There has been a push in recent decades of scholarship in the history of science, technology, and medicine to work to include more material discussing groups which are often marginalized and not included in mainstream narratives: women, people of color, and those residing in a lower socioeconomic class. While this push is noble in principle, the effort to write the histories of these marginalized groups needs to go further than simply trying to insert gender, race, or class into narratives that already exist, but rather, to start asking questions about history which directly address these issues. However, that may not be as simple as it would seem, even if the intentions of historians of science, technology, and medicine lie in the direction of a more inclusive history, in large part due to the materials which historians have available to study and make use of. Because these groups have been marginalized for much of recorded human history, often times the work which they have done, or stories about them, have not been directly recorded, making available sources an issue for the study of these groups before modern times.

The sources which are available, and which we as historians choose to study, actively skew the type of history being recorded and studied. Not only are some groups left voiceless, but availability of sources colors the way which we define moments, people, and ideas. In order to explore sourcing issues in the history of science, technology, and medicine, and how some historians have approached the issue of sources, I will be exploring works which approached women in science, race in science, and the way discussions of marginalized groups change our definitions. The main texts which I will be discussing are Black Rice by Judith Ann Carney, A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785 -1812 by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, and Being Nuclear: Africans and the Global Uranium Trade by Gabrielle Hecht. Supplemental to those texts are two articles which directly address sourcing issues, specifically in the history of technology, for marginalized groups. They are “The History of Technology, The Resistance of Archives, and the Whiteness of Race” by Carolyn de la Peña, and “Categories of Difference, Categories of Power: Bringing Gender and Race to the History of Technology” by Nina Lerman. Each of these texts, along with the two supplemental texts, approach sourcing, and definitions, in relationship to marginalized groups, differently while each maintaining a focus on the group, rather than trying to insert the group into a previously constructed narrative, for the most part.

Since it was from the piece by Peña that my interest in sourcing issues surrounding marginalized grouped arose, examining her argument about approaching archival material in order to study race is an important place to begin. It is Peña’s assertion that there is a gap between where historians of technology want to be and where they actually are when it comes to the study of race, because despite a growing number of historians of technology claiming to be interested in developing studies which engage race, few actually are.[1] This disconnect between the interests of scholars, and the actual work of those scholars, in part, arises from “the process of conducting the research upon which all historical scholarship must rest.”[2] Since any work inserting race into the narrative would be foundational to the historical work in the field, at this point, there is a certain gravity added to the work that needs to be done. Furthermore “we cannot rely on the archives or methods that have well served many others engaged in the history of technology to serve the study of race and technology.”[3] This stems from the fact that many of the archival materials that exist as they are do not include race in the narrative. Peña argues, “rather than imagining ‘race’ as a term that describes particular individuals marked as nonwhite, I want to suggest that we think of race as an epistemology at play in all technological production and consumption.”[4] With this in mind, Peña discusses an approach to the study of race and gender and technology, that shifts from regarding them as corollary to the study, but instead as foundational, and in all facets of technology.[5] By considering marginalized groups to be directly intertwined in the narrative, rather than having to work to insert them, the source material which historians of technology have available to them grows considerably by broadening the scope of their understanding of those groupings.

Black Rice by Judith Ann Carney tells the story of the true provenance of rice in the Americas. It establishes, through agricultural and historical evidence, the vital significance of rice in West African society for a millennium before Europeans arrived and the slave trade began. The standard belief that Europeans introduced rice to West Africa and then brought the knowledge of its cultivation to the Americas is a fundamental fallacy, one which succeeds in effacing the origins of the crop and the role of Africans and African-American slaves in transferring the seed, the cultivation skills, and the cultural practices necessary for establishing it in the New World. One of the most interesting ways in which Carney is approaching this topic, a topic which it would, at first glance, seem to be lacking in standard source material, is that she was drawing on a multitude of different types of materials. She mostly relies on the materials which currently exist in the historical archive, however, she also brings in quite extensive accounts of current scientific work being done in botany, specifically work being done on the Columbian Exchange. This reliance on contemporary work in the sciences, to supplement the historical archive, is an interesting and unique approach to attempt to discuss a marginalized group which may not exist in the archive. For discussions of African slavery, this would seem to be incredibly important. It is also important to note, that while the primary focus of the text is the relationship between race and rice cultivation, Carney does work to give special consideration to women and gender roles when it comes to rice cultivation, both in the Americas, as well as on the African continent. She works hard to insert women into a narrative which primarily focuses on race, in order to bring to light much of the intersectionality between the two marginalized groups.

Carney also works to draw upon the work of other historians, which may not be specific to the work about rice cultivation which she was doing, but had a similar approach to source material and contemporary analysis of slavery in the Americas. One such historian is Peter Wood, who focuses on cultural exchange rather than cultural change of agricultural practices, and who looks into the buying practices of rice growing slave holders to who that they preferred specific slaves from specific areas with a specific set of skills.[6] By drawing on historians, like Wood, Carney works to frame her question about rice cultivation in a way that is not just trying to insert African slaves into the already established narrative, but to instead explore ways of  breaking from that narrative, to create a new one, about slave contributions to rice cultivation. She states, as we contend with a historical record that is too often mute on African slave contributions to the agricultural history of the Americas, an examination of rice systems across geographic space and within the context of specific regions and ethnic groups provides a way forward for historical recovery.”[7] By contextualizing in a way outside of the current narrative surrounding slavery in the Americas, Carney works to insert a marginalized group into their own narrative, much in the way Peña describes as a main way of approach for discussing race. Thus, Carney, like Peña, places importance on not just simply inserting gender and race into the narrative, but transferring the two marginalized groups from a place which is corollary to the narrative, to a place where they are foundational to the entire story.

Because this is one of the main goals of the text, other than to explore the contributions of African slaves to American rice cultivation, Carney has to rely on sourcing material that is often not included by other historians of science, specifically those interested in European and American history. Carney spends a great deal of time looking outside of European accounts of many of the events and scientific innovations which she is exploring, relying especially upon Muslim accounts of what was going on, on the African continent. She did this specifically, because often times, European observers were far more biased in their accounts, and more likely to call African farmers primitive and less evolved simply from looks, rather than working to understand the agricultural work which was being done on that continent. Carney looks into sources which are often not seen as historical, because they are contemporary in their scientific scope, as well as sources which are archival in some parts of the world and not others. She approaches a topic in a way that the questions which she is asking are not working within the current narrative, but instead are trying to change that narrative. Both of those aspects of Black Rice, are what work to insert marginalized groups into the narratives of which they already inhabit in the history of science, technology, and medicine, with limited traditional source material.

Drawing on the diaries of one woman in eighteenth-century Maine, A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812I, illuminates the medical practices, household economies, religious rivalries, and sexual mores of the New England frontier. Between 1785 and 1812 a midwife and healer named Martha Ballard kept a diary that recorded her arduous work (in 27 years she attended 816 births) as well as her domestic life in Hallowell, Maine. On the basis of that diary, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich gives readers an intimate and densely imagined portrait, not only of the industrious and reticent Martha Ballard but of her society. While there are many clear differences between the text by Ulrich and that by Carney, a major one lies in source material for the two works. While Carney relies on many sources, both contemporary scientific sources and archival sources from many other parts of the world outside of Europe, Ulrich relies mainly on primary source documentation in the form of diaries from Hallowell, particularly those of Henry Sewell and Martha Ballad, with the manuscript by Ballard being the main focus. A Midwife’s Tale is really the first historical look at Martha’s diary on any sort of substantial level, due to a number of reasons. The manuscript can be, at times, difficult to read, due to Martha’s handwriting. A bigger reason for the neglect of this important social and medical document of the late eighteenth century, is the hesitation of historian, who both did not know what to do with this diary, and were often dismissive of a woman’s history of midwifery.[8] However, Ulrich works to try and show, throughout the entirety of the piece, that studying women involved in midwifery, stands not only as an important aspect of medical history, but a key place to work to insert women into the traditional narratives which surround the history of medicine. Furthermore, Ulrich strives to emphasize that the way that we understand medicine now, with clear boundaries between types of profession and practice, is new, and the distinction between nurse, doctor, and midwife, was much less clear. “In twentieth-century terms, the ability to prescribe and dispense medicine made Martha a physician, while practical knowledge of gargles, bandages, poultices, and clisters, as well as a willingness to give extended car, defined her as a nurse.”[9] Martha’s work as a midwife, was more than just what a twentieth-century observer would consider the work of a midwife, but instead a much fuller experience in eighteenth-century medicine. These were important aspects of the source material for Ulrich to discuss, since the document is so rich in detail, and yet historians had been so apprehensive to study it. Thus the case of the diary by Martha Ballard is an interesting case of source material, because it is a document which has lived on as archival material, and yet was mainly not studied.

Ulrich makes of a point of emphasizing the importance of this diary as the main source material for this text, as well as the fact that her choosing of this diary is not arbitrary, but instead that it offers something meaningful to the narrative, the questions she is asking, and is, itself, a document which is unique. To the point that the diary is a unique document, rather than simply just any other diary written at the end of the eighteenth century, is something which Ulrich chooses to speak extensively to, in the hopes of highlighting her beliefs about her choice to specifically use this diary, as opposed to any other. The first aspect that makes Martha’s diary unique to other diaries written at the time, comes from the structure and lay out of the multiple volumes of manuscript. There were two main types of diaries which writers in New England during the eighteenth-century employed: the daybook and the almanac. “In eighteenth-century New England, farmers, craftsmen, shopkeepers, ship’s captains, and perhaps a very few housewives kept daybooks, running accounts of receipts and expenditures, sometimes combining economic entries with short notes on important family events and comments on work begun or completed.”[10] On the other hand, diarist who kept an almanac wrote entries which kept a tally on the weather, perhaps adding entries on gardening, visits to and from neighbors, or any public occurrences and sentimental feeling.[11] Martha Ballard did all of these things, from both types of diaries, making her diary unique in comparison to other eighteenth century diaries. Thus, as a document itself, the diary of Martha Ballard stands as unique and thus worth studying, according to Ulrich.

The diary of Martha Ballard stands, for Ulrich, as evidence for many things, though she never allows the diary to stand completely alone as evidence, expect in the case of her discussion of Martha’s education as a young girl while she was still living in Oxford. The early life of Martha is rather unknown, as is the case for most women living in England and what became the United States, and so, in order for Ulrich to discuss the education of women from similar backgrounds, she uses the diary as evidence. Since it is a written account, presumably in her own hand since there are surviving records of her husband’s and children’s handwriting, Ulrich uses the diary as evidence of Martha’s education, a surprisingly complete education by the standards of the day. However, most of what Ulrich uses the diary for as a source, is for the rich detail that it provides about the life of a female midwife living and working within New England society in the decades which directly followed the end of the Revolutionary War. Supplemented and corroborated with the diaries and other town documents from Hallowell, Martha Ballard’s diary stands as a rich source of material about daily life, as well as specific history to the town, and how that history is possibly reflective of larger societal occurrences. Moreover, the diary as a source is so rich in detail, that is has the opposite problem that other diaries from the eighteenth century have: it includes too much information. “The problem is not that the diary is trivial, but that it introduces more stories than can easily be recovered and absorbed”[12]

For Ulrich, the diary is central to all of the work that she is doing as an historian, which revolves around her desire to maintain the legitimacy of the work which Martha was doing as a midwife, and woman, as well as the legitimacy of the manuscript itself. This is not just a work to discuss a history, but a work to present an historical document to readers which may not have been available to them before, and to maintain the integrity of that document. However, unlike Carney, the questions which Ulrich is asking are not created in a way to create a new narrative surrounding a marginalized group, but instead, using a previously unstudied source from a marginalized group, and working to insert that group, women, into an already established narrative. While both authors are working with uncommon source material, their motives for voicing a history of a marginalized group are quite different. This probably arose because nearly a generation of scholarship and study stands between these two women, with Ulrich publishing A Midwife’s Tale in 1990, while Carney publishes Black Rice in 2001. Whatever the reason may be for the different scholarly approaches of these two women, it is important to see the work which they were doing with source material surrounding the narratives of marginalized groups, and how both of them approached discussing aspects of, and players in, history that are often, if not never, studied and discussed. Their approaches to source material of marginalized groups stand as two examples of how to approach writing a history where traditional archival methods may not be fruitful, as Peña discusses in her article, and two approaches which place gender and race as foundational to a history, rather than corollary.

Thus far, I have been discussing the approaches which different writers of history have taken in order to look at what could be considered unconventional source material in order to discuss questions of history surrounding marginalized groups. In both instances, the questions being asked derived from the source material chosen, and thus the narratives that followed were a result of what materials existed to be studied. This idea that definitions of concepts and histories can be skewed by source material surrounding marginalized groups is an important one to investigate, because that is central to an idea that what historians of science, technology, and medicine choose to study is directly related to what source materials are available. Taking that one step further, not only are the subjects which they choose to study skewed, but their entire framework for conceptualizing events in history is skewed by the way which historians choose to define things based upon relevant source material. This idea comes from the work of Nina Lerman and an article of hers which was published in Technology and Culture in 2010.

Within her article “Categories of Difference, Categories of Power: Bringing Gender and Race to the History of Technology,” Nina Lerman is concerned with many of the same issues about sources which Peña, Carney, and Ulrich are, but instead of being concerned about how to insert race and gender into the narrative, she is concerned with ways of deconstructing traditional methods of discussing marginalized groups in relationship to technology. She believes that there is a narrowing of terrain for the history which is written and is yet to be written and the implications of the narrowing.[13] She bases this idea that the terrain is narrowing from observations of trends and norms in the field of history of technology, particularly in the way which technology is traditionally defined, and how that definition narrows the technologies which are being studied. So Lerman suggests that historians of technology begin to look outside of the norms of their field, into race and gender theory, particularly to scholars whose main concern is to study the constructions and negotiations of what most consider to be natural categories, the ways that those categories work to include and exclude aspects of history, and include those methods into the study of the history of technology. She writes, “race and gender theory, I argue, can help illuminate the circuitous mappings of the boundaries we construct between technology and not-technology and help us explore the full implications of applying broad analytical definitions of the scholarly category “technology” to the historical stories we tell.”[14]

Within the article, Lerman is using the linguistic work which has recently been down in the history of technology, as well as the idea of Leo Marx that the word “technology” is a keyword, or “designator of a pivotal concept in contemporary discourse”[15] for the twentieth century. This concept of the keyword of technology is one which is incredibly troubling to Lerman, especially when it comes to historical works which try to include marginalized groups into the larger narrative. “The keyword “technology” not only excludes materials like cloth and straw, it also excludes all technologists- “infant artizans” and bonnet-makers-not engaged in work leading to the large systems of the twentieth century.”[16] Not only can the process which creates such a keyword exclude certain materials, and thus certain technologies and groups who produce those technologies, but it also silences those actors, and the ramifications of that act echo over into twenty-first-century work in history. Thus, the main goal of Lerman, is to work to disentangle technology as keyword from technology as category of analysis, and thus open up the borders for what materials and actors can be validly considered important to the study of the history of technology.[17] If we do not work to disentangle the category of analysis from the keyword, then histories of large systems and engineering elites of the keyword era may insert past beliefs about the journey of progress and even the development of technology, despite every effort we might take or belief we might have in social constructions and nontechnical influences.[18]

For Lerman, the journey towards addressing the issue of technology as a keyword and replacing it with technology as an analytical system, is twofold. The first would seem to be the simplest, but might be the most difficult for many historians of technology to perform: acknowledging the word “technology” as a keyword of the twentieth century.[19] This move would recognize the power that the way technology is currently defined has on discussions of race and gender in the history of technology. Until such a time that this is openly discussed and realized, historians of technology are going to continue to struggle to insert those marginalized groups into the narrative, despite their best intentions. “Second, having recognized the power of the keyword, we can proceed to the question of where it came from and why it worked, integrating its material with its social meanings-which will illuminate the terrain we have been missing.”[20] To Nina Lerman, the importance of recognizing the power of words and definitions, both in involving and prohibiting discussions of marginalized groups in the history of technology, is key to beginning to change the field so that it presents a more inclusive history, one which moves away from stories of white men of the past, and moves into a more representative portrait of world history of technology. Recognizing definitions is important outside of the history of technology, in order to realized how definitions may put constraints on source materials and approaches to research, simply because of the parameters which definitions provide to a topic.

Within the confines of the covers of Being Nuclear: Africans and the Global Uranium Trade, Gabrielle Hecht is unraveling the messy ties that have been created in order to give a definition to the word which has come to define the twentieth century: nuclear. She is working to question what it means for something to be “nuclear”, be it a state, an object, a workplace, or an industry, and is weaving a history which explores this state of being nuclear, or “nuclearity” as she names it. Her argument is centered on the continent of Africa, where uranium which is mined there has long been a source for nuclear power and atomic weapons, and the “yellow cake from Niger” was even the source for the beginnings of the War on Terror in 2003. Hecht is working to explore the many facets of “nuclearity” on the African continent, and the way which colonialism and race played into the mining of uranium for the second half of the twentieth century. Moreover, Hecht is working to challenge many conventional narratives about the “nuclear age” as well as the generalization of the African continent to the single monolith of “Africa”. She concludes by discussing how being nuclear is a process which takes constant work and vigilance, and it not something that just happens once and goes away, but is firmly built into the culture and infrastructure of a society, long after the colonial powers have left.

Hecht’s objective in Being Nuclear is to work to unravel the nasty web that surrounds the sticky situation of the phrase which she coins as “nuclearity” and yet never clearly defines. This lack of definition is key to her argument, because leaving some ambiguity to something which the West would consider to be straightforward helps to widen the scope of something which had previously been rather narrowly defined specifically in relationship to uranium: being nuclear. Hecht states, “I sought to challenge conventional narratives of ‘the nuclear age’ as a technological and geopolitical rupture. According to those narratives, splitting the atom promulgated a new world order that replaced imperialism with ‘the bomb.’ But it was clear that colonialism remained central to the nuclear order’s technological and geopolitical success.”[21] The main goal of the text is to work to examine commonly held definitions of being a nuclear state, by working within the parameters of her own loosely defined term, in order to play on the “ambiguities of the nuclear state and the state of being nuclear”[22] which already exist in popular conceptions of those ideas. The loose definition which Hecht gives for her new term is “nuclearity is a contested technopolitical category. It shifts in time and space. Its parameters depend on history and geography, science and technology, bodies and politics, radiation and race, states and capitalism. Nuclearity is not so much an essential property of things as it is a property distributed among things.”[23]

Nuclearity is not the only definition which Hecht is working to break down the barriers for in order to include previously marginalized areas of the world into the conversation of being nuclear. She works to discuss “Africa” and “uranium” in order to deconstruct previously held narratives surrounding those two terms, even going so far as to place them in similar places in their respective arenas, stating “’uranium’ is as underspecified technologically, as ‘Africa” is politically.”[24] Uranium holds an interesting place in the public imagination, because it has become something which, in the popular mind, is nearly synonymous with nuclear. However, this is not necessarily the reality of what being nuclear really is, according to Hecht.

Uranium was not born nuclear. It was not born nuclear in the Us or Europe where ceramic and class manufacturers first used it as a coloring agent… Even in the bedrock of Gabon, where highly concentrated uranium sparked a self-sustaining fission reaction 2 billion years ago, it did not achieve nuclearity-an expression of technopolitical power, a product of social and cultural contestation.[25]

Nuclearity is much more than the presence of uranium, according to Hecht, because there are many more aspects at play, than simply the purely technical parameters which Western governments and populations are so often apt to place upon being nuclear.[26] “Nuclearity requires instruments and data, technological systems and infrastructures, national agencies and international organizations, experts and conferences, journals and media exposure.”[27] There are many more aspects to the definition of being nuclear than the West often gives, which has excluded many actors in the conversation, because they exist outside of the purview of a traditional Western narrative of being nuclear.

The specific “group” which is being ignored by the traditional narratives that surround talk of a “nuclear state” is “Africa” a term, which is itself problematic to Hecht. By grouping all of the countries and groups together on the continent of Africa as one monolithic group, issues of race, ethnicity, and national identity are completely lost, and any sort of discussion of individual attitudes erodes from the conversation, an act which was purposeful on the part of many in the West. According to Hecht,

‘Africa’ has also been a fetish in Western imaginations, and for far longer than the atom bomb. Savage and starving, inferior and infantile, superstitious and corrupt-the list of pejoratives goes on and on. The image of Africans as irrational took root in the Enlightenment and took off during the imperialism that followed. Europeans build political philosophies premised on the radical Otherness of Africans.[28]

The monolithic “Africa” acts as one of the most prominent boundaries to sources and definitions which prevents historians from investigating narratives which include broader discussions of race into the narrative of the history of technology. However, when historians of technology fall into the trap of discussing the African continent in sweeping generalities, we run into discussions of concepts, such as nuclear, that are far more narrow than the historical realities within which they lie. Hecht states, “This unreflective reflex, this certainty about which things do or don’t fall into the domain of the ‘nuclear,’ simply doesn’t correspond to historical realities. That can be difficult to see from the vantage point of a European reactor or a North American weapons lab. Standing in an African uranium mine makes the contingent character of nuclearity much more visible.”[29] Thus Hecht works to highlights many of the issues that exist with current definitions, and how those definitions narrow the scope of the history which is being discussed, just as Lerman warns against within her article.

Each of the historians which I have discussed has had a different approach to the issue of sources surrounding marginalized groups, and working around traditional narratives in order to do work in history which inserts those groups into those narratives. For Carney, she left the world of American and European archives, to find sources which gave first-hand accounts of the farming practices on the African continent. By looking for sources, which had both not been previously looked at and were less biased than European observers, she was able to give a richer picture of rice cultivation in the United States. She also drew upon contemporary works in botany to supplement her historical research, by providing some scientific background to her assertion. For Ulrich, the source of Martha Ballard’s diary was of the upmost importance, and that manuscript provided the bulk of the research for the type of history which she was working to present. By delving into this one rich source, a source which had been previously unexamined because of biases in the field, Ulrich is able to expand on a previous narrative of post-Revolution America medicine, which had left women out of the picture. The one textual source of the diary is what is important to Ulrich.

For both Carney and Ulrich, they are working to expand the traditional narrative by examining source material which has not been examined before, working outside of the archives, and inserting marginalized groups as foundational, rather than corollary. They expand the bounds of definitions, without directly addressing the issue. Hecht, on the other hand, is directly interested in the issue of definitions, and thus spend the bulk of her text exploring how Western ideals and definitions work to narrow our work in discussing marginalized groups. She does the work which Peña calls for, looking beyond the archives, into testimony and first-hand accounts, creating a foundation to “nuclearity” which resides within the many aspects of uranium production and refinement. She also does the work that Lerman is calling for, by addressing the keyword of “nuclear” in order to turn the keyword into a point of analysis. Thus, we see how different historians (all of whom are, incidentally, female) have approached the issue of a lack of sources in the traditional narrative and archival system in order to address the history of marginalized groups. These are, by no means, the only methods to approach a lack of sources or a traditional narrative which does not include the group which one is discussing, but they do represent much of the work which both Peña and Lerman are calling for in their respective articles about approaching these aspects of study.

[1] Carolyn de la Peña. “The History of Technology, The Resistance of Archives, and the Whiteness of Race.” Technology and Culture 51, no. 4 (2010): 921

[2] Ibid., 921

[3] Carolyn de la Peña. “The History of Technology, The Resistance of Archives, and the Whiteness of Race.” Technology and Culture 51, no. 4 (2010): 921

[4] Ibid., 923

[5] Ibid., 925

[6] Judith Ann Carney. Black Rice. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001): location 105

[7] Judith Ann Carney. Black Rice. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001): location 165

[8] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812. (New York: Vintage Books, 1990): location 148

[9] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812. (New York: Vintage Books, 1990): location 921

[10] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812. (New York: Vintage Books, 1990): location 138

[11] Ibid., location 138

[12] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812. (New York: Vintage Books, 1990): location 400

[13] Nina Lerman. “Categories of Difference, Categories of Power: Bringing Gender and Race to the History of Technology.” Technology and Culture 51, no. 4 (2010): 894

[14] Nina Lerman. “Categories of Difference, Categories of Power: Bringing Gender and Race to the History of Technology.” Technology and Culture 51, no. 4 (2010): 894

[15] Ibid., 895

[16] Ibid., 895

[17] Nina Lerman. “Categories of Difference, Categories of Power: Bringing Gender and Race to the History of Technology.” Technology and Culture 51, no. 4 (2010): 896

[18] Ibid., 896

[19] Ibid., 899

[20] Ibid., 900

[21] Gabrielle Hecht. Being Nuclear: Africans and the Global Uranium Trade (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2012): location 58

[22] Ibid., 3

[23] Ibid., 14

[24] Ibid., 3

[25] Gabrielle Hecht. Being Nuclear: Africans and the Global Uranium Trade (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2012: 319

[26] Ibid., 45

[27] Ibid., 320

[28] Gabrielle Hecht. Being Nuclear: Africans and the Global Uranium Trade (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2012: 16

[29] Ibid., 13