Abstract

In the early twentieth-century Philippines, the Bureau of Science at Manila entrenched scientific knowledge production as a component of the American colonial government. This article examines the management and routinization of scientific activity in the bureau, looking at how scientists, acting as managers and bureaucrats, organized, categorized, and administered different kinds of scientific work and labor. In particular, the article discusses how the bureau's scientists grappled with “routine,” a category of work classified as important to the bureau's institutional identity but menial and perfunctory, an obstruction to research. As a result, research and routine characterized scientific work, involving technical, manual, and clerical labor along contiguous lines of investigation. Furthermore, the bureau offered a complex but integrated ecology where American and Filipino scientists, clerks, assistants, and other employees worked, forming professional networks and building scientific careers.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Bureau of Science commanded the scientific endeavors of the American colonial government in the Philippines. Science at the bureau's Manila compound was work, involving various kinds of technical, manual, and clerical labor, and mobilizing varying skills and aptitudes from its “scientific force.”1 Though the bureau prioritized scientific research, conducting such scholarly workrequired the extensive support of clerical and manual personnel in everyday tasks such as filing documents, cataloging reference materials, arranging specimen collections, and cleaning laboratories (see fig. 1). The boundary between research and routine was blurry but essential to the bureau's operations.2 While it recognized that doing scientific research involves repetitive and mundane labor, it also functioned to undervalue much of that work—and the workers who performed it—from what counted as science and who counted as a scientist in the American-ruled archipelago.3 Scientists acting as bureaucrats underscored the importance of routine to the workings of the bureau, yet they stressed that such class of work was perfunctory and menial, involving little or less significant scientific competence, and always second fiddle to research.4 Negotiating the zone between research and routine labor, the bureau ascribed legitimacy to certain types of expertise and skills while denying such status and associated social power from other forms of labor that were equally indispensable to scientific work.

This article explores the labor history of science in the Philippines by examining the bureau's management and routinization of scientific knowledge production. Under the bureau, the management of scientific work resembled what Lukas Rieppel has described in the nineteenth-century United States as “a distinctly bureaucratic vision of the way that a large, capital-intensive, and organizationally complex institution ought to be managed.”5 American scientists, assigned bureaucratic roles by the colonial government, applied organizational acumen developed by business leaders during an “age of incorporation” to fuel the scientific bureau's productivity, efficiency, and growth.6 These insights shaped how the bureau's divisions and hierarchies of labor were arranged, how the personnel, workspaces, and resources were managed, and how its institutional goals were planned.7

Managing a bureau so complex in its range of work entailed some kind of “logic of organization.”8 This was supplied by the scientists who supervised the bureau's operations and managed the direction of its growth.9 As managers and bureaucrats, scientists had to categorize and divide areas of work, quantify results and yields from investigations, and pen mandatory reports on the goods and services the bureau provided. They vigorously expanded the scope of scientific work, reorganizing divisions and sections, increasing lines of investigation, and opening both credentialed and noncredentialed positions. They led the scientific force in producing, testing, and analyzing the data that informed the administration of the colony.10 Such data, meticulously recorded and published in reports and scientific journals, cultivated trust in state governance and enhanced the rationality of the colonial project as a whole.11 Both American and Filipino scientists employed by the bureau served as managers and bureaucrats, assigned to lead and administer knowledge production under the state and provide governance with a scientific element.12

Despite its hierarchies, the bureau also promoted a coherent “ecology” within the Manila compound that kindled national and professional identities, becoming a place for Filipino men and women to develop a scientific career and reputation.13 Angel Arguelles, the bureau's first Filipino director, appointed in 1934, started as assistant chemist in 1909, performing supervised routine labor in the chemistry division, and gradually advanced into expert and administrative work. In this way, the bureau's function as “training ground” for scientists reinforced the notion that in providing tutelage US imperialism was exceptional.14 Arguelles would later praise and echo his American predecessors’ advocacy for science as the basis for economic progress and political modernity. Yet he spoke for the benefit of the forthcoming national republic rather than the US colonial state.15

The “Unity” of Scientific Work

The US colonial state in the Philippines required the work and labor of science—capaciously understood—in exploring the archipelago's natural resources and tropical environment.16 Initial scientific work included installing laboratory facilities for the production of vaccines and employing the clinical expertise of physicians associated with pacification and disease eradication.17 In 1901, as the US regime transitioned from military to civil rule, scientific work ranging from chemical and biological analyses to medical treatments became anchored in colonial social engineering, as well as commercialization and industrial development.18

Scientific knowledge production formed part of the developing colonial administrative state, first as the Bureau of Government Laboratories, and then consolidated in 1905 as the Bureau of Science.19 Such centralization marshaled a variety of sciences, combining biological, chemical, and geological investigations.20 Centralization also managed the resources furnished by the US colonial state more judiciously. The leading scientist-bureaucrat in the bureau's first decade, Paul Freer, a chemist and physician, argued that the “fusion of work” allowed for more efficient coordination of expertise and better allocation and use of resources and laboratory facilities. More so, it avoided the unnecessary duplication of scientific investigations (see fig. 2).21

The eagerness to unite all scientific work informed the managerial vision of Freer, a chemistry professor at the University of Michigan prior to his stint in the Philippines. This followed the “dream” of Dean Worcester, the colonial government's interior secretary and Freer's Michigan colleague and brother-in-law. Worcester later wrote that he had envisioned all Manila-based scientific institutions to operate “standing side by side and working in full and harmonious relationship,” sharing laboratory facilities, equipment, and personnel.22

Like Worcester, Freer was keen to develop the general scientific work in the Philippines by coordinating the work of publicly funded institutions.23 Requesting more funds, he argued that all colonial, science-related institutions needed to work together, with employees of equivalent rank paid equally, “in such a way that no danger of any rivalry between the two institutions would ever exist.”24 He preferred “close union” among scientists headquartered in Manila: “The entire body, clinical and laboratory, should form a united scientific unit.”25 When the General Hospital and Medical School opened in 1907, the first practitioners and instructors were from the bureau. The director was appointed dean, while other staff joined the faculty and engaged in instruction, clinical investigation, and affiliated laboratory work.26 Freer wrote that the work of these new institutions felt “so inseparable that one can scarcely be considered without the other.”27 The following year, the state university was established, absorbing the medical school. The added teaching workload complicated the bureau's division of labor, as the staff of the bureau formed part of the initial faculty and even offered positions with better pay. Freer criticized the competing opportunities offered by this arrangement.28

As the government expanded, so did scientific work. From 1905, the bureau's primary divisions constantly shifted, requiring reclassification of resources, spaces, and personnel. Classifying divisions and sections hinged on the practical importance of particular lines of investigation, as well as the immediate availability of labor, facilities, and apparatus to pursue them.29 But the most pressing factor in reorganization was how the bureau's scientists addressed the needs of the colonial administration. Scientific requests from different state agencies decided the priority level of particular research activities.

By 1913, the bureau's range of work had grown to seventy-eight specific lines of scientific investigation. Such growth highlighted the increase in public trust, credibility and prestige of the bureau. It became an essential source of scientific information for government agencies and the general public. It also needed more funding, more scientific workers, better conditions and salaries, and continued institutional development.30

Addressing various types of technical problems and questions presented by government agencies was classified as routine work. Chemist Alvin Cox, successor to Freer as director of the bureau, wrote that “in practically every branch of its activities the Bureau of Science needs more scientific employees to keep up with the regular work of the institution, to do the work requested, to be ready to supply desired information, and to answer questions when they arise.”31 Routine work in the chemistry division, for example, included multiple inquiries and consultations that could be answered by “referring to reports or publications covering the point in question” that the bureau already possessed.32

But the growing bureau was getting too many external requests from government agencies.33 Cox complained that the increasing variety and amount of requested routine work, and the lack of space and manpower to fulfill those requests, made it almost impossible for credentialed force to conduct research.34 Describing the activities of the botany section, Cox wrote that only two botanists, Elmer Merrill and William Brown, administered the specialized section, which made it “a manifestly impossible task to keep up the routine work of the herbarium, prepare and edit the manuscripts for the section of botany of the Philippine Journal of Science, teach from nine to eighteen hours per week at the University, and do anything else.”35 Thus, addressing routine requests required more workers to unburden scientists, who were already strategizing with “improved methods, overtime work, and neglect of important research.”36

Science as routinized work demanded time and energy that scientists did not want to give entirely. It interfered with accomplishing research and developing new areas of investigation, which were regarded as the main tasks of the “scientific employees” of the bureau.37 As later acting director Richard McGregor, an ornithologist and part of the zoology division, would write, “An institution that does only routine can present a pleasing annual report, but is as dead as a director who does nothing but sign the documents to his desk.”38

For the botanist Merrill, also later director, the term routine was “unfortunate in the sense that it conveys to many individuals the idea of perfunctory daily tasks, perfunctorily accomplished; whereas, as a matter of fact, the enormous mass of routine work carried on by the institution demands on the part of its technical staff charged with the performance or supervision of these duties high technical training, wide experience, and distinct ability.”39 As such, routine-related issues could be resolved by the employment of more trained laborers from the local population to which routinized tasks could be delegated.40 Hiring Filipinos as routine laborers would not be a problem, as many of them had already been working in the bureau when it began.41

Routine labor, then, was essential work in the production of scientific knowledge, even if it was considered mundane and less significant. Nevertheless, while acknowledging routine as part of the bureau's regular work, Cox maintained, “Research work indicates the latent wealth of the nation, and bears the same relation to the commercial world that blocked-out ore does to a developed mine.”42

“Under the Same Roof”

The expansion of the bureau compound in Manila mirrored both its institutional growth and the developing areas of scientific work in the Philippines, organized and reorganized according to equally diverse categories and branches of science. Having the workspaces centralized within the bureau's compound meant that scientific work followed analogous administrative procedures in the same location (see fig. 3).

Scientists arranged spaces to be near each other in the bureau building, which had laboratory facilities, collection and storage rooms, and lecture spaces. The physical “unity” was represented by spatial construction, designed by Freer “to promote the feeling of scientific unity among the members of the staff.”43 Freer argued that for “unity of work” the different constituent parts, “the working collections, together with the staff connected with them, should not be separated from the main structure” and that working “under the same roof” provided closer communication among the scientific workers.44 The library, herbarium, and museum were important appendages to the central building, separate spaces but fundamentally part of scientific work. As a focal point, the library was in charge of cataloging and classifying materials and handling the general circulation of scientific literature, including references, publications, volumes of scientific journals, expedition reports, manuals, and maps.45

Every year, as the work grew, overcrowding and limited storage space prompted interest in expanding the compound.46 The bureau's leading scientists proposed to build new wings, more shelves and rooms for the library, and more cases for the herbarium.47 Aside from the need for a higher budget, the additions demonstrated how scientists understood scientific labor as shaped by the built environment.48

“Inadequate laboratory space” resurfaced as a yearly problem; scientists were always “working in crowded rooms.”49 By 1920, new spaces were still needed, like a new building for experiments involving plague rats, as “the sickening odor from the long-dead rats renders work in the library and the division of mines well-nigh impossible.”50 The following year, Elmer Merrill, then the director, reported that the bureau was “becoming badly cramped for space,” the “library has reached maximum expansion,” and the herbarium too has “reached its maximum development in its present quarters.”51 Again, Merrill emphasized “overcrowded” laboratories with little room for expansion.52

In addition, creating a space for workday interactions addressed other challenges facing the bureau. In the first place, American scientists complained of the climate, which made it challenging to recruit properly qualified personnel. Many perceived the tropical environment as having negative effects on the body and well-being of the preferred white, male scientists.53 Freer reflected, “Scientific isolation is the greatest handicap we have to contend with in the Tropics, and this condition can only be ameliorated by the freest and most general contact among the members of the force.”54

Thus, the centralized operation of the bureau encouraged “the mutual stimulus and enthusiasm which result by bringing all or most scientists together in one place for the performance of their various work.”55 Outside the office, scientists-bureaucrats would socialize together, swimming, playing golf, and gathering at the Manila Polo Club with other colonial officials.56 Governor-General William Cameron Forbes recalled meetings in early 1904 with different heads of bureaus, building rapport for officials who were part of the colonial infrastructure, arguing that “the institution of eating together once a week proved to be of the utmost administrative value [as it] made for esprit de corps and team play in the department.”57 Informal contact was good in cultivating mutual trust and sociability among the scientific staff.58

In the late 1900s, the bureau recruited more credentialed US-trained Filipinos to do routine work supervised by higher-ranked scientists, part of the “Filipinization of the force.”59 While the bureau relied on employees trained for scientific work under the Spanish empire, this new group consisted of those who had attended public schools and government pensionados sent abroad for graduate education and training.60 Starting in 1909, Filipinos like José del Rosario, Timoteo Dar Juan, and Angel Arguelles worked as part of the scientific staff in the chemical laboratory, after having been assessed satisfactorily for their “capability” in performing tasks in “minor positions.”61 University-educated and laboratory-trained female scientists would also enter the bureau's workforce as junior specialists in their respective fields.62

Managing the Scientific Force

Leading the bureau required scientists to realize their own organizational plans and managerial visions.63 For Freer, increasing the bureau's respectability and prestige demanded a system that could attract skilled personnel, with opportunities for promotion and intellectual advancement. A tenure mechanism, subject to the rules of the colonial civil service, would prevent “trained men” from finding another place to work while still employed, leaving their work in the bureau unfinished.64 What the bureau needed, Freer argued, were “energetic and well-trained scientific men” who “[would] be willing to enter the Bureau in the lower positions with the hope and expectations of working their way to the top (see fig. 4).”65

Freer envisioned, “a thorough organization of high standing with ample facilities and an efficient means of bringing its work before the world” to attract more trained scientists to work in Manila.66 He aspired to gather different specialists and to make the bureau the place for professional scientists to generate legitimate and authoritative science. As Freer wrote, “Places are always available in other parts of the world for good, scientific men, and to retain our own we must make conditions which are favorable to them.”67

To create this, the bureau must be a stable working environment for local and foreign talent who could cultivate “epistemic values” and endow the bureau's scientific force with professional legitimacy and authority.68 More than training, valued skills included initiative and enthusiasm.69 Freer wrote that younger employees must act on their own and “should constantly be spurred on by the spirit of work and enthusiasm which alone builds up a scientific institution.”70 As the bureau grew, however, problems in salary and conditions for research and promotion challenged Freer's and his successors’ vision to increase the bureau's international reputation in the scientific world.71

Likewise, scientific knowledge production operated through bureaucratic routine, deploying paperwork that facilitated managerial oversight, planning, and the accounting and tracking of work.72 To handle the scientific bureaucracy's paperwork, a clerical division was established for filing, bookkeeping, and financial reporting.73 Clerical work required workers skilled in the mechanisms and rules of information tracking, recording, reporting, and documentation (see fig. 5).74

As in other government agencies, clerks and stenographers were indispensable to the operation of the bureau.75 At the beginning, scientists preferred American clerks. Freer wrote that the tasks needed “high order of clerical efficiency and a knowledge of English which few Filipino clerks have as yet acquired.”76 However, starting in the 1910s, as American clerks departed, new duties and positions became available to Filipinos. By 1912, more Filipino stenographers were hired, including more women who became part of the bureau's routinized workforce.77

By 1913, the bureau employed 144 clerks and laborers, almost three times more than the 50 people working on the scientific, credentialed staff. The asymmetry between expert and routine laborers revealed an organization with constant growth but one where labor was being deliberately reorganized and reclassified.78 In addition, the problems of overwork, insufficient staff, and lack of space and equipment frustrated the bureau's leadership, more keen to prioritize the scientific agency's research agenda. As Richard McGregor, who became acting head of the bureau in 1920, remarked, “A scientific institution is judged by its discoveries in the treatment of diseases, by its improvement of chemical processes, by its publications on the native plants, animals, and minerals, and by similar additions to knowledge that are useful to the world at large as well as to the country whose government is responsible for the work.”79 Accomplishing routine work did not amount to scientific contribution that the scientists valued, and must be delegated to lower-ranked laborers as much as possible.80

In addition, the changing landscape of work in the bureau was not without friction, especially in the wake of Filipinization in the 1910s, which affected the relations between Filipino and American employees. On July 19, 1913, a letter to the Philippine Free Press, signed by “Taga-Tansa,” described a bureau that was unfair, with two separate pockets, one for Americans and one for Filipinos.81 The pseudonymous author also attacked the “racial prejudice” in the bureau, made visible by the fact that highly capable Filipinos were paid less than their American counterparts because of the color of their skin.82 The Filipinization of the scientific force was a “delusion,” the letter lamented, an undelivered promise that Filipino workers at the bureau still anticipated.

Conclusion

Scientific work in the early twentieth-century Philippines involved both specialized and mundane labor, which found coherence in the Bureau of Science's administrative management and routinization. Doing research was more valuable, as the publication of results drawn from these investigations validated and increased the legitimacy of scientific work.83 In this way, a scientific contribution to publications like the Philippine Journal of Science, by way of authorship, indicated expert knowledge, a recorded visibility that marked the boundary between a scientist and a mere laborer.84 On the other hand, devoting time to unremarkable routine work pushed scientists to invisibility. Menial work was anonymous, easily tabulated in the aggregate but never bringing prestige to any given scientific worker. If visibility meant being a named reference in scientific publications, invisibility implied the opposite—no authored publication, and no contribution to science.85

Negotiating the boundary between research and routine also worked another way. To Americans, Filipinos provided evidence of scientific potential when they labored well at routine tasks. If equipped with further education and training, such Filipinos could cultivate their scientific sensibility and ultimately become good scientists.86 This arrangement reflected the US colonial agenda as a whole, in that it perceived supervised routine work as a potential avenue to more significant scientific work.

When Arguelles was appointed director in 1934, he had proved his stature as a scientist trained in both research and routine in his two-decade career at the bureau. By this decade, most of the bureau's staff already consisted of Filipinos, both routine laborers and credentialed scientists who formed part of a scientific community that had emerged.87 Yet, certain Americans still believed that Filipinos, even a veteran like Arguelles, were incapable of leading a scientific agency as prestigious and well-known as the Bureau of Science.88 They believed the bureau must remain in American hands, echoing an earlier opposition to Filipinization, on the grounds that it was premature and even risked the deterioration of the reputable bureau began by Freer and his colleagues.89 This made the appointment of Arguelles questionable, if not entirely objectionable, even if he had indeed established and cultivated his scientific career working with and under American scientists in the bureau.90

Meanwhile, as director, Arguelles followed his American predecessors in defending centralized scientific work. He supervised more than two hundred employees and confronted similar administrative problems.91 Under his helm, science remained an integral component of state administration, and the bureau's scientists continued to grapple with competing objectives that determined which kinds of scientific work were more valuable and what they should achieve.92

As Filipinos negotiated for more autonomy toward the withdrawal of American sovereignty, scientists like Arguelles contributed their perspectives to national planning, insisting that the Bureau of Science needed continuous support and better funding. Independence, he argued, would require a strong scientific base for the economy and industry.93 In this moment, though, the science that earlier justified and supported US occupation would no longer serve empire, as Filipino scientists reoriented its pursuit toward national development after independence. Arguelles provided the scientific element in this vision of a Philippine postcolonial future, bearing the authority of science as “the legitimating sign of rationality and progress,” a view his fellow Filipino scientists shared into the succeeding years.94

I am grateful to the organizers of the 2022 Gordon Cain Conference, especially Seth Rockman for his encouragement and feedback. I thank my colleagues in the “Labor Takes Place: Workscapes, Topographies, and Infrastructure” panel for helping me think through initial ideas and questions, particularly Trish Kahle. I also thank Michael Gordin, Eva Molina, Uyen Nguyen, and Patrick Anthony for reading and commenting on earlier drafts.

Notes

1.

Freer, Fifth Annual Report, 14. I primarily examine the annual reports of the bureau, tools of “bureaucratic knowledge” generated every fiscal year of the colonial government. See Felten and von Oertzen, “Bureaucracy as Knowledge,” 8.

2.

Scientists classified the bureau's work across divisions and sections under two broad categories, “research” and “routine,” without precise definitions. From my reading, routine work, whether in entomology, botany, or another, primarily referred to manual labor that provided regular assistance to laboratory investigation and fieldwork. It also included clerical support to the bureau's overall operation.

3.

The exclusive devotion to general scientific research made the bureau distinctive. There were other domain-specific scientific agencies, such as the Philippine Weather Bureau. Led by Jesuit José Algue, it retained the structure and personnel of the Observatorio Meteorológico de Manila as it became part of the American colonial state. See Warren, “Scientific Superman.” For a history of Philippine bureaucracy, see Corpuz, Bureaucracy in the Philippines.

4.

On “routine work” described as “essential but humble scientific work” in an African context, see Jacobs, Birders of Africa, 192.

8.

Rieppel, “Organizing the Marketplace,” 233. These biological insights informed nineteenth-century industrial society in the United States, which, as Lukas Rieppel has argued, mirrored the growth of corporate firms “subject to managerial oversight, rational planning, and top-down control.” See Rieppel, “Organizing the Marketplace,” 251.

10.

Bayly, Empire and Information; Cohn, Colonialism and Its Forms of Knowledge, 5. All civil service positions were subject to colonial state regulations. Required qualifications varied according to the type of work needed. The Bureau of Science, for example, required technical and scientific knowledge for its higher-level positions.

12.

On scientists as bureaucrats in the nineteenth-century Habsburg empire, see Coen, Climate in Motion.

14.

Bradley Brazzeal makes a similar point in his discussion of Mary Polk's mentorship of Filipino librarians in the Bureau of Science Library. See Brazzeal, “Science Librarianship in Colonial Philippines,” 9–10. In the late nineteenth century, Kerby Alvarez has argued that the Observatorio Meterológico de Manila served as a scientific “training ground” for its male Filipino workers. Alvarez, “Instrumentation and Institutionalization,” 405, 413. Furthermore, James Warren wrote that under Jesuit José Algué’s supervision, Filipino laborers were “recruited, trained, and assigned to postings throughout the archipelago where they were authorized to make synchronous weather predictions for their areas and to telegraph local conditions to the Manila office.” Warren, “Scientific Superman,” 509.

15.

On the bureau shaping ambivalent reception and interpretation of US imperialism among Filipino scientists, see Baldoza, “Under the Aegis of Science,” 89–92. See also Anderson and Pols, “Scientific Patriotism.” 

18.

May, Social Engineering in the Philippines. On how the colonial state devised scientific ways of addressing problems of food scarcity and hunger, see Ventura, “Medicalizing Gutom.” 

19.

Act No. 156, “An Act Providing for the Establishment of Government Laboratories for the Philippine Islands,” enacted on July 1, 1901. In Public Laws and Resolutions Passed by the United States Philippine Commission. The “Reorganization Act” of 1905 (Act No. 1407, enacted on October 26, 1905) established the Bureau of Science as the central scientific agency. In Public Laws and Resolutions Passed by the United States Philippine Commission. Division of Insular Affairs, War Department. Volume 5, Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1907.

20.

Hays, Response to Industrialism, 48–49. The structure included components and divisions like the scientific library: the Biology Division, with sections for entomology, botany, and zoology; the Chemistry Division (which investigated the economic potential of materials like gums, resins, oils, and fibers); a Serums and Prophylactics Division; and a Mines Division (which worked on geological and topographical surveying and mapping).

22.

Worcester, The Philippines Past and Present, 489. Worcester drew from his experience as a zoology professor at the University of Michigan where “questions of jurisdiction,” he wrote, drove scientists to isolate and reject collaboration. Such “unscientific and ungenerous” working environment, Worcester contended, must be avoided in the Philippines. See Worcester, The Philippines Past and Present, 492–95.

23.

For a background on Paul Freer written by his colleagues, see the Philippine Journal of Science 7 (1912). The facilities of the Bureau of Science were likewise enjoyed by scientist-bureaucrats from other agencies such as the Bureau of Agriculture. They also published research results in the bureau's Philippine Journal of Science. See Ventura, “Medicalizing Gutom,” 50.

26.

Freer, Sixth Annual Report, 7–8; Freer, Seventh Annual Report, 3–12. On public health initiatives and medical activities as components of the Bureau of Science, see Planta, Traditional Medicine in the Colonial Philippines, 104–9.

28.

In Freer's critique, the colonial government “founded a new institution which can, by a greater advantage in funds, do damage to another established by the same government.” Freer, Tenth Annual Report, 10. See also Alfonso and Bauzon, University of the Philippines.

29.

For example, the section of ichthyology, already organized for the study of fish and fisheries, was envisioned to gradually include studies of other types of marine life (sponges, corals, and pearl oysters). Its anticipated expansion would elevate it to the “status of a division and ultimately [having] a permanent force, equipment, and laboratories.” Freer, Sixth Annual Report, 25; Star, “This Is Not a Boundary Object.” 

39.

Merrill added, “Not only the ability to perform the technical daily tasks efficiently and well, but also to initiate new work, to modify standard methods to meet local needs, and to apply locally the results obtained by modern research, whether carried on here or elsewhere.” Merrill, Twenty-First Annual Report, 4.

41.

Cox, Thirteenth Annual Report, 36; Freer, Sixth Annual Report, 37. A named routine worker of the bureau was Andres Celestino, “the only assistant in this division, [who had] made collections in northern Mindanao, in Siquijor, and in Bulacan Province, Luzon, securing 402 specimens of birds and a few insects, mollusks and mammals.” Freer, Seventh Annual Report, 40.

43.

Freer, Fifth Annual Report, 8. The aspiration to “scientific unity” among the Bureau's scientists would endure in justifying centralization. As later director Elmer Merrill would write in 1923, scientific work was centralized in the bureau “in order to avoid duplication of technical personnel, equipment, and literature by other units of the Government service; in other words, to gain economy and efficiency in administration.” Merrill, Twenty-First Annual Report, 4.

47.

Freer, Seventh Annual Report, 28. In 1910, to promote the cultivation of silk for commerce, a silk house was constructed in nearby Singalong with “ant-proof” racks and appropriate lighting conditions.

55.

Extract of Assembly Resolution No. 108, November 9, 1915.

56.

William Cameron Forbes, entry for Saturday, August 13, 1904, vol. 1 of Typewritten Transcript of Journals, p. 40, MSS20982, William Cameron Forbes Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

57.

William Cameron Forbes, entry for Saturday, Saturday, September 10, 1904, vol. 1 of Typewritten Transcript of Journals, p. 66, MSS20982, William Cameron Forbes Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

59.

Freer, Ninth Annual Report, 32–33. For a discussion on Filipinization, see Corpuz, The Bureaucracy of the Philippines, 195–213.

60.

Hugo Navarro, formerly a draftsman for the Inspección General de Minas, was employed in the bureau's Division of Mines. Freer, Seventh Annual Report, 54. Discussing the labors of a forester in late nineteenth century Spanish Philippines, Greg Bankoff argues that state-sponsored forestry as scientific practice was both colonial and indigenous, because of the presence of assistants or ayudantes. In this regard, Filipino state foresters represented the Spanish imperial state in collecting duties, enforcing regulations, and surveying lands, and submitted log reports of their activities; see Bankoff, “Month in the Life of José Salud.” See also Gutierrez, “Region of Imperial Strategy,” 107–29. For the “native staff,” see Alvarez, “Instrumentation and Institutionalization,” 405–7.

62.

On Filipino women entering the professional scientific fields, see Nery, “Feminine Invasion”; Baldoza, “Under the Aegis of Science.” On women in the emergent nursing profession, see Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care, 31–38.

63.

Karen Miller has drawn attention to a distinctive type of American masculinity that became valuable in empire building, one exhibited by men through the exercise of administrative work, rather than military aptitude. See Miller, “ ‘Thin, Wistful, and White.’ ” On soldiers performing alternative labor for the US colonial state, specifically collecting specimens that required natural curiosity and environmental sensibility, see Kohout, Taking the Field.

69.

In 1909 Freer wrote, “Any member of the Biological Laboratory who hopes to continue his connection with the Bureau must continually be prepared to make the most of his opportunities and to spend his time when not engaged in routine work, in investigations which he makes an effort to find, and not simply in waiting for what may come to his hands.” Freer, Sixth Annual Report, 19.

75.

Then–acting director Richard Strong wrote that there was a “scientific character to routine work,” which ranged from “recording examinations, analyses, tests” to the managing of the bureau's regular correspondence. Strong, Eighth Annual Report, 48.

78.

Cox wrote, “The growth of this [routine] phase of our work has seriously interfered with our research, and handicapped us in carrying on new lines of investigation as well as completing those already begun. We are in sore need of more employees and laboratory space to carry the additional work entailed by the normal growth of this Bureau. Unless our appropriation is increased, we cannot continue to develop. Our greatest usefulness is curtailed by lack of funds.” Cox, Eleventh Annual Report, 49–50.

80.

In 1928, the bureau's director William Brown would write, “The most lasting benefits are obtained not from routine work, however important this may be, but by the establishment of new principles and improved practices which result from investigation.” Brown, Twenty-Seventh, 6.

81.

This particular conflict emerged from an incident during which certain Filipino scientists had been told that there were no funds for their requested salary raise. Yet, despite the supposed lack of money, additional Americans were hired as personnel, receiving good salaries even without proper qualifications. In Typescript of Letter Sent to the Philippine Free Press, July 19, 1913, signed by “Taga-Tansa.” 4 pages in box 3, folder 11, Worcester Papers, Special Collections, Hatcher Library, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor.

82.

On the issue of race in the intertwined history of US racial formation and empire building in the Philippines, see Kramer, Blood of Government.

86.

Catherine Ceniza Choy has argued that nursing education offered professional and social mobility to Filipino women, which also served to legitimate the US colonial agenda and confirm the racial and social hierarchies it engendered. In this context, only through supervision and training could Filipino nurses be seen as competent and professional equals. See Choy, Empire of Care, 31. On the category of “mechanical work” inscribed in hierarchies of scientific distinction, see especially Blair, “New Knowledge Makers,” 168–70.

89.

Anderson, “Science in the Philippines,” 304, 307. Vice Governor Joseph Hayden criticized the Filipino-dominated Bureau of Science of the 1930s: “Not only has the scientific work of these institutions lacked coordination, but professional, institutional, political, and even racial jealousies have at times caused a diffusion and overlapping of effort which has injured the public interest and reduced the effectiveness of the large body of well-trained Philippine scientists.” See Hayden, Philippines, 543.

90.

George Dunham, technical adviser to the Governor General on Public Health, assessed that the bureau in 1933 was “scarcely a scientific institution, in so far as research work is concerned” because of the deluge of routine work. Dunham believed that only an American could revive the institution, as he knew “no Filipino who would build up the bureau into a scientific institution approaching its former status.” On the problem of the bureau's leadership, Dunham recommended that Arguelles be consulted, not appointed as director. See Memorandum for the Governor-General, titled “Reorganization of the Bureau of Science,” dated July 25, 1933, in box 10, folder 23, Ralston Hayden Papers, Bentley Historical Library, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

93.

Arguelles, “Progress of Science in the Philippines.” Cox had already made a similar argument in a previous annual report: “Successful economic development of the Philippines must be preceded by adequate research, and economic independence must precede successful political independence.” Cox, Seventeenth Annual Report, 61.

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