Appropriating
Technology: an introduction
Most social studies of science and technology have focused on either production by established professionals, or the impact on the general public. But what about the lay public as producersof technology and science? From the vernacular engineering of Latino car design to environmental analysis among rural women, groups outside the centers of scientific power persistently defy the notion that they are merely passive recipients of technological products and scientific knowledge. Rather, there are many instances in which they reinvent these products and rethink these knowledge systems, often in ways that embody critique, resistance, or outright revolt. This book presents the first collection of case studies of such appropriated science and technology. For shorthand we will refer to these as “appropriated technologies,” but keep in mind that they are often as much about scientific knowledge and ideas as they are about gadgets and technical methods—that is, they encompass the entire realm of “technoscience. [1]
1) What are Appropriated Technologies?
Sociologists, anthropologists, historians, and other researchers
have recently converged in a new field termed “Science and Technology
Studies” (STS). Many of these studies have been framed in terms of “social
impact,” examining how science and technology change our personal lives
or cultural attitudes or environment. Another approach to STS, dating back to
the work of Robert Merton in the 1930s, studies science itself as a social phenomenon.
Recently this has produced some heated debates about just how much social processes
actually influence scientific and technological research. Other STS research
clusters have been built around policy studies, ethics and values in science,
anthropology of medicine, etc.
Despite this diversity of approaches, the vast majority of these studies focus on the professional as the producer. This approach is so frequent that alternatives can be easily overlooked. As social scientist Manuel Castells suggests, one way to make the relations between society and technoscience more visible is to think about a “space of flows” in which we map not just geographic locations, but the networks of information and paths of material transport that increasingly define a knowledge-based economy. Here we will extend visualizations of this space of flows to even more intangible attributes ofpeople and power—not as a way to reduce social dynamics to a single point of view, but rather the opposite, to expand our ability to understand appropriated technologies from a greater variety of perspectives. [2]
Figure 1 shows how the standard view of science and
technology might be visualized.
On the vertical axis we have “social power,” with
some well-to-do professionals at the top, and some hard-knock blue collar
folks at the bottom. Granted, there are hundreds of different aspects of social
power; some obvious such as financial assets, political legitimacy, or religious
authority; and some more subtle, such as the often unconscious bias against
personal appearance (ethnicity, gender, age, beauty) that can emerge in even
the most nondiscriminatory of circumstances. Moreover, these different aspects
of social power can conflict with each other. A penniless prophet might hold
thousands in his sway, while a lonely rich atheist might mold society by money.
So when producing this type of graph, we need to remember that there are many
different ways each a single case study could be drawn, depending on the focus
of the analysis.
Through ethnopharmacology, for example, indigenous herbal
cures can lead to high profits in the biotechnology industry. Of course that
doesn’t necessarily mean high profits for the indigenous herbalists
-- in fact, their knowledge is often appropriated without compensation.
Many of the researchers in social studies of science have entered
the field because of their concern over the real and potential dangers involved
in science and technology. For this reason the field has gain a reputation
for pessimistic views, and critics sometimes accuse them of being technophobes
or luddites. Appropriated technologies offer a rich resource for combining
a critical analysis of social issues with an eye towards the positive application
of science and its artifacts.Of course not all of these case studies are happy
stories: neo-nazi groups are also outside the centers of scientific production,
and they too adapt and reinvent to gain power.The stories of technological
appropriations are multifaceted; they are both painful and joyous, reassuring
and shocking. They are complex enough to warrant study for their own sake.
But their primary importance is in their potential contribution to socio-political
resistance and social reconfiguration.
In collecting the various case studies for this anthology,
it became apparent that some examples made a stronger case for appropriation
than others. Using that distinction, we developed the following three analytic
categories, positioned along the consumption/production axis (figure 4).
Figure 5: Joe Grosso’s Mazda, “Desirable Ones.”
Copyright Lowrider Magazine, use by permission only
It is important
to understand that in distinguishing strong versus weak cases for appropriated
technology, we make no evaluation of ideology or effectiveness. One might,
for instance, find more political success with reinterpretation than reinvention
in a given case. But the three categories do offer a useful set of analytic
distinctions. Consider, for example, Native American artist Sharol Graves’
description of the genesis of her work (figure 6—not show for copyright
reasons):
Graves first
reinterpreted the CAD/CAM software for circuit design as an artistic medium;
she then adapted it for new functionality, and finally reinvented the system,
changing its physical capabilities. She explains, “I wanted the public
to know that a Native American was working in the research and development
of high technology, just to blow a few stereotypes about the ‘Indian
Mind.’” For Graves the activities of reinterpretation, adaptation,
and reinvention map out a journey that progressively fused cultural and electrical
resistance.
In considering
variation along the social power dimension, we need to steer between two potential
pitfalls.On the one hand, we need to avoid multiculturalist relativism, in
which every social group is seen as just another dish in the global smorgasbord
(Fraser 1997).On the other hand, we need to avoid a contest for victimhood;
we don’t want to construct a hierarchy of oppressions.One way to avoid
this dilemma is to keep in mind the multidimensional nature of these categories
of social power; as noted earlier each case could be mapped in several different
ways. But even if we reduce our analysis to one dimension – say, for
example, racial/ethnic identity -- both groups and individuals must be approached
in historic, contextual terms, not as a fixed “essence.”Indigenous
(“fourth world”) societies, for example, can be endangered by
the descendants of colonialists, but many of these descendants are themselves
ethnic hybrids seeking to contest their own marginal “third world”
status. Analyses of appropriated technologies need to consider the historically
specific relation between these cultural locations, and the turbulent mixture
of people, artifacts, techniques and texts that make up technoscience.
Figure 7: The uphill struggle to appropriate science and technology
Unlike this anthology, the word “appropriation”
in STS literature typically refers to the context of professional scientists
and engineers, such as the Marxist critique of the appropriation of labor
by the upper class, or the complex portrait recently offered in Hård and Jamison’s
anthology titled The Intellectual Appropriation of Technology, which
describes how professionals have used technology for purposes of romanticism,
nationalism, etc. But the appropriation of science and technology by marginalized
groups, as we have defined it here, is a more widespread phenomenon. The following
seven categories describe how some of this research has been conceptualized.
b.
Vernacular
knowledge systems. Vernacular architecture has long been a subject of
interest in folk arts and anthropology, particularly where “high culture”
components are reassembled into “low culture” structures. Vernacular
mathematics is described by Nunes et al (1993) and Lave (1988), and both Eglash
(1995) and Darrah (1995) describe adaptations in information technology that
can be termed vernacular cybernetics. Akrich (1992) analyzes vernacular engineering
of energy generation in third world development, and demonstrates how differences
in both technical flexibility and cultural context influence adaptation. Pacey
(1983) on “Eskimo” adoption of snowmobiles, Manuel (1993) on cassette
use in India, and Gupta (1998) on selective synthesis of indigenous and high-tech
agricultural knowledge are all good examples of such vernacular appropriation.
Appadurai (1996) and Escobar (1995) discuss some of the broader cultural politics
of technological hybrids.
c.
The ambiguity
of use. Westrum (1991) describes how the “ambiguity
of use” invites adaptation and tinkering. “A device is basically
a solution, but there may be more than one problem to which it applies”
(p. 239). Tenner (1996) provides an analysis of the “unintended consequences”
of technology, such as the dialectic between changes in sports technology
and changes in sports activity.
d.
Creative
misuse. Penley and Ross (1991) note several cases of “popular
refunctioning of foreign technology” such as “the Vietnamese farmers
who turn bomb craters… into fish ponds” (although they curiously
disregard these as merely “cute” examples, preferring information
technology as a more explicitly oppositional political appropriation of technology).
Terry and Calvert (1997), focusing on gender, point to groups such as the
Barbie Liberation Organization, which switched voice recordings for Barbie
dolls and G.I. Joe and slipped them into stores across the nation, to emphasize
the intentionality of what Terry calls “creative misuse.” On a
less political note, Hesser (1998) describes the wide variety of culinary
innovations, from a panty hose consommé strainer to cedar roof shingles for
salmon.
e.
Public understanding
of science. Toumey (1996) points to several examples, such as
evolution versus creationism, the fluoridation debate, and other public controversies
in which the authority of science is brought to play against itself. In the
hands of popular groups such debates at times appropriate science using rigorous
data and analysis, and at other times are merely “conjuring” the
effect of science using its symbols. Irwin and Wynne’s (1996) anthology
emphasizes the appropriation aspects of certain lay interpretations.
f.
The outsider
within. Collins (1987) describes the multiple and sometimes
conflicting positions for African American women as “the outsider within.”
This framework in which personal identity and professional identity lie at
opposite ends of the social power axis is descriptive for many situations
in which marginalized groups move into professional science and technology
production. Examples include Manning’s (1983) study of anti-racist biologist
E.E. Just, Koblitz’s (1983) biography of feminist mathematician Sophia
Kovaleskaia, and others whose upward mobility did not erase an “oppositional
consciousness” (Sandoval and Davis 2000).
Appropriated technologies do not have an inherent ethical advantage.
First, insofar as appropriation is a response to marginalization, we should
work at obviating the need for it by empowering the marginalized.Second, not
all forms of resistance are necessarily beneficial in the long run.Aihwa Ong,
for example, notes that Malaysian women using spirit possession as resistance
to exploitation may be releasing frustrations that could have gone into collective
labor organizing.And as we noted, white supremacist groups might well be described
as marginalized people who appropriate the internet and other technologies.While
free speech must be preserved at all costs, appropriation is not an ethical
win in the case of neo-nazi web sites.
References
Focal Press, c1997.
New York: Vintage Books 1979.
Wadsworth Pub. Co., 1991.
[1] Technoscience is a term introduced
by Latour and Woolgar in their seminal text “Laboratory Life,”
in part because repeating the phrase “science and technology”
became tiresome, but with an eye towards critique of the claim for clean
separation between the two categories (cf. Oudshoorn’s identification
of this blurred boundary in chemistry and engineering). We considered naming
this book “Appropriating Technoscience,” but no one outside
of STS seemed to know what we were talking about, so instead we are leaning
on the crutch of this fuzzy boundary.
[2] As Haraway (1991, pp. 189-190) notes, the rejection of visualization in cultural critique is based on a faulty assumption that it must always produce a god’s-eye view; but any close examination reveals that “there are only highly specific visual possibilities, each with a wonderfully detailed, active, partial way of organizing worlds.”
[3]
Flexibility was originally introduced into STS terminology
in reference to the interpretative flexibility of scientific theories (Collins),
and was imported into social studies of technology by Pinch & Bijker
(1984).
[4]
Thanks to Rayvon Fouché for the photography example.
[5] As Appadurai (1986, p. 41) puts it, “The production knowledge that is read into a commodity is quite different from the consumption knowledge that is read from the commodity. Of course, these two readings will diverge proportionately as the social, temporal, and spatial difference between producers and consumers increases.”
[6] Foucault (1979, pp. 139-141) describes such “micro-physics of power” in terms of the intentional control of minutia by those in authority, but here we see a similar force of minutia without anyone in charge.