Podcast

A Changing Landscape for Farmers in India: An Interview with Aarti Sethi and Tanya Matthan

Aarti Sethi and Tanya Matthan

In countries around the world, the “Green Revolution” has changed the scale and economy of growing crops, as pesticides, fertilizers, and new kinds of hybrid seeds have transformed the production process. In this episode of the Matrix Podcast, Julia Sizek spoke with two UC Berkeley scholars who study agrarian life in India, where farmers have been forced to adapt to changes in technology.

Aarti Sethi is Assistant Professor in the Department of Anthropology at UC Berkeley. She is a socio-cultural anthropologist with primary interests in agrarian anthropology, political-economy, and the study of South Asia. Her book manuscript, Cotton Fever in Central India, examines cash-crop economies to understand how monetary debt undertaken for transgenic cotton-cultivation transforms intimate, social, and productive relations in rural society.

Tanya Matthan is a S.V. Ciriacy-Wantrup Postdoctoral Fellow in UC Berkeley’s Department of Geography. An economic anthropologist and political ecologist, she finished her PhD in Anthropology at UCLA in 2021. Her current book project, tentatively titled, The Monsoon and the Market: Economies of Risk in Rural India, examines experiences of and responses to agrarian uncertainty among farmers in central India. 

Listen to the full podcast below or on Google Podcasts or Apple Podcasts.  Visit the Matrix Podcast page for more episodes.


Podcast Transcript

Woman’s Voice: The Matrix Podcast is a production of Social Science Matrix, an interdisciplinary research center at the University of California, Berkeley.

Julia Sizek: Hello and welcome to the Matrix Podcast recorded with on campus recording partner, the Ethnic Studies Changemaker Studio. I’m your host, Julia Sizek. And today, our guests are Aarti Sethi and Tanya Matthan.

Tanya Matthan is a S.V Ciriacy-Wantrup Postdoctoral Fellow in Berkeley’s Department of Geography. An economic anthropologist and a political ecologist, she finished her PhD in anthropology at UCLA in 2021. Her current book project tentatively titled The Monsoon in the Market, Economies of Risk in Rural India, examines the experiences of and responses to agrarian uncertainty among farmers in Central India.

Aarti is an assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology at Berkeley. She is a sociocultural anthropologist with primary interest in agrarian anthropology, political-economy, and the study of South Asia. Her book manuscript, Cotton Fever in Central India, examines cash crop economies to understand how monetary debt undertaken for transgenic cotton cultivation informs intimate, social and productive relations in rural society. Welcome on to the podcast.

Aarti Sethi: Thank you. I’m very happy to be here.

Tanya Matthan: Thanks so much for having us.

Sizek: So just to get started, both of you obviously study agriculture in India, but India has many different agricultural and ecological zones. Can you help us understand your research sites and how they fit into this broader agricultural production in India?

Matthan: Yeah, sure. I can get started. So the region in which I work is called Malwa, which is located in Central India in the state of Madhya Pradesh. So it’s a little bit northwest of where Aarti works in Vidarbha, which she’ll tell you about in a minute.

So the history of Malwa is interesting because prior to Indian independence, it was ruled by a number of princely states which were then carved together into this region, this political region of Madhya Pradesh, of which it is a part.

Ecologically, it’s a semi-arid region, and it’s known for its very fertile black soil. And it is also a region that has always been tied to global networks of trade and markets through the cultivation of crops such as cotton and opium in the past and now with soybean and wheat, which are grown for national and global markets. So ecologically, it’s a very interesting region different and similar to other parts of agrarian India.

Sethi: So as Tanya said, we work in regions that are actually both close by and also very far away because subcontinental India is agriculturally very diverse and also very vast. So I work in a region in East Central India called Vidarbha, and I tell people that it’s about 500 inwards from Bombay in the state of Maharashtra.

Vidarbha is again, it’s part of the central Deccan Plateau, so it has black soils. And cotton is a very, very old crop in Vidarbha. Now, the reason I found or find Vidarbha to be a very interesting region to understand agrarian capitalism or the long history of agrarian capitalism in India is because in Vidarbha local cotton production has been entangled with a global capitalist market, we could say first a colonial capitalist market, for a very long time.

So even though we have evidence for cotton cultivation in this region for three millennia but to take a more recent history, this is a region that became settled to the cash cropping of cotton after it was taken over by the British colonial state in the mid-19th century.

And this happens in the wake of the fall in global cotton production and supply in the wake of the American Civil War. So actually, there’s a very interesting historical relationship between Vidarbha and the American South. And at this moment is when the British colonial state expands what are called settlement operations and creates new villages.

And so there is actually a new peasantry that comes into this, what used to be agro-pastoral region, which is specifically cropping cotton for a colonial market. And so you can see in Vidarbha a peasantry that is entangled. And you can see this in its ritual forms, in the forms of land tenure that come into place.

We can say it’s early form and moment of agrarian capitalism. And that these processes that we see beginning in the late 19th century have a bearing on the cotton crisis in Vidarbha today. So that’s why I found Vidarbha and find Vidarbha very interesting place from which to view these processes. It is arid scrub agroecological region, which is very prone to droughts and it’s sort of rain-fed. And these are also the kind of agricultural– kind of ecological constraints within which agriculture in Vidarbha happens.

Sizek: So both of you alluded to the fact that agriculture is changing a lot today in India and that farmers are facing new challenges, which both of you study in different ways. Can you tell us a little bit about what those challenges are today?

Sethi: So the specific challenges that we see vis-a-vis cotton production in Vidarbha today have to do with the emergence of a sharp economy of indebtedness, which begins from the mid 1990s but over the next two decades becomes a very widespread mode of agriculture in Vidarbha. And this expansion of monetary debt as a critical component in the agricultural process in Vidarbha has had several economic and social consequences.

So one of the most tragic of them has been that Vidarbha is at the center and has been for the last two decades of a suicide epidemic, where over a quarter of a million farmers have taken their lives across India. This is not a crisis only focused on Vidarbha, but Vidarbha is one of the earliest regions where the suicide epidemic began. So Vidarbha become emblematic of a broader crisis in agriculture.

Now, the introduction of a new transgenic crop, Bt cotton, is at the heart– it is not the only reason, but its introduction has sharply exacerbated the general prolonged agrarian crisis in which India finds itself. So these are the broad contours, and I’m happy to talk a little bit more about this and the specificity of Bt cotton as we go further.

Matthan: Yeah, I think, Aarti laid out a lot of the central challenges of Indian agriculture now. And a place like Malwa also exhibits a lot of these same dimensions of this agrarian crisis. So you have, for instance, high levels of indebtedness, rising costs of production, extremely volatile prices of commodities.

And also ecologically, we can see in Malwa, the falling water tables for instance, which we’ll talk about later. So many aspects of this crisis are evident in a place like Malwa as well. But I also want to say that one of the reasons why I was interested in studying a region like Malwa, which is quite understudied in Indian agrarian history, is also because this region has been hailed as a recent agricultural growth story.

It’s emerging as horticultural hub for the production of these high value vegetables and so on. But it’s also very recently been a site of protest. So for instance, in 2018, six farmers were killed by the police as they were protesting unremunerative and crushingly low prices for their commodities.

And just to conclude, I will also say that one of the reasons why Malwa was interesting is because the state government has been at the fore of implementing and promoting a lot of risk management policies, so trying to address some of these challenges through things like crop insurance, price support schemes, and so on. So I was also interested in how the Indian state is responding to these agrarian challenges and with what social and ecological effects, so looking at the crisis and some responses to it and the implications of that.

Sizek: So this seems like an incredibly complicated story. We have, on the one hand, these debts that farmers are accruing, on another hand, these emerging forms of crop insurance that are presumably replacing other forms of government support that existed previously for farmers.

I just want to get a big picture of how this has shifted over time and since from the Green Revolution to today, how have the forms of support for farmers changed, and what are the reasons why farming has become so much more expensive to do?

Sethi: That’s a big question. So maybe I’ll break it up in terms of my answer. So if you look at cotton production over a recent historical, dure, let’s say, from the mid 19th century onwards, then we can say very broadly and this is broad, we can think of three phases of cotton production or pre-colonial economy of cotton, then a post-colonial economy of cotton, and a recent neoliberal economy of cotton.

So the Green Revolution is very central now in the imaginations of the post-colonial economy of cotton. But the Green Revolution has a variegated uptake across the country. So it’s first introduced in the northern states of Punjab and Haryana for wheat and rice as the primary or the emblematic Green Revolution crops.

And then this turn to science and technology has ancillary effects across the agrarian landscape. So when it comes to cotton, cotton is a crop, the improvement of which has a very long history in India beginning from the cotton improvement projects started by the colonial state. And this is because cotton is such an important fiber crop in India.

So one thing to remember is that the Green Revolution produces a certain kind of economy of agricultural production. It is an economy that is entirely, entirely reliant on state support. And through the Green Revolution, what you have is the state producing minimum price support for farmers, encouraging the use of chemical, and huge pesticide and fertilizer subsidies, electricity subsidies, and very importantly, a state scientific establishment that is heavily involved in the development of new hybrid and cotton varieties.

And this is a kind of public commitment that the postcolonial state undertakes towards agriculture in India. So part of these are things like the All India Cotton Coordinated Project, the establishment of 21 agricultural research universities, and the Central Institute of Cotton Research. And what the state does and scientists working in the scientific apparatus do at this time is take a very central role in developing new forms of seeds and through state extension mechanisms, getting those seeds to cultivators.

Why this is important is, and this is very important to the Bt cotton story, as we will see, is that it as through this moment of what we could call the Green Revolution, that the first hybrid cotton seed is created for the first time in India. And these hybrid seeds have a far greater yields than conventional cotton varieties. And this is the moment at which farmers who have access to large land holdings begin to adopt these new technologies and increase cotton yields and cotton production.

Now, this also comes with its problems, but the point I want to make is that the Green Revolution has a complex history in India. On the one hand, it introduces a industrialized, a non-capitalist, somewhat industrialized form of agricultural production, which increases yields. And on the other hand, it also produces an ecologically very, very vulnerable form of production that is dependent on high outlays. And this is the kind of stage that is then set for what comes later. So I’ll ask Tanya to now.

Matthan: Yeah, I think Aarti presented a really nuanced and compelling portrait of Green Revolution shifts in production. I only quickly add to that, which is to say that much of that story is a story of Malwa, but also to say that Malwa wasn’t an initial Green Revolution state.

So as Aarti mentioned, this was very geographically variegated. And Malwa was not a region that was considered for the introduction of these technologies. So it has a different history but with many similar effects over the last five decades or so.

What Malwa did see, which is analogous and parallel with and connected to the Green Revolution, was what is called the Yellow Revolution in the 1970s, and yellow referring to the color of soybeans. So as soybean cultivation was introduced and expanded, you see a huge number of transformations in agricultural production.

The displacement of crops such as cotton, sugarcane, sorghum, which were grown in this region, and a shift really to this industrialized model of agricultural production, which is built on monocropping, a huge capital intensive form of cultivation, input intensive cultivation, and so on. So even though it wasn’t directly impacted by the initial Green Revolution years, you see many of the same technologies and logics at work.

Sizek: And so the Green Revolution really helps to lay out how the government becomes intimately involved in the production of these crops. But today, a lot of farmers are protesting against the government. So what are the conditions that today– before when they were working more hand in hand with the government, with government supports, these same supports have been taken away. What’s changed?

Sethi: So what changed was the 1991 liberalization and the reforms. And these have had a huge impact on the way in which agriculture all over the country is actually impacted after the reforms phase. So many, many things change. One of the things that changes is prior to 1991, domestic agricultural markets are actually protected.

So if you look at cotton, for instance in Maharashtra, there is something called the monopoly procurement scheme for cotton where in order to buffer cultivators and increase the cultivation of cotton from the 1970s onwards all the way till 2002, the state was a monopoly procurer of cotton.

All the cotton that cotton cultivators produced could only be acquired by the state. And the state acquired all the cotton that cultivators produced. So you had a way in which import duties on fiber imports from other countries were very high and all of this changes in the post-reform period.

So 1800s agricultural products are brought under the General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs. Import duties on agriculture that used to be up to 100% for certain crops fall to 30% in the space of like two or three years. And then the state, it raises rates on agricultural loans.

It withdraws from providing input, support, and infrastructural investment in irrigation and scientific research. There are upward revisions of the prices of diesel, of electricity, of petrol. And all of this precipitously raises the cost of cultivation on farmers without any change in the actual nature of production. So there is no increase in irrigation. There is no consolidation of land holdings.

And what you have is a widespread adoption of hybrid seeds, which on the one hand provide much more yield, but they are also very vulnerable to pest depredation. So from the 1990s onwards, agriculture all over the country enters a huge crisis and specifically cotton cultivation in Vidarbha.

Matthan: Yeah, I think just to add quickly to that and go back to Aarti’s earlier point, which is that the Green Revolution was only a success if it can be called a success at all because of the state supports. So what happens when the state supports are withdrawn? And you can see that in a range of arenas of agricultural production, whether it’s as, as Aarti mentioned, subsidies, agricultural extension service, so even the sockets of knowledge on which farmers depended now increasingly privatized.

And there’s less investment in agricultural infrastructures, whether that’s storage infrastructures or irrigation, and so on. So you really see since the 1990s a lot of the state support for agriculture on which this model depended really is taken away.

And alongside, I should also add that know, not only is the cost of production increasing alongside the removal of these subsidies and supports, but also so more broadly, the privatization of education, of health, and so on are also increasing the costs of social reproduction for agricultural households where they send their children to school, what kinds of health services they access, and so on. So you have this situation in which costs of production are rising while state support and investment is declining.

Sizek: And so this obviously has tangible effects for the people who are trying to continue to farm. And both of you actually did research with individual farmers, is involved sometimes being out there doing agricultural labor alongside them. Can you just give us an idea of what that looks like, especially since, as Aarti mentioned, a lot of these are still smallholder farms. They aren’t big industrial farms that we might imagine here in the American Midwest.

Sethi: Let me answer that question in two parts. One is to actually address what Bt cotton is. And I think that’s important because of the extraordinary change that that seed has produced economically, socially, and in terms of the labor regimes on the farm. So that’s why I think it’s important to just quickly touch on that, if I may.

So Bt cotton is a seed that has been genetically modified to resist predation from a certain class of pests, lepidopteran pests. This is the larva of the gray moth called the pink bollworm. And what Bt cotton is, is a TRANCE gene is inserted into the plant, and the plant becomes toxic to this larva. And when the larva chomps on the bollworm, it dies.

The justification for Bt cotton was that it offered a non-chemical solution to pesticide. And the reason that was important was, as I said, because of the introduction of these hybrid seeds which are highly vulnerable to pest attacks.

Now, Bt cotton as a technology has a very interesting relationship to the legal regime, which is that what Monsanto did was, it nested this technology into a hybrid seed which cannot be resown. See, all cotton grown everywhere in the world comes in two forms, something called hybrid cotton and something called straight line cotton.

Now straight line cotton, you save your seed this year, you preserve it, and you resow it the next year, and you plant it in density across a field. So this is where I mean a laboring regime. A farmer will plow that field and then dribble seed into furrows in the field and lots and lots of smaller plants are produced in a field.

What hybrid seeds do is you can’t resow them the next year. And so you are forced to buy that seed from the market. And the reason Monsanto did this was to protect its patent and its copyright. Well, not copyright, its patent. Let’s say its patent.

And so then hybrid seeds actually transform labor in a very big way. First, they require– fewer hybrid seeds are planted in a field. They need to branch and bowl. Secondly, they have to be fed large amounts of fertilizer and pesticide. This increases costs. Large amounts of fertilizer and pesticide actually also then produces huge amounts of weeds.

And so things like weeding, which would be done a few times, say, a season is now done continuously through a season. Weeding is a activity primarily conducted by women, so it has increased the participants– the labor days that women spend on a field.

Pesticide has to be sprayed very, very often because in fact, hybrid seeds foliage a lot. So all kinds of other pests get attracted, which means that men also now are involved in field labor in a different way. It means that women earn more income in their hands than they did earlier because they have access to this kind of continuous wage labor. But it also means that their forms of domestic labor have vastly increased.

So these are all the ways in which these new hybrid seeds and Bt cotton, besides the other social and economic costs, which I can talk about, also transform laboring relations between farmers and their fields.

Matthan: Yeah. To pick up on the question of labor in agricultural production, I think since I didn’t focus necessarily on one crop in the way that Aarti does with cotton, I found a slew of crops growing across the agricultural year, soybean, wheat, a range of vegetables.

And the rhythms of agriculture production change according to the crop and according to the season. But in the day to day, as, as Julia you mentioned, these are very small farms. The average landholding in a place like India is about, I think, 1 hectare, which is about 2 and 1/2 acres, extremely small farms.

A lot of the labor is done by people in the household alongside agricultural wage labor. And it changes based on the crop and based on the season. So across the agricultural year, you have various kinds of activities going on in the field from, as Aarti mentioned, weeding, which happens a lot more in the wake of these new seeds and crops to transplanting seedlings in the case of onions to long days of very difficult harvesting in the case of wheat.

So you have very different kinds of work being done in the field depending on the crop and the season. And I should also just add that even though a lot of my work, and I’m sure Aarti’s work involved going to fields and farms and working and talking to people in these spaces, the nature of farming is such that it also entails a lot of work in the home, for example.

There’s women who are cleaning seed in the home, are sorting produce in the home, and there’s a lot of work that happens in the home, in the market, and so on.

Sizek: So Tanya, you mentioned that so many of these different crops that people are growing, they’re being grown throughout the year. It’s not just one period of time. And they’re also highly dependent on rainfall on different climactic conditions. Can you tell us a little bit about how this has changed, and how it relates to the risk that farmers are taking when they’re participating in this market.

Matthan: Absolutely. So as I mentioned, there’s a range of crops that are central to agrarian life in a place like Malwa. So there’s soybean, which is the primary crop in the monsoon season, roughly between June and October. And then farmers move to growing a range of other crops, most predominantly wheat and gram, but also things like onions, potatoes, garlic have become increasingly important crops in this region.

So each of these crops has a range of different qualities ecologically, politically, economically, and so on. And so farmers are making a range of choices and decisions in deciding what to plant, how much to plant, and so on. So for instance, things like how long does this crop take to harvest?

So one reason soybean is still popular is because it’s a short duration crop. And certain varieties of seeds have been introduced in Malwa, which are extremely short duration. So within 80 days, you can harvest soybean, which allows you to then plant two or three more crop cycles on the same plot of land, which is really important to farmers who don’t have huge land parcels. So they can get more and more out of the same plot.

So just to go back to the question of how risk plays into this is that farmers are making calculations based on engagements with risk and uncertainty. So wheat, for instance, is an extremely water intensive crop. It requires irrigation, so you have to invest in irrigation.

But it’s also considered, for instance, a safe crop primarily because it can be sold at government procurement centers for a fixed price. So you don’t have to deal with the volatility of the market. You can just take your wheat at the end of the season, and you can be assured of a price. So it’s considered less risky.

Onions, for example, which is increasingly grown by farmers across class and caste in Malwa is seen as a risky crop. It requires a great deal of investment in inputs and in labor costs, but it’s also seen as very high yielding. And it’s risky because onions are incredibly price-volatile. In India especially, there’s huge price risks associated with growing onions.

So onion prices can shift dramatically within the span of days. And you could potentially garner huge profits, but also face crushing losses if prices crash. So this is just to say that there’s a range of risks and opportunities associated with different crops. And farmers are actually making a lot of careful calculations in deciding what to grow and how much to grow and when.

Sethi: I’ll just make a small because Tanya’s given us a very detailed thinking through this question of risk. One of the peculiar things, and actually not peculiar about the way in which risk is absorbed into a agricultural milieu, and I see this with cotton in a very intense form, is that cotton, post the introduction of genetically modified cotton, risk has acquired a valence in the agricultural milieu where on the one hand, cotton yields have vastly expanded.

So that is the potential of what you can reap from cotton is vastly expanded from the pre-hybrid economy of cotton but so have the risks associated with cotton cultivation.

And so the kind of calculations that farmers make is one where farmers both engage in this form of production and also find– it produces or has produced a sense of an everyday wearing stress. So people– this word tension, the English word tension has now become vernacularized into village speech.

And so beyond the economic risks, which are manifold, which a lot of people, scholars have written about that are discussed in the press, which is that cotton cultivation is economically really, really intense. It costs now 25,000 rupees. And the return on investment is very small. It’s about 3% to 5%.

So actually a farming family and again, all farming, 98% of farming is on irrigated. The monsoons are completely erratic. Every farmer has to make a calculation depending on how much debt you have, so how long you can hold on to cotton, how you can play the market. If you can store your cotton, you will get a higher price later in the buying season.

But if you are carrying a lot of debt for your seed cost, for your fertilizer cost, for your pesticide cost, you have to pay back that debt. And so a lot of small farmers will offload their cotton as soon as the sowing season and the cotton procurement season begins.

So risk is now both an operative emotion because we are finally talking about a personal relationship to this new kind of– no longer new with this economy of cotton and also economic fact of current agricultural production. And risk is operating at every level of the socioeconomic agricultural order. It is operating at the level of financial risk. It is operating at the level of climatic risk. It is operating at the level of failure of crop.

It is operating also through family relationships in a really intense way because everybody requires money to cultivate, and everybody requires– everyone is taking debt from everyone else. So people actually undertake debt within kinship networks. And so there is a kind of social and familial and risk in which social relations are also placed at risk, at risk of fraying.

Supposing you take a loan from your maternal uncle and you can’t pay back that loan in time, then that’s a family relation that has been placed at great risk. So that’s how I think one way to think of risk is to look at it in this kind of expanded sense is what I would add.

Matthan: Yeah, I think that’s absolutely right. And you’ve put it beautifully about how risk pervades. And I think maybe elsewhere you’ve said that risk is the structuring condition of agrarian life, and it permeates the economy but also intimate relations within family.

While I was interested in using risk as analytical lens into agrarian change, what I found was, just as Aarti mentioned with the use of the term tension, I also found that the term risk was used all the time in rural India. So everything was understood in terms of what is the risk of this. And people were using this term all the time to describe a range of activities and practices, not just in relation to farming but also beyond.

And as Aarti mentioned also, there are highly differentiated engagements with risk based on caste, class, gender, and many other kinds of calculations that go into how people are dealing with it.

Sizek: Thank you so much for your work, which is really revealed how agrarian life in India has changed with the introduction of these new crops over the last 50 years. And thanks for coming on the podcast.

Sethi: Thank you.

Matthan: Thanks so much for having us.

Woman’s Voice: Thank you for listening. To learn more about Social Science Matrix, please visit matrix.berkeley.edu.

 

 

Article

How Climate Change Became a Security Emergency: An Interview with Brittany Meché

Brittany Meche

How has climate change become a security issue? Geographer Brittany Meché argues that contemporary anxieties about climate change refugees rearticulate colonial power through international security. Through interviews with security and development experts, her research reveals how the so-called “pragmatic solutions” to climate change migration exacerbate climate change injustice. 

For this interview, Julia Sizek, Matrix’s Content Curator, asked Meché about her forthcoming article in New Geographies from the Harvard Graduate School of Design, which considers how expert explanations of climate migration rework the afterlives of empire in the West African Sahel, an area bordering the southern edge of the Sahara, stretching from Senegal and Mauritania in the West to Chad in the East.

Meché is an Assistant Professor of Environmental Studies and Affiliated Faculty in Science and Technology Studies at Williams College. She earned her PhD in Geography from UC Berkeley. Her work has appeared in Antipode, Acme, Society and Space, and in the edited volume A Research Agenda for Military Geographies. Meché is currently completing a book manuscript, Sustainable Empire, about transnational security regimes, environmental knowledge, and the afterlives of empire in the West African Sahel.

Q: Climate change is happening everywhere, but the effects of climate change are highly variable. Your research examines how climate change has come to be seen as a security issue for organizations like the UN and governments like the EU and US. How do they understand the problem of climate change in the West African Sahel?

One of the things that I examine in my research are the interrelations between environmental knowledge and security regimes more broadly. In so many ways, environmental knowledge can’t be divorced from militarism, empire, and other forms of institutionalized power. One of the things that often surprises my students is when they learn that one of the reasons we even know climate change is happening is because the US military poured billions of dollars into environmental science after World War II. That historical context is important, but in the contemporary moment, the consequences of what some scholars have described as “everywhere war” mean that so many aspects of social, political, and economic life become infused with and tied to the logics and infrastructures of security. 

The West African Sahel, where I conduct my research, is a region that is already experiencing the impacts of climate change, from rising temperatures to erratic rainfall patterns. At the same time there have been increasing rates of different forms of armed revolt, which get lumped together as Islamic terrorism. It becomes easy for foreign militaries to say that worsening environmental strain is linked to social and political collapse. In response, foreign militaries propose fortifying the local security sector through security cooperation agreements, military training, and investments in border security. In that way, security solutions replace any careful consideration of the structural inequities of climate change. My research seeks to challenge these approaches through a detailed accounting of how these kinds of security imperatives further imperil already vulnerable communities. 

A map illustrating the Sahel region of Africa. Source.

Q: In your forthcoming article on border security and climate change in the West African Sahel, you address how security actors like the UN respond to what they see as the threat of climate refugees. How are climate refugees understood as a security problem?   

The issue of climate refugees was one of the most vexing issues I encountered during my research. There are no formalized legal conventions about what constitutes a climate refugee or climate migrant, so the terms themselves are capacious and vague in ways that make it difficult to know what they actually describe. Is a climate migrant someone who is displaced during an acute event like a hurricane or earthquake? Someone who is no longer able to grow crops and chooses to relocate elsewhere? Someone who lives in a coastal area or on an island where sea level rise makes reliable habitation less feasible? Or all of the above? And, if so, how can we alter a global refugee system that many scholars — like Harsha Walia, Leslie Gross-Wyrtzen, and Gregory White — have noted is already at times violent, strained, and ineffectual, to accommodate these different categories? 

But more vexing than these conceptual and legal indeterminacies are the ways that present investments in border security and fortification make use of the figure of the climate refugee to whip up xenophobic fears. In my article, I note the ways that climate refugees, almost always depicted as people of color, become ways of making climate change knowable and actionable. Climate change becomes located on the body of migrants of color amid claims that “hordes” of climate migrants from the Global South will inundate the Global North. The embodiment aspect is key, as the literal bodies of these migrants come to signal and stand in for climate change as a security problem. This often leads to calls for “pragmatic solutions” like more border security and more heavily regulated immigration systems. 

Q: How do ideas about migration align (or not) with the realities of how migration works in reality? 

I think popular framings of migration in and from the Sahel miss the ways that circular migratory patterns have been a staple of life for centuries. The Sahel has a number of pastoral communities that migrate with their herds. There are also cycles of migration between rural and urban areas, and education and religious pilgrimages that take place. This is not to say there have not been people forced to move because of violence, or because of economic or environmental stress. But many aspects of how and why migration happens get lost when migration is simply offered up as a problem to be solved. 

One central aspect of this issue is how my informants framed climate change migration as a South-North issue: that is, people from the Global South going to the Global North. In reality, most migration is South-South. Most of the migration happening in the West African Sahel and across the African continent more broadly is intra-regional migration. But this fact does not receive the same level of attention. I had informants at the International Organization of Migration admit that, while their figures show the predominance of intra-regional migration, for funding purposes, they had to frame their work as speaking to the “migration crisis” in Europe. The fear of Africans inundating Europe obscures the realities of this South-South migration.  

Q: Your research also considers the longer history of anxieties about migrants by showing how contemporary takes on climate change migration have supplanted and reinforced colonial anxieties about overpopulation that bring back Malthusian ideas about scarcity and overpopulation. How do these anxieties appear in security policy, and how do security experts think about these colonial legacies in their work?

In many aspects of my research, it seems that Malthus never really left. The West African Sahel has some of the highest birth rates in the world, and that fact lends itself to easy, though ultimately false, claims that overpopulation is at the root of the region’s problems. Still, for me, it was important to trace the ways that the different institutions I study absorb criticisms and attempt to re-orient their work. For instance, when informants at different UN agencies, such as the UN Development Program (UNDP), UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), and International Organization of Migration (IOM), would mention population in the Sahel, they would do so with the acknowledgment that it was a “third rail” issue. So even as the ghost of Malthus lives on, I think it’s important to account for different mutations.

Similarly, when interviewing US military officials working for US Africa Command (the Department of Defense’s command dedicated to African affairs), they were very mindful of accusations of colonialism and empire, and attempted to cultivate what I call in my work a “non-imperial” vision of US empire. That is to say, their disavowals, far from being just a PR move, were being used to strategize new kinds of circumscribed actions that would allow for a US presence in the region without inviting anti-imperial protest. 

Q: You’ve mentioned that many of your interlocutors are experts in the international development and security fields. How did you conduct your research on such a transnational project, and how did you get access to the experts you interviewed? 

I knew at the outset that this project had a number of different threads, including multiple actors, and therefore demanded a multi-sited approach. I started in Washington, DC, where I interviewed US government officials who put me in touch with informants in Stuttgart, Germany, the headquarters of US Africa Command. In turn, these informants put me in touch with other military, diplomatic, development, and humanitarian workers in Senegal, Burkina Faso, and Niger. I also previously worked at the US State Department and have family ties to the US military, which facilitated access. 

But still, you can never underestimate the usefulness of showing up. Many of my most memorable interviews and points of contact were serendipitous. Similar to most fieldwork, it’s all about cultivating relationships. I primarily used snowball interviewing, which involved seeking additional recommendations from existing contacts and using those suggestions to map out a network of informants. Given their positions in “elite” institutions, many of my informants were very much interested in preserving their anonymity, especially when they offered criticism of work they were doing within those institutions. 

Q: While this new article focuses on migration, your broader book project focuses more on the role that a network of experts plays in constructing a past and predicting a specter of future catastrophe in Sahel. In addition to climate migrants, what other climate issues appear in your book? 

The broader book project, currently titled Sustainable Empire: Nature, Knowledge, and Insecurity in the Sahel, makes the central claim that attending to what has happened historically — and what continues to happen in the West African Sahel — is crucial for understanding the possibilities of just global environmental futures. It supports this claim in a number of ways. First, it explores how environmental knowledge in and from the Sahel helped assemble a conceptual and institutional bedrock for global climate change knowledge. I do this through a critical genealogy of desertification, considered the first global climate change issue in the mid-20th century. I then trace the place of West Africa in predictions about the “coming climate change wars,” reflecting on how racial and gendered fears helped set the stage for what became the global war on terror. The book then concludes with a consideration of the kinds of climate solutions being workshopped in the region, ranging from ongoing security projects to large-scale green-tech projects.

Podcast

Institutionalizing Child Welfare: An Interview with Matty Lichtenstein

Matty Lichtenstein

How do American child welfare and obstetric healthcare converge? Matty Lichtenstein, a recent PhD from UC Berkeley’s Department of Sociology, studies how state and professional organizations shape social and health inequalities in maternal and child welfare. Her current book project focuses on evolving conceptions of risk in social work and medicine, illustrated by a study of the intertwined development of American child and perinatal protective policies. She is working on several collaborations related to this theme, including studies of maltreatment-related fatality rates, the racialization of medical reporting of substance-exposed infants, and risk assessment in child welfare.

In another stream of research, she has written on social policy change, with a focus on educational regulation and political advocacy, and she has conducted research on culture, religion, and politics. Dr. Lichtenstein’s work has been published in American Journal of Sociology, Qualitative Methods, and Sociological Methods and Research. She is currently a postdoctoral research associate at the Watson Institute for International and Public Affairs at Brown University.

In this podcast episode, Matrix content curator Julia Sizek speaks with Lichtenstein about her research on the transformation of American child welfare — and the impact of that transformation on contemporary maternal and infant health practices.

Podcast Transcript

Woman’s Voice: The Matrix Podcast is a production of Social Science Matrix, an interdisciplinary Research Center at the University of California, Berkeley.

Julia Sizek: Hello and welcome to the Social Science Matrix Podcast. I’m Julia Sizek, your host. And today we’re talking to Matty Lichtenstein, who is a postdoctoral research associate at the Watson Institute for International and Public Affairs at Brown University.

She earned her PhD in sociology at Berkeley in summer 2021. Today, we’ll be discussing her dissertation research, which concerns the Politics of Health and Welfare Governance from the 1930s to the present.

Marty, welcome to The Matrix Podcast

Matty Lichtenstein: Thank you. Thank you for having me.

Sizek: Let’s get started by understanding the basic overview of your work on child welfare. Why were you interested in this topic of study?

Lichtenstein: Thanks for that question. I’m broadly interested in questions about social policy, health, and gender. In particular, my research has focused on family regulation, by which I mean professional or state interventions in families, and how those interventions are linked to efforts to mitigate or to inadvertently reproduce inequality.

As part of this, I’ve studied child welfare, I’ve studied educational policy. I’ve also studied gender roles and organizations. But the project that started my interest in child welfare in particular, began when I first started looking at research for my dissertation.

And I was trying to understand what the role of child welfare agencies in the United States is when it comes to interventions in substance-exposed infants. And by that I mean infants who during pregnancy their mothers used any sort of substance that medical professionals might deem harmful or child welfare professionals would deem harmful.

So when I was looking at this topic, there were two very different kinds of literatures on it. One was the literature on best practices toward this issue. So the literature on best practices tended to emphasize a lot that we need an disciplinary approach to this issue.

So if you have a case of substance-exposed infants or substance use during pregnancy, we need basically teamwork. We need medical professionals. We need drug counseling. We need social work counseling, as well as potentially we might need child welfare interventions. But it’s a multidisciplinary approach.

When I looked at the empirical research on what actually happens with such interventions, most of it, which was largely located in political science and the legal fields, tended to highlight the criminalization of these women or forced medical interventions with women who use substances during pregnancy.

However, when I looked at the actual policies– so when I moved away from the secondary literature and I started to look at the policies that focus on this issue, I saw that the policies overwhelmingly authorized child welfare. So there isn’t actually that much criminalization in the law. It’s overwhelmingly child welfare that’s the profession that tends to intervene in such cases.

And when it comes to child welfare interventions with such cases, those interventions are often linked to high levels of foster care placement of these substance-exposed infants, which the literature sees as potentially problematic for substance-exposed infants healing process.

So my question was, how did we get here? How did child welfare become authorized to do this? So, in brief, my research shows that child welfare has over the past several decades developed into a profession with considerable resources– nearly $30 billion in 2018, to focus overwhelmingly on reducing the risk of child abuse and neglect.

And one important tool of this sort of risk reduction is child welfare’s ability to coerce families into interventions through this threat of child removal. This combination of coercion and risk prevention is built on child welfare’s national infrastructure to actually carry out these interventions.

And combination of these three things is what convinced state legislators to authorize child welfare as a primary authority authorized to intervene in substance-exposed infants beginning as far back as the 1980s. But what was interesting about this was that to figure this out, I had to slowly unpack this because child welfare was not always like this.

It wasn’t always a national network of agencies. It didn’t always have this strong focus on maltreatment. Instead, I found that there were actually major transformations in American child welfare during the 20th century that brought us to this point.

Sizek: So how has the child welfare system changed over the span that you study?

Lichtenstein: Sure. So I focused my research starting after the passage of the Social Security Act because that is the big dividing line for American Child Welfare. Prior to 1935 when the Social Security Act was passed, we basically had a sort of fragmented patchwork of mostly private child welfare agencies throughout the United States.

The passage of the Social Security Act basically enabled a massive expansion of– well, I don’t know if massive, but a reasonable expansion of funding for public child welfare in particular. So state and local public child welfare. And the main shift that happened over there had to do with really thinking about what welfare meant and what it still means today.

So in general, when we think about welfare, we are referring to government support for individuals or groups. And the main distinction, especially in the 1930s, was between support as financial support– giving people money when they needed it and couldn’t get it any other way. Or some sort of services.

So that could mean something like referral to medical services, funded medical services, educational services, or it could also mean psychological counseling. And across social work in general, which was the parent discipline of child welfare.

It had that tension between how do they help people? Do they help people by getting them financial aid? Do they help people through social services? And there had been this development throughout the ’20s and ’30s toward emphasizing social services. That social workers were essentially able to provide mental health counseling, perhaps references, et cetera. Though some did focus on financial aid.

The Social Security Act made that distinction quite clear for child welfare services because the section that focuses on child welfare services emphasized that this was about services in general. And not financial aid. Financial aid was a separate part of the Social Security Act for families.

And so one of the things that the public child welfare in particular and increasingly private child welfare as well had to figure out is what does it mean to be child welfare? How do you serve children? And one of the things that I find is that there was this increasing emphasis in the ’30s and ’40s, in basically trying to develop a population that child welfare serves.

Basically trying to argue that child welfare has a specific function and that is to serve all of the various needs that children have. And that emphasis on we’re providing all of the needs of children have, not just poverty-related. In fact, they veered a little bit away from poverty-related needs, towards psychological needs, medical needs, health needs, et cetera.

Helped child welfare advocates push for more funding and more resources for child welfare. And so one of the things that happened is that public child welfare in particular grew exponentially over this period in the 1950s and 1960s.

And so the number of child welfare workers started rising dramatically. Went from 2200 in 1946 to 13,000 by 1959. Funding rose dramatically. And so you really had this huge expansion. And this leads really to one of the important things that I find which is that this led to a larger shift in child welfare and thinking about what child welfare is meant in the ’60s and ’70s.

Sizek: So I think you gave a great overview of not only the complexity of the child welfare system, but also the way that it changes over time. What people think or prioritize for children’s welfare. So what becomes the focus of the child welfare system in the ’60s and ’70s?

Lichtenstein: So one of the major findings of my dissertation, very much conflicts with the conventional narrative of child welfare history. So the classic narrative of child welfare history is that there was in the ’60s– starting in the late ’50s, and then in the particularly in the ’60s, we saw the discovery of child abuse as a social problem.

So before then, scholars argue, by the late 1950s, nobody was talking about child abuse and neglect. Nobody cared about child abuse or neglect, basically social workers and the public just did not see it as a problem. And that in the ’50s, in the research world, you start seeing more of an emphasis on child abuse.

And by the ’60s, it had become a public and political issue and you see an enormous amount of laws being passed to mandate reporting of child abuse. And this leads to basically the creation of child welfare as we know it today, which is highly and heavily focused on child abuse prevention and response.

The problem– for a while, I was following this narrative in thinking about different aspects of my research. The problem was that as I dug through more archival resources, I found that that just wasn’t the case.

So sort of the most damning piece of evidence that I found was a publicly available report that was put out by the Children’s Bureau in 1959, which stated that 49% of public child welfare in-home services related to abuse and neglect. And this was in 1959 when current scholars are saying nobody talked about abuse and neglect.

And the survey showed half of in-home services at least for public child welfare, which was the dominant provider of child welfare services at the time, related to abuse and neglect. And so I spent a few months in a sort of existential crisis of what is the meaning of my dissertation? I don’t understand. Everything is wrong.

And eventually, I figured out that not everything is wrong. A lot of what was written in this historical works about the history of child welfare were correct. There was much more of an emphasis on child abuse. There were this research on the causes of child abuse. Those laws did pass. All of that was correct.

But what it missed was this larger moment of transformation in child welfare. So as I said previously, the Social Security Act allowed child welfare to establish what they were about. And what they decided they were about was serving all of the possible comprehensive needs of children in America. And that meant everything.

So when you look at the reports and the materials that child welfare agencies and the Children’s Bureau were producing in that period from 1935 through the 1960s, there’s just basically everything in there. We’re going to focus on medical problems. We are going to focus on educational problems. We’re going to fix all of the psychological and social and physical needs of children.

Childhood abuse and neglect? Sure. That, we’re also going to fix. It’s all there. What actually happened– what I show is that it’s not so much the child welfare agencies and employees rediscover child abuse, as much as they relinquished and sometimes willingly and sometimes unwillingly any jurisdiction over most other child welfare issues, including poverty, health issues, and education, and retain jurisdiction only over child abuse and child abuse and child neglect.

And what I show is that this happened largely due to larger trends in the American welfare state, specifically welfare state retraction and increasing focus on efficiency in welfare governance in the late ’60s and 1970s, which basically demanded that child welfare focus on issues that could be easily defined and easily provided services that you could put a price on.

So foster care, adoption. This vague counseling for all of these different things, that was not something that was of interest to administrators. And this was part of also a larger process in what I call a shift from population to problem. So the Children’s Bureau could no longer be– say, hey, we serve all of the needs of the population of children. Instead, there was an increasing shift toward what is the problem you’re here to resolve?

Problems like health go to the health department. Problems like education, go to the education department. What do you focus on? Your problem is child abuse and neglect. And so that sort of– yes, there were advocates that pushed for more focus. But it was all part of this larger shift in the American welfare state that enabled this to happen.

And the other thing that I also emphasize a lot is that previous massive expansion of child welfare in response to we’re here to serve all of the needs of children. That growth of staffing, that growth of funding, also made it possible for all of these laws saying, hey, you need to report child abuse to say, well, where do you report it to? Well now you have a child welfare agency.

Now, there are thousands of child welfare workers. So you kind of have this unintended consequence that happens where all of those new child welfare workers that were supposed to solve all of children’s problems, to put maybe a little simplistically, were now there to solve one problem, which was the increasing number of reports of child abuse and neglect.

Sizek: Yeah, so let’s try to understand what ends up falling into the category of child abuse and neglect because it seems it’s both a specific problem that people are identifying and then also sort of a capacious category that ends up, as I think, as you write about how I guess it brings in these other questions about is poverty an example of child abuse and neglect. So, what is this category? How is it initially defined, and how does it transform over time?

Lichtenstein: So the early research that really tried to refine this issue and try to say, you know what does it mean to have abusive parents, was primarily in medical journals. And that was usually based on things like X-rays of children with broken bones and trying to figure out was this an accident or was this caused by who could it be caused by. And then also psychiatric evaluations of parents saying, what is wrong with parents who do this and how does this happen sort of a diagnostic model of approaching child abuse and neglect.

And so the cases that they were referring to were usually fairly severe cases of child abuse and neglect. However, the laws that were passed in the 1960s basically told professionals across the board. Originally, in the 1960s, a lot of the laws mostly addressed medical professionals, but they quickly expanded in part because medical professionals pushed back and said we can’t be the only ones mandated to report this.

And so it quickly started to expand throughout the 1960s and through the 1970s to include professionals across the board who have any sort of interaction with children, teachers, anyone in an educational setting, anyone in a medical setting. Obviously, people who work with in funeral homes, anything like that might have any sort of interaction.

Photographers eventually were basically became mandated reporters which means that they would be penalized at least formally they were supposed to be penalized if they did not report what were often very vaguely defined forms of abuse and neglect. And so essentially they were being asked to report any sort of suspicion of abuse and neglect. This varied greatly across states. Every state had different laws have different sets of mandated reporters. There’s a huge amount of variation.

And so what happens is that child welfare becomes the recipient. Child welfare agencies across the country in different counties and different states start to receive a skyrocketing number of reports. Now this does not mean that everyone is reporting every suspicion. A little bit of data we have on this a lot of mandated professionals either ignored this didn’t necessarily report it, et cetera.

But there was enough based on all of these new mandated reporting laws, enough reports pouring into child welfare that they basically had to figure out, especially because they had lost jurisdiction over so many other issues they had to figure out what do they do with all of these reports. And so as a result that forced in the 1970s, beginning in the 1970s and then increasingly in the 1980s a sort of reckoning of what does it mean. How do we define child abuse? And then more importantly, how do we figure out if what’s happening is child abuse and neglect?

And the thing that’s important to understand in this context is that out of these, hundreds of thousands and then millions of reports that started pouring in during this era. The majority of the reports were usually unsubstantiated. So, in the mid-1970s, when we started to have this data, usually around 60% of reports were unsubstantiated. The majority of reports that are substantiated are neglect reports, and those are highly correlated with poverty.

So something like from the data again, some of this data we only have for later years, but something like in terms of substantiated reports of neglect, there’s eight times the rate of substantiated reports of physical neglect among low socioeconomic status children versus middle or non-low socioeconomic status children. So what that means is that you have this very broad category of neglect, which could include everything from passively allowing your child to starve to not having child care, so leaving your child home alone for a few hours when you go out to work.

So just this huge range that varies again by state by county in some states and all of this is basically sort of evolving in the ’70s and ’80s. And so then the question becomes, if you have this huge number of reports coming in and the majority of them are not even actual abuse and neglect, and the majority of the ones that you determine as abuse, neglect it’s not even clear if it’s neglect or it’s poverty, the question then becomes, how do you create a system to prevent and treat a problem that we’re not even sure exists?

And that’s really where you start to see this focus on risk. Child welfare and medical professionals affiliated with child welfare begin to develop different tools, practical risk assessment tools, to try to determine what is the risk that A, there’s an actual case of child abuse happening or even we can’t actually say that there is any abuse and neglect happening here, but maybe it will in the future. This is a high-risk situation.

So this is the period in which they start to develop these tools in the ’70s and ’80s, and these tools have all sorts of problems that are built into them in that period.

Sizek: So let’s dig in a little bit into this emergence of the system of surveillance and the transformation of these surveillance processes into these risk assessment tools. So, can you tell us a little bit about one of the risk assessment tools that these professionals are using, just what it looks like if you’re a doctor or a social worker and you’re going into a home with this list of questions?

Lichtenstein: Sure. So, the thing to keep in mind is that the early tools in the ’70s and ’80s were often built on what was called a consensus approach to risk assessment. And so what that essentially meant is that it was built on what social workers consider risk variables. And so this was deemed very problematic by the 1990s, but they were still widely used for the first 20 or so years in which tools were spreading.

And so these tools tended to incorporate all kinds of variables having to do with the environment of the child. So not so much again we don’t necessarily have any sign that the child is harmed directly. There’s no sign on their body. There’s no necessarily sign in how they’re speaking, but we look at the environment, and we try to assess if there are risk variables there.

So that has to do with everything from the income status of the family with the health issues of parents, marital status of the mother, usually the mother, child care access could be a risk factor, as well as other issues like the stability of the home. There were risk assessment tools in the 1970s that also had factors like does the family, do the parents take this child to movies? Do they have a camera? Do they take the child fishing?

In addition to, is there dangerous wiring? Do they all sleep in the same room? Does a child have a mattress? So what you can sense from this is there’s just a huge– it’s just really hard to disentangle poverty from this. There are also sometimes sort of cultural factors.

So you’d have questions about does the parent have this as an early tool, and I think 1978, if I recall correctly, where they asked if that was approved by the predecessor to the Department of Health and Human Services and recommended it for wide use among social workers and this tool asked the question about whether the parent had wider family support in child care. But then also asked about whether they were overly dependent on their family.

So, putting aside the paradox in that that also gets at something that is cultural, not just economic, which is that often in families of color, studies have found that there’s more interdependence that there isn’t as much of an emphasis on nuclear family units and this itself could be seen as problematic in some of these risk assessment tools. And then, of course, there’s drug or alcohol use was assessed as a risk factor.

And the thing that’s also important to recognize in this is that when you look at the earlier surveys about child welfare services before this transformation to focus on child abuse, they would talk about health and family issues as issues that child welfare addressed, but they weren’t risk factors for abuse. So you’d see a survey about what a child welfare do why do they intervene in a family. And one of the reasons could be, hey, there’s some sort of health issue with a parent but that was seen as distinct.

Whereas when you look at the later studies in the 1970s and by the 1980s for sure, those same factors are no longer seen as like they intervened because of the health issue. Now it’s, is this health issue a risk factor for abuse or neglect? And so you see this sort of transformation of structural factors, structural inequalities, and health issues into risk factors. And part of what that does also is instead of trying to say, how do we help this family as a whole, you instead have a sort of a how do we assess– the assumption is we’re trying to see if the parent is harming the child.

So, there’s an approach in which a parent and child are seen as distinct units. And the question is, are they in some sort of conflict? And part of the thing that I think is most interesting about this is that this is a relatively rare problem in which there is sort of this intentional effort of the parent to harm the child it certainly happens. But it’s relatively rare and you see it in the data that it’s relatively rare.

And so the framing is basically, like I said before, trying to find a problem that isn’t very common. And so instead, we kind of have to take things that are more common, like poverty and other issues, and try to see, well, can we link it to a risk of this problem of child abuse or neglect happening down the line.

Sizek: Yeah, I think another thing that you really bring up is the way that these systems are interrelated to each other that, for example, the medical system is implicated in child welfare or that the general welfare system becomes part or entangled with child welfare. Can you speak a little bit about how this balance between these multiple systems that have to do with children as people are interacting and how they’ve been changing over time?

Lichtenstein: Sure. So, there’s always been this somewhat messy relationship between these different systems. So yes, first of all, the questions of things like healthcare access, child care access, income inequality, racial discrimination, all of these different issues and then, of course, like deeply gendered issues like the fact that was most frequently the woman who was taking care of the child in a lot of these cases. All of these different issues become interrelated with child welfare.

And so one of the more you– see this going back quite far. And you see this going back in particular before this transformation already you see this issue. And so one of the ways this happens is that, as I mentioned before, child welfare develops in the ’40s and ’50s and they say, hey, we’re not in charge of financial relief. That’s a different department. That’s the welfare department.

The one that administers what was then the ADC and then later became the AFDC and then later became TANF. That’s the department that’s in charge of financial relief. We’re just here to help families become healthier, and happier, and more functional.

And that was technically true to some degree. But what happened was that there was also this almost like pride with which advocates for child welfare at that period in that period would say, we don’t actually serve poor children very much. And so there was a very widely cited report in 1959. It was cited in the very, very influential 1962 public welfare amendments. It was part of the hearings, and it was put together by a council of who’s who of child welfare leaders.

And they said, you know, hey, only 9% of children that receive child welfare services also receive ADC. This is very misleading because to qualify for ADC at that time, you had to meet a series of requirements that many poor families did not meet. And in particular, there was a lot of racial discrimination in ADC, and so that this did not actually mean that child welfare services only dealt with middle-class and upper-class children.

But it was interesting to see how these advocates tried to present themselves, try to present the profession as being about something other than poverty, as being a profession that focuses on these complex psychological family problems. And so this sort of framing, though, also enabled child welfare to say, let’s look at all these problems and frame them as though basically an individual issue a problem with an individual family with an individual parent. This isn’t related to larger structural issues like poverty or race.

And so that enabled child welfare to develop as a profession in this way. And so it’s not like particularly shocking that when you have this increasing shift to child maltreatment, there’s basically sort of a shift toward we’re going to keep up this focus on psychologically approaching these larger problems of child maltreatment, and we’re going to keep delinking it from poverty. This isn’t necessarily intentional.

Many social workers no doubt walked into a family and immediately realized the problem was poverty, yet had no access to resources to directly aid families who needed assistance with finances. Yet when you look at reports from the child welfare reports from the ’70s and ’80s, whether this is broader structural issues, whether they’re social worker bias or not, the fact is that what you see is a sort of transformation of the structural problems into individual psychological problems of the parents who essentially choose quote-unquote “To neglect or abuse their children.”

Sizek: So can you walk us through maybe a case or two of what the, I guess, what would the implications look like for an individual family? What are the forms of surveillance that they might be subjected to or the ramifications of these abuse policies for an individual family like, I guess, over the course of a year?

Lichtenstein: Yeah. So, I should be very clear that I am not an ethnographer. So, I’m actually the person not well equipped to answer the question based on my own data, but there is fantastic work out there that I use to inform my policy level research. And I also did– part of my research has focused on– a big chunk of my data comes from the Child Welfare Journal, which I looked at historically over the years and there there’s a lot of case studies. And so, I was able to draw in some of this into my research.

So I would say that part of what happens is that there’s a report. That’s always the first step. Very few cases are self-reported. Most cases are reported. And this is also a shift, by the way.

You see, in articles by child welfare workers in the ’50s and ’60s, they describe people calling them for help, saying, hey, my wife just was put into a mental asylum, and I can’t take care of my kids and work, and what do I do? And literally, they describe this sort of emergency cases where they would put the child short term in foster care or something like that in response. And you see that decreasing when there’s a shift to maltreatment.

So you have a report. Over time, those reports increasingly come from professionals. In the 2018 report from the Children’s Bureau, it was something like 2/3 of her reports come from professionals. And this report leads to first some sort of assessment. It’s not necessarily called an investigation at first. This varies by state.

But child welfare will at least assess whether it’s worth contacting and investigating the family. And then that’s the next step if they don’t shut it down immediately because sometimes they do. Some of the reports won’t allege anything that’s worth investigating, and so they won’t investigate. And so then there’s an investigation if they assume– if they assess that there is some reason to investigate.

And that investigation generally involves a visit to the family. And this is where things, again, my research is historical. It’s from 1935 to 2000, which is a very long time, and then since then, I’ve been reading, a lot of research that’s been done on changes in child welfare since then. And so this has changed in a variety of ways.

And the other thing that’s important to know is that the response varies highly depending on what state you’re in. So Frank Edwards is a colleague of mine who has done a fantastic piece on how the amount of resources that states invest in general in welfare support are highly correlated with the kind of responses that they have to cases of child maltreatment.

And so he basically found that states that do not invest, in general, in social workers in financial support are also more likely to put children who are removed from families into very more severe settings, so institutional settings or group homes, which are considered more severe than foster care or other sort of supportive services. So there’s a lot of variation by state in what actually happens.

But in that first step where the child welfare shows up at your door, a different colleague of mine, Kelly Fong, has done published some very interesting research on what I think is a really important point that links to what I spoke about earlier. Child welfare shows up, and they ask to come into the home, and they ask can I speak to your children. And in some cases, that speaking could involve physical examination and it could involve all sorts of invasive questions.

Parents are not necessarily obligated to respond or to comply. However, one of the things that Kelly Fong found is that they will comply even if they don’t have to, even if there’s no legal obligation to because they know that their child could be taken away. And they know that because child welfare is a civil system, there’s just so little transparency and so much discretion that there’s really, once you go down there, you can just be in this endless black hole.

So your child can get taken away, and you may never get that child back. And it’s not very clear why you’re never getting that child back. Generally, child welfare cases, it’s not up to the social worker. It goes to a court. But that court proceedings are generally sealed to protect the privacy of the family.

But that also means we don’t really know what are the standards or, how and why these removals are determined, or how other interventions are determined. But just that fear of losing the child means that parents will comply at a very high level in many cases. And this focus on child removal is something that is something that is difficult to pin down and say, well, do they come in and say, you’re going to lose your kid?

No, but parents know this. And so it leads to a certain set of behaviors.

Sizek: I actually had another question related to this system, which you mentioned has it’s very hard for families to keep track of their own children within the system or for researchers like you to also try to keep track of people. How did the challenges of studying the child welfare system shape your study and how you approached your research?

Lichtenstein: Yeah, so it was extremely challenging. There’s no here’s a beautiful data set. There are data sets, but first of all most of them trying to do historical child welfare is incredibly difficult. Most data is from literally the past 20 to 30 years. Some data has never been systematically collected.

So, for example, the Children’s Bureau puts out reports on child abuse and neglect and reports and treatment, and I’m sorry responses, and so on. They’ve been putting those reports out technically since 1990, but the data is highly incomplete until the early 2000. So you’re literally talking like there isn’t any data earlier in a consistent way.

And because of this shift, because of the Children’s Bureau and child welfare in general lost jurisdiction over some of these other issues, there’s also this huge shift in how data around child welfare was produced. And so just finding reports about the published reports, publicly available published reports on child welfare was quite difficult. There isn’t a lot of institutional memory because there has been this enormous change.

And so I spent the first couple of years just sort of scrambling to try to figure out where do I find this data, where is the historical data on child welfare. Most people who study child welfare tend to focus on one state, so they find that one archive or having something to do with child welfare, and that’s what they focus on. Or there’s an excellent ethnographies where they focus on one site.

Trying to do the sort of broader study of American child welfare policy going back this far is really, really challenging because the data is just a mess, to put it bluntly. So the way I sort of went about it was I triangulated multiple data sources. So the first thing I did was get my hands on a lot of that published data from the Children’s Bureau starting already in the 1940s. And that, there’s just a lot of data.

Most of it is not. I had to spend a lot of time on transferring that into usable spreadsheets so I could figure out what the numbers were and what the trends were but there were a lot of just little booklets that they put out with a lot of data from that. So, and then supplementing that with a lot of archival research, though, again, that was harder than it should have been, I think.

The second thing I did was that you have this journal called the Child Welfare Journal, and that’s been it’s still around, and it’s been around since 1921 so it’s 100 years old now. And so it’s been a pretty consistent reflection of what researchers and practitioners in child welfare have been doing for the past 100 years. It’s not a good reflection of clients. It’s not a good reflection of families receiving treatment. That’s very rare to see that.

But it does give you a sense of the profession, and that helped me a lot with this angle of this is a story of professionalization of child welfare of this transformation of child welfare from a tiny little subfield of social work into an independent profession that’s trying to say, this is what we do. So, that was the second major source. And to analyze that, I co-developed with my colleague, Zawadi Rucks-Ahidiana, I co-developed a method called Contextual Text Coding, and that helped me analyze these journals in a systematic way because we’re looking at again 50 years worth of journals, so a lot of data.

Finally, I did a lot of historical legal research, just trying to figure out this is policy, so how did all these policies change? What did they mean? I looked at State level laws. I looked at national laws. And then, I supplemented all of this with a little bit just about 15 interviews. This is a small number because these were purposive interviews, so I specifically chose people who could just explain some of these gaps, like what is going on in this policy what actually happened here. Why did they change the way they ran the surveys in the ’80s and the ’90s? How did they decide to add all of these terms?

So these were people I spoke to who had been in child welfare in the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, ’90s who were able to give me a perspective that I couldn’t have gotten otherwise. So, putting all of that together gave me way too much data, but it did give me a sense of these larger transformations of American child welfare.

Sizek: One of the things that you mentioned is that you worked across a couple of different states and that this is often really challenging for researchers to do. So, what are some of the key differences or distinctions in child welfare policy across different states?

Lichtenstein: That is sort of the fundamental issue in American child welfare is that there’s a huge amount of variation across states. So again, starting by, I would say, by the ’80s, one thing that was incontrovertible is that child welfare focused on child maltreatment primarily. So if you look up any department of Children and Family department, every state has a different name.

And then there are some states a small number of states that are not– there isn’t even a state centralized source. So the state like California actually it’s County run. So essentially, we have 58 different child welfare systems in California. They’re heavily influenced perhaps by state policies, but it’s fundamentally County run. And that most states, however, are state-run so the policies are set on the state level.

These different state policies are influenced by federal funding. So the government will say things like if you want our money for child welfare, then you need to define child abuse in a certain way or set up certain policies. But there aren’t really mandates in that sense. So it’s really highly fragmented. What happens in a case just highly varies.

So, what this means is twofold. First, as I mentioned before, there’s been research that shows that different levels of funding and welfare support shape responses enormously. But the other thing is that there’s just really different approaches to different issues because what abuse or neglect even means can vary by state, and how much reporting is required or who’s required to report varies by state.

And then things like how to respond to things like if a substance-exposed infant is reported to child welfare, what happens varies enormously by state. So you have in California, you’ll have different approaches that could range from child removal, which happens significant amount of time, to trying to send the mother to treatment services.

In a state like Wisconsin, they have civil commitment programs, which means that essentially the state has the right to take a woman who has been reported as using some sort of forbidden substance like drugs or alcohol during pregnancy, particularly drugs actually is the main focus and essentially imprison her in any institution other than a jail. So it could be in a drug treatment facility or something like that. And basically, the woman cannot leave.

You have very different responses to the same issues depending on the state.

Sizek: Wow. And just to return to, I guess, this what you brought up the question of substance abuse or, I guess, infants who have been exposed to substances. What are the approaches that different states take to this issue and how is it run through the civil rather than through criminal processes?

Lichtenstein: Yes. So the issue of substance-exposed infants, I think, is particularly important because it builds on what I spoke about before, which is this increasing focus on risk. As I mentioned before, some of those earliest risk assessment tools were developed by medical professionals or medical researchers as well as child welfare professionals, and some of these early tools were deeply gendered.

One of very influential tool that was developed in the 1970s, and there were sort of repeated iterations of it, essentially it was developed by assessing mothers– assessing women during pregnancy and during the childbirth and postpartum period and surveilling them to see how they treated their child. One of the telling findings of this is that the authors argued that 25% of their study population were at risk, as they put it, for what they called abnormal behavior.

And a lot of this was highly tautological. It basically was how does an abusive mother behave. Here is a list of behaviors that abusive mothers display. And how they define abuse was never clear. There were all sorts of methodological problems with these early tools.

And so this is how they behave. Well, how many of these behaviors match how a mother is behaving in the labor room and in the recovery room? Now anyone who’s seen or interacted or been a woman in a labor room or in a recovery room that is not your best moment. You know, that is a highly stressful time physically and emotionally and otherwise. And so using that as a way to assess risk is altogether sort of loaded with all sorts of interesting problems and questions.

So there was just this highly– this is not this wasn’t just one study. There were multiple tools and studies that focused on pregnancy as the time in which we try to figure out if this mother will later put her child at risk in some way. So it was sort of was conceptualized as a site of risk pregnancy is already a site of risk.

In the 1980s, you have an increasing number of reports coming into child welfare of substance use during pregnancy, whether drug use or alcohol use but particularly drug use. And a lot of this was highly racialized in terms of how it was conceptualized. So there was sort of there was a lot of media coverage of pregnant women using drugs during pregnancy and a lot of the images that were or the examples that were provided in these media reports were generally of African-American women.

So with this in mind, the emphasis at the same time simultaneously in child welfare on risk reduction on trying to figure out is this child at risk? Is this parent a risk to her child helped frame substance-exposed infants as a paradigmatic case of a child at risk for future harm. So it’s not just is the child being directly harmed right now.

As part of my research, I compared discourses in medical journals about substance use during pregnancy to social worker discourses and there was a very distinct difference between them. Medical journals tended to focus on is there some sort of direct physical harm that is caused to the child as a result of substance use during pregnancy. Social worker articles tended to focus on is the use of substances during pregnancy correlated with long term harm to the child.

So will a mother who uses some sort of drug or alcohol during pregnancy end up neglecting and abusing her child in some way? So methodologically, this is just a very complex thing to evaluate. But part of the thing again this is a multi-system process. And so part of what happened is that there was this during this period the politicization of pregnancy, the politicization of drug use during the 1980s meant that this problem received a lot of media coverage.

And what that means is that state legislators felt they had to do something basically. They had to respond in some way. And their options were basically to say, well, we can mandate medical intervention in such cases. We can criminalize these women for harming their children and mandate essentially law enforcement interventions. Or we can mandate civil interventions through child welfare.

The current scholarship on this period and really on this issue tends to focus a lot on criminalization on how pregnant women are thrown into jail and how women are jailed or prosecuted for these kinds of uses. And then there’s also a lot of conflation of they’ll talk about child welfare interventions. They’ll talk about medical interventions but make it all part of this larger criminalization and policing of pregnant women.

And there’s a lot to be said for that framework, but I think it’s actually really important to distinguish between those two things for one because criminalization is actually relatively rare. There’s only been generally of the cases that I’ve been able to find, there’s a relatively small number compared to the thousands of women who are reported in each state to child welfare every year. That is by far the predominant response is child welfare reporting.

And so when I went– historically, I looked at two states, California and Wisconsin, and I tried to figure out why does this relatively liberal and relatively conservative state again this was in the ’80s and ’90s, so not quite as polarized as they are today, but still at the time it was Republican controlled state legislature in Wisconsin and a Democrat controlled state legislature in California– why did they both choose to give child welfare predominant authority over interventions and substance exposed infants?

And one of the things that I showed is that criminalization was presented as essentially unhelpful and counterproductive. There was a lot of pushback against it from everyone, pretty much every professional pretty much pushed back. The police were not too excited to get involved in most cases. Sometimes they were, but very often they were not.

There were some individual prosecutors but as a profession. It wasn’t like give us something else to do. In terms of medical interventions, there was a lot of enthusiasm. In particular, in the California case, I found the law that mandates reporting to child welfare started off as mandating medical intervention.

So if a case came up in a hospital where a woman gave birth and it became clear or was pregnant it became clear, well, actually California had to give birth so if a woman gave birth and the child was in some way had been either affected– affected is very loosely defined– so just the woman used some sort of substance during pregnancy, then the course of action prescribed in the original bill was to involve public health nurses.

And this garnered a lot of enthusiasm. All these different organizations, prosecutors offices, medical associations, all rode into the state legislature and said, this is great. Medical interventions, this is the way to go, these comprehensive interventions. You can also work with social services this is wonderful. They kind of took that enthusiasm and that set the ball rolling for pushing the bill through.

And then in the process, they slowly stripped the public health nurses from the bill in part because public health nurses themselves said we don’t have the infrastructure to respond to this. But then also there were several different letters that I found that said they don’t have the coercive power that child welfare has to do anything about this. Like yeah, sure, we can tell public health nurses to go, but will they get the woman to stop using drugs? What if she doesn’t want to?

Child welfare, on the other hand, they have this cudgel. They can take your child away. And that’s largely the message that they gave which reflected to some degree, some of the messages I was seeing in child welfare journals at the same time about this issue. And this was convincing. The state legislators stripped public health nurses from their primary role and instead made the California law as it still stands today.

If you have a case of a child born and during pregnancy the woman used some sort of substance that is deemed as harmful to the child, you report it to child welfare. So this started off on the state level and by now it’s actually again it’s not law in the sense of mandating but it’s law in the sense that the federal law basically says if you want this funding then you better have reporting of substance exposed infants to child welfare.

And so you kind of have this shift and a lot of that has to do and the way I sort of interpret it is that a lot of this has to do with essentially a consensus that we need a way to appeal to a risk prevention framing. Again, a lot of these children are not necessarily harmed. It’s not always clear that the child is harmed. The child doesn’t have to be verifiably harmed by substance use during pregnancy.

There’s an assumption that if the woman used some sort of substance during pregnancy, the child is definitely going to be harmed. It’s actually incredibly messy, the data. If you try to find an answer to that, it’s a mess. Some substances immediately cause harm, some don’t. Some are correlated with certain outcomes that are really hard to disentangle from other factors.

So it’s a really messy question of whether a substance causes harm. And that doesn’t matter for the purpose of the law. The point of the law is if the woman ingested some sort of substance, she put her child at risk of harm. And the state legislatures wanted to find a way to say, hey, who can help approach this as a risk problem? Who can say– and they use this language of risk in the actual legislative materials, how do we essentially manage and mitigate this risk?

Child welfare, A, has this risk prevention framing and also is supposed to be dedicated to protecting children, so they are sort of the perfect response. And what’s interesting about this is that child welfare increasingly across states becomes the primary authority for intervening in such cases even as simultaneously the professional consensus increasingly converges on the idea that we need a multidisciplinary response to the issue of substance exposed infants.

So if you read anything, including from the federal government, the reports that are put out on this issue of substance exposed infants the consensus is we need doctors and social workers and financial aid and perhaps even law enforcement all, everyone needs to work together to deal with this issue of substance exposed infants. But in practice, the state laws overwhelmingly favor child welfare interventions and child welfare is mandated to mitigate risk of child abuse and neglect. That’s their mandate across the board.

They’re not there to provide a multidisciplinary approach. They can and sometimes they do. It varies greatly by state, but that’s not their primary mandate. And so that’s the framing that results. And there are very concrete consequences to having child welfare as the primary authority intervening in such cases.

Sizek: Given that child welfare is such a complex problem that is solved by this one agency or by child welfare agencies in general, what does this matter for people thinking about child welfare issues today or for thinking about child welfare policy today?

Lichtenstein: So the consequences for the issue of substance exposed infants, in particular, having child welfare be the primary authority to intervene. So just to recap some of the issues I’ve discussed. Essentially, it has several problematic consequences.

First, as I’ve explained, child welfare is just underequipped for multidimensional problems. In some states, they might have more access to other resources and in other states. Essentially, the only thing they could really do is child removal or interventions that are often quite disruptive to the family. So that’s first of all that it conflicts. Having child welfare in charge conflicts with the multidisciplinary approach that’s favored by most professionals.

The second is that child welfare is associated with an enormous amount of trauma, especially for families that are low income and for families of color in the United States. 50% of African-American children in the United States today have experienced a child welfare investigation. That’s one out of two– that’s half of African-Americans that’s just crazy. That’s just huge numbers of children that are experiencing these kinds of investigations.

Perhaps some of these investigations are very minimal. Some of them are not going to be so minimal. So what we have is just potentially and sometimes just very traumatic family surveillance and separation that’s intrinsically linked to child welfare because no matter how helpful or well-meaning a child welfare worker might be, ultimately, child welfare has the authority to take your child away possibly forever. Even if they do that quite rarely, it can still be something that is laden with fear and anxiety for families.

And one of the primary issues that I’ve mentioned before, is that you have these lower standards of evidence that are applied in child welfare proceedings. And so that makes it particularly problematic to have child welfare involved in cases of substance-exposed infants especially because at least in the limited data that we have for example for California a significant percentage of these infants are taken away from their mothers and that’s often not evidence-based. Taking a newborn away from their child from their mother is not necessarily an evidence-based approach to dealing with substance use issues.

But that makes sense because again child welfare is not equipped is not framed. The paradigm of child welfare is not necessarily to approach the best interests of the family as a whole. The paradigm of child welfare is to reduce and mitigate risk of future child abuse and neglect.

The other part of your question I think was to ask about whether there has been shifts in child welfare over time like how this has changed. Over time, there have been significant shifts. My research largely ends approximately in 2000. In the first couple of decades of the 21st century, there has been a concerted effort by child welfare agencies on every level to try to counter some of the intense racialization and income inequality that is reproduced by the child welfare system.

And so we’ve seen a dramatic decline in child removals. So for example in New York City in 1995, there were 50,000 children in foster care. In 2019, there were 8,000 children in foster care. That is a dramatic decline. However, I think something that’s important to know is that even though there were 8,000 children, there’s still been an enormous amount of children investigated.

In New York City, you have, in 2019, 44,000 families or cases essentially in preventative services. So you still have a lot of child welfare involvement. And what that means for families is not really clear to us yet. And the second major shift is that there’s been an intensification. So it’s not really a shift, it’s more like a continuation of what I described. There’s been an intensification of a focus on risk assessment.

So what this means is, again you have this increasing development and to some quite sophisticated risk assessment tools not just the consensus tools, but you have development of actuarial tools. You have the development of algorithmic tools that use computational methods to assess risk. And there’s a lot of critiques of some of these tools and there’s a lot of just controversy over these tools.

But the main issue is the question of do these tools funnel multiple problems, many of them poverty related, into child welfare? And even if racial disproportionality in some states has declined, it continues. We still have a lot of racial disproportionality in child welfare. And income inequality continues and we don’t have enough data on that to fully assess it.

And so we continue to have significant questions and significant issues with child welfare today even as it has changed in this new century.

Sizek: I think on that note, one of the things that I really appreciate about your treatment of this topic is just the way that you approach this enormous complexity and find the ways that child welfare, even though it’s been put under child welfare agencies, has just been made into a small or I guess a multidisciplinary complex problem into one kind of solution and that solution is child welfare.

So I just wanted to say thank you so much for your important research and thank you for being on the podcast.

Lichtenstein: Thank you. This was a wonderful opportunity.

Woman’s Voice: Thank you for listening. To learn more about Social Science Matrix, please visit matrix.berkeley.edu.

Listen to the full podcast above, or listen and subscribe on Apple Podcasts. For more Matrix Podcasts, including interviews and recordings of past events, visit this page.

 

 

Article

How CRISPR Became Routine

A visual interview with Santiago Molina, a recent UC Berkeley PhD, on the normalization of CRISPR technologies and the new era of gene editing.

Santiago Molina

Santiago J. Molina (he/they) is a Postdoctoral Fellow at Northwestern University, with a joint appointment in the Department of Sociology and the Science in Human Culture program. They received a PhD in Sociology from the University of California, Berkeley in 2021 and a BA from the University of Chicago. Their work sits at the intersections of science and technology studies, political sociology, sociology of racial and ethnic relations, and bioethics. On a theoretical level, Santiago’s work concerns the deeply entangled relationship between the production of knowledge and the production of social order. Their research included fieldwork at conferences and in labs around the Bay Area.

In this visual interview, Julia Sizek, Matrix Content Curator and a recent PhD graduate in Anthropology from UC Berkeley, interviewed Molina about their research on CRISPR, the genetic engineering technology that has reshaped biological research through making gene editing easier. This new tool has excited biologists at the same time that it has worried ethicists, but Molina’s research shows how CRISPR has become institutionalized — that is, how CRISPR has become an everyday part of scientific practice.

This image depicts a model of the CRISPR-Cas9 system. How did you come to encounter this model of CRISPR, and how does CRISPR work? 

3D Printed interactive model of Cas9.

This model was passed around the audience at a bioethics conference in Davis, California back in 2014 when I started my fieldwork. I remember the speaker holding it high above his head and pronouncing, “This! This is what everyone is so excited about!” While he meant it as a way to demystify the new genome-editing technology, a 3D-printed model of a molecule doesn’t tell us a lot about the process behind the technology. 

What is a bit disorienting is that technically, this isn’t a model of CRISPR at all, but a model of Cas9 (CRISPR-associated protein 9, a kind of enzyme called a nuclease) in white, an orange guide RNA, and a blue DNA molecule. To put it really simply, CRISPR (Clustered-regularly-interspaced-palindromic-repeats) describes a region of DNA in bacteria where the molecular “signatures” of viruses are stored so that the bacteria can defend itself. This bacterial immune system was repurposed by scientists into a biotechnology.  At its core, CRISPR-Cas9 technology is just the white and orange parts. The Cas9 does the heavy lifting of cutting DNA, and the guide RNA, or gRNA, acts as the set of instructions that the Cas9 uses to find the specific sequence of DNA where it should cut.

While people use CRISPR as a shorthand for the entire CRISPR-Cas9 system, you won’t actually find a single Eppendorf tube in a lab marked “CRISPR.” As a process, the way scientists get this to work is by adding Cas9 and the “programmed” gRNA to cells via one of several delivery techniques, such as a plasmid or viral vector, so that the Cas9 will make a specific DNA cut. In the years since then, scientists have developed a whole toolbox of different Cas proteins, and each can make many different kinds of modifications. 

What is interesting about this sociologically is that CRISPR has a wide scope of potential application, and early in its development, every possible use was on the table, from bringing back the wooly mammoth to ending world hunger. This meant that exactly what it would be, ontologically, was really open. Scientists would describe the technology as a pair of scissors, as a scalpel, as a find-and-replace function for DNA, a guided missile, a sledgehammer, etc. I became obsessed with these metaphors because they were traces of the active construction of CRISPR as a technology. 

My research takes this focus on the development of genome editing technology and reframes it as a problem of institutionalization, which sociologists generally understand as the process by which a practice acquires permanence and reproducibility in society. I look at how the ideas around what the technology is, how it should be used, and what it should be used for come to be settled, legitimized, and eventually taken for granted.

CRISPR has recently been in the news, not only because of Emmanuelle Charpentier and Jennifer A. Doudna’s 2020 Nobel Prize, but because of the 2018 announcement that a Chinese researcher had used CRISPR to gene-edit babies. How has the media covered CRISPR and the ethics of the technology? 

A crowd of photographers and reporters gearing up for He Jiankui’s presentation in Hong Kong.

Most media articles go something like this: “The idea that scientists can modify your DNA at will sounds like science fiction. But now it’s reality!”

This framing does important work to normalize futures that are in active construction. When newspapers and magazines cover CRISPR, they are bridging the social worlds of science and civil society and making concrete a very fluid social process of knowledge production and technological development. In doing so, some media coverage amplifies the hype around CRISPR and genome editing.

That said, it’s more complicated than saying they sensationalize it, because most coverage draws directly from interviews with actual genome-editing scientists, and they do their best to represent the science accurately. Instead, I think about media coverage as part of the cultural side of institutionalization. News articles offer interpretive scripts though framing that audiences can use to make sense of what CRISPR is, how it is used, and what the ethical issues are. This “making sense” is part of how genome editing is coming to be seen as a normal practice in biomedicine.

The distinction between investigative reporting and general media is important to keep in mind. Take, for example, the controversy surrounding the birth of genetically modified twins in Shenzhen, China in November 2018. If it wasn’t for keen investigative reporting by Antonio Regalado of the MIT Technology Review ahead of the Hong Kong Summit, it is likely that the controversy would have unraveled differently. 

The image above is a photo of a group of reporters during the summit taking pictures of He Jiankui, the scientist behind the clinical trial in Shenzhen that aimed to use CRISPR-Cas9 to confer genetic immunity to HIV in embryos. Subsequent media coverage of the controversy drew from interviews with high-profile, U.S.-based scientists in the field. These scientists argued that He Jiankui was an outsider on the fringe of the field. The resulting articles framed him as a “rogue,” “a mad scientist,” and a “Chinese Frankenstein.” This “bad actor” framing tells us that on the whole, the field is responsible and CRISPR itself is good, essentially repairing the crisis.

However, in alignment with more recent investigative reporting, my ethnographic research found that a handful of U.S.-based scientists had helped He Jiankui with his project. He had earned his PhD at Rice and was a postdoctoral fellow at Stanford. Scientists at UC Berkeley had given him technical advice on the project, as well. To me, this suggested that the “bad actor” framing — and the Orientalism surrounding how he was talked about – obfuscated the broader moral order of genome editing.

CRISPR is a relatively contemporary invention, but the idea of genome editing has a much longer history. How does this history appear in your research, and what does Charles Davenport have to do with it?

Photograph of Charles Davenport hanging in the common area of one of the buildings at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory.
Photograph of Charles Davenport hanging in the common area of one of the buildings at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory.

It’s interesting how little history appeared in my research. There is a sort of presentism that comes with “cutting-edge science.” CRISPR technology is part of a lineage of genetic engineering tools, going back to the 1970s, when recombinant DNA (rDNA) was invented. This biotechnology, rDNA, allowed scientists to mix the DNA of different organisms. It gave rise to a whole industry of using engineered bacteria to produce biologics and small molecules like insulin. The history of rDNA is important because the debates around its use in the 1970s came to be the dominant model of decision-making surrounding new technologies in the United States. Indeed, a handful of the top scientists from these debates have held top positions on committees that have been tasked with debating the ethics of genome editing over the past five years. 

Charles Davenport predated these debates, and has been largely an invisible figure for modern genome-editing scientists. Davenport was a prominent scientist in the early 20th century. He was a eugenicist and racist scientist who served as the director of Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, a private, non-profit research institution, from 1898-1924. While at CSHL, Davenport founded the Eugenics Record Office, which published research to support the eugenics movement. I found this photo of Davenport in Blackford Bar, the pub at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, where I went to the first meeting, titled “Genome Engineering: The CRISPR/Cas Revolution,” in 2015. While the scientific community eventually came to reject Davenport, and the eugenics movement fell out of fashion after World War II, this history is important to recognize as we usher in a new technology aimed at eliminating genetic diseases and improving human health. At the conference in 2015, I thought, if Davenport’s ghost had been hanging out at the pub, he would have been thrilled.

The scientists I worked with vehemently rejected the idea that what they were doing could be considered eugenics, or what one scientist called it, the “E-word.” But people often forget that the eugenics movement in the United States was both mainstream and progressive at the time. Eugenics laws were drafted and passed by Democratic legislators who aimed to address poverty by drawing on the most up-to-date science, medical knowledge, and expert opinion. When this history was brought up at modern conferences and meetings, it was either subtly discredited as fear-mongering or tucked into a panel at the end of the conference to entertain philosophical discussion.   

Your research also contends with the way research is conducted between different laboratories, even when many of the plasmids (a kind of DNA molecule commonly used in CRISPR applications) and techniques that they use are proprietary. The shipping area in this image is how Addgene, what has been called “the Amazon of CRISPR,” sends reagents and plasmids used in scientific research to laboratories around the world, and manages many intellectual property issues. What is Addgene’s role in the scientific process?

Hundred of plasmids await daily FedEx pickup in Addgene’s shipping room.
Hundred of plasmids await daily FedEx pickup in Addgene’s shipping room.

While I was doing my research, there was a raging patent dispute between the University of California, Berkeley and the Broad Institute, where each institute claimed to have invented the technique for modifying mammalian cells with CRISPR. So the proprietary aspects of CRISPR were always in the background. But I think if it wasn’t for Addgene, these concerns would have really slowed down the spread of genome editing.

Addgene is a non-profit organization that operates as a mediator between the exchange of practices and biological materials between labs. What they do is manage a plasmid repository, a sort of technique library, and fulfill the requests for plasmids to send them to those labs. Because plasmids are central to many biological experiments, and are key for CRISPR-based techniques, scientists rely on the availability of these circular pieces of DNA as a key reagent. Since receiving its first CRISPR plasmid in 2012, Addgene now has over 8,000 different CRISPR plasmids in the repository, and has shared them over 140,000 times with laboratories across 75 different countries. They essentially took over the logistics of CRISPR distribution, moving biological materials from place to place. By doing it at a really low cost, this effectively contributed to what scientists described as the “democratization” of genome editing. 

They also keep patent lawyers at universities happy with detailed record-keeping and by electronically managing material transfer agreements (MTAs), which sort out the proprietary issues, through a Universal Biological Material Transfer Agreement (UBMTA). This UBMTA relaxes the institutional constraints on the transfer of biological materials. Scientists love this because it reduces a lot of paperwork.

Last but not least, Addgene contributes to the institutionalization of CRISPR-Cas9 by producing guidelines and protocols that support the use of some of the plasmids. For example, Addgene was the first to develop a textbook for CRISPR. Their CRISPR 101 eBook has been downloaded more than 30,000 times, and their informative CRISPR blog posts had been visited over 500,000 times as of 2019. In these materials, detailed definitions of new genome editing techniques and terms of art are spelled out for curious adopters. Additionally, the scientific team at Addgene works with the scientists who are depositing plasmids to coproduce useful documentation to accompany the plasmids. Addgene does not share plasmids with for-profit organizations, but acts as an up-to-date clearing house and tracker of CRISPR innovations in academic and non-profit laboratories.

As part of your research, you spent time at different labs around the Bay Area to understand how CRISPR research has become an ordinary part of scientific research. Can you walk us through some of these images of lab life and what they show us about how CRISPR has become institutionalized? 

Sculpture of a ribosome in an atrium.

 

Rows of backed lab benches.

 

The first image is of the atrium in one of the buildings I often found myself in for fieldwork. The huge sculpture of ribosomes on the side looks so abstract to me. A lot of these spaces required keycard entry, and for me, the emptiness of some of the spaces made them all the more isolating. I would have to get lost sometimes just to find the right room, where a small group of scientists were discussing the next big breakthrough or the next application of CRISPR-Cas9. The public-facing image of the field was really different from the behind-the-scenes shop-talk environments where I took notes. It was different because it wasn’t open to anybody, and you would need a lot of intellectual and cultural capital to enter those places.

The second picture, to me, represents the ordinary that is behind those barriers of access. Lab benches are workshops. They are shared spaces that are a lot like kitchens in a restaurant. Everything has its place, every tool is in its nook, you might find some remnants of an experiment in the fridge, or old reagents in the freezer. But you can tell there is some fun in the mix. The folks who are working at those benches are doing it because they love it. For these graduate students and postdocs, CRISPR-Cas9 was an exciting opportunity, something that would help them finish their PhD, or if they were an undergrad-volunteer, it was a key skill to move forward. Lab life a lot of times felt banal: scientists moving through their careers, with lots of failed experiments, meetings that could have been emails, day-to-day conflict with coworkers, late hours, etc. I wish people could see the contrast between the hype surrounding something like CRISPR-Cas9 and the on-the-ground struggles of scientists in the lab.

In these pictures below, you show a humorously decorated doorway that tells us a lot about how scientific work happens at a university. What does this tell us about who conducts science, and about equity issues within the lab?

Threshold of the lab as an angry doorway with a top-hat and mustache, hungry for the labor of postdoctoral fellows, undergraduate, and graduate students.
Threshold of the lab as an angry doorway with a top hat and mustache, hungry for the labor of postdoctoral fellows, undergraduate, and graduate students.

Threshold of the lab as an angry doorway with a top-hat and mustache, hungry for the labor of postdoctoral fellows, undergraduate, and graduate students.

This personification of the lab was interesting to me because it draws attention to those struggles I just mentioned. Of course the decoration is a lovely piece of satire, but scientific discoveries and breakthroughs are the products of years of labor. A lot of this work is done by unpaid undergraduate volunteers, graduate students who are often in precarious financial situations, and some paid research associates, and it is coordinated by postdoctoral fellows. Sometimes, because of the demands of experimental work, lab workers would have to come in in the middle of the night to feed cells, check on experiments, or manage instruments. In the lab I worked in, one research associate worked as a Lyft driver on the side because their salary wouldn’t cover their cost of living. While the hierarchies of labor are still very strong, some universities and labs, like the Innovative Genomics Institute at UC Berkeley, are now requiring that all undergraduate workers be paid. I think this is a step in the right direction, but there are still equity issues both between and within ranks of the lab. 

This disparity is even more extreme when you consider how senior scientists and universities benefit from scientific labor. Social capital in the form of reputation and financial capital both accumulate as a result of this work. Partnerships between university laboratories and the biotech and pharma industries in particular have become commonplace in 21st-century biomedicine. Research examining these partnerships describes this as academic capitalism or neoliberal science. My research adds to this line of social scientific research that has traced this institutional shift, where academic organizations are increasingly adopting the practices and bureaucratic frameworks of for-profit organizations in industry. Those patent disputes I mentioned previously are a good example of this. 

With CRISPR research, as with much other biological research, the institutionalization of scientific norms is essential to conducting scientific research. What does Michael Jackson have to do with that? 

DIY biohazard safety sign posted on the lab doors.
DIY biohazard safety sign posted on the lab doors.

There are three proximate institutions of social control surrounding scientific work, in my view: biosafety, bioethics, and the ethics of research misconduct. This poster is an example of a biosafety rule being operationalized in the lab. It is posted on the doors so you would see it as you exit the lab space to the common area and kitchen. Biosafety essentially aims to contain the materials, reagents, and products of scientific experiments to the lab. Lab managers and principal investigators must fill out detailed forms describing the experiments being done and submit these to the biosafety office at their university. These are then reviewed and evaluated by biosafety experts, who then make recommendations about infrastructure requirements for the spaces where the experiments are conducted and prescribe mandatory training for any personnel conducting those experiments.

Biosafety is a really interesting social institution because it must constantly keep up with new techniques and develop risk frameworks for assessing them. For innovations like CRISPR-Cas9 that are revolutionary, this sometimes requires some finesse. When you consider the modifications being made to bacteria, plants, non-human animals, and human cells, you can bet there is considerable work going into making sure those biologics don’t end up where they aren’t supposed to. Consequently, scientists must follow strict protocols for waste disposal and use the appropriate personal protective equipment (PPE).

But then consider who is doing those experiments. There can sometimes be a disconnect between the official protocols and how they are enacted. This poster captures that disconnect and suggests that more immediate forms of social control might work better in some cases than extensive bureaucratic procedure. Plus, Michael is iconic.

As with any social process, there are bound to be accidents. In the lab I observed, for example, a graduate student accidentally cut himself through his gloves on some broken glass while conducting some genome-editing experiments with lentiviral packaged Cas9. This lentivirus could, in principle, infect any mammalian cell. While he was working under the fume hood, which creates negative pressure to suck up the air where the experiment is being done, there was still a risk that Cas9, which would edit the DNA, could enter his blood stream. He then went to the post-doc he was working under and the lab manager, who advised him to report it to the Office of Environment, Health & Safety (Eh&S). EH&S then told him to go to the student health center. Once at the health center, the grad student with his bandaged hand informed the nurse that his lab was categorized as BSL-3 (biosafety level 3), to which the nurse responded, “What is BSL-3?” He was ultimately fine, as far as we know, but the example shows a further disconnect between the different offices tasked with managing the risks of scientific work.

As genome editing continues to develop as a broader institution in biomedicine, there are going to be accidents, and there is going to be misuse. No number of guidelines or codified norms can prevent that. This is why it is crucial that we continue having debates about the norms governing the use of the CRISPR-Cas9 system, both as a promising clinical technique and as a sociocultural institution. My hope is that these debates will lead to concrete regulatory and legal changes that can more directly shape this technology’s use. 

Article

The Terracene: An Interview with Salar Mameni

Salar Mameni

At the intersection of the War on Terror and the Anthropocene lies Salar Mameni’s concept of the Terracene, which describes the co-emergence of these two terms as a means to understand our contemporary social and ecological crises. Mameni, an Assistant Professor in the department of Ethnic Studies at University of California, Berkeley, is an art historian specializing in contemporary transnational art and visual culture in the Arab/Muslim world, with an interdisciplinary research focus on racial discourse, transnational gender politics, militarism, oil cultures, and extractive economies in West Asia. They have published articles in Signs, Women & Performance, Resilience, and Al-Raida Journal, among others.

In this visual interview, Julia Sizek, Matrix Content Curator and a PhD candidate in the UC Berkeley Department of Anthropology, talked with Professor Mameni about their research, working with select images of art discussed in their forthcoming book, Terracene: A Crude Aesthetics.

The concept that you propose in your book, the Terracene, foregrounds the War on Terror as necessary for understanding not only our contemporary political crises, but also our contemporary ecological crisis. Describe your concept, and what it adds to our understanding of the links between terrorism and environmental issues.

My book coins the term “Terracene” in order to bring attention to the role of militarism in enacting the ongoing ecological crises we currently face. I insist that contemporary forms of warfare – such as the infamous War on Terror – are concurrent with and continuations of settler colonial land grabs and habitat destructions that have created wastelands across the globe. In their initial timeline for the Anthropocene,  scientists traced the origins of this new epoch to technological innovations in early 19th-century Europe that brought about industrialization. In my view, this is an inadequate historiography that does not take into account longer histories of European settler colonialisms, as well as the ongoing role of militarism in maintaining wastelands. The term “Terracene” is a way of highlighting the terror that is tied to the current geological timeline.

Terror, however, is not the only idea I intend to highlight with the notion of the Terracene. I also take advantage of the sonic resonance of “terr” (meaning earth/land) in the word “terror” in order to direct our attention to the significance of thinking with the materiality of the earth itself. In my work, I consider this through toxicity of militarism and extractive economies, which turn the earth itself into a weapon that continues to poison even after the troops and the industries have receded. Scholars of environmental racism often highlight the dumping of toxic waste on lands inhabited by racialized, poor, and devalued communities. My book emphasizes the production of “terror” out of “terra,” which can mean the weaponization of the earth itself. Yet, I believe that the very shift of attention to the earth’s many potentialities can also allow for conceptualizing futures out of toxic wastelands. For me, new theories are only useful if they do not simply mount a critique of systems of oppression but also offer new imaginaries as foundations for future directions. Much of my book is attentive to materialities and thought systems that do not align with scientific conceptualizations of ecological thinking as a way of opening up new modes of thought.

Part of the reason you relate the Anthropocene and War on Terror is because of their coeval histories. Aside from emerging during the same era, how are the histories of these two concepts — terrorism and the Anthropocene —related?

Yes, the so-called War on Terror, as well as the scientific notion of the Anthropocene, were both popularized in 2001, each proposing a new way of conceptualizing the globe. What is fascinating to me is how each of these ideas revolves around an antagonist: the terrorist in one case, and the Human (Anthropos) who caused climate change in the other.

The question I raise in the book is this: why is it that the term “terrorist” cannot be applied to the Human who has caused deforestations, temperature rise, and oil spills, making the globe uninhabitable for endangered species, as well as threatening the livelihood of multi-species communities globally? Why is the notion of the “terrorist” instead reserved for those who protest the building of oil pipelines on Indigenous lands, or those who resist settler colonialism in places such as Palestine? This tension brought me to see that the idea of the Human (Anthropos) continues to be limited to those engaged in settler colonial ventures, those who are protected against the “terrorist” through the security state.

What do you think the study of art history can bring to the Anthropocene, which is often described through science?

Great question! The book argues that “science” is a provincial worldview that has displaced a plethora of diverse thought systems that are in turn called “art” (or “myth” or “superstition” or “religion”). So my first approach in the book is to question the very art/science divide that disallows those deemed non-scientists to participate in knowledge production. Non-scientists have of course included very large groups, such as women, non-Western knowledge producers, and non-human intelligent beings. This vast array of intelligence left out of “science” says much about the limits and hubris of scientific thought. My book opens up space for artists who think beyond the reaches of scientific ecologies. A part of the book, for example, is dedicated to ecologies of ancient deities. For instance, I consider Huma, the Mesopotamian deity who has been conjured and resurrected by the contemporary Iranian artist Morehshin Allahyari (Fig. 1).

Morehshin Allahyari, "She Who Sees the Unknown: Huma" (2016), Image courtesy of the artist.
Figure 1: Morehshin Allahyari, “She Who Sees the Unknown: Huma” (2016), Image courtesy of the artist.

 

As the artist explains, this is the deity of temperatures. Huma’s body is multi-layered and mutative. It has three horned heads, a torso hung with large breasts, and two snake-like tails. Huma is multi-species and multi-gendered and is the deity that rules temperatures. In a time of temperature rise, wildfire, and fevers brought about by the COVID-19 pandemic, Huma is the deity to conjure. Indeed, Allahyari conjures her as a protector, but also builds her out of petrochemicals, the plastic used in 3D printers.

I also take seriously the intelligence of non-human phenomena such as oil. In the book, I consider images of explosions at a Southern Iranian oil field, as documented by the Iranian filmmaker Ibrahim Golestan in a film called A Fire! (1961) (Fig. 2).

Fig 2. Still from “A Fire!”(Dir. Ebrahim Golestan, 1961)

Rather than thinking about the human triumph of putting out the explosive fire, which took 70 days to extinguish, I consider the intelligence of petroleum that refuses to be extracted from bedrock. I call this human/oil relationality “petrorefusal” in order to call attention to the unidirectional master narrative of extraction. What would it mean, for instance, if we understood explosions as petroleum’s refusal to leave the ground? Would engaging such a refusal mean an end to extractive practices at the current industrial-capitalist scale?

Though you are an art historian, you are attentive to the limits of the visual as a mode of sensing the world. How do you bring other modes of sensing into your work, and how does this shape your approach to art history, which is often imagined as a visual discipline?

Yes, the dominance of the visual within traditions of art history cannot tackle the rich sensorial relations that ecological thinking needs. In the examples of the artworks I cite above, for instance, my theories do not arise from the visual aspects of the works alone. In the case of Huma, a visual reading would miss the spiritual and ethical significance of the deity’s conjuring. Instead, my reading of Huma engages with the object’s deep time, a time that dissolves its plastic materiality into the microbial temporality of oil’s production. In this sense, the sculpture is not simply and statically visual or coeval with our present moment. If we focus on the time of oil and plastic, the sculpture moves into a performative, mutative flux of multi-species organisms across temporalities that are beyond our own. The book as a whole treats the visual as embedded within (and inseparable from) multiple sensorial experiences.

How does art add to our understanding of the Terracene?

I coined the term Terracene as a critique of the notion of the Anthropocene. It is meant to question the centering of a destructive Human (Anthropos) at the core of a planetary story. In this sense, I probe the narrative structure of this scientific story of the Anthropocene — a story that is proposed to be a fact. Usually, storytelling is understood to belong to the domain of arts and humanities. By definition, stories are not checked for factual accuracy, but engaged with at the level of the creative imagination. This is precisely what gives stories their power. Stories can build alternate worlds and offer alternatives to how we perceive reality to be. So if the Anthropocene is a story, then surely other stories can be told. The Anthropocene story is a story of the destructive human, which is why I propose that it is better called the Terracene.

What if we began to tell creation stories at the moment of planetary destruction? Indigenous cultures across the world have creation stories that have been vehemently suppressed by destructive (settler) colonial knowledge productions and worldviews. In the book, I make a case for ethical engagements with subjugated forms of knowledge that offer alternatives to thought systems that have brought the Terracene into being. One such story I relate in the book comes from my own vernacular Islamic culture that imagines the world as a sacred mountain balancing on the horns of a bull, the bull standing on the back of a fish, and the fish, in turn, being held up by the wings of an angel.

Salar Mameni, "Creation Story" (2022)
Fig. 3: Salar Mameni, “Creation Story” (2022)

I argue that such a creation story emphasizes the inter-relatedness and inter-reliance of all things. The world hangs together in a fine balance, with every creature mattering to its overall existence. Art, in this sense, is not an alien other to science, but an equal participant in the creation of worlds we inhabit.

 

Podcast

What Happened to the Week? An Interview with David Henkin

David Henkin

We take the seven-day week for granted, rarely asking what anchors it or what it does to us. Yet weeks are not dictated by the natural order. They are, in fact, an artificial construction of the modern world.

For this episode of the Matrix podcast, Julia Sizek interviewed David M. Henkin, the Margaret Byrne Professor of History, about his book, The Week: A History of the Unnatural Rhythms that Make Us Who We Are. With meticulous archival research that draws on a wide array of sources — including newspapers, restaurant menus, theater schedules, marriage records, school curricula, folklore, housekeeping guides, courtroom testimony, and diaries — Henkin reveals how our current devotion to weekly rhythms emerged in the United States during the first half of the 19th century.

Reconstructing how weekly patterns insinuated themselves into the social practices and mental habits of Americans, Henkin argues that the week is more than just a regimen of rest days or breaks from work, but a dominant organizational principle of modern society. Ultimately, the seven-day week shapes our understanding and experience of time.

Excerpts from the interview are included below (with questions and responses edited).

Listen to this interview as a podcast below, or listen and subscribe on Apple Podcasts.

 

 

Podcast Transcript

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Woman’s Voice: The Matrix Podcast is a production of Social Science Matrix, an interdisciplinary research center at the University of California Berkeley.

Julia Sizek: Hello, and welcome to the Matrix Podcast. We’re coming to you from the Ethnic Studies Changemaker Studio, our recording partner on campus.

Today, our guest is David Henkin, the Margaret Byrne professor of history. And we’re interviewing him about his new book, The Week, a History of the Unnatural Rhythms That Make Us Who We Are. The book traces the rise of the week in American consciousness, a topic that might be seem particularly relevant during the ongoing pandemic Blursday. Thanks for coming, David.

Henkin: Lovely to be here. Thank you.

Sizek: So let’s start out by just talking a little bit about the overview of what the week is like. What are the different ways that people have thought about the week?

Henkin: Well, I think the week does many things. The seven-day week does many things for us in the modern world, but we tend to focus exclusively on one of them and that’s the idea that we have a unit of time that divides weekdays and weekends and work from leisure, profane time from sacred time, or something like that. So the week creates two kinds of days.

But the week does other things too by its very structure. It divides the time into seven distinct heterogeneous units that are completely different. Every day is fundamentally different from the day that precedes it or follows it. And the names that we use for the days of the week suggest that, there’s Tuesday and there is Wednesday and there’s no numerical relationship between those two names. So it creates seven different kinds of days.

It also lumps time together for us in interesting ways. We talk about what we did this week, what we hope to get done next week. So the first use of time divides days into two, the second divides them into seven, the third divides them not at all, but lumps them together as one.

And then the one thing that I think the week does most conspicuously and powerfully for us in the modern world is it coordinates our schedules, it sequesters or regulates the timing of certain activities, especially activities that we try to do in conjunction with strangers. Those are four completely different uses of the technology of the week. They all have long histories, the last one I think has the shortest history, but in some ways has the most powerful or the most tenacious grip on our sense of the passing of time.

Sizek: Great so let’s get started and really just jump into one of the arguments that you make in the book, which is precisely about this stranger sociality. How do people begin to use the week for stranger sociality and why is the week convenient for that?

Henkin: OK, I mean, I think people have probably used the week in different societies for some purpose like that for a long time. The best example might be a market day where you want to only have a public market every so often and you want to make sure everyone can be there and everyone remembers when it is and it doesn’t conflict with other things. So that might be one model for it.

But I’m arguing in this book that it was really only in the early 19th century that large numbers of people began to have schedules that were different. One day of the week from another. The institutions that helped produce that were varied, they include things like mail schedules or newspaper schedules, they include school schedules, voluntary associations like fraternal orders or lodges, commercial entertainment like going to the theater, going to a baseball game.

The more people lived in large towns and cities, the more they were bound to patterns of mail delivery or periodical publication, the more likely they were to have regular activities that took place every seven days or that only took place on one day or another of the week.

Now, once they had that, that’s a self-perpetuating cycle because then you’ll begin to schedule other activities. So as not to conflict with them or to be memorable and convenient on the same calendar. And the weekly calendar began to be used to organize these regularly recurring activities typically that involved strangers or open to the public.

Sizek: Yeah, so typically when we think about the week now we often think about it in terms of the work week where we have the work week and then we have the weekend, if we are so lucky to have a weekend. But this is pointing to really a different way of thinking about the week that’s not based only in work.

Historiographically, what are the ways that historians think about this division of either week or weekend and it being based on either work or leisure or other activities? I think historians haven’t really thought too much about the weekly calendar at all, but to the extent that they really have focused exclusively on this question of the work week.

And most commonly, they’ve studied the ways in which organized labor or organized capital have sought to control or regulate the length pace even the timing of the workweek, or they have pointed out a very important phenomenon, which is the Industrial Revolution brought about a hardening of the boundaries between work and leisure rather than having leisure bleed into Monday or having work bleed into Saturday or Sunday. Industrialization tended to harden those boundaries.

And I would add that that’s something industrial that the week has done for centuries, even for millennia it from its biblical origins, the concept of a Sabbath is essentially an industrial one which says there’s a time for work and a time for not for rest or time for not work. So that’s how historians have written about it.

I think historians have not paid much attention curiously to the role of leisure in organizing the weekdays. They have paid attention to the role of leisure in giving special meaning to Sunday.

And great debates over how one should spend one’s Sunday whether it should be in church or whether it could involve going to the theater, whether it must not involve alcohol, whether it can involve sex, whether the mail can be delivered. I mean, big debates as how to behave on Sunday are featured very prominently in the historiography of 19th century America. But historians for the most part, have not really noticed that people’s lives have these other rhythms too.

Sizek: Yeah, so let’s discuss how you figured out how to notice the ways that people structure their lives around the week. What were the sources that you’re drawing upon to come to your conclusions about how the week is shifting and changing?

Henkin: So I say there are two kinds of sources. The first kind, a little bit more boring, but phenomenally important, which is just look at any newspaper, any city directory, or anyone’s account of their lives and you suddenly realize how many activities they engage in that are pegged to the week.

Say you’re reading about someone’s life going to musical societies, or going to temperance lectures, or going to an anti-slavery organization and you notice that they’re naming them for the days of the week or at least you’re noticing that they’re organizing by the week. It’s not very hard to see that. It’s glaring at you in plain view. But if you don’t ask the question then you won’t actually start.

So newspapers typically came out once a week. Which day of the week did they come out on? Was it the same? Did it vary? I mean, things like that. These don’t require a huge amount of digging, it just requires asking the question.

And you can basically ask that question to almost every public document from the first half of the 19th century in the United States, and especially to the extent that those documents register life in an urban or semi-urban society, they will create this thick catalog of weekly activities, or weekly obligations, or weekly habits.

Sizek: Yeah, so that’s one of the sources, this public facing source of the newspaper. You also look at diaries. What are some of the insights that you can get from diaries? And how does the practice of diary making change between the period of time that you’re looking at?

Henkin: OK, so that the second set of sources, which I think is the more interesting one is, well, first of all, they also help us with the first thing, they also do tell us whether people went to French class on a Wednesday or not.

But the cool thing that they do, and I would put in this category principally diaries, but also correspondence, and other kinds of recollections varying from memoir to courtroom testimony where people narrate their own experiences, those are fascinating because you can not only see what they did, but how they remembered or sometimes failed to remember what day of the week it was, how they used the seven-day calendar not only to organize their activities, but to organize their memory of their activities.

And one of the things I came to be especially impressed by during the course of my research for this book was the link between the week and memory. So we can use diaries as the main example because that’s probably the single source type that I immersed myself in most deeply.

And with diaries, they are not hard to find. They are everywhere. They’re published. They’re unpublished. They are manuscript. They are often typescript or typed up. Some of them are pre-formatted. Some of them are blank books. So the challenge there was just to spend years and years just looking at as many of them as I could and then thinking about the various kinds of archival biases that I needed to overcome to make sure that I was looking at a broad range of diaries.

Diary keeping is a very old activity. I would say it became a mass practice in the United States in the early 19th century. In New England, it was somewhat widely practiced even in the 18th century, but became much more so in the 19th century. And the 19th century also saw the rise of the pre-formatted diary book.

It had been introduced as a consumer good in the United States in the 1770s, but totally bombed. No one really wanted such a thing. Instead, people used almanacs. And almanacs was a principal standard format of calendar, Calendar as a material artifact.

Almanacs are interesting because they’re organized around the month and they tend to focus on naturally observable things like the weather, lunations, things like that. And people didn’t really see any need for a pocket diary where you could write stuff in.

But by the 1820s, these were suddenly quite popular. They became mass consumer goods. And typically, they arranged days in different ways, but the most common format was six days to a spread, sometimes they were seven. But one way or another I would say it they were circaseptan in the sense that they arrayed a period of about seven days in view.

So it conditioned people to thinking about their lives in chunks of time that were much smaller than a month, but also bigger than a day. And that’s one definition of what a week is. The other thing they did is that they marked every day and date so that they became calendars in that sense, calendars you could consult to see what day of the week it is or what date it was. So that’s one thing that changed.

But even if you look at blank book diaries, they become much, much more common during this period. And you can see it quite clearly when events like the Civil War. By the time soldiers go to the Civil War there’s a huge amount of diary keeping. And because it is the Civil War, there’s a huge amount of diary preserving.

Preservation bias is probably the most significant distortion between the practice of diary keeping and the archive of the diary. Preservation on many levels, does someone save her own diary? Do family members preserve it? Does someone see fit to donate it to a historical society? Does historical society see fit to catalog it, preserve it make it available? So there are all kinds of those biases.

The Civil War is a nice one because there’s a huge amount of preservation. So you get a broad sense of what people might be keeping diaries. And the answer is that all sorts of people kept diaries.

There are a couple of demographic categories that I found especially common, very young women, girls at school teenage girls, and then young men slightly older in their 20s, especially native born Protestant middle class men who see diary keeping as part of their own formation, part of the formation of their masculinity, part of their formation of their respectability, and part of the cultivation of the sorts of skills of writing, accounting, and moral reflection that are thought to be essential to middle class identity and middle class formation in the 19th century. So those would be a couple of examples. But really lots and lots of people keep diaries of wildly varying sorts

Sizek: Yeah, so let’s– I want to understand just how people decide to keep diaries, why diaries rise as a form that people are really interested in pursuing. You mentioned middle class ideals, but can you give us a sense of literacy rates, how people may or may not be able to have access to keeping their own diaries during this time that you’re looking at?

Henkin: Yeah, I mean, again, I do tend to think often the limitation is really on the preservation side rather than the production side. But with that disclaimer I would say literacy is a tricky thing because literacy rates were extraordinarily high during this period for free people. They were extraordinarily low for enslaved people and that’s very significant to the ideology and the history of the category of literacy.

But focusing on the freed people, yeah, so lots of– most places and most times they are under research in this book. You can imagine about 90% of people know how to sign their name. But that’s an odd proxy for the kinds of literate practice that you might be thinking about.

It overstates it because you can sign your name without really having the skill to produce a reflective diary or even keep meaningful accounts. On the other hand, you could not be able to sign your name because you don’t know how to write and still be able to read. OK, but for purposes of diary keeping I don’t think that the principal obstacle to keeping a diary was inability to write.

I think those people who really could not keep a diary or did not keep a diary is because either they didn’t have the leisure time or leisure space to do so or because they saw no material or even symbolic benefits to be gained by doing so.

But a couple of things– I mean, I mentioned middle class and that’s a big one. Mass education is also– mass education provides opportunities, inducements, and in some ways also motivations to think of writing about yourself as a meaningful activity. That’s a big one. Mass education is really a phenomenon or an innovation of the time period that I’m writing about.

There is also accounting of various kinds. Not just accounting for people who intend to become clerks, but accounting on the farm, accounting an increasingly commercial society even for people of fairly modest means.

And then another big one is Protestantism, which not only was responsible for the very high literacy rates in the United States before 1850, but also Protestantism, especially Puritanism bequeathed a set of injunctions to examine oneself that the practice of keeping a diary fulfilled.

So one way to think about it is that there were not only various kinds of social and economic motivations to keeping a diary and cultivating the skills that a diary demanded, but there were also religious spiritual ones for lots of Protestants and especially in New England who thought that examining your life and talking about how quickly time is passing by is part of being pious, or part of producing evidence of your salvation, or things like that.

So there are all kinds of things that made diary keeping more popular anyway, but it was extraordinarily popular. Even boring diaries wind up by the dozens in every single historical society in the United States. And even just the published diary archive is so massive that it would be impossible for anyone to not just not to master it, but even to make very precise generalizations about who did and who didn’t keep a diary. It’s just so big.

So that’s bad news for historians of the diary, I think. It’s just not just an embarrassment of riches but actually a methodological obstacle of riches. But for historians who are trying to see whether a certain self-consciousness was common and what it looked like. I think it’s actually a good thing.

So that was convenient for me because I wasn’t looking to figure out what percentage of diarists knew whether it was Tuesday. I was trying to see what common obstacles, just knowing that it was Tuesday, might arise. Or when people didn’t know what day or date it was, which one was right which one was wrong? So having lots and lots of diaries to look at was helpful to draw those kinds of conclusions. I’d say the same thing about memoir, personal correspondence, and again, courtroom testimony.

Sizek: And it seems like you have I guess, as you said, an embarrassment of riches in terms of sources. How did you narrow down from this amazing wealth of sources that you could never conceivably consult all of them before writing your book? How did you pick which ones were more useful and to discern where to find diaries to consult?

Henkin: Yeah, I mean, I would say I did a few things that were arbitrary and probably unjustifiable, which was just when– diaries had really good handwriting or they were interesting I tended to have more patience with them and I’d be more likely to discover things. When diaries were word searchable, I tended to do a much more thorough job of figuring out what their Tuesdays or Wednesdays looked like.

But I mostly tried to control for some of those biases by spending a fair amount of time with manuscript unpublished ones. So I wasn’t only looking at the ones that someone saw fit to type up. And I also tried to both dig deep in New England where I knew the diaries would be most self-conscious and most prolix and also to get away from England.

So I went to North Carolina, I went to Tennessee, I went to Chicago, Oregon. I did a geographical range and I tried to cover a broad chronological range, yeah, again, and then just gave up with the project of counting.

Of course.

That seemed pointless at best, maybe even distorting, so yeah.

Sizek: Yeah, so I guess now that we’ve established the kinds of materials that you’re looking at, let’s talk about how you discerned whether or not the week was something that was present in their lives in these diaries. How did you figure out that they had some consciousness of the week in a diary?

Henkin: Well, I mean, for certain kinds of diaries there’s a basic thing. In a blank book diary, did they write down the name of the day? It may seem obvious that they would, but it’s not. There are lots of 18th century diaries of people who simply wrote down the numerical Gregorian date. So there’s that.

And then I did start at a certain point after a few years of trying to look at all the various ways in which they did or didn’t talk about their weeks. I started looking for misalignments or corrections, moments where they have something wrong.

Often you see that because they corrected their diaries, you see where they crossed it out. Occasionally, they’ll even comment on the fact that they had it wrong. But sometimes if you just– you get used to this and you look at diaries. You’re tracking the days and the dates and you suddenly notice that doesn’t work. So you go back and then figure out, when, where, and how did they get off track?

And overwhelmingly, they got off track on the date, which is only– which is not what I’m studying, but it does confirm that when people are lost, these two calendars are famously incompatible, the Gregorian month late and the seven days cycle. They travel together and they both have spread with Christianity and with European empire and global capitalism, but they’re not actually compatible calendars. So they do get misaligned.

And figuring out which one people are more confident and which one people are more accurate about tells us something about which one really governs their lives. This is something that we all experienced today.

In the United States if someone makes an appointment with you for a misaligned calendar day date, and then you realize, oh, they said we need to get together on Tuesday, February 27 and Tuesday isn’t February 27, your first instinct is to assume that they meant the Tuesday closest to 27 rather than the day of the week closest to Tuesday, closest to the 27.

So we get that most of us don’t instinctively know what date of the month it is, but do know what day of the week it is. So I was hoping and expecting to find that at some point that would start to see that and I did. Overwhelmingly, they’re wrong about the date and they’re right about the day.

When they were wrong about the day, sometimes they’re also wrong about the date, it was typically because they were dislodged from their routines, someone traveling in an underground cave in Kentucky, someone moving from his home near Albany to go work in New York City looking for a job.

Astonished to discover what day that was. It was Saturday or it was actually Friday I think. So the things of that sort. Someone takes a vacation to Saratoga and is not actually on his regular schedule. These are the occasions that people begin to make mistakes like that. So that’s what I was on the lookout for.

Sizek: Yeah, and that really points to the way that the week has become embedded in our daily routines, weekly routines, and also raises this other question about the smaller unit of time that historians have also focused on the hour.

So a lot of– I think earlier you mentioned how a lot of historians of industrial capitalism have focused on the work day, as well as the work week as being the focus. What do you think the insights that you have about the week have to bear against the focus on the hour in history?

Henkin: Well, you’re right that the hour is by far the time unit that has been of greatest interest not only to historians of labor, but to historians of time. One way to think about it is historians of time have been far more interested in the clock than the calendar. And I think that in many reasons for it, but in part because the clock is a mechanical device. And we tend to look for technologies of that sort to explain fundamental changes in temporal consciousness.

Whereas, calendars including the week don’t seem to be that kind of technology. And in fact, the week is not measured any more precisely really today than it was 100 years ago or even 500 years ago. So we don’t really look for the calendar except as a proxy for certain kinds of ideology.

They think about calendars as about religious models of festivity or nationalistic understandings of commemorative occasion. But they don’t look for the calendar as a real technology of time consciousness. And what the clock is, the clock lets people talk about how changing chronometric devices and changing availability of those chronometric devices produce different kinds of– but the other thing is that the hour is very much associated with punctuality and with discipline.

So the hour has a fascinating history. The 19th century is really also when large parts of the world began calculating ours the way we do today, which is to conceive of it as 60 minutes defined as 1/24 of a full daily cycle, which is not how most societies, including many western societies used to define, which they define it as 1/12 of the variable amount of daylight, which is very different. Those are non-equinoctial hours. They’re very useful.

So the hour stands not only for precision, but a little bit for alienation from nature. Now, when you write about the week, you realize that you’re looking at a unit of time that doesn’t fit into any of the big paradigms that have drawn our interest to the hour.

We’re interested in the hour because we think that pre-modern time was natural and observable. Modern time is not. It’s homogeneous, it’s arithmetically calculable, all these things, and it’s fundamentally alienated from nature. But the week is equally artificial. It’s not actually rooted in natural rhythms and it’s not confirmable or correctable by observable natural phenomena.

So it’s very rigid and artificial, but it’s also very, very old. So once you stop assuming that clock time is the way to look for the hallmarks of modernity, I think it opens up ways of being interested in the week. So yes, hours did change in some interesting ways during the modern world and especially the clash between non-equal and equal hourly timekeeping.

I think was a big mental shift in lots of parts of the world that only really embraced equinoctial hours in the last 150 years. But the week is different because the week wasn’t even a universal system of any kind in large parts of the world, including maybe most.

Obviously, East Asia did just fine without even thinking of the seven-day cycle as something that you needed to count, or as a universal social calendar, or as a timekeeping register of any kind.

So I wouldn’t say it makes the hour seem less important, but I think it actually– my research into the week makes me think of the hour as a less apt symbol for the difference between modern and pre-modern timekeeping. Because the week is fascinating, it’s a heterogeneous timekeeping system unlike– the big thing about the hour I think is its homogeneity. Its assertion that every identical span of time is interchangeable with substitutable with fungible with analogous to something like that, every other one.

And the homogeneity of time is a powerful feature of modern time keeping. Well, the seven-day week doesn’t do that at all. It says the opposite. It says no two days are alike. We speak about daily life, everyday life, the quotidian, but the week is this technology that resists that whole notion. It insists that no two consecutive days are substitutable for one another, that’s a fascinating thing.

So in that sense, it would seem to correspond with pre-modern notions of time and heterogeneity and festivity and the sorts of things that used to interest anthropologists about timekeeping and primitive societies. And yet it’s fundamentally modern and is only now in the last 100 years become a global timekeeping system and it is probably the timekeeping calendar to which most people in the world are most rigidly attached.

Sizek: Yeah, I think that’s so fascinating because it points to the limitations of a very technology-based history in which we say we have this amazing new technology, the clocktower, let’s investigate it and figure out what to do, whereas the week is something that is much more about, it is about the calendar that you keep, it’s not about the town square, which doesn’t raise a different flag on Mondays and a different flag on Tuesdays.

So I think it also raises this question about the way that the week has been seen to be subpar or irrational. So there have been a bunch of different projects to try to remake the week, try to make it into something that is more like a clocktower. What have some of those projects been?

Henkin: There have been a few. I would say the three big ones and they are quite big because they all represent an attack on the seven-day week from a very powerful and in many other respects successful revolutionary movement. The first would be the French Revolution, which sought to rationalize and standardize measurements of all kind and succeeded.

So many of the ways in which we measure things, especially outside the United States are a product of the French Revolution and its belief in an enlightened rationality. The French Revolution also had another gripe with the week apart from the fact that it’s awkward and irrational, which was the week seemed to be the fundamental anchor of the power of the Catholic Church in old regime France.

So the French revolutionaries created a new calendar. They not only renamed months and years, they also more radically introduced a 10-day week called the decade and it was fundamentally different from the seven-day week and it was a failed experiment.

I mean, I’ll talk a little bit about its failure in a moment I’ll give you the other two. So the next big one was the Soviet attack on the week. Soviets were I think mostly interested in continuous production in factories and they thought– but they also wanted to undermine the power of an established Christian church in that case, the Russian Orthodox church.

So they first went to a five-day week and then a six-day week and their weeks were not coordinated, that was the part that had to do with continuous production. In other words, I might have– my day off might be the way a hospital might or any other operation that seeks continuous production.

I have one day, but you, my father, or my best friend, or my wife might have another one. And I think that failed in part because of resistance to having a non-coordinated week it may also have failed because the seven-day was so entrenched as it was with France.

The third attack is less well-known, but represents American and European corporate capitalism. And the rational reforms favored by big businesses that largely succeeded in creating by World War I a system of time keeping that’s universal.

They gave us things like time zones. The idea that everyone within a certain range of longitude agrees on the mean similar time in that zone and they all observed the same one. International Dateline that says then you can divide the world into 24, such zones, and then also that the day officially ends and begins somewhere in the Pacific Ocean that’s antipodal to Greenwich, England.

Daylight Saving Time, the idea that you can manipulate the clock to for various social or economic benefits. All these things are a product of this what my colleague, Vanessa Ogle, calls the global transformation of time between 1880 and 1920 really fully ratified by the international community around and after World War I.

But the one thing that many of those same reformers wanted to do and failed to do was to tame the week by making it an even subdivision of months and especially of years. Now, that’s not a very big change. They’re not making the day, the week longer by 10 or shorter to five or six, they’re not making it non-coordinated.

All they’re doing is saying that at the end of every year there’ll be one day or two, if it’s a leap year, that are blank. Most proposals to tame the week as I would call it, or reform the week as they called it simply asked for one or two blank days at the end of the year, days that would have no weekly value.

And the purpose of this would be so that the cycle of weeks would be 364 days not 365 and therefore, divisible by 7. And therefore, every January 28 would be a Monday, let’s say. Actually I think every January 28 would have been a Sunday for them, but I forget anyway.

So it doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but that too failed. The League of Nations took it up, considered it, rejected it. Many people assumed that this was the wave of the future, but instead it became had the fate of Esperanto, not the fate of time zones.

So these are three movements to try to change what is inconvenient about the week and they all fail. Meanwhile, the week is entering without much resistance all these societies that had never had one.

I mean, you said before that one of the reasons we don’t look at the calendar is because it doesn’t have flashy new innovations, but if I were a historian of Japan, which I’m not equipped to be, but I would really want to study.

What was the process, the cognitive process, the cultural process, the political process by which a society that had never counted continuous seven-day cycles suddenly began organizing not only its work life, but organizing life more generally around this complete innovation?

That’s a really new technology. I mean, it’s not flashy like the internet, but it is a technology and it was completely new in Japan. It’s a different question in the United States where the technology was quite old and was experienced as quite old and even thought to be built into the fabric of nature by lots of people, but nonetheless, was doing new things for new people without anyone really commenting on it.

Sizek: Yeah, so you mentioned that obviously your study is of the week in America and how the week becomes dominant here. But the week wasn’t universally practiced and it’s only very recently that this has become the case. What were some of the other ways that people were reckoning the changing of the days or the difference between days other than the week?

Henkin: All right, so almost every society that we can put this question to in the past counted days and counted something like a month and years also. So I think societies can do fine with that. There are examples of five-day cycles and eight-day cycles and seven-day cycles and also, sorry, and 10-day cycles and also seven-day cycles that are not cycles of work and rest.

But none of these formed a dominant social calendar in any of the societies that observed them and most of them were not actually continuous either. So it really depends how you define a week. Lots of societies have lumped days together for some purpose or given people patterns of day off or had patterns of festivity, but I haven’t really found anything seems quite like the modern week, but with a different length.

So I would say that the week as we understand it is a pretty distinctive historical phenomenon not just in its periodicity, not just in its seven-dayness, but in being a completely artificial, but continuously counted dominant social calendar.

Sizek: Well, on that note, the week is so singular and odd and magical and maybe also strange and unusual, but we have come to accept it as natural. On that note, thank you so much for coming.

Henkin: Thank you very much for having me.

Woman’s Voice: Thank you for listening. To learn more about Social Science Matrix, please visit matrix.berkeley.edu.

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Article

The Labor Market and the Opioid Epidemic: A Visual Interview with Nathan Seltzer

Nathan Seltzer is a postdoctoral scholar in the UC Berkeley Department of Demography. He received his PhD in sociology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he also trained in demography at the Center for Demography and Ecology. His research explores the relationship between economic change and population trends. In published and ongoing work, he investigates how the decline of the American manufacturing sector has impacted fertility rates, mortality rates, and economic mobility. 

Social Science Matrix content curator Julia Sizek interviewed Seltzer about his recent research, using images from his article, “The economic underpinnings of the drug epidemic,” which was published in Social Science and Medicine – Population Health in December 2020. (Please note that captions have been revised for this article.)

 

graph showing rise in opioid rates
Fig. 1: Annual number of total drug overdoses, specified opioid overdoses, and corrected estimates of opioid overdoses, which include specified opioid overdoses and predicted opioid overdoses for death records that had an unspecified contributing cause in the United States.

 

During the last 20 years, the number of opioid-related deaths has been dramatically increasing, as Figure 1 shows. How have scholars typically understood the causes of the opioid epidemic?  

There are a number of reasons why drug and opioid overdose deaths have increased over the past two decades. To begin, pharmaceutical companies began ramping up the manufacturing and distribution of prescription opioids in the 1990s. Foremost, Purdue Pharma is known for its role in pushing OxyContin, but the widespread adoption of prescription opioids for pain ailments extends to the broader pharmaceutical industry, which promoted the idea that opioids were non-addictive and safe to use with minimal risks. 

The deliberate distribution of prescription opioids by pharmaceutical companies is a supply explanation for what propelled the opioid epidemic. At the same time, we know that supply cannot exist without demand. Recent academic literature, including my study, has found that the success of the pharmaceutical companies in distributing prescription opioids was driven in part by below-par social and economic conditions. In particular, economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton have emphasized in their research how deteriorating quality of life and economic “despair” have proliferated in recent decades. Indeed, there is a strong correlation between measures of economic precarity and opioid prescribing patterns.

While the drug epidemic was initially spurred by the over-prescription of opioid medications, two additional developments kept it going. First, the rise of heroin supply started at the beginning of the 2010s. Second, the rise of synthetic opioids, such as fentanyl, started shortly after the rise of heroin. Yet, the drug epidemic is wider than just opioid use – there has also been an increase in deaths involving psychostimulants and cocaine. In my research, I focus on the broader drug epidemic, rather than just the opioid epidemic, to call attention to this broader development.

Fig. 2: Total number of workers employed in the manufacturing sector in the United States, 1980–2019. (Data Source: U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, All Employees, Manufacturing [MANEMP], retrieved from FRED, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis; January 28, 2020.

Your research examines the link between the labor market and opioid overdose mortality. In the graph above (Figure 2), we can see the general decline in the number of workers employed in manufacturing. How do scholars normally explain the link between this decline in jobs in the manufacturing sector and opioid deaths, and what is important about manufacturing-sector jobs compared to other declining industries? 

The decline of U.S. manufacturing is one of the most important labor market events of the past fifty years. Between 1970 and today, manufacturing jobs went from representing a quarter to less than a tenth of all jobs in the U.S. The issue with this decline is that manufacturing jobs have traditionally functioned as a ladder for upward economic mobility, especially for those without a college degree. As manufacturing employment has decreased, no other industry has taken manufacturing’s place to provide a similar ladder for upward economic mobility. Instead, most employment growth has been in the “low-skill” service sector, which provides wages that are not comparable to those commanded by manufacturing workers.

Scholars have recently begun to examine how these sorts of labor market changes are impacting different facets of society, including trends in drug overdose mortality rates. My research builds on this new literature by examining how the loss of manufacturing jobs predicted the rise of the drug epidemic. The mechanism behind this association is that manufacturing decline heightens economic uncertainty for both workers who are directly laid off, as well as the broader community that experiences reduced employment opportunities. This economic uncertainty fosters a risk environment that increases the likelihood of substance use.

Fig. 3. Change in the share of employees in the manufacturing sector by state, 1998-2016. Data: U.S. Census Bureau, County Business Patterns Program. (For interpretation of the references to color in this figure legend, see the web version of the article.)

 

As we can see in Figure 3 (above), there is significant variation across states in the extent to which manufacturing declined. What does examining the opioid epidemic at the state scale show us that’s less visible at other scales, and what did you find when you examined smaller scales at the county level?

I chose the state scale for the primary analysis because there is substantial variation in both drug overdose deaths and manufacturing employment across states. This state-level variation is not just random noise, but the result of different social, economic, and health policies that have been implemented by states over the course of decades. These policies range from labor deregulation to Naloxone access laws (Naloxone is a drug that immediately reverses an opioid overdose) and the creation of prescription drug monitoring programs. Accordingly, population health outcomes are now increasingly determined by state-level policies and regulations, and it is important to take into account these broader socio-political policy regimes when conducting a statistical analysis.

The results of the state-level analysis indicate that states with higher levels of manufacturing employment had lower rates of drug overdose deaths. Specifically, for every one percentage point increment in manufacturing employment, there is a 3.2% reduction in drug overdose rates for women and a 4.7% reduction in drug overdose mortality rates for men. Between 1999-2017 (the length of the study period), the overall decline in manufacturing employment experienced by all states accounted for approximately 92,000 overdose deaths for men and up to 44,000 overdose deaths for women.

In addition to the state scale, I examined whether the association between manufacturing employment and drug overdose deaths held at smaller geographic levels, including the commuting zone level (a level slightly larger than a metropolitan statistical area) and the county level. The results demonstrate that the statistically significant association remains, although the effect size attenuates slightly. This attenuation can be explained by the effects of shifting to a smaller level of geography: by studying a commuting zone or county level on its own, spillover effects, like work commuting patterns across counties, are ignored.

 

Fig. 4. Percentage of drug deaths between 1999 and 2017 predicted by manufacturing decline.

 

 

These maps in Figure 4 show the percentage of drug deaths you were able to predict using your model that factored in manufacturing decline. How were you able to use the data from a decline in manufacturing jobs to predict opioid deaths? What were some of the challenges of trying to put together this predictive model, and what were you able to find in terms of the predictive power of manufacturing decline on opioid-related deaths?  

The findings of my study indicate that up to 92,000 overdose deaths for men and up to 44,000 overdose deaths for women are attributable to the decline in manufacturing jobs between 1999-2017. These total figures represent the percentage of all drug deaths that are predicted by manufacturing employment levels in each state. As you can see in the maps, the share of drug deaths that are predicted by manufacturing decline varies considerably across state contexts, as well as by sex. I derived these figures using data on the overall percentage point decline in manufacturing employment for each state and data from the estimated statistical models. 

The biggest challenge of this project was assembling a dataset that combined data on drug overdose mortality rates with data on manufacturing employment, as well as other social, economic, and policy variables. Assembling this unique dataset allowed me to statistically adjust the models for important alternate explanations other than manufacturing decline that might better explain the rise of drug overdose deaths. To generate mortality rates, I combined data on state-level populations with restricted-use death certificate records from the National Center for Health Statistics at the CDC. For manufacturing employment levels, I worked with data from the Census Bureau’s County Business Patterns program. I then accessed data from various other sources, including the Current Population Survey, the Census Bureau’s Local Area Unemployment Statistics program, and a database on prescription drug policies. Including variables in the model from all of these individual datasets improved the theoretical and methodological rigor of the research.

What racial and gender differences did you find in your model?

Much of the previous literature on the opioid and drug epidemic has focused on middle-aged white males because they initially had the highest levels of drug and alcohol usage in the 2000s in comparison to other race and sex groups. In my research, I sought to examine whether the effect of manufacturing decline on drug overdose deaths was generalizable to other population subgroups. Generally, the effect remains the largest for middle-aged white males between the ages of 45-54, but the effect is also large for adult white males of other ages, as well as for adult white females of all ages. For Black males and females, the effect is generally not statistically significant, but there are important exceptions: manufacturing decline was associated with drug overdose deaths for Black females ages 45-54 and Black males ages 35-44 and 55-64. These findings go against the widespread, but unfounded notion that manufacturing decline has primarily impacted white male workers. In fact, as evidenced by William Julius Wilson’s research, Black workers experienced substantial losses in manufacturing employment over the course of the final two decades of the 20th century.

What are some of the implications of your research for policymakers and institutions? 

This paper speaks to a growing literature that finds a relationship between social conditions and the rise of the opioid and drug epidemic. The implications of the results – that higher manufacturing employment is associated with lower rates of drug overdose deaths – signal the importance of policy interventions that aim to reduce persistent economic precarity experienced by individuals and communities, especially the economic strain placed upon the middle class. We live in a world where it is unlikely that major growth will occur in the U.S. manufacturing industry; however, an emphasis on improving jobs in the service sector should be the focus. Improvements in wages, benefits, and job stability in the low-wage service sector might decrease economic uncertainty and therefore provide a pathway toward reducing drug and opioid overdose mortality.

 

 

Article

A Visual Interview with Eric Stanley on “Atmospheres of Violence”

Atmospheres of Violence Book Cover
Professor Eric Stanley
Professor Eric Stanley

How should we understand violence against trans/queer people in relation to the promise of modern democracies? In their new book, Atmospheres of Violence: Structuring Antagonisms and the Trans/Queer Ungovernable (Duke 2021), Eric A. Stanley, Associate Professor in the Department of Gender and Women’s Studies, argues that anti-trans/queer violence is foundational to, and not an aberration of, western modernity.

Their other projects have included the anthology Trap Door: Trans Cultural Production and the Politics of Visibility, co-edited with Tourmaline and Johanna Burton; and the films Criminal Queers (2019) and Homotopia (2008), in collaboration with Chris Vargas.

For this visual interview, Julia Sizek, Matrix Content Curator and a PhD candidate in the UC Berkeley Department of Anthropology, asked Professor Stanley about their research, drawing upon images and videos referenced in the book.

 

Your book begins at the site of the death of Marsha P. Johnson, a pioneering transgender activist, and trans/queer death is generally the subject of the book. In what ways has death become central to understanding both LGBT history and trans/queer people today? 

Marsha P. Johnson
Marsha P. Johnson pickets Bellevue Hospital to protest treatment of street people and gays, ca. 1968–75. Photo by Diana Davies, Manuscripts and Archives Division, New York Public Library

The book does dwell in the space of death, and the first pages include a note on “reading with care” so people will be aware of its content. However, my attention to the work of violence is not because I believe it to be the limit of trans/queerness but because, under the order of the settler colonial state, harm is any and everywhere. What this means is that we must work to understand the various ways violence delineates trans/queerness if we want to end it. To this end, I investigate how racialized anti-trans/queer violence is foundational to and not an aberration of the social world.

That said, rather than simply argue that we are “against violence,” I reposition the demand by way of a question: what constitutes the time of violence for those living in the crucible of total war? In other words, saying that we want to respond to specific instances of violence is not enough if we have not rendered unworkable the structures that do not simply allow it, but mandate its continuance.

This is one of the many lessons that I continue to learn from theorists like Marsha P. Johnson. She was a marginally housed radical organizer whose Black trans politics were fashioned from living in and against the anti-blackness of a transmisogynist world. Her death, which was deemed a suicide by the NYPD, remains under speculation by her friends, who believe it was perhaps a violent trick or even a police officer who murdered her. While the case of her death has become a focus for organizing, Marsha’s commitments — her life in struggle — instruct us to organize against the conditions that stole her from the world.

While direct attacks against trans/queer people are one focus of the book, I also theorize that the state perpetuates violence against trans/queer people through paradigmatic neglect. We can look at trans/queer houselessness, incarceration, and the ongoing HIV/AIDS pandemic to see the ways inaction is, perhaps counterintuitively, an active process. It is, I believe, in these spaces of seeming contradiction where power becomes most visible.

In this video, Sylvia Rivera, a contemporary of Martha P. Johnson, is met with resistance by the crowd when she takes the stage at the 1973 Christopher Street Liberation Day celebration. Today, she is considered to be a trans icon. What does Rivera’s acceptance today reveal about how we consider LGBT history?

This video depicts transgender activist Sylvia Rivera’s monologue at a demonstration in 1973. 

The introduction of my book, River of Sorrow, attempts to think about this antagonism. The amazing documentation of Sylvia fearlessly climbing the stage at this celebration gathers up so much of what the book theorizes. Sylvia was a Puerto Rican trans organizer, sex worker, anti-imperialist and one of Marsha’s closest friends. She was not given space to speak because cis lesbians and gays diagnosed her, and all trans women, as perpetrators of a misogynist culture by way of their identities. The transmisogyny of the event organizers who attempted to force her physically and ideologically off the stage tragically still lives in the ongoing harassment of trans people in general, and trans women specifically, by Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists (TERFs). Not unlike anti-trans “feminists” of 1973, today we see trans people attacked much more than the patriarchal order they blame us for reproducing. Luckily, Sylvia was able to eventually take the microphone that day, and as you can see, she then delivered a devastatingly beautiful speech about the importance of not leaving behind those hidden by calls of “gay respectability,” namely trans/queer people of color in jails, shelters, and other “street queens” like her and Marsha.

The mainstream LGBT movement that Sylvia declared war against continues its legacy of assimilation in our current moment. Yet what is different, and perhaps even more dangerous, is that it now primarily terrorizes through incorporation. What this means is that, rather than working through exclusion and exile as it did in 1973, we now see the inclusion of those historically forced out not toward the end of reorganizing normative power, but to maintain it. The goal of inclusion is not to challenge the political order, as we are often told, but to extinguish radical critique and our dreams of freedom.

This dispossession through incorporation was again clarified after I finished the book and I noticed that the “all power to the people” photo of Marsha was being sold on a shirt at Target during their rainbow-washed June. The brutal irony is that they were selling the image of radical Black anti-capitalist action while underpaying their workers and racially profiling Black people in their stores. They want Marsha’s image, but they don’t want her. It’s this knot that I’m trying to apprehend in the book, so that we might find a way out.

This photograph was taken in 1992 at a political action by ACT UP, in which activists flung ashes of loved ones on George H.W. Bush’s White House lawn and transformed an act of grief into a political act. How does this act combat what you call “necrocapitalism”?

protestors throwing ashes on white house lawn
ACT UP Ashes Action, 1992. © Meg Handler

The ashes action leaves me undone. While political funerals were often organized by ACT UP and many other groups, this one harnessed the brutal eloquence of those forms of protest with the material act of “returning the dead” to the house of their executioner, specifically Bush’s White House. Here, friends, lovers, and families marched with boxes of ashes toward the White House under threat of the swinging clubs of mounted DC police, and then once they arrived at the gates, they tossed the remains onto the green of the lawn.

One of the practices developed by ACT UP was to name governmental inaction as a method of active killing. The disappearance of their loved ones was the unfolding of what Ruth Wilson Gilmore might call “organized abandonment,” instigated by a straight state that understood HIV/AIDS as the wish fulfillment of those already damned to hell. This idea that HIV is the materialization of God’s wrath might circulate less openly today, but the logical structure of this belief — that a virus is the punishment for wrongdoing — maintains the crushing stigma many still endure. 

The desperation in the videos and photos of the action overwhelms. Revenge and mourning meet in the act of exhuming bodies. While the open secret of mass deaths from AIDS-related illnesses was spoken in quiet whispers and hidden under homophobic silence, here ACT UP materialized their loss in the form of ground bones, the remains of trans/queer life, scattered to the winds so that their pain might become all of ours.

Through thinking with this action, along with the murders at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, and the longer colonial history of HIV and current practices of blood banking, I develop a theory of necrocapital. Here I work with, and sometimes against, materialist feminists and others who have helped us understand the centrality of reproductive labor. With necrocapital, I’m paying attention to how speculation is not tied exclusively to the category of “life,” and indeed financialization has opened the entirety of the worker, even in death, to increased profits. One of the reason ACT UP’s direct action is so powerful is because it materializes the symbolics of trans/queer blood — the feared yet valued substance that is, at least under the logic of a phobic social, a vector of death. Here it is returned as a bio-strike, a labor stoppage, and a refusal to privatize our grief.

In this short film produced by the Barnard Center for Research on Women, Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, a trans activist, discusses how her personal activism has taken a new form. She says that, “on a personal level, what I did was change all of my identification back to male” as a way to highlight her transgender identity and “strike back.” How do you read this “striking back,” and what does it show us about the relationship between trans people and the state? 

Major’s irreverence for a world that demands respect but delivers none shows us that what is offered is not all that is available. Through a reading of her words and Tourmaline’s film, I suggest that her ungovernability — her life in refusal — is a pedagogy of Black trans sociality, an escape hatch out of the dreadful pragmatism of the current order. Importantly, as with Major, Marsha, Sylvia, and many others who appear in the text, I’m emphatic that they are theorists of trans life and not simply examples of it. This is necessary if we are to build a trans study that at least attempts to disorganize the organization of cis knowledge production.

Among the ways Major offers us this gift is through the story of her IDs. At one point, she switched her IDs from “male” to “female,” as many trans women do in hopes of decreasing harassment by those who demand papers. But then the short film repositions the narrative of transition, as she “switched them all back” to “male” because she is a transgender woman and she wanted to be known as such. She is clear, and I also underscore this in the book, that she is not making a prescription, but this “personal act” was, as you noted, one of her ways of “striking back.” 

I’m dedicated to charting these otherwise minor acts, moments of rebellion and striking back that might slip past the telling of revolutionary social change. This is important as it not only connects to the larger moment histories, but as Majors makes clear, it’s where the force necessary to continue to struggle is often found. For her, community care and sedition fall into each other and build out an underground of laughter and beautiful negation.

Your book concerns questions of death and violence against trans/queer people and asks readers to confront scenes of death and violence. What were some of the challenges in representing anti-trans/queer violence in this book, and what alternatives do you imagine to trans/queer death today?

“ANOTHER END OF THE WORLD IS POSSIBLE” Notes on a Burning Kmart, Minneapolis uprising, 2020. Photo by Aren Aizura.

This is a central concern of the book and an excellent question. However, throughout the text, I am unable to reconcile the fact that representing violence and allowing it to disappear are both, in different but related ways, among the technologies that ensure harm continues. Instead of assuming I might know the answer, I hold this contradiction with as much love and precision as I can to move through it under the banner of collective liberation. Methodologically, I don’t represent, at least in image, the violence I theorize. I do, however, at times narrate the scenes, as I believe we must work to understand its world-shattering force if we are to stop it. The answer then cannot simply be to look away, although we all must do that at times to preserve enough of us. 

Yet what I believe the project must be, if we want to “end violence,” is the destruction of the racist anti-trans/queer social that has taken so many and continues to threaten the very possibility of anything else. If, rather than an aberration of settler modernity, these woven forms of terror constitute the world, then I ask, with Frantz Fanon, “is another end of the world possible?” I’m not sure. I do know that we must continue to think, which is also to continue to learn that, as Major reminds us, there is abundance here and now. Following the ungovernable, among our tasks is life’s radical redistribution and the abolition of the world as it is. Rather than defeat, we must also know that there is a long and unfolding tradition of trans/queer action that builds a world beyond this one, where we might all feel the safety and joy of ease.

Article

Innovation Matters: Competition Policy for the High-Tech Economy

An interview with Professor Richard Gilbert

What’s wrong with antitrust policy for regulating the tech sector? In his new book, Innovation Matters: Competition Policy for the High-Technology Economy, Richard Gilbert, Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Economics at UC Berkeley, argues that regulators should be considering the effects of mergers and monopolies on innovation, rather than price.

From 1993 to 1995, Gilbert served as Deputy Assistant Attorney General in the Antitrust Division of the U.S. Department of Justice. He also served as Chair of the Berkeley Economics Department from 2002 to 2005, as President of the Industrial Organization Society from 1994 to 1995, and as the non-lawyer representative to the Council of the Antitrust Section of the American Bar Association from 2011 to 2014.

Julia Sizek, Matrix Content Curator, interviewed Professor Gilbert about the arguments in his new book. (Please note that responses have been edited, and links were added for reference.)

Q: As large technology companies have increasingly come under fire for their monopoly-like powers, many have been asking about how antitrust policy needs to change to address this industry. What motivated you to investigate the changing landscape of antitrust policy?

Traditionally, antitrust policy has been about prices, and antitrust officials have focused on stopping mergers that would increase prices or limiting conduct that would cause prices to rise or prevent them from falling. But we know that innovation — new or improved products or production methods — is more important for the economy and consumer welfare than a reduction in prices. We need to change antitrust policy from price-centric to innovation-centric.

Antitrust authorities appreciate the importance of innovation, but until recently they have not had the tools to analyze how mergers or the conduct of dominant firms might suppress innovation. Many antitrust enforcers and academics endorsed views associated with the writings of Joseph Schumpeter in the 1940s. He wrote that progress proceeds through a process of creative destruction, with new technologies replacing old products and methods, and that large firms were often better suited than small firms to create these new technologies. This Schumpeterian perspective suggested a defense for mergers and monopolization, rather than a basis to challenge them. Indeed, the Merger Guidelines published by the Department of Justice and Federal Trade Commission barely mentioned innovation as a merger concern until they were revised in 2010.

More recent economic research challenges the Schumpeterian perspective and shows how the lack of competition can suppress innovation incentives. Having fewer firms engaged in research and development lowers the probability of discovery. A firm that has monopoly power has little incentive to invest in costly R&D if a successful discovery would merely replace the profits it earns from its existing products. It is no surprise that many major discoveries have been made by firms that do not have existing products that would be threatened by the discovery. Electric vehicles, the smartphone, digital photography, ride-hailing services, digital mapping, photolithography, and mRNA vaccines are some examples of innovations that emerged out of non-dominant firms.

So, the motivation for my book was to collect in one place what we now know about the relationship between competition and innovation. That includes the Schumpeterian perspective, but also more recent scholarship that shows how monopoly is a threat to innovation. My objective was to describe the central principles that support an innovation-centric antitrust policy.

Q: As you note in the book, current antitrust policy in the U.S. asks how consumers would suffer if a merger or acquisition were to be completed, and that this harm to consumers is measured through looking at prices of products. What are the limits of using prices to measure competition (or lack thereof)?

A merger that results in a small reduction in the pace of innovation is likely to cause greater consumer harm than if it causes a small increase in price. That is why we need an innovation-centric antitrust policy when mergers or conduct are likely to affect the pace of innovation.

Sometimes we can account for innovation effects by incorporating quality into product prices. That is, we can measure the consumer benefit from an improvement in the quality of a product by an equivalent reduction in its price, or the consumer cost from a reduction in quality by an increase in price. This is straightforward for some products. If Hershey sells a smaller candy bar at the same price, it is equivalent to an increase in the price of the bar. If a new car gets lower gas mileage, it is equivalent to an increase in the price of the car.

This quality-adjusted price approach has limitations. It is difficult to apply to complex changes in the dimensions of a product. Moreover, in today’s digital economy, many services are provided without a monetary price. It doesn’t make much sense to ask whether the price could be lower, but instead we should ask whether companies are creating new services that benefit consumers or interfering with the ability of other firms to compete with new services.

Digital platforms such as Facebook and Google complicate the analysis because they provide services to consumers (e.g., social networks and search) without a price while generating revenues from advertising. The services that the platforms offer at a zero price and the advertising services that the platform sells at positive prices are interdependent. However, they raise different issues for antitrust analysis. For example, the Federal Trade Commission has filed an antitrust complaint related to Facebook’s acquisitions, including Instagram and WhatsApp. The complaint alleges that Facebook maintained its personal social networking monopoly by systematically tracking potential rivals and acquiring companies that it viewed as serious competitive threats.

A price-centric analysis might be appropriate for the advertising service, but an innovation-centric analysis is more appropriate for the effects of such acquisitions on the quality of Facebook’s social networking services.

Q: Your book offers innovation as a metric to understand antitrust policy. What is innovation, and how does one measure it?

Innovation is a new or improved product or process that differs significantly from previous products or processes. Innovation is more than invention, which is the act of discovering a new product or process, because innovation requires that an invention be put into active use or be made available for use by others.

Innovations can be measured in different ways. This can include direct measures, such as a technical or economic assessment of the value of the innovation. For pharmaceuticals, a new drug application that is approved by the Food and Drug Administration is a measure of innovation, although drugs differ greatly in their therapeutic and economic value. Indirect measures of innovation include the number of patents that cover the innovation. Because patents can differ greatly in significance, economic studies often use citation counts to determine the significance of the patents. Patent counts are generally better indicators of the value of innovations when they are adjusted by citations to measure quality, but there is still a gap between citation-weighted patent counts and the value of innovations. The gap depends on the industry. For example, patent counts tend to be aligned with the values of pharmaceutical and chemical innovations. However, in other industries, patents provide a measure of protection from competition that is not necessarily related to the value of the innovation that is disclosed by the patent. This disconnect is particularly problematic for industries in which many patents cover the same product, such as electronics, software, and communications technologies. In that case, a patented technology can represent a small fraction of the value of a product, yet the patent owner might be able to demand a high royalty because the product cannot be produced with the right to use the patent.

Economic studies of competition and innovation often use research and development (R&D) expenditure to measure innovative effort. R&D, however, is an input to the activity of innovation. It does not measure the output of innovation. R&D expenditures can increase with no effect on the output of innovation, or R&D can become more efficient and decrease with the same or greater output of innovation. Nonetheless, because R&D expenditures are often more accessible than measure of actual innovation, many empirical studies have used R&D expenditure as an indirect measure of innovation.

Q: In the book, you note that the number of complaints about innovation loss increased from the 1990s through the 2010s. What do you think accounted for the new focus on innovation, rather than other kinds of complaints? (In other words, how did innovation emerge as a means of thinking about anti-trust law?)

Courts generally follow economic developments in their evaluations of antitrust law, but usually with a substantial lag. Economic analysis plays a central role in almost every merger case, but economic analysis was almost always absent in merger evaluations that took place before 1980. Economic analysis became important in merger analysis after courts recognized that economics has something to say about whether a merger is likely to result in a “substantial lessening of competition,” which is the standard for review under the antitrust laws.

Economics did not have much to say about the relationship between competition and innovation until the latter part of the 20th century. As I mentioned, the prevailing sentiment was a Schumpeterian view that some monopoly power is conducive to innovation. When innovation appeared in antitrust cases, it was mostly as a defense to otherwise anticompetitive conduct. Indeed, in the monopolization case against Microsoft brought by the Department of Justice and several states, the Federal Court of Appeals quoted Schumpeter in the introduction to its opinion.

Innovation became more of a concern for antitrust enforcement by the Department of Justice and the Federal Trade Commission in the 1990s. This coincided, perhaps incidentally, with the publication by the agencies of the Antitrust Guidelines for the Licensing of Intellectual Property. (I led the effort that resulted in these guidelines when I was Deputy Assistant Attorney General at the Department of Justice.) The Guidelines brought innovation to the forefront.

The DOJ and FTC publish and update guidelines that describe their enforcement intentions for mergers. The first edition was published in 1968. Neither the first edition nor many subsequent editions mentioned innovation as a competitive concern until the guidelines were revised in 2010. (UC Berkeley professors Carl Shapiro and Joe Farrell led the 2010 effort to revise the guidelines.) The 2010 guidelines describe several ways in which mergers might suppress innovation. This discussion paralleled economic developments beginning in the late 20th century that showed why mergers and monopoly power can harm incentives to innovate.

Q: Large technology companies like Alphabet (Google) and Meta (Facebook) are known for acquiring companies in their start-up phases, and this has become widely accepted for small companies in the technology sector. How do you think this model has shifted possibilities for innovation in technology, and how might regulators change their approach to regulating these acquisitions?

Google and Facebook (and Amazon, Apple, and Microsoft) have acquired hundreds of start-ups. Few of these acquisitions were even reviewed by the antitrust agencies, and none was blocked. The reasons for the lack of enforcement are complex. The companies operate in fast-moving technologies, so it is often difficult to know whether a start-up represented a competitive threat to the acquiring firm.

The US and European authorities reviewed, but did not challenge, Facebook’s acquisition of WhatsApp and Instagram. The European Commission noted that WhatsApp and Facebook were but two of many messaging services, and that WhatsApp did not compete with Facebook for online advertising. Both agencies should have paid greater attention to the possibility that WhatsApp could have become a rival social network, much as the multi-purpose messaging service WeChat has done in China (albeit censored by the authorities). Indeed, the $19 billion that Facebook paid for the app, despite little usage at the time in the US, should have been an indicator of its potential as an industry disruptor.

Some acquisitions escape review by the antitrust agencies because they fall below the required reporting thresholds. Many of these acquisitions are “aqui-hires.” They are groups of talented individuals that bear little resemblance to the corporate acquisitions that are the usual targets of antitrust enforcement.

In my opinion, the most significant reason why antitrust enforcers have not been able to restrain the growth of the dominant digital platforms through acquisition is their inability to deal with potential competition. The antitrust agencies are quick to challenge a merger of X and Y when both have large shares of a concentrated market. But what about a dominant company X that acquires a startup Y that has no product, but might develop a product that competes with X? Y is not an actual competitor of X, Y is a potential competitor. Antitrust legal precedents impose a high bar to challenge an acquisition that eliminates a potential competitor.

Congress is currently considering several proposed bills that would strengthen antitrust enforcement, particularly for dominant platforms. While some of these bills are not, in my opinion, a step in the right direction, those that make it easier to challenge acquisitions of potential competitors could, if properly crafted, be a positive change to antitrust enforcement.

Q: How do these approaches to innovation need to change in the context of platform markets, like Google Shopping or Amazon? How do platform economies change how we should think about antitrust issues?

Platforms are challenging for antitrust enforcement. First, for platforms such as Google or Facebook, one side is supplied without a monetary price, although consumers “pay” by supplying valuable data. Second, many platforms have powerful network effects and scale economies from the accumulation of data. Network effects imply that users of the platforms benefit from the participation of other users. Scale economies imply that rivals would have to incur large and irreversible costs to duplicate the values that the platforms obtain from their data. The presence of network effects and scale economies imply large barriers to entry of new platform competitors. For both of these reasons, new competitors can’t gain a toehold in the usual way by providing the same service at a lower price. They have to compete with a differentiated product. Third, there are competitive interactions between the “free” and paid sides of the platforms. Platforms have incentives to maintain service quality on the free side if it is useful to attract paying advertisers, although such incentives are limited. Fourth, innovation concerns are particularly relevant for many platforms because the pace of technology development is rapid and some platform services are provided without charge, which makes a price-centric analysis less useful.

Of course, antitrust is relevant for platforms, and the challenges they present are not entirely new. But enforcement has to be mindful of platforms’ unique characteristics. Designing workable remedies for antitrust abuses is challenging for platforms. Consumers do not benefit from breaking up a platform if network effects imply that only one firm will survive. And behavioral remedies can be difficult to enforce or may have little effect. The Google search remedy imposed by the European Commission is still being criticized as too weak, years after it was first implemented. The European Commission requirements to offer choice screens for default browsers and search engines (i.e., screens that allow users to choose their preferred search engine) has not had a significant effect on utilization. The alternative approach to remedies might involve a regulator that supervises conduct by the platforms or that can impose fines large enough to affect their behavior.

Q: What is the future of antitrust policy in the United States, especially now, when prominent antitrust lawyers Lina Khan and Jonathan Kanter have been confirmed as Chair of the Federal Trade Commission and Assistant Attorney General, respectively?

Interesting question. Lina Khan is a self-professed member of the New Brandeis (NB) movement. The NBs believe that monopoly is a corrosive force for the economy and an obstacle for social justice. They want to break up monopolies without having to demonstrate a pattern of abusive behavior. This will be a tough sell in the courts. Established precedent requires a finding of anticompetitive conduct for a finding of unlawful monopolization under the Sherman Act.

Nonetheless, as Chairman of the FTC, Khan might be able to make some significant changes in antitrust enforcement. The FTC Act empowers the Commission to challenge “unfair” competition. Courts have ruled that the standard for unfair competition is the same standard for violation of the Sherman Act. But the Commission might have wiggle room to bring cases that would be difficult to prove under the Sherman Act. That would be an important development. Furthermore, the FTC has an administrative structure that gives it enforcement leverage that is absent at the Department of Justice. Specifically, the FTC can send cases to an administrative law judge (ALJ) before they go to a traditional court of law. The ALJ process takes time, and some defendants are willing to make concessions to avoid the extra delays.

I don’t expect to see the same movement of the antitrust needle at the DOJ, because the DOJ can’t avoid or delay judgments in the courts. Both agencies can be tougher on merger cases. There is some evidence that is happening and I expect it to continue. (But again, they have to deal with the courts if merging parties contest a challenge.) The DOJ also can have an impact through a process called the business review letter, where it can state an intention not to challenge a practice. For example, Democrats tend to be softer on enforcement of intellectual property rights, and the DOJ can signal this intent through a business review letter.

 

Podcast

Individual Trauma, Social Outcomes: A Matrix Podcast Interview with Biz Herman

Biz Herman

In this episode of the Matrix Podcast, Julia Sizek, PhD Candidate in Anthropology at UC Berkeley, interviews Biz Herman, a PhD candidate in the UC Berkeley Department of Political Science, a Visiting Scholar at The New School for Social Research’s Trauma and Global Mental Health Lab, and a Predoctoral Research Fellow with the Human Trafficking Vulnerability Lab. Herman’s dissertation, Individual Trauma, Collective Security: The Consequences of Conflict and Forced Migration on Social Stability, investigates the psychological effects of living through conflict and forced displacement, and how these individual traumas shape social life. 

Herman’s research has been supported by the Fulbright U.S. Student Program, the University of California Institute on Global Conflict & Cooperation (IGCC) Dissertation Fellowship, the Simpson Memorial Research Fellowship in International & Comparative Studies, the Malini Chowdhury Fellowship on Bangladesh Studies, and the Georg Eckert Institute Research Fellowship. Along with collaborators Justine M. Davis & Cecilia H. Mo, she received the IGCC Academic Conference Grant to convene the inaugural Human Security, Violence, and Trauma Conference in May 2021. This multidisciplinary meeting brought together over 170 policymakers, practitioners, and researchers from political science, behavioral economics, psychology, and public health for a two-day seminar on the implications of conflict and forced migration. She has served as an Innovation Fellow at Beyond Conflict’s Innovation Lab, which applies research findings from cognitive and behavioral science to the study of social conflict and belief formation.

In addition to her academic work, Biz is an Emmy-nominated photojournalist and a regular contributor to The New York Times. In 2019, she pitched and co-photographed The Women of the 116th Congress, which included portraits of 130 out of 131 women members of Congress, shot in the style of historical portrait paintings. The story ran as a special section featuring 27 different covers, and was subsequently published as a book, with a foreword by Roxane Gay.

The Matrix Podcast interview focuses primarily on Herman’s research on mental health and social stability at the Za’atri Refugee Camp in Jordan, as well as her broader research on the psychological implications of living through trauma and the impacts of individual trauma on community coherence.

The research in the Za’atri Refugee Camp, Herman explains, was part of a project developed by Mike Niconchuk, Program Director for Trauma & Violent Conflict at Beyond Conflict, who created a psycho-educational intervention called the Field Guide for Barefoot Psychology. “The goal of The Field Guide is to provide peer-to-peer mental health and psychosocial support and education,” Herman explains. “It’s a low-cost intervention, and it can be scaled. The idea was that in Za’atari Camp, where mental health care is very stigmatized, there are a lot of barriers to entry. And there are a lot of needs — physical security needs and community needs — and mental health is often de-prioritized. [The Field Guide provides] one way to address the lingering psychological implications of living through conflict and forced migration in a way that is accessible, and that can be provided without attracting attention or producing any kind of stigma, and that’s really connected to the context.”

The Field Guide uses narrative storytelling and scientific education, paired with self-care exercises, Herman explains. “Each chapter starts with a narrative of a brother and sister and their lives in Syria before conflict, during conflict, during migration, and in resettlement,” she says. “Through the story, different themes and ideas and issues come up, with different physiological and psychological responses. As these different responses come up, the next part of the chapter talks about the science behind that in a way that allows for some psychoeducation on what’s happening, but allows people to engage with it through someone else’s story.”

Listen to the interview below, or on Apple Podcasts or Google Podcasts.

 

 

Podcast Transcript

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Woman’s Voice: The Matrix Podcast is a production of Social Science Matrix, an interdisciplinary research center at the University of California, Berkeley.

Julia Sizek: Hello, everyone. And welcome to the Social Science Matrix Podcast. I’m Julia Sizek, your host. Today, we’ll be talking to Biz Herman, a PhD candidate in political science and a visiting scholar at the New School for Social Research’s Trauma in Global Mental Health lab and a predoctoral research fellow with the Human Trafficking Vulnerability lab.

Her research focuses on the psychological consequences of living through conflict in forced displacement and how that shapes the social lives of refugees and support for peace and reconciliation efforts.

Today, we’ll be discussing her research among Syrians living in the Za’atri refugee camp in Jordan. So thank you so much for coming on our podcast.

Biz Herman: Thanks for having me.

Julia Sizek: So let’s just get started by hearing a little bit more about your research on trauma related distress. How did you get started on this research project at the Za’atri refugee camp?

Biz Herman: So thanks so much for having me. And this project is a collaborative project that has been in the works for many years now. I got involved in 2017. It’s a team effort with Young Conflict, which is an organization based in Boston, and Cosgrove, which is based in Jordan and has offices in Za’atri camp.

And then the research team is made up of researchers from the New School for Social Research and myself at Berkeley. And what we’ve been doing, the project was first developed by Mike Niconchuck, who is the lead author and developer of a new psychoeducational intervention called The Field Guide for Barefoot Psychologists.

And the goal with field guide is to provide peer to peer mental health and psychosocial support and education. So it’s a low cost intervention. It can be scaled. And the idea was that in Za’atri camp, where mental health care and mental health and well being is very stigmatized and there are a lot of barriers to entry and there’s a lot of needs in the camp, different kinds of physical security needs, community needs, and mental health is often deprioritized, what was one way to address the lingering psychological implications of living through conflict and forced migration in a way that was accessible, that could be provided without attracting attention or producing any kind of stigma around it and really connected to the context.

So the field guide itself has a structure where it’s very narrative based. And it uses narrative storytelling and then scientific education paired with self-care exercises to deliver the intervention. So each chapter– it’s presented as a book, and each chapter starts with a narrative of a brother and sister and their lives in Syria before conflict, during conflict, during migration, and in resettlement.

And through the story, different themes and ideas and issues come up and different physiological responses and psychological responses. And as these different responses come up, the next part of the chapter then talks about the science behind that in a way that allows for some psychoeducation on what’s happening but allows people to engage with it through someone else’s story.

And there might be some things that relate to what they might have experienced themselves, but they don’t have to– in the context of therapy, you’d have to share with whatever practitioner what had happened to you. This is a way to engage with this in a step removed but still get information that might be relevant to you and to people you know.

And then the last part of each chapter is some kind of self-care exercise to address whatever issues that might come up related to what had been discussed in that chapter. So maybe it’s a breathing exercise to help regulate your heart rate.

Maybe it’s a sort of grounding exercise to help you refocus on the present. So it’s a very applied intervention. And the goal is to use science and storytelling to help people of address underlying issues that might have been not– there might not have been space or time or funding to address in the past.

And the facilitators, it’s delivered through two modalities. It’s delivered through workshops, in-person workshops twice a week. This was pre-COVID. And then the other modality is a take home modality where people pick up a book and they have weekly check ins, where if they are experiencing distress or they had sort of adverse reactions to engaging with the material, they can get care.

But they’re sort of guiding themselves through it. And so those are the two different modalities that were evaluated. And the facilitators that led the in-person workshop groups are all Syrians living in Za’atri, who are volunteers with the organization.

And they’re trained in the delivery of the field guide. So the idea is that it’s this peer to peer. It’s people who are living in the camp, who are working with people in their community to deliver this intervention.

Sizek: So how did you become involved with this Beyond Conflict Organization? And what was your role and relationship to them while you were conducting your research?

Herman: Yeah. So the Beyond Conflict actually met when I was an undergrad. They used to be housed at Tufts where I went to school. And I’ve worked with them for many years. They’re an organization based in Boston that applies concepts from neuroscience and cognitive science and psychology to study of peacekeeping and post-conflict contexts.

And they developed this field guide, which was developed by Mike Niconchuck, who was the program director for trauma and violent conflict at Beyond Conflict. And basically, they were looking to have The Field Guide for Barefoot Psychologists, which is this peer to peer psychoeducational intervention, which was developed in the context of Za’atri refugee camp to be used as a mental health care intervention with Syrian refugees living in Za’atri camp.

And so they had developed this field guide, and they wanted it independently evaluated, so they could understand the impact that it was having both on mental health outcomes and on these secondary level social stability outcomes.

And so the research team that formed was Vivian Khedari, who is at the New School for Social or she was at the New School for Social Research at the time. She’s now at Montefiore in New York. And she was the PI leading the part of the evaluation on the mental health outcomes themselves.

And then I was the PI that was working and looking at the secondary outcomes, so looking at these social and political implications of changes in trauma related distress that were reduced by the field guide and how they in turn impacted social stability in the context of the camp.

And so all of us together worked on this. And then the field guide was actually implemented in the field by [INAUDIBLE], which is a social development organization that’s based in Jordan and has offices in Za’atari. They work directly in Za’atri, and they have Syrian refugees who volunteer, who live in the camp.

And they recruited and trained Syrians who are living in the camp to be the facilitators for the project, for the field guide intervention. And so that was the team that worked together on this project as a whole. So there was Beyond Conflict, who developed the intervention itself, [INAUDIBLE] who implemented it, and through whom the Syrian facilitators who had been linked up with [INAUDIBLE] for a long time were recruited, and then myself and Dr. Khedari, who were the PIs of the evaluation itself.

Sizek: Interesting. So as you described this intervention, I think one of the things that I’m curious about is the history of this intervention and of the barefoot manual. So was it developed specifically for refugees who are dealing with trauma? Or what are the groups of people who it’s supposed to serve?

Herman: Yeah. So this was the first piloting of it. And this was the context in which it was developed. The idea is that it can be applied in other contexts. And the way that it would be applied in other contexts is the science would stay the same and the topics covered would broadly stay the same, although maybe there’d be different ways in which they were framed or talked about. But then the narrative would be changed to fit whatever context it was being administered in.

So you would not follow a brother and a sister fleeing conflict in Syria. You might follow a brother and a sister coming to the southern border of the United States and seeking asylum or whatever sort of context in which the intervention would be administered.

The story would be made and written with partners that have experience in that context or have lived through those experiences itself. So Mike Niconchuck, who was the lead author and the mastermind behind the field guide, he worked in the camp extensively for many years before writing the guide and worked in close partnership with scientists and people who are living in the camp and mental health care practitioners from the region and a host of stakeholders who had different perspectives on what care was accessible, what care wasn’t accessible, and really developed this to meet a need that he saw existing in this context.

And a lot of the story, the story of the brother and sister is sort of a composite of different stories that had been shared with him by people, by Syrians who were living in Za’atri. And so these characters, it’s all based on real accounts and true lived experiences and then anonymized and turned into these composite characters. So it’s not directly speaking to any one individual.

Sizek: Yeah. And so you mentioned that often mental health care isn’t really accessible in these refugee camps or in other locations that you might be studying. So what are the sorts of forms of health care and mental health care that people can access or that might be available to them prior to the advent of this field guide or other potential interventions?

Herman: Yeah. So I think the landscape of this has changed a lot in the past even five years, because I think there’s been an increasing acknowledgment that mental health is important. It relates to a lot of other things. And when it’s left unaddressed, it can have physical health implications, it can have implications for security, for community well-being and cohesion.

And so there’s an increased desire to have access to mental health care. That being said, there’s logjams in many of the service provision areas. So whether or not there are enough trained psychologists and psychiatrists, whether or not the modalities that people are trained in, so whether or not individualized therapy is a modality sense in the context of a refugee camp where there are 70,000 people and maybe there might be a lot of stigma associated with going and seeing a psychologist or a psychiatrist.

And so making people being able to actually seek out mental health care like that and sit down and not face any kind of shame or stigma for looking for those services is a real question or is important to consider in a lot of these contexts.

And then also if you’re in the context– if you’re in a context like the US and there are refugees that are resettled here, whether or that are actually mental health care services that are provided in the language that is needed or whether or not people have time in their work schedules to be able to access and either before COVID travel to a place where they can receive mental health care or engage with it virtually at this point.

So all of these things, I think, are important, very logistical, practical questions to consider. There are great data on how few actual trained mental health care providers there are in different countries and what the reported need for mental health care services are.

So I think there’s a real desire to develop more of these scalable peer to peer kinds of interventions where it doesn’t require someone that’s gone through some– it doesn’t require someone who has a clinical psych degree to provide whatever the intervention is.

It can be provided safely and ethically with people that have received training and then having that sort of provision of this peer to peer intervention be plugged into a broader professionalized mental health care system. So that if people do experience really adverse reactions to whatever intervention, that it goes beyond what the intervention can provide.

And they can seek professional care if it’s needed. And I think that that’s something that is really carefully considered in a lot of these programs and definitely has come up in all of the conversations and programs that I’ve worked on or worked with and making sure that these escalation protocols are in place and are functioning.

Sizek: Yeah. So I mean, I think one of the things that this brings up for me is this question about the site specificity of these kinds of programs. You both want to have a program that might be scalable and that you might be able to transport between these different locations. But at the same time, Za’atri is a very specific setting.

So I would love to hear a little bit more about the setting of the refugee camp, who lives there, when did many of them arrive, do the people who live there share common backgrounds. What’s the situation at Za’atri?

Herman: So Za’atri refugee camp opened around 2012 and most people arrived in 2013. For example, in our study, about 65% of the sample arrived in 2013 and then about 30% arrived prior to that. And the rest arrived sort of in the year after.

Most people made the journey from Syria with friends or family. Nobody that we surveyed had made the journey alone. And most of the people that are living in Za’atri come from the southern region of Syria, which makes sense because the camp is situated right on the northern Jordan, northeast Jordan, seven kilometers from the border, I think that’s the number, with Syria.

And I think that’s something that it’s been in operation for a long time. People have lived there for– it’s 2021 right now. People have been there for seven, eight years. And I think that in recent years, there’s been more of an acknowledgment that this is more of a– people need to be able to establish roots in a home there.

So I remember over the course of the time that we were working there, there was a change, and people were allowed to plant trees. Prior, people weren’t allowed to plant trees because it was seen as a sign of permanence. Or people were able to start modifying the shipping containers that constituted the living shelters. And that, again, was a sign of more permanence.

There was a sewage system that was installed and sanitation after– I can’t remember exactly the year, but it was not in the first few years. And again, these are indications of more permanence. So I think, though, it’s a refugee camp, I think that it’s seen as home.

And it’s home to 70,000 Syrians. And it’s the largest refugee camp for Syrians in the world. And I think that as a community, there’s a lot of different international organizations and NGOs that provide services there. And I think that thinking about the ways in which people interact with different institutions, it’s a setting that’s very regulated.

You have to have work permits to be able to leave to work. I know that when we were doing facilitator trainings, we had to get specific permission to be able to hold trainings site. And I think that thinking about what it means to live in a context like that continually and be able to find and make a home, those are questions that relate to mental health and community as a whole as well.

Sizek: Yeah. So I mean, one of the things that you just noted and this is true of many refugee camps is that they’re sort of assumed to be impermanent and then end up being rather permanent. But one of the things that you’ve noted in your research is that not many people do research on refugees, and instead they’ll do research on folks who have experienced trauma and then been able to either stay at their home or return home.

So what’s sort of different about doing this approach where you’re studying refugees who have had to leave their home and establish a new home elsewhere?

Herman: Yeah. I mean, I think some of that is practical limitations. It’s hard to access populations that are in refugee camps, especially if there’s, what I just referred to, there’s a lot of regulations. And there’s a lot of barriers to entry, all for good reason. But it’s a different context to work in. And I think in these contexts, it’s incredibly important to have the research team following whoever the field partner and the implementing partner are.

And that we are working in service to whatever the goal of the project and the implementers are for whatever population is being served and in terms of our work is in service to them in many ways. And so I think in thinking about the differences between populations that have stayed and those that have resettled either in camps or outside of camps, I think that there’s a lot of open– in the literature, there’s a lot of questions about maybe there’s a purging of less social individuals.

Those are the people who have left. Maybe there’s an element of post-traumatic growth among those who stayed. There’s an intense bonding of going through a collective trauma together, whether we’re talking about conflict or a natural disaster, anything that would cause economic inequality or insecurity, anything that would cause people to seek a different place or to be forced to flee.

When you think of traumas like that, the people that have remained in their community or have returned to their community might be systematically different in some way than the people that left. I think it’s an open question, and I think it depends on the context.

I think it’s not like broadly generalizable about why people leave. And I think that one thing that was– one thing that is important to note, though, is that in any context in which people have fled their homes and are resettling somewhere else, it’s important to understand the ways in which the underlying social networks either are still accessible to them or are no longer accessible to them.

So there’s been a lot of work on the importance of mobile phones and people staying connected to their social networks back home after they’ve fled or resettled somewhere. I think in Za’atri camp, for example, because a lot of people are from the same region, there’s not necessarily– there’s a different set of challenges from if there’s a group of people who are resettling in a city where they’re very clearly outsiders in a new place.

And so I think it just depends on what the context is and how the individuals who are resettling somewhere or are trying to make a home somewhere, how their identity relates to the identities of everyone that they’re surrounded by and the identities of the people that they are no longer in close contact with physically at least.

So I think those are some of the questions that came up in the work and that were continually– I made sure to continually think about and talk about with my research partners and the field and implementing partners.

Sizek: Yeah. So one of the things that you were trying to measure in your research, from my understanding of it, is exactly this relationship between individual people and the traumas that they may have experienced and how that relates to this broader social setting.

So you’re really interested in social stability. So can you just help us understand what social stability means to a political scientist?

Herman: Yeah, totally. So I think that to take a step back, the broader research question that I’m interested in is the ways in which the psychological implications of living through trauma impact different factors that relate to an ability of a community to be able to cohere and to be stable in the aftermath of conflict and forced migration.

So to break that apart into its different components. When I’m talking about trauma or trauma exposure, I’m talking about any kind of event that threatens a person’s physical integrity or well-being in a way that might be a threat to their life or to their physical injury.

So this can be things like experiencing some kind of violent attack or witnessing a violent attack. It could also be learning about some kind of harm or death of someone who you love or a friend. So it doesn’t have to be only something that happens to yourself.

If there’s a sudden event that happens and you learn about it, that can be considered a traumatic exposure. And then I look at the psychological implications of that. So any kind of trauma related distress that can develop in the aftermath of that.

So that might be something like PTSD, or some kind of anxiety syndrome, or some kind of emotional dysregulation that might develop. And then what I’m really interested in is how that trauma related distress in turn affects social stability, which I define as these kind of individual level attitudes and behaviors that connect to key interpersonal and sociopolitical dynamics.

So these are the outcomes that political scientists are really interested in. So things like prosocial behavior or intergroup dynamics, political participation, all of these things that indicate how an individual is connecting with their community, the institutions in their community, how they are forming connections that allow either broad based stability or not.

And I think that understanding how and why mental health impacts these things is something that I saw as a whole in the literature. There was sort of an understanding that living through violence, living through conflict has some impact on the way that communities rebuild or exist in their aftermath.

But testing those specific mechanisms, how do we get from experiencing some kind of trauma to having it affect the people that live through it? And so I’m really trying to precisely isolate some of these underlying mental health implications that I think do often have a huge impact on the way that communities cohere or don’t in their aftermath.

Sizek: Yeah. So one of the things that seems really interesting to me is that this social stability category, it’s really made up of a lot of complex factors. And this seems like something that would be really challenging for someone to measure.

So for something like prosocial behavior, first, how would we talk about prosocial behavior? And then how do you even try to measure something like that?

Herman: So this is a great question. This is actually part of a– I have another project related to my dissertation work that’s a collaborative project with Justine Davis, who was at Berkeley in the political science department and graduated and is now at Michigan as an LSA collegiate fellow.

And she’s going to be starting as an assistant professor next year. And we are doing this systematic review where we’re looking at– we cast a very wide net. And we gathered all the studies that are looking at either the impact of trauma or violence or the subsequent mental health implications of trauma and violence.

So things like PTSD and anxiety and depression. Any of those studies that looked at either the exposure itself or the responses to the exposure and then how they in turn impact different social and political indicators. So through that work, I did this broad based survey of all the literature and all the different ways that we define these social and political outcomes.

And there’s certain sort of measures that are used commonly. They vary across contexts as they have to, but these concepts of pro-social behavior, what does that actually mean and how do we actualize that? Things like group membership, so how often people are attending certain group meetings or willingness to interact with other people in institutional settings.

It could be things like in other contexts, people have sort of seen it more as an altruism, as defining it as altruism. So willingness to help other people out. Some of the more common questions are like, if you see a wallet sitting on the ground, how likely– or if you leave your wallet on the ground, do you think someone in the community is going to pick it up and return it to you?

And so the process of taking these concepts and looking at concepts that are of interest in the literature as a whole and then translating them and having them make sense in the specific context that we were working in in Za’atari was a process of I took a bunch of different ways of measuring these variables and concepts, and then I brought them and worked with the field partners and piloted them to make sure that they made sense.

So for example, some of the measures of peace and reconciliation attitudes that were really of interest in the literature were totally nixed in the context that we were working in, mostly because they were deemed as really insensitive. And they didn’t make sense because in most people’s mind, the conflict was still going on and it was not either practical or kind to ask about resolutions to it.

So a lot of the times, it was a matter of taking the way that these things had been conceptualized in the literature and figuring out how they translated in the specific context that I was working in. So in this specific study, I defined prosocial behavior as the two, as both group membership and then perceived communal security.

So the idea that someone felt connected to their community and was willing to engage with their community.

Sizek: Yeah. So what would be an example of a kind of group membership that you would measure? Would you see if someone is going to religious services every week? Or are there sorts of clubs or organizations? What are the sorts of organizations that you look to for these measurements?

Herman: Yeah, totally. So not whether or not– we ask separately whether or not how people connected with their religious identity. And that was another measure that the classic measure as it had been used in other surveys did not make sense.

And we had to pilot a different way of defining it. For group membership, we basically brainstormed a list with all the field partners of all the different kinds of groups and associations that people could be engaged in. So things like that– the classic list that you would think of is like sports team, arts group, maybe some kind of educational committee, like a PTA and some kind of advocacy group.

But there are things in Za’atri camp that I would not have guessed like a water committee and a volunteer committee. And so there was all these very contextually specific definitions that you really have to be working with people who have a lot of context specific knowledge to make sure that all of the different ways in which you’re operationalizing and measuring things make sense in the specific context.

Sizek: Yeah. I guess another aspect of this is it seems like it’s something that’s really ripe for longer term research. Do you have plans on continuing your research at Za’atri and trying to figure out the longer term implications, both of the intervention that you’re studying as well as just how these intergroup relationships or pro-social behaviors might be changing over time?

Herman: Yeah. That is a really important part of this work because I think that a lot of the time, mental health is sticky and it’s also not linear. So you take a snapshot measurement of it with one round of data collection and it can change.

And it can also– maybe you do an intervention and in its immediate aftermath, you don’t see any effects. But three months down the line, different outcomes actually improve. So I think that we did one follow up that was three months after the last week of the intervention. But three months obviously isn’t that long.

We were hoping to do semi-structured interviews with people in the coming another three months or a year after that and then COVID hit. So we haven’t been able to do that. But the field was still very closely connected to the field partner. And so it would be great to be able to continue to follow up in some way

Sizek: I guess and this is also a question about this longer term implications of this research and thinking about the application of it elsewhere. Because you were mentioning that you’re hoping this intervention might be scalable or be used elsewhere. Do you have plans for testing it out or finding new research questions using this same intervention elsewhere

Herman: So Beyond Conflict is working on developing other versions of the guide to be used in other contexts. And they also have been working on developing an app to be able to deliver the intervention remotely. So being able to have people– and they are piloting it with an online course that people can sign up for and walk themselves through the guide and interact with it in that way.

So there’s a whole bunch of different ideas of ways in which the field guide could be delivered, both in person and other contexts and also through an app or through an online modality. And I think that the thing that I think is broadly applicable in thinking about these more peer to peer mental health and psychosocial interventions is getting creative about how can people engage with these things and what ways can it fit into their lives and what are the ways in which people are most likely to– how can the information and the resources be provided in a way that’s as useful as possible?

And I think that one thing that has been interesting to think about with COVID is that people are much more comfortable with interacting with different kinds of trainings and doing education virtually. And so I think that has lowered some of the barriers to entry in terms of getting people to buy in to, let’s say, a 12 hour course online.

That’s something that people are much more used to engaging with. Whether or not people want to stare at their screens anymore right now is an open question. But I think that, A, there have been better platforms for delivery that have been developed during COVID. And people are more used to engaging with those platforms. And I think that that’s really useful and lowers a lot of the costs and barriers to entry.

Sizek: Yeah. A couple of weeks ago actually on the podcast, we had two scholars, Hannah Zeavin and Valerie Black, come in. And they actually talked to us about the history of chat bots and the history of mental health chat bots.

And one of the interesting things that they shared was that during COVID, the barrier to entry for a lot of these mental health care– I guess, mental health care through the internet, the barrier to entry has gotten a lot lower and a lot of the bureaucratic realm of how health care works and HIPAA compliance, all these things were lifted.

And they’re both concerned that once COVID is over, that there might be a lack of access to care. But also, some of these regulations, just like the regulations that you’re talking about for doing research at Za’atri, those are also there for a good reason.

So it’s a real balancing act of trying to figure out when these applications can be helpful to people without being all, I guess, extremely techno optimistic about their implementation.

Herman: Totally.

Sizek: Yeah. So I guess just in thinking about the broader implications of your research, one of the things that I would love to hear a little bit more is how you think that this intervention that you’ve been measuring, how this might be used for future policymaking, specifically for refugees, since that’s the group that you’ve been studying? How do you think that this might be implemented at broader levels for policymakers rather than just at the community mental health level?

Yeah. So I think that there’s a lot of different ways of thinking through the implications of mental health in post-conflict and forced migration settings. And I think that one thing to consider is at what point is our mental health needs addressed.

And I think that one of the things that is growing in consensus is that it can’t be this thing that can just be shoved aside until everything else is stable. Obviously, there are needs that have to take precedent. So food, and water, and shelter, and hygiene, and physical ailments. All of these things have to be addressed often immediately in the aftermath of a crisis.

But I think that what ends up happening is that sometimes mental health can be thought of as not even just a second order need but a third order need. So it’s like, well, once we get people back in school and we get people jobs and we get them reconnected with their community, then we can address the individual mental health issues.

And I think the thing to think about when thinking about the utility and the importance of any kind of mental health intervention is understanding that individual mental health challenges can serve as an impediment for people being able to engage with education, engage with their livelihood, engage with any kind of community building exercise or rebuilding political institutions in a community that when individuals have any kind of trauma related distress or they have any kind of psychological distress, that might be a factor that’s keeping them from being able to engage.

And I think that there’s a– the UN put out a statement in or a directive in 2019 indicating that mental health and psychosocial care should be better integrated into peace building efforts. And I think that those sorts of directives are an acknowledgment that it can’t just be put on the back burner and we can’t just wait to deal with it until everything else is addressed.

So I think that– but then the other hand of that is that mental health care can be expensive and there could be barriers to entry or there could be stigma associated with it. So how can you square these two things and that there’s this acknowledgment that mental health and psychosocial care should be more broadly accessible?

It is imperative to rebuilding communities and helping social stability in the aftermath of conflict and forced migration. But it cost a bunch and there’s stigma associated with it. And we might not have enough trained mental health care professionals to actually provide services safely.

And so that’s where I think some of these more peer to peer low cost interventions can come in. And that’s also why I think it’s important for them to be evaluated in a rigorous way and independently. So I said that we’ve worked very closely with the field partners, but the research team was in charge of the survey design.

We were the ones in control of the data. And so it was an independent– we were working collaboratively, but it was an independent evaluation. I think that understanding the ways in which these interventions work, do they have adverse implications, how do you need to embed them into professionalized mental health care structures, I think that these are all questions that are important as these programs become more widespread.

But I think that there’s a real power to these programs. The field guide was based off of a similar guide that was developed for medical care, for not for physical health care called Where There is No Doctor, which was basically a book that trained not medical professionals and how to provide very basic medical care in contexts where there’s not a lot of access to doctors.

And so things like wound care or water, any kind of very basic medical care. And it was really effective because empowering people to be able to provide basic services to the people that they live in a community with is a really powerful tool and making sure that it’s context specific and people have access to more professionalized care if they need it is also an important part of that.

But a lot of things can be addressed at these more peer to peer levels. So I think that that’s where these interventions– that’s the need and the hole that these interventions can fill is that if there are more people who need mental health care support than the whatever medical systems can provide, then these community based health care, mental health care provision or these community based mental health care interventions can actually fill that need.

And I think that evaluating them and understanding the way that they work and potential ways in which they could have adverse effects and how you can address those effects is an important part of it as well.

Sizek: Yeah. Well, I hope that you will be able to continue to do this kind of evaluation of these new tools in your future research. Thank you so much for coming on the podcast.

Herman: Thank you for having me. I really appreciate it.

Woman’s Voice: Thank you for listening. To learn more about Social Science Matrix, please visit matrix.berkeley.edu.

Article

Online Extremism and Political Advertising: A Visual Interview With Laura Jakli

Laura Jakli

How can we track online extremism through political advertisements? Using data from online advertising, Laura Jakli, a 2020 PhD graduate from UC Berkeley’s Department of Political Science, studies political extremism, destigmatization, and radicalization, focusing on the role of popularity cues in online media. She is currently working on her book project, Engineering Extremism

She is currently a Junior Fellow at the Harvard Society of Fellows. Starting in 2023, she will be an Assistant Professor at Harvard Business School’s Business, Government and the International Economy (BGIE) unit. From 2018 to 2020, she was a predoctoral research fellow at Stanford University’s Center on Democracy, Development and the Rule of Law, and at the Program on Democracy and the Internet.

Social Science Matrix content curator Julia Sizek interviewed Jakli about her work, with questions based on political advertisements and graphics from Jakli’s research.

Your research uses the Facebook Ad Library to understand far-right political parties. What insights do advertisements provide for understanding far-right parties? 

Since 2018, the Facebook Ad Library (also known as the Ad Archive) has publicly documented the political advertisements hosted on the platform, as well as some limited metadata for each ad (for example, the name of the ad buyer, the number of ad impressions, total ad expenditure, geographic target, and audience gender and age demographics). Initially, the Ad Library exclusively featured ads run in the United States, but it expanded to dozens of other countries within a year. Since I study European politics, this expansion of the Ad Library opened up a new way to explore party messaging at scale.

Much of my research considers the gap between the publicly stated and privately held beliefs and preferences of far-right voters (and party elites themselves). In line with this, I was interested in examining party ads because the far right may be incentivized to present a more mainstream right-wing ideological profile in formal documents and in mass media campaigns to appeal to a broad audience. Meanwhile, when the far-right is targeting a narrow, custom audience through online media, the party may use more extreme campaign content. This is because, with digital micro-campaigns, they do not have the same political incentive to appeal to the masses or signal ideological common ground with center-right parties.

With my current political ads research, the objective is to better understand far-right party strategy and political positions. The main advantage of ads in this regard is that most parties field hundreds of unique online ads in the months leading up to an election. The sheer volume of political ad text available means that it is quite feasible to construct reliable ideological profiles for small parties, and to create valid inferences about party strategy. Moreover, since online ads are time-stamped and geographically targeted, they can be used to trace how positions change over time, both sub- and cross-nationally.

How do political ads work on Facebook? Who buys them, and how are political ad purchases split between groups? In other words, who is posting these ads, and how do they find their audiences? 

Many party ads are purchased by the national party itself, meaning that they are sponsored by the party’s main Facebook page, even if the ad content is focused on a specific regional or candidate campaign. But it can be a more decentralized process, and each political party can choose to run its political campaign through a combination of national and local advertising. In some European countries, I see party candidates and local party organizations paying for and running their own ads. 

Facebook allows advertisers to target not just by age, gender, and geographic location, but also by political interests and hobbies. Email lists gathered through rallies, fundraisers, and other events can be used to target customized political audiences. Moreover, these inputs can be used to find “Lookalike Audiences” that share interests, traits, and demographics with the established email list. These advertising parameters allow campaigns to target political ads quite narrowly and precisely.

One weakness of the Ad Archive is that it doesn’t actually reveal how the campaigns found their audiences. All you have available as metadata is basic demographic information, including a breakdown of the audience by gender, age, and geographic location. You can make some inferences about whom parties targeted based on this information, but the ad algorithm may also be impacting that audience.

For example, you can’t distinguish between when the party directed ads to be delivered to males between the ages of 18-24, or when the ad algorithm picked up on the fact that men between 18-24 interacted with the ad at higher rates, and therefore “learned” to deliver more ads to this segment over time. In other words, the audience is curated both through what ad buyers specify as their parameters (e.g., let’s target XYZ demographics), and the algorithm independently determining who would be an efficient target to display the ad.

This advertisement (Figure 1) from Vlaams Belang, a far-right party in Belgium, is fascinating because of the way that it is designed to track viewer reactions. How are advertisements on social media different from ordinary advertisements, and are you able to track how people interact with these advertisements?

sample facebook ad
Figure 1: Translation: “They have gone completely mad and want to actively participate in the return of ISIS terrorists! Vlaams Belang resolutely says NO. We must protect our people from these time bombs. We must take their nationality and try them in the countries where they committed their crimes. What do you think? Return possible for terrorists? [Indicate Yes (with a smiley) or No (with a like).]

The ability to rapidly field and test the performance of different political ads is one aspect of online advertising that distinguishes it from older forms of campaigning. Parties don’t have to commit to one message or thematic policy focus through a campaign season. This flexible, feedback-based approach is precisely demonstrated in this ad from Vlaams Belang. It asks ad viewers to signal using the laugh emoji if they agree with the return of foreign terrorist fighters (known as “returnees”) and “like” if they disagree with the policy. Presumably, the idea is to quickly and cheaply test how salient this issue is for potential voters.

Researchers are not easily able to track how people interact with these advertisements unless the advertisement links to a post on a public Facebook page. But in the case of Vlaams Belang and most parties that do these quick polls through ads, the poll takes you to a party webpage so they can get more information about their audience (and possibly elicit donations). One other way to get a sense of how people interact is simply through the number of impressions the ad gets. Impressions count the total number of times the ad is displayed on viewers’ screens. This is broadly informative, but doesn’t mean that audiences are actually clicking on the ad or interacting with its content in any way, so the inferences researchers can draw are quite limited.

One of the benefits of online advertisements, in contrast to traditional advertising, is the ability to target certain groups. This ad (Figure 2) shows an ad that targeted audiences specifically in Austria. How did you find that targeted advertising worked for far-right groups, and how did advertisements differ at the local and national scales?

Facebook ad
Figure 2: Translation: “There is a huge boiling point at Europe’s borders, because masses of illegal migrants want to return to certain European target countries, including our Austria. While patriotic politicians like Matteo Salvini are doing everything possible to stop illegal migration, completely different signals are coming from Berlin. Angela Merkel even wants to have the refugees picked up from Africa….”

Broadly speaking, the demographic metadata suggests that the far right has a much higher ratio of male ad audiences than do other parties, which makes sense, given the male skew of their voter base. But there is such limited metadata provided by the Facebook Ad Library that I have not been able to establish any other notable demographic trends. I am currently working on understanding the geospatial trends of far-right advertising but cannot say anything definitive yet.

I will say that the more localized advertisements — typically fielded by regional party organizations or local candidates — differ substantially in content from national ads. The more localized campaign material is crafted to resonate with local news events and community issues. Far-right political ads that target a narrow geography appeal to voters less on abstract political platforms or ideological principles and more on tangible and immediate localized concerns. In effect, this represents a shift to digital “home style” politics, by which the far right frames their platforms such that constituents of each district are led to believe party representatives are “one of them” and have their immediate interests in mind when crafting policy. 

In my qualitative analysis, I found that regional far-right party branches often stylize themselves as accessible, populist, and anti-political, presenting their party as concerned with what is “happening on the ground” and what the “people” really want. Relatedly, these online campaigns are crafted and fielded rapidly, in a manner that is less professional, less polished, and more casual than offline campaigns. Knife crime is one example of a localized thematic focus common in far-right ads (see Figure 3).

Sample Facebook ad
Figure 3: Translation: “Migrants at the forefront of knife crimes. ‘Dangerous people have no place in the middle of our liberal society and therefore have to be deported.’ Those were the words of #CDU Interior Minister Roland Wöller after the horrific knife murder in Dresden in October 2020 by an Islamist Syrian. This should give the impression that the CDU-led government is finally taking action against serious criminal foreigners….”

Working from a large dataset of far-right political ads, you translated the advertisements into English, and then used the NRC Word-Emotion Association Lexicon to identify how the ads evoke emotions like fear, disgust, and anger. These images (Figure 4) show word clouds based on advertisements from the German AfD (Alternative for Germany) party. What do these word clouds show?

Disgust and anger word clouds
Figure 4: Disgust and anger word clouds for Alternative for Germany ads, using the NRC Word-Emotion Association Lexicon (aka EmoLex).

First, I want to note that the share of negative emotive ad content is typically much higher in far-right ads than in the ads of other parties. Their negative ad campaigns focus on — and often exaggerate — social and economic problems, while identifying other people, parties, and institutions as responsible for them. Consistent with much of the literature, I also found that the far right is associated with specific emotive appeals, most prominently with fear and disgust, but also with a higher share of anger emotion words, on average.

Using the NRC Word-Emotion Association Lexicon, the disgust word cloud visualizes the terms tagged in the far-right AfD’s (Alternative for Germany) ads as being words associated with disgust. The size of the term in the word cloud helps visualize its relative frequency in appearance across the ads. The anger word cloud visualizes the same, but for anger-associated terms in the ads. These figures show that illegality, criminality, and violence are some of the most prevalent disgust-associated themes found in German far-right ads. There is quite a bit of overlap here with the most frequently found anger-associated words. Themes of criminality, violence, and terror attacks are frequently discussed by AfD, presumably with the intent of evoking anger toward the political status quo.

One of your findings is that far-right groups in Europe tend to claim ownership over the topic of immigration, as is reflected in this advertisement (Figure 5). How did you measure the focus on immigration among far-right parties in comparison to their more moderate counterparts? 

sample facebook ad
Figure 5: Translation: “Swept under the rug: the huge refugee costs. The AfD has been talking about it for a long time, but the other parties and the associations and companies of the so-called ‘asylum industry’ that benefit from them consistently avoid talking about this topic….”

I use a method called structural topic modeling to determine whether the far right maintains issue ownership on immigration. In topic modeling, each document (in this case, party ad corpus) is modeled as a mixture of multiple topics. Topical prevalence measures how much each topic contributes to a document. Put simply, I use metadata on which party fielded each ad text to examine differences in topical prevalence across the ad texts, and sort topical prevalence by party family. I estimated the mean difference in topic proportions for far-right parties and all other parties to determine which topics are more prevalent in far-right ads.

I use this to gauge whether there is disproportionate emphasis on immigration in far-right campaign ads, or whether immigration topics are prevalent across different types of parties. In a large majority of sampled EU countries, I found a disproportionate emphasis on immigration issues on the far right, which is consistent with issue ownership. There are three notable patterns in how the far right discusses the immigration issue across Europe. First, many parties specifically emphasize Muslim migration and frame Islam as a unique threat to national values and cultural identity. Second, immigration is often tied to criminality as well as to issues of women’s safety. Third, it is linked to general Euroscepticism and the EU’s multiculturalism.

While your analysis focused on the text of far-right political advertisements, the images would seem to be an essential part of ads’ effectiveness, as we can see in this image (Figure 6). What do you think are the limits of a text-based analysis, and what are avenues for investigating visual complements to your text-based research? 

facebook ad
Figure 6: Translation: “A sobering word for Sunday: The persecution of Christians in many countries around the world is increasing. But the Christian churches in Germany have paid too little attention to it for years. They prefer to curse the AfD, although the protection of Christians abroad is an important issue for this party….”

It is definitely an important limitation. Many ads also have videos embedded, not just images. By reducing the current study to text analysis, I may miss the fundamental features that lead viewers to interact with the ad, click on related content, or mobilize for the party. 

More broadly, there seems to be a trend in recent years of decreasing emphasis on text and increasing emphasis on visuals and videos in political ads. These trends mirror other social media trends (e.g., the rise of TikTok and YouTube). I think the political parties that acknowledge this trend and craft their online ads accordingly have a leg up over those that do not.

Based on a small qualitative assessment of these ad visuals, what I can say is that the inflammatory, emotive content I try to capture through text comes through much more explicitly in images and video. My sense is that the visuals associated with far-right ads are quite striking and substantively different from the ad visuals of other parties, although I have not tried to quantify these differences systematically. As our tools for image and video analysis improve in social science, I hope to study these features more rigorously.

 

Podcast

Science and Socialism in Cuba

A Matrix Podcast interview with Clare Ibarra and Naomi Schoenfeld

Clare Ibarra and Naomi Shoenfeld

In this episode of the Matrix podcast, Julia Sizek interviews Clare Ibarra, a PhD candidate in history, and Naomi Schoenfeld, a public health nurse practitioner and recent PhD from the joint UC San Francisco/UC Berkeley medical anthropology program. Both Ibarra and Schoenfeld study the history and present of socialist science and medicine in Cuba.

Ibarra’s dissertation examines scientific exchange between Cuba and the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Her research seeks to answer how socialist ideology affected each country’s approach to development, resource extraction, and decolonization.

Schoenfeld’s areas of expertise include medical anthropology, STS, pharmaceuticals, vaccines, postsocialism, social medicine, and critical public health. She has conducted ethnographic research examining (post)socialist technoscientific formations through Cuban cancer vaccines. Her new research examines a novel program providing thousands of rooms in tourist hotels to persons experiencing homelessness during the COVID19 pandemic. (See her recent paper, Vivir En Cronicidad: Terminal Living through Cuban Cancer Vaccines, here).

On the podcast, Sizek, Ibarra and Schoenfeld discuss the history of science and medicine in Cuba and its relationship to the socialist project, as well as how Cuba has developed vaccines during the current pandemic.

Produced by the University of California, Berkeley’s Social Science Matrix in collaboration with the Ethnic Studies Changemaker Studio, the Matrix Podcast features interviews with scholars from across the UC Berkeley campus. Listen to other episodes here. You can also listen on Apple Podcasts. A transcript is included below.

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Woman’s Voice: The Matrix Podcast is a production of Social Science Matrix, an interdisciplinary research center at the University of California, Berkeley.

Julia Sizek: Hello everyone, and welcome to the Matrix Podcast. Today we’re recording at the Ethnic Studies Changemaker studio with our two guests, Clare Ibarra and Naomi Schoenfeld. Clare is a PhD candidate in history whose research focuses on the scientific exchange between Cuba and the Soviet Union during the Cold War.

Naomi is a recent PhD from the UCSF-UC Berkeley Joint Medical Anthropology program, whose research examines the history and present of the Cuban biotechnology sector, and more specifically, the lung cancer vaccine.

So as we get started, I just wanted to start out by trying to understand a common part of both of your research, which is this question of like, what makes Cuban science socialist science?

Clare Ibarra: So from my research of the 1950s, as Cuban scientists are beginning to make contact with Soviet scientists, there’s a lot of Soviet literature that reaches them where the Soviets are actually making this distinction between socialist science and capitalist science.

And capitalist science is a science that has the privilege of engaging in projects that are a little more lofty and don’t necessarily have that social impact. By contrast, both the Soviet Union and definitely Cuban scientists after the revolution, after 1959, their method is to approach every single project from the standpoint of how is this going to serve society. And if they can’t prove that, it makes their projects ineligible for support. And they really take this social impact more so than science, say, in the US or in the West.

Naomi Schoenfeld: I would add on to what Clare said, which I think is great and totally right. I think there’s a few different ways of looking at it, but in my research, I argue that Cuban science is socialist science for a variety of reasons. But fundamentally, it is completely sponsored and controlled by the state, which has a couple different sides to that.

One scholar of Soviet socialist science that I have read a lot of is that Loren Graham, who you are probably familiar with his work, and one of the things he mentioned about why the Soviet Union could continue to produce so many Nobel Prize winning scientists, even while they were in labor camps, was the notion of continuous state funding.

And this is something that turned out to be really important in my research. I did ethnographic research with a variety of different interlocutors, but including people who are scientists, who are clinical and bench scientists. And this notion of having continuous research funding from the state where you’re not on a grant cycle, as we academics know, chasing money, chasing the next project is always a challenge.

So there is continual state funding. It’s a closed system where you’re not– your ultimate goal is not to develop a patent– develop a novel agent to be able to sell it to a company to be able to make profit. So that’s of this fundamental state support. But as Clare said, because the Communist party ultimately controls everything that happens, the decisions are ultimately going to go to the party.

So at least the sector I know is really the biological sciences, the biotech sector, and the leaders of that research are very, very well connected. I mean, their familial– they are the children and the grandchildren of the revolutionary generation, and so they’re very well connected to the party.

Julia Sizek: So one of the really interesting themes that I was just picking up on in there is that part of what makes science socialist is this relationship to property and to intellectual property. So in your research, how did that come up?

Schoenfeld: Well, I think that– so Cuba is coming up with all sorts of patented biotech innovations. And ultimately, what I argue is really special and interesting about Cuban science is that– and what I think is radically distinct from what happens in Europe and the US and North America and some parts of Asia is that there’s not– the fundamental science is not driven by the idea that somebody might make money off of something, or that something has to make money.

Ultimately, there’s a feedback where they do need to try to figure out how to make some money to go back into the state to continue to fund more research, to fund the health care system. I mean, there are certainly cynics and critics who will say, well, where is this money actually going? And look at our deteriorating hospitals and look at how some people are living.

But nevertheless, the idea of a patent doesn’t have that same notion that GlaxoSmithKline control is going to make huge profits. So it’s really quite different. And I think it flies– And the fact that they’ve been able to do so much innovation to me really flies in the face of the notion that capitalism is necessary for creativity, and for innovation.

Ibarra: And from the historical perspective, there’s actually– it’s interesting that you say that there’s a clearer vision of property. Because in my research, especially in the late ’60s and ’70s, the greatest thing where the Soviets and Cubans butt heads is over who has the right to access these natural resources and use them.

And so the ownership is contested mainly because in this period, there’s such a strong adherence to socialist internationalism and socialist brotherhood, where all socialist republics, including Cuba, are supposed to exchange to produce one socialist market.

And Cuban scientists really pushed against this because they do understand that their environment, their natural resources are their own and they have to protect it. And that comes from a legacy of, especially the US, using and abusing the natural resources that are there. And even to increase their status within their own scientific communities.

And that is also true of the Soviet scientists who go to Cuba. They know that because they’re exploring this new area, that it’s going to give them greater standing once they go back home.

Sizek: Just to pick up on that, I think one of the interesting points of tension that you’re highlighting is how these natural resources are– there’s this question of whether they are owned by the state of Cuba or by the international group of socialists. So what were these natural resources more specifically, and how were they involved in scientific research?

Ibarra: So the greatest case of this is it’s both minerals in geology and agriculture. So when it comes to agriculture, there was great interest from the Soviets in understanding a tropical environment. There was also great interest from the German Democratic Republic, and they were both guilty of using or creating technology that they would test in Cuba to see if it would withstand the climate to be able to export it to other places in the Global South.

So the other area is with geology, where there is a lot of nickel laterite throughout the eastern portion of Cuba. And what they needed that for was to be able to extract things that would make it easier for Cubans to convert Soviet crude oil, which is one of the biggest exports from the Soviet Union, convert that into actual usable oil, which, of course, they make that into a story of– the Cubans justify this as, well, that oil is necessary for energy, and part of our program of the revolution is to provide energy to even the most rural places. So being able to create this more equitable access to energy.

But at the same time, the Soviets are interested in having access to this nickel because their supplies have been diminishing and they themselves also need the iron ore to be able to convert their own oil.

Sizek: And just to transition back, I think one of the points that you brought up is how Cuba is trying to deal with this question of localizing Soviet technologies, especially in the instance of tropical medicine, which is a really big part of Cuban history and Cuba’s story. Can you tell us a little bit about the emergence of tropical medicine as a category?

Ibarra: Yes. So the greatest example and one of the martyrs of Cuban science is Carlos Finlay. He was the one who developed the idea that yellow fever was transmitted through a vector. And he was able to do this research along with a few US scientists, most prominently Walter Reed. And after this development starts circulating, Walter Reed becomes the main scientist that is associated with the work that Carlos Finlay had done.

And so this story actually becomes one of the greatest narratives that the Cuban revolutionary government used to remind the Cuban people that since the early 1900s, the US has been coming to our country and not only using our natural resources to their benefit, but even stealing the intellectual property that is created by Cuban scientists. So with the rest of tropical medicine, it does begin there. And I’m not sure that I have so much more to say about it.

Sizek: I was wondering, Naomi, maybe you can add to tell us a little bit about how people talk about tropical medicine today.

Schoenfeld: I mean, well, tropical medicine is sort of huge and definitely way beyond Cuba and an area of colonial medicine that’s pretty intense, right? Where these countries that are tropical zone countries become labs for White scientists to come and learn and then take that knowledge away. So I think the Finlay and Reed story is really classic.

Finlay is a super important. Just as Clare said, the grandfather of Cuban science and a really important in staking a claim to this intellectual history that is independent from the Soviet Union, which is very important.

And that’s they really of course, will acknowledge how much training that they got from the Soviet Union, but they really want to make it evident that there’s a precursor, there’s a very strong tradition of research that definitely predates– that predates the revolution, that predates the Soviet Union.

So there’s a lot that can be said about tropical medicine. But I will say, one of the things that I looked at in my research was I really looked at the history of vaccinations and why vaccines are so important to Cuba. The centerpiece of my research was on this Cuban cancer vaccine. And the fact that it was a vaccine is one of the things that I argue is very socialist about that biotechnology.

And it has everything to do with Carlos Finlay and everything to do with tropical medicine, because this pioneering research and the strengths that Cuba has built on all come from infectious disease. So infectious disease completely dominated the landscape of life and death for people all over any tropical country, but Cuba is no exception.

And this a major, major– investing so heavily in science and medicine after the revolution really transformed the health statistics of Cuba where they were able to really bring the levels of illness and death down on par to developing countries and take infectious diseases from one of the top killers to now it’s heart attacks. It’s the same, it’s diabetes. It’s what we have here in the US.

So all the biotech– I mean, I could go on and on here, but I’ll try to tame it back. But basically what they were able to achieve with biotech in the late ’70s and early ’80s, they were building on everything that they knew from infectious diseases.

So the vaccine, the way they think about vaccines as it was explained to me is keys and locks, antigen, antibody keys and locks. And so this conceptualization has helped them continue to think of novel ways to use vaccines, including the CIMAvax, the therapeutic cancer vaccine that I studied.

Sizek: So can you just tell us a little bit more about this therapeutic cancer vaccine? Because we typically don’t think about cancer as being something that can be solved or treated through a vaccine.

Schoenfeld: So I’ll link it directly to this notion of infectious disease. So there was an oncologist in 1980 named, I think, Randolph Clark, who came from Texas, and he just happened to come to– he came to Cuba like people come to Cuba randomly, and he somehow got Fidel Castro’s ear and he was like, here is what’s exciting right now. What’s exciting is we’re going to cure cancer.

And there’s this Finnish scientist, Kari Cantell, who has figured out a way to purify and produce human interferon and interferon is this magic drug, and it’s going to do everything. So at this moment, and Simon Reid-Henry details this really extensively in his book The Cuban Cure, which I definitely recommend.

So they take this small group of scientists, bring them to Finland, and they learn how to produce interferon. I think they have 10 days in Finland and then they go back to Cuba. And there, he retrofits a gorgeous old house and it becomes the first institute, the first biotech institute there.

And interferon remains a very, very important drug. The first biotech agent or whatever that was produced in Cuba. And for example, you know, it was used as recently as January 2020 when the cases of COVID were exploding in China, they exported a bunch of Cuban interferon as an experimental treatment.

This is one of the hallmarks of how Cuban science works in the closed cycle system where the state controls bench research, clinical research, marketing, is you can test it on your population, which might sound sinister, but when you consider the state also has the responsibility of caring for the population, that has a different– it’s different than what, for example, Adriana Petryna shows where you look at the way the pharmaceutical companies will test drugs in areas with no health care.

So this is very different. You’re testing a drug, but the government still has to care for these people. So if you’re causing a bunch of harm, that’s going to look really bad. There’s a direct line from interferon to CIMAvax, so that’s why I’m kind of spending a minute on interferon.

So the scientists who figured out that interferon is part of the immune system. The very first time that they used it, it was shortly after they began producing it. There was an outbreak, I think it was a malaria outbreak. And this is one of those moments where I might have to go back and correct myself. But let’s just say that there was a big infectious disease outbreak, and they tested human interferon for the first time.

And it seemed to work. It could also be because there was a wane of infectious disease at that moment. But that’s how it worked. And so they began to really focus on the immune system. They wanted to focus on cancer.

We’re moving into the ’90s now. And in the ’90s, there was this boom worldwide in cancer immunology. And there was a lot of hope that we were going to figure out how to use our immune system to fight cancer. So this is how they began this line of research of trying to figure out how to marshal our immune system to fight cancer.

They were doing the same thing in the US, but the results didn’t look good. And as I mentioned the kinds of funding cycles that we have here, if your preliminary results don’t look good, it gets shut down. But because Cuban funding looks really different with these very, very long– one of the things I talk about in my research is the different time horizons that you have in socialist science versus market democratic science, which is what I consider our science to be here in the US.

And because you have the long time horizons, certain things are possible that wouldn’t be possible here. So you can continue a line of research that might initially not look promising, and that’s CIMAvax. So CIMAvax is a vaccine that– basically it creates antibodies to epidermal growth factor.

We all have epidermal growth factor in our bodies. But when you have lung cancer, sometimes the tumors grow in response to epidermal growth factor. So if you can induce antibodies to epidermal growth factor, you can slow down the growth of the tumor. And that’s how it’s used for people who have lung cancer, is it’s a therapeutic vaccine to keep it in check, keep the cancer in check. It does not cure you.

However, Mary Reed, an epidemiologist from the Roswell Park Cancer Institute, brilliant woman, she had the idea to try to use CIMAvax as a preventative vaccine. And they’re running this trial now through Roswell Park for people who are at high risk of precancerous lesions. Long winded answer.

Sizek: Wow, that is so fascinating. I guess I have a question for Clare based on what you said, which is that I’m curious how this plays into the historical story of science in Cuba if you think that the development of CIMAvax as this long term project that wouldn’t be possible in the US, if that makes sense to you.

And then also, I guess thinking about the way that we think about scientific development as coming from the US or from these major powers and then going to places like Cuba rather than the other way around. I was wondering if you could just comment on how that fits in historically, because I think this is a major and really interesting scientific development.

Ibarra: I’m so glad that you mentioned that, because especially in the first decade of the revolution from 1959, honestly into 1970, ’71, ’72, so the long decade, it’s quite the opposite where there is such a desire and honestly, urgency to be using the sciences to create the necessary development to sustain the economy and therefore, sustain the revolution.

And so revolutionary time is very short, it’s very fast, and it’s quite in contrast to this long term project. And that definitely has an effect on some of the biggest projects that are funded and one of the first projects that are funded.

So the Cuban National Atlas, though, it becomes a staple of the ongoing research of the Academia de Ciencias or the Academy of Sciences, it really was envisioned as like, let’s just try it out. I mean, we have a lot of Soviet geographers and geologists that are present. Why don’t we update the 1954 National Atlas? Which was infamous because they were collaborating again with the US, and the US geographers took all of their data with them as they saw that the revolution was imminent.

But again, even the first National Atlas, they saw this as it’s an experiment, we have to move quickly with it and we’ll deal with the collateral damages afterwards. And that’s also very reminiscent of Fidel’s first five-year plan, which ends with the zafra de los diez millones, which is the 10-million ton harvest, which is the quintessential model of revolutionary time, where it is a scientific project in that they are doing experiments to be able to prevent plagues, which was something that was rampant in that first decade to develop pesticides, to increase the resistance of the new Soviet tractors that are there, all for the end result of greater economic development.

And specifically through this five-year program, to give Cuba some leeway from being so dependent upon Soviet aid. But one of the downfalls to this five-year plan is that Fidel really pushed for things to happen quickly.

And with that, came a lot of mistakes, like not cutting the cane at the perfect height, like you have to get down very low for it to retain the moisture, which is so essential before you take it to an engenho and create it into sugar. Or they left it in warehouses where it dried out, or trucks would break down and never make it to the warehouse.

So in terms of longer projects, yeah, it was technically very difficult for them, but also the rhetoric that was coming from top down, it prevented greater investment in longer term projects. And I would say that lasted until– honestly, the nuclear energy program is the longest term scientific project that the Cuban government invested in at least. It dates to 1968.

So usually we associate Juragua, the main nuclear energy plant, with the late 1970s, the early 1980s. But really, the project was being imagined and Cuba was seeking different suitors, like they went to CERN that was based in France, and then they were looking at the Soviet Union. Before the revolution, they were seeking, and in plans, to receive a nuclear reactor from the US even.

And because of the difficulties of gaining the resources, building up even the educational infrastructure to have proper experts to work at this plant, it did really take a long time, but there was much resistance to that idea from some of the main scientists, and especially Antonio Nunez Jiménez, who was the driver of Cuban science and the president of the Academy of Sciences during that time.

Sizek: So to transition over, because I think there’s this really interesting tension between revolutionary time as being very, very fast versus this present, I think, assumed stability of the Cuban state that is allowing for these longer sort of permanently funded grant cycles. Did you see in the biotechnology sector that this sort of movement from quick revolutionary time to incredibly slow revolutionary time occurred? Or I guess, how does this factor into your research, Naomi?

Schoenfeld: I mean, I think what I’m looking at is really at a different time period. But I think that there are– I think the parallels that I could maybe draw have to do with these moments, these urgent moments, and we’re in another one with COVID where there is this sort of urgent emergency need to get the science going as fast as possible.

So Cuba has three of its own COVID vaccines, right? It’s got the Soberana 1, the Soberana 2 and the Abdala. And of course, they got it out. They started giving it very fast. Because of the structure of the government they have basically– I think they’re at like 89% vaccination rate on the island, which is pretty freaking amazing.

So I mean, I think that’s the moment with interferon, when they first purified interferon, is this sort of the pressure to get things into the people, to get things to the people very quickly that maybe that has some parallels with what you’re talking about.

I mean, I think there– I don’t see them necessarily as in opposition to one another but maybe there are– and the whole notion of stability of the state is also sort of– it’s a little false at the same time. It’s an idea and it’s an ideal, but it’s a double edged sword.

But I think that moment of the failure of the harvest is really such an important moment for Cuba and for lots of technoscientific endeavors. And it’s funny, and Clare, I don’t know if you’ll remember this or not, but this is going back to when we met at UC Cuba at Irvine or whatever. Who was it that was talking? Who was talking to us about how Fidel knew it was going to fail before he ever started? And like, what did that mean?

I don’t know if you remember this conversation and I don’t know what the answer to that was, but the proposition was that before he ever– that it was a planned failure. And how do we think about that? I think the audacity of the endeavor, and that still, I think, characterizes a lot of what fuels Cuban science and medicine.

Ibarra: I do remember. I wish I remembered their name, but it was a brilliant scholar from Brazil who had actually published an entire book on the zafra. And there are historians that would agree with this point that it was doomed from the beginning.

And there is also this stereotype that occurs throughout the historiography of Cuban science as well, that Cuban science is haphazard, it’s never fully thought out because of Fidel’s– it was really run by Fidel’s whims and he could never finish a project.

And I think it’s very important, especially from what comes out in my research, where I try to really focus less on Fidel’s speeches and try to do interviews even with the scientists themselves, to see how they were struggling through this moment where Fidel’s excitement shoots themselves in the feet, I guess.

And another case where Fidel’s excitement occurs is in 1967 and ’68, he gets super excited about artificial rain and he brings all of these socialist scholars, or he brings scholars from France, and then there are some from Czechoslovakia, from Hungary, and then, of course, the Soviet Union.

And there’s so much momentum with this where they’re even– not for the first time, but it is a relatively new process for the Academy of Sciences post revolution, where they’re beginning to link up with other institutes.

Because I should say, before the revolution, there was not a lot of communication or a good network that connected these sort of individual organizations or institutes that were doing their own research.

And so the artificial rain excitement was an opportunity for these institutes to work together on something. But it’s another project where within a year or two, you really don’t hear about it, which is a shame.

But I do, again, want to make the distinction that just because Fidel gets excited about things, I know that that’s been used in international conversations as Cuban science is therefore always going to be less than. And that’s why I try in my own work to distinguish Fidel’s intentions versus what the scientists are actually doing on the ground. Because what they’re doing has– it’s valid and it is good science, and we shouldn’t let Fidel overshadow that.

Schoenfeld: I think that’s absolutely– I couldn’t agree more. I’m glad you raised that point specifically. And that’s something that I talk about in my dissertation too, the way that Cuban science and Cuban data is subject to a different kind of scrutiny than ”Western” or science out of North America or Europe. And assumed to have flaws or to somehow be fabricated in ways that it’s serving a particular interest.

And one of the things that I think we take for granted but we now understand, the influence, for example, of industry on our research and the suppression of negative research we have here in the US, for example.

There are so many ways that data is spun to serve a political story. I think that all science is political. And being able to go in and look at research and look at the entire picture is something that we should all get more training on how to do.

Ibarra: And just to jump on that very quickly, I think the most famous case is in the tobacco industry throughout the ’50s and ’60s, where they were able to bring on scientists who were willing to manipulate data to support the tobacco industry to continue to cause so much harm to so many people.

And I think it’s a reminder, like you said, that politics is a part of science, no matter what country you’re in. Because ultimately, you’re trying to get funding from somewhere. And those institutes, those organizations, those fellowships and grants, they have a political mission that when you become a fellow, you adopt, and you have to match your research to their intentions.

Sizek: Well, on that note, I think this is a great message for us to end on that, all science is political and Cuban science is political too. So thank you so much for coming on our podcast.

Schoenfeld: Thanks for having us, Julia. This is great.

Ibarra: Yes, definitely.

Woman’s Voice: Thank you for listening. To learn more about Social Science Matrix, please visit matrix.berkely.edu.