[email protected]

12/12 The age of magical thinking produced extraordinary work. It can't be repeated under current conditions. What can come next is the age of deliberate design. We're at the beginning of it. Full essay 👇 https://t.co/kgNBfVVlYW

[email protected] @the_anke

2 days ago

1/12 For most of my life, the people who shaped my thinking shared one hidden method: create the right conditions and trust the substance will arrive. Don't specify the mechanism. It worked for a generation. It's now failing and I think I finally see why. 🧵

[email protected] @the_anke

2 days ago

11/12 This is what I've been building, slowly, before I had the name: Collaboration Architecture. A practice that doesn't trust coordination to emerge. It designs the infrastructure deliberately, maintains it, measures its load-bearing capacity, and gives it a formal owner.

Who to follow

Helping government and society better harness technology and open leadership. CEO of @oxfordinsights, father of three

Liz Ixer

@LizIxer

Nature educator. Tweets on urban nature and natural history (can often be found staring at hedges); history, folklore; education; books, libraries; music ; art

the_anke retweeted

Mr PitBull Stories

@MrPitbull07

3 months ago

She kept finding women in laboratory photographs from the 1800s. Then she read the published papers—and every single woman had vanished. Someone had erased them from history. Yale University, 1969. Margaret Rossiter was a graduate student studying the history of science. She was one of very few women in her program. Every Friday afternoon, students and faculty gathered for beers and informal conversation. One week, Margaret asked a simple question: "Were there ever any women scientists?" The faculty answered firmly: No. Someone mentioned Marie Curie. The group dismissed it—her husband Pierre really deserved the credit. Margaret didn't argue. But she also didn't believe them. So she started looking. She found a reference book called "American Men of Science"—essentially a Who's Who of scientific achievement. Despite the title, she was shocked to discover it contained entries about women. Botanists trained at Wellesley. Geologists from Vermont. There were names. There were credentials. There were careers. The professors had been wrong. But Margaret's discovery was just the beginning. Because as she dug deeper into archives across the country, she found something far more disturbing. Photograph after photograph showed women standing at laboratory benches, working with equipment, listed on research teams. But when she read the published papers, the award citations, the official histories—those same women had disappeared. Their names were missing. Their contributions erased. It wasn't random. It was systematic. Women who designed experiments watched male colleagues publish results without giving them credit. Women whose discoveries were assigned to supervisors. Women listed in acknowledgments instead of as authors. Women passed over for awards that went to male collaborators who contributed far less. Margaret realized she was witnessing a pattern that stretched across centuries. Women had always been present in science. The record had simply pushed them aside. She needed a name for what she was documenting. In the early 1990s, she found it in the work of Matilda Joslyn Gage—a 19th-century suffragist who had written about this exact phenomenon in 1870. In 1993, Margaret published a paper formally naming it: The Matilda Effect. The term captured something that had been hidden in plain sight for generations. Once you knew the term, you saw it everywhere. Her dissertation became a lifelong mission. For more than 30 years, Margaret researched and wrote her landmark three-volume series: Women Scientists in America. She examined letters, institutional policies, individual careers. She gathered undeniable evidence that women in science had been consistently under-credited and structurally excluded. Her work faced resistance. Many dismissed women's history as political rather than academic. Others insisted she was exaggerating. Margaret didn't argue emotionally. She presented data. Documented cases. Patterns repeated across decades and institutions. Eventually, the evidence became undeniable. Her research helped restore recognition to scientists who had been erased: Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work revealed DNA's structure—credit went to Watson and Crick. Lise Meitner, who explained nuclear fission—omitted from the Nobel Prize. Nettie Stevens, who discovered sex chromosomes—received little credit. Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, who discovered stars are made of hydrogen—initially dismissed. And countless others whose names had nearly vanished. Margaret changed the narrative. Science was no longer just the story of solitary male geniuses. It became a story of collaboration that included women who had been written out. The Matilda Effect became standard terminology. Scholars used it to examine how credit is assigned, how authors are listed, who receives awards, who gets left out.

MrPitbull07's tweet photo. She kept finding women in laboratory photographs from the 1800s. Then she read the published papers—and every single woman had vanished. Someone had erased them from history.
Yale University, 1969.
Margaret Rossiter was a graduate student studying the history of science. She was one of very few women in her program.
Every Friday afternoon, students and faculty gathered for beers and informal conversation. One week, Margaret asked a simple question: "Were there ever any women scientists?"
The faculty answered firmly: No.
Someone mentioned Marie Curie. The group dismissed it—her husband Pierre really deserved the credit.
Margaret didn't argue. But she also didn't believe them.
So she started looking.
She found a reference book called "American Men of Science"—essentially a Who's Who of scientific achievement. Despite the title, she was shocked to discover it contained entries about women. Botanists trained at Wellesley. Geologists from Vermont.
There were names. There were credentials. There were careers.
The professors had been wrong.
But Margaret's discovery was just the beginning. Because as she dug deeper into archives across the country, she found something far more disturbing.
Photograph after photograph showed women standing at laboratory benches, working with equipment, listed on research teams.
But when she read the published papers, the award citations, the official histories—those same women had disappeared. Their names were missing. Their contributions erased.
It wasn't random. It was systematic.
Women who designed experiments watched male colleagues publish results without giving them credit. Women whose discoveries were assigned to supervisors. Women listed in acknowledgments instead of as authors. Women passed over for awards that went to male collaborators who contributed far less.
Margaret realized she was witnessing a pattern that stretched across centuries.
Women had always been present in science. The record had simply pushed them aside.
She needed a name for what she was documenting.
In the early 1990s, she found it in the work of Matilda Joslyn Gage—a 19th-century suffragist who had written about this exact phenomenon in 1870.
In 1993, Margaret published a paper formally naming it: The Matilda Effect.
The term captured something that had been hidden in plain sight for generations. Once you knew the term, you saw it everywhere.
Her dissertation became a lifelong mission.
For more than 30 years, Margaret researched and wrote her landmark three-volume series: Women Scientists in America. She examined letters, institutional policies, individual careers. She gathered undeniable evidence that women in science had been consistently under-credited and structurally excluded.
Her work faced resistance. Many dismissed women's history as political rather than academic. Others insisted she was exaggerating.
Margaret didn't argue emotionally. She presented data. Documented cases. Patterns repeated across decades and institutions.
Eventually, the evidence became undeniable.
Her research helped restore recognition to scientists who had been erased:
Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work revealed DNA's structure—credit went to Watson and Crick.
Lise Meitner, who explained nuclear fission—omitted from the Nobel Prize.
Nettie Stevens, who discovered sex chromosomes—received little credit.
Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, who discovered stars are made of hydrogen—initially dismissed.
And countless others whose names had nearly vanished.
Margaret changed the narrative. Science was no longer just the story of solitary male geniuses. It became a story of collaboration that included women who had been written out.
The Matilda Effect became standard terminology. Scholars used it to examine how credit is assigned, how authors are listed, who receives awards, who gets left out.

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[email protected] @the_anke

3 months ago

Is there a reason the @guardian does not call the German tabloid BILD a tabloid in this article on the Axel Springer bid for the Daily Telegraph? I find the phrase "mass-market newspaper" at least questionable. (Also, hello Twitter, I miss you) https://t.co/oCan7vm2N9

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the_anke retweeted

Johannes Hano @JohannesHano

4 months ago

Was wir für unsere @zdf Doku “ Gefährliche Verbindungen - Trump und seine Geschäftspartner” schon 2016 recherchiert hatten wird jetzt anscheinend durch die #Epsteinfiles bestätigt. Niemand wollte den Fakten damals glauben. 10 Jahre kollektives Wegschauen. Frustrating!

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the_anke retweeted

mike ☭ 🇵🇸🔻 @__mike91

4 months ago

genuinely is wild seeing every single left wing political theory being proven absolutely right over the space of a few days.

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[email protected] @the_anke

7 months ago

So this week I got to an agreement to make Collaboration part of the Business Capabilities in my 11K+ organisation. I am now calling what I do Collaboration Architecture. Nice.

the_anke's tweet photo. So this week I got to an agreement to make Collaboration part of the Business Capabilities in my 11K+ organisation. I am now calling what I do Collaboration Architecture. Nice. https://t.co/Oai0y9Sax6

[email protected] @the_anke

7 months ago

I celebrated samhain by opening up my Anna's archives that I have not managed to look into. I have a full archive of her 60K+ tweets and am assembling those that meaningfully represent who she was. All the links still work and some of time images. I am honestly grateful to Elon.