a partial answer to the previous query about Jefferson's reading on the subject. Sowerby's catalogue of his collection indicates that he owned the works of DeLuc, Dumont de Courset, and several more specialized pamphlets, etc.]

Q. Were the weather observations in the Broadway play and film 1776 based on Jefferson's actual observations do you think? (Some of the play used lines from actual letters for example). (Scott McKinley)

A. No, these records would not have been as readily available to the creators of 1776 as Jefferson's and his contemporaries' correspondence. (It's interesting that in popular depictions, July 1776 is often portrayed as hot. According to Jefferson's record, the highest temperatures in Philadelphia in the early days of July 1776 was 82 degrees F.)

Q. Are there any opportunities for archives or history students to volunteer for the project in any way? Thank you. (Anonymous)

A. Most of the transcription of Jefferson's daily observations was by two undergraduate students working as paid summer interns. In our current phase of work there is less opportunity for student involvement, but feel free to send us an inquiry using the "Contact Us" link at the foot of the Jefferson Weather & Climate Records home page. 

Q. Do the records reveal an increase in temperature over the five decades Jefferson covered (1776-1826)? (Nathalie Caron)

A. We haven't done a real analysis ourselves. We do provide a data visualization of maximum and minimum temperatures (https://jefferson-weather-records.org/visualization/41015) and the dataset is available for downloading from the Search page (https://jefferson-weather-records.org/search) for anyone interested in working with the numbers.

Q. Have you also collaborated with volcanic eruptions—around the globe as I have done some demographic research with tiny Italian town in the 1809-1860 era and the impact of Tambora is very self-evident in the death records. (Katherine Condon)

A. Excellent question! We have not looked for evidence of effects of the Tambora eruptions in Jefferson's observation records. If someone does that and finds something, we would love to hear about it. We might at some point add Tambora to the Weather Events section of the site.

Q. How interested was Jefferson in understanding the climate in North America at a particular latitude as compared to the same latitude in Europe (where it remains warmer further north)? Is there evidence he thought his data would help to study this difference? (Lawrence Dritsas)

A. He was very interested in comparisons of North America and Europe. They were only beginning to figure out that there were other factors than latitude affecting climate.

Q. Could Jefferson simply have wanted to accumulate weather records for his own agricultural knowledge and for its productivity? (Michael Little)

A. I haven't seen evidence that this was the primary driver for him to keep these records. I would have to spend more time with his Farm Book to say that for certain, however. Whenever he tried to get someone else interested in making a weather record, he didn't put it into a frame of practical agricultural information, but rather a frame of building a picture of climate.

Extended answers from Evan Roberts (ER), panelist from “The Promise and Pitfalls of Citizen Science,” Panel 3: Community Perspectives

Question: What advice or suggestions do you have for developing ethical approaches to citizen science work?
ER: I think the foundation of ethical approaches are an open relationship with people from as early as possible in the process. Researchers decide to use citizen science approaches because it is potentially beneficial in some way. A useful way to think of this may be more accurate for lower cost, or some appropriate trade-off there. It could be slightly less accurate at much lower cost. But researchers need to ask who is bearing those costs? And what are people outside the research community potentially gaining. You can only learn this by being upfront with communities you engage with about what you are trying to do, and how the community (citizens) can play a role. Then citizens have a chance to decide whether they want to join with you with full (or full enough) information. Be clear about uncertainties too, so that people aren't surprised if things turn out differently. All of this is largely trying to apply to citizen science and social science the general principles of good ethical research: respect for persons, beneficience, and justice. 

Question: Were there inequalities in the social surveys? Were all local people involved? Or was class, race, gender an issue?
ER: Yes, many inequalities. In general, these social surveys were designed to study class inequality. They were often particularly concerned with income and wealth issues. They uncovered issues with gender, particularly the treatment of women in work, and the burden of childcare on working women. There was a lot of variation in how racial issues were handled and recognized. Some were concerned with differences between European ethnic groups. To modern readers there is an essentialization of economic status, often seen in a belief that newer immigrants would remain relatively poor (e.g. Italian immigrants). There were fewer surveys of African American communities, but in general those that were done were well done. They didn't use the language of structural racism that we might use today, but they documented that. Probably the biggest divide in who got to contribute their perspectives was English-language ability and education. 

Question: What do you think is lost in moving to student labor? Is there less investment, perhaps, in the questions asked or the responses generated?
ER: Yes, students are often less invested in spending additional time to develop relationships when doing social research on the ground. Particularly for undergraduate students this work will occur in the context of a 15 week semester, and there is limited time to develop relationships with people in a neighborhood, for example. Much of that challenge is related to greater demands on the average students' time. They have more employment hours, are often taking high course loads. And so engagement with community research which takes time appears (and does!) to lack immediate pay-off. This is to say that the challenges with (particularly) undergraduate student research in contemporary settings is a structural one around course loads, employment, student debt, pressure to get good grades, and absolutely not a reflection on the character of "youth today". It is therefore incumbent on the professor to structure the course to reward effort at engagement, and put time in themselves to help students see what they can learn.
 

Extended answers from Yingchuan Yang (YY), panelist from “The Promise and Pitfalls of Citizen Science,” Panel 4: Global Perspectives

Question: Do you have a sense of who the readership for the magazine was? Did it create a community of amateur scientists that might not have other outlets?
YY: The readership was primarily the urban youth. It is hard to calculate the number of readers because books and magazines were widely shared to read in socialist China, but a few millions would be a safe estimation. As for the second question, precisely, even though not exactly "scientists" as they did not work in universities or research institutes, but many of the readers went on to become amateur technologists with expertise that was otherwise hard to acquire.

Question: Are there feedback loops for readers to, in turn, share their knowledge?
YY: Yes, the readers were encouraged to share their knowledge to the Radio journal, and some readers would further respond to those submissions from readers.

Question: How many participated in the Radio magazine projects? How did that vary across time? Is it still active in this age of computers? Are there now similar publications related to digital computing?
YY: For the first question see above. The readership has been declining since the postsocialist period because, first, more mediums of knowledge became available and, second, radio was replaced by more advanced forms of telecommunications. The journal still exists today, but it has become a niche publication targeting a very professional readership. There are similar publications on digital computing, especially popular in the 1990s and 2000s. Now, everything is online.

Question: What about citizen science as a strategy to support diversity and site specific / embodied knowledges as opposed to hegemonic and nationalistic directives?
YY: My work is particularly indicative of the possibility to understand citizen science as a site of knowledge production that is against hegemonic and nationalistic directives. By doing that, it also compels us to rethink what "citizen" can mean.
 

Extended answers from Maxime Polleri (MP), panelist from “The Promise and Pitfalls of Citizen Science,” Panel 5: The Pitfalls of Citizen Science

Question: Does your argument suggest that more non-government scientists need to position themselves between citizen scientists and the government?
MP: The concept of “conflictual collaboration” describes how initial practices of resistance by non-state actors can evolve in collaboration with official politics of state governance. In this, I argue that civic resources used to resist and reinterpret official narratives of contamination end up reinforcing a state-sponsored normalization of the disaster. Meanwhile, they become crucial techniques of neoliberal governance designed to govern the conduct of populations amid contaminated environments. 
    That being said, I believed that there is potential for fruitful collaborations between state and non-state actors as citizen scientists or non-government scientists merge their local knowledge with the state’s resources. This, however, raises a set of complicated ethical questions: Who gets to teach about radiation risks and what is their actual expertise? To what degree does citizens’ participation put them at risk of adverse health effects? What are the rights of those who refuse to be part of such projects? And how can they collaborate with the state without reinforcing neoliberal models of governance that burden citizens with the responsibilities of environmental protection?

Question: How much do national cultures exacerbate (or limit) some of the neoliberal tropes you lays out?
MP: My work examines how the growing impact of citizen science in post-Fukushima Japan echoes a neoliberal shift in the management of contamination, leading to reduced public expenditure, minimal government intervention, and risk privatization – meaning that risk becomes a matter of personal business rather than the state’s responsibility.
    In that regard, how national cultures exacerbate (or limit) some of the neoliberal tropes in post-Fukushima Japan is very interesting. Neoliberalism has often been associated with market-oriented reforms that attempt to reduce state influence on the economy (think of the “Reaganomics” in the U.S. around the 1980s for example). Increasingly, academics are moving beyond the language of economy to criticize neoliberalism as an ideology that permeates the social sphere and promotes tropes of individual accountability, self-responsibility, empowerment, and risk management. In this context, practices of citizen science, like monitoring and tracking, can be seen as a mean through which a self-responsible citizen becomes an “entrepreneur of himself” to use the words of French philosopher Michel Foucault. In Japan, neoliberal restructuring came after the economic crisis of the 90s, which followed the Japanese asset price bubble. In the 2000s, Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi began to heavily emphasized a discourse imbued in a neoliberal language, pointing toward the individual responsibility of Japanese citizens. As the anthropologist Anne Allison explains in that regard: “Under its new banner of ‘risk and individual responsibility,’ the government asked its citizens to remake their subjectivity and become strong and independent individuals ‘capable of bearing the heavy weight of freedom’” (2015: 41). This was very much a novel discourse. It went against the traditional national model that had long emphasized group harmony and collectivism as ideal cultural values, according to which a good citizen was expected to stick with its group in times of hardship, to remain attached to its native village, to uphold the kinship obligations of its household, or not to criticize its government. As such, both ideologies have created a very paradoxical form of citizen science in Japan. On the one hand, citizens are increasingly encouraged to be self-responsible in the management of radiation risks. On the other hand, they are also condemned when they used the results of their work to criticize the governance of the disaster or to claim residual contamination. For instance, mothers that have used citizen science to show contamination after Fukushima were sometimes labeled as traitors or unpatriotic individuals by members of the state or the community. This is the irony of merging neoliberal ideology with long-held tropes of collectivism. They both promotes citizens’ initiatives, while condemning them at the same time. 

Question: I found the ways you showed that citizen science could be co-opted by the state and serve its priorities fascinating. Is there something specific about radiation risk that makes the citizen science around it more easily manipulated by the state? (eg - that it is ‘invisible’ and requires technologies to ‘see’ it).
MP: Currently, one of the government’s top priorities is the reconstruction and revitalization of Fukushima, often via a socioeconomic lens. I believe that breaking-up what we mean by “citizen” and “science” in post-Fukushima citizen science reveals how co-optation by the state happens. 
    First, the arrays of citizens involved in the tracking and monitoring of radioactive contamination make the category of citizen scientists hard to pin down in its essence. There are many kinds of citizens in citizen science. The category of citizen scientist is far from homogenous, especially in terms of gender, age, occupation, and political positions. These factors strongly influenced why people entered citizen science, how science around radiation dangers was mobilized, as well as how data about radiation risks ended up being interpreted differently (safe vs. dangerous). In this, some citizens can hold a vision of revitalization similar to the state’s priorities, excluding other social perspectives on recovery. For instance, some farmers are more concerned by the revitalization of the rural economy, rather than with the potential effects of chronic low-dose exposure to radiation. Furthermore, many citizens love their region, even in the aftermath of a disaster. Consequently, some have used citizen science to revitalize their area. This is a position that is similar to the government’s priority and often tolerated, encouraged, or co-opted. 
    Secondly, what is meant by the “science” of citizen science after Fukushima is mostly the mobilization of scientific technologies that already existed, often for the purpose of a simple tracking and monitoring agenda. In other words, citizen science used technologies to palliate gaps in government measuring (which is noteworthy and useful), but they have not created alternative scientific framework to radiation science. Co-optation happens when governments or corporate lobbies see values in how citizen scientists saved them time, money, means, while providing free labors (especially when citizens pay for their own monitoring or produce data that is open and available to all). In this, they can potentially exploit citizen science, delegating the monitoring of contamination to the victims of a disaster. For instance, when I was doing my fieldwork, the Japan’s Nuclear Regulation Agency had planned to remove 80 percent of radiation monitoring posts in Fukushima, arguing that the radiation levels in many areas had stabilized themselves—owing in part to the presence and efficiency of monitoring networks provided by citizens. This decision was controversial, since problems of radioactive contamination persist. Fully retiring these posts will force citizen scientists to take on the burden of monitoring, shifting liability for ensuring safe living conditions onto the shoulders of the nuclear victims. Lastly, an important part of the science of radiation risks was embedded in a culture of secrecy, denial, and propaganda that was shaped by the nuclear arms race of the Cold War and created ongoing controversies. Considerations over international security and political stability were often prioritized over the safety of workers or citizens who had been exposed to radiation. This legacy can be carried on by some citizens who unwittingly replicate these propagandist forms of knowledge. 

Question: Your account of citizen scientists and governmental and corporate entities appears to be formed largely from the perspective of citizens -- citizen scientists or not -- but not that of the governmental or corporate actors. Taking the other perspective, could one describe the post-contamination regime in Fukushima as one of co-optation, rather than "conflictual collaboration"?
MP: The concept of “conflictual collaboration” was used to describe how issues of resistance and collaboration are not always necessarily opposed; they can also happen at the same time. In other words, practices of resistance should not be theorized as de facto opposing governmental tactics or other forms of dominance. Some aspects of citizen science can intersect with governmental tactics at specific levels (e.g., promoting repatriation to Fukushima), while other parts can be highly critical of the state governance of contamination (e.g., lack of data, openness, or transparency). That being said, co-optation is definitely a part of the concept of conflictual collaboration, in that some elements and practices of citizen science are being appropriated by the state or corporate entities for different purposes than what initially intended by citizen science. However, co-optation is not always happening against the will of citizen scientists in a kind of disciplinary way. Broader factors, like similar visions of what counts as post-disaster “recovery,” also enable collaboration with the state or corporate lobbies. 
    It is interesting to see that initially the rise of citizen science was highly criticized by the state. After Fukushima, many citizen scientists legitimized different views about the official assessment of the radioactive contamination. Their scientific practices of monitoring made the materiality of radioactive contamination perceptible beyond governmental narratives and maps, revealing unexpected residual contamination and highlighting the limits of state expertise. The state perceived this as an attack on its authority and often attempted to repress their movements. For instance, it tried to highlight technical shortcomings of citizen science centers. In her book “Radiation Brain Moms and Citizen Scientists,” (2016) sociologist Aya Kimura demonstrated that mothers implicated in citizen science were seen as impediments to the social and economic recovery of Fukushima, both by the state and by a part of the population. Because their work discovered residual contamination they were seen as going against the revitalization efforts and accused of spreading harmful rumors. The emergence of non-state actors in radiological protection was initially met with disregard and difficulties.
    Now, more than 10 years after the disaster, we see an important reversal of opinion by the state on citizen science. The works of citizen science is sometimes encouraged and promoted at the official levels. Yet, it is important to note that not all forms of citizen science are encouraged or co-opted by the state. It is helpful to break down the different types of citizen science that emerged after Fukushima to better understand why some citizen science initiatives are co-opted, while others are not.
    First, some citizen scientists have used their work to highlight the dangers of living in contaminated areas. This kind of citizen science sustains tropes of permanent evacuation, which heavily clash with an official state politics that rather attempts to repatriate evacuees to Fukushima. Without much surprised, the state did not encourage this specific form of citizen science. Moreover, many of these organizations no longer exist because of different reasons. Some citizens have been shocked by the residual radioactivity that they measured and have evacuated permanently elsewhere, other organizations cannot sustain the funding necessary to operate their activities, and many simply became tired of delving in these activities. This kind of citizen science has also failed to gain momentum at the legal level. In some instances, the Japanese court acknowledged the possibility of radiation risks to the health of citizens, but rejected their demand for official evacuation, arguing that doing so was a question of individual choice and self-responsibility.
    Secondly, there is a form of citizen science that is used to revitalize the socio-economic life of Fukushima, as well as to promote repatriation. Lastly, there are also many organizations that produced open data on contamination while leaving the interpretation of its risk open to the public. Open data on radioactive contamination can be used and interpreted by anybody, freely, and for any political purpose. Co-optation happens in the latter two cases: when the practices, narratives, and purpose of citizen science coincide with the state politics of revitalization (e.g., raising awareness about Fukushima, lowering anxiety, encouraging repatriation, promoting food sales) or when citizen science fills in the gaps of state responses by providing free work under the form of monitoring or open data (that can then be interpreted according to the state’s standards). Indeed, the scale and heterogeneity of residual contamination make it very difficult for a government of the moment to monitor and track radiation everywhere. Resorting to the work of citizen science palliates these gaps. As such, from the state viewpoint, citizen science lead to reduced public expenditure, minimal government intervention, and the privatization of risk, where risk becomes a personal matter rather than one overseen by the government. Moreover, organizations promoting nuclear power are encouraging the role of citizen science in post-disaster governance, often to better prepare for nuclear accidents. In this, citizen participation is increasingly seen as an integral part of monitoring before, during, or after a nuclear disaster. By providing supporting data, the citizen role change from that of a passive victim to an active participant. What we are seeing is an important reorganization of expertise moving toward transnational network of citizen monitoring. This is part of decentralized strategies that delegate an important part of nuclear safeguards to the citizens, while ironically being described as grassroot movements. 
    Ultimately, this direction can be theorized as a new form of neoliberal abandonment, in which the responsibility for ensuring radiological protection is shifted onto the shoulders of citizens, rather than being the burden of states or corporate polluters. Citizen science is as such co-opted when it fits a state’s vision or provide unpaid labor that can be mobilized in specific directions. 

Question: The references to Cold War secrecy in your text are puzzling to me. What is the role of the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in public and private responses to the Fukushima disaster? And have not the findings of the long-term studies of radiation exposure that followed the bombings, e.g., those overseen by the U.S. National Academy of Science, available to the public?
MP: Much of what is known about radiation adverse health effects came from the atomic bombings of Japan. These tragedies produced the opportunity to study first-hand the effects of radiation exposure on human beings. After World War II, these studies were initially pursued in secret by American authorities. Survivor data, which became known as the Life Span Study, was first collected by the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission (ABCC), later to be succeeded by the Radiation Effects Research Foundation (RERF), which still produce research on the survivors and their children. Data produced by this research is referred as the “gold standard” for radiation exposure studies. As anthropologists Goldstein and Stawkowski (2015) summarize, the Life Span Study created many safety standards that were used for public health purpose, worker safety, or environmental litigations in the growing nuclear industries of the post-war period. In particular, the study lead scientists to the conclusion that certain doses of radiation, above 100 millisieverts (mSv) per year, correlate with an increase of cancer occurrences. Above this level, radiation is linked with cancers of the blood, breast, thyroid, lung, stomach, and brain, while also impairing immunity to infection and increasing the risk of cataracts, heart disease, or stroke.  However, the Life Span Study never established a firm causal link of adverse health effects below 100 mSv per year. This does not imply that 100 mSv is a safe threshold, but that the research simply cannot provide a correlation. The science and management of risk associated with exposure below such level (often referred as low-dose) remain harsh areas of controversies and debates.
    While the Life Span Study represents one of the most ambitious scientific research available on radiation danger, it was also criticized for its methodological shortcomings, as well as for inattention to low-dose risks (below 100 mSv). First, the ABCC was founded in 1946 and the study did not include people who passed away from the effects of radiation. Physician and epidemiologist Alice Stewart claimed that this omission led to an unrepresentative study population, producing a cohort of “healthy” survivors.  Secondly, the study focused on external exposure by radiation rays due to waves of gamma and neutron radiation. After an atomic explosion, individuals are exposed to short-term and high external doses of radiation. Some contend that the study is insufficient to understand the risks associated with different radioactive particles released during a nuclear fallout or after a nuclear power plant accident. As historian Susan Lindee (1994) summarizes, the Life Span Study never included the estimates of inhaled or ingested radioactive particles in their calculations, nor did it include estimates of the exposure to residual radiation for citizens who had returned in the area after the bombings. In Hiroshima, radioactive fallout got mixed with pyrocumulus clouds, producing the infamous “black rain,” which later felt on people. Third, the actual study of external dose of exposure was dependent on a process of dose reconstruction, rather than factual measurement. For example, the dosage estimates produced by the Life Span Study were based on the approximate positions of the survivors, who were sometimes asked to remember their initial location many years after the bombing. 
    Additionally, the nuclear arm race of the Cold War heavily influenced the acceptable boundaries of radiation hazards. It did so by often promoting the interests of national security and nuclear warfare over the well-being of communities living in the pathway of radioactive contamination or nuclear fallout. By now, the effects of radioactive contamination faced by First Nations, Marshallese descents, and Downwinders are increasingly being documented. Historians are also studying the generations of Soviet and American workers who were contaminated during the nuclear arms race, a time in which radiation dangers were often rebuked. For instance, historian Kate Brown describes the secrecy and control of scientific knowledge that characterized the production of plutonium during this era, as well as the dismissal of those who attempted to speak out about issues of safety. In this context, what was deemed “safe” or “dangerous” was invariably intertwined within the imperatives of war and national security. For those more interested in delving in these issues I would recommend some of the following books: Suffering Made Real: American Science and the Survivors at Hiroshima by Susan M. Lindee, Half-Lives and Half-Truths: Confronting the Radioactive Legacies of the Cold War edited by Barbara Rose Johnston, Plutopia: Nuclear Families, Atomic Cities, and the Great Soviet and American Plutonium Disasters by Kate Brown, and The Nuclear Borderlands: The Manhattan Project in Post-Cold War New Mexico by Joseph Masco.