Genebanking, the process of preserving genetic resources, is a central practice in the modern management of crop genetics, especially for the species used for food and agriculture. Closely interrelated networks of local, national and global actors are responsible for ex situ conservation. They all seek to make plant genetic resources accessible for all and now face new challenges arising from digitisation. Plant sciences are entering the postgenomic era, moving fast from initially providing a single reference genome for each species (genomics), (...) to harnessing the extent of diversity within crop species (pangenomics) and among their relatives (referred to as postgenomics). This paper describes the extent to which ex situ collections have already undergone a digital shift, or are planning to do so, and the potential impact of this postgenomic-induced dematerialisation on the global governance of plant genetic resources. In turn, digitising material (seed) collection changes the relationship between genebanks and genomic databases. Comprehensive genomic characterisation of genebank accessions is ongoing, and I argue here that these efforts may provide a unique opportunity for genebanks to further embrace the moral, ethical and ultimately political principles on which they were built. Repurposing genebanks as decentralised digital biocentres could help relocate capabilities and stewardship over genetic resources. Empowering local farmers by providing access, promoting the use and unlocking benefits from state-of-the-art tools of modern plant breeding may allow bridging the breeding divide. However, to accomplish such a paradigm shift, genebanks require a strong political mandate that must primarily originate from the access and benefit-sharing framework. Only so may the global challenges associated with the loss of biodiversity and food insecurity be addressed. (shrink)

Collections of living organisms are reservoirs of biological knowledge that operate across times and places. From the mid-20th century, scientific institutions dedicated to the cultivation of such collections have routinized and professionalized their care. But “care,” for these collections, is focused not just on individual organisms—instead, a principal aim of a curator is to maintain the integrity of a reproducing “strain,” “variety,” “line,” or “stock,” and the composition of a collection as a whole. This paper explores the forms, the material (...) dimensions, the temporalities, and the values of that care, to recover the conditions under which scientist-custodians maintain continuity of research over many decades. This paper does so by focusing on two rather different kinds of scientific collection: that of Drosophila fruit flies on the one hand, and plant seeds on the other. Their comparison is valuable because their vastly different needs and life cycles engender very different practices of care. Comparing the materialities, life cycles, needs, and values of these divergent collections helps to draw attention to the routine and the apparently mundane. First, the paper asks: what kinds of work go into managing such collections—that is, the day-to-day management and cultivation, surveillance, and administration of information? Second, it asks: how do these practices maintain the integrity of the strains and stocks, and the collections themselves? What kinds of value does this work create? Third, what are the future imaginaries that are rhetorically drawn into the funding strategies of these collections, and how do they envision future use, ownership, and control? (shrink)

Around the turn of the twentieth century, microbiologists in Western Europe and North America began to organize centralized collections of microbial cultures. Collectors published lists of the strains they cultured, offering to send duplicates to colleagues near and far. This essay explores the history of microbial culture collections through two cases: Johanna Westerdijk’s collection of phytopathogenic fungi in the Netherlands and Ernst Georg Pringsheim’s collection of single-celled algae at the German University in Prague. Historians of science have tended to look (...) at twentieth-century biological specimen collections as either repositories of communal research materials or storehouses of economically important biological variation. An examination of Westerdijk’s and Pringsheim’s collections illustrates how collectors, researchers, and patrons ascribed different kinds of value to collections featuring distinctive microbial life forms. This essay argues that characteristics of cultivated microorganisms, such as a fungus’s propensity to infect crops or an alga’s amenability to experimentation, shaped the trajectories of Westerdijk’s and Pringsheim’s collections as these collectors developed relationships with colleagues and patrons. Letters between Westerdijk and Pringsheim open a window onto divergences in their approaches to collecting cultures, while also shedding light on the aspirational internationality of the collections that resulted. (shrink)

Focused on the material practices of making insect specimens, I explore how shifting concepts of potential are intricately crafted on the lab bench. Different types of time—from personal histories to imagined futures—are created and entangled as butterflies are made into specimens. Transforming a butterfly into a scientific tool does not merely transform the butterfly, I suggest, but also reciprocally folds back to transform the scientist who makes it. Based on ethnographic fieldwork with scientists in the labs and workrooms at the (...) Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC and the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco, California, I follow butterflies and moths (Lepidoptera) as they are collected, euthanized, pinned, genetically sampled for rewilding projects, such as reviving a Californian sand dune ecology, and frozen in biobanks for as-yet-unknown future uses. Through a comparative study of practices at these two sites, I examine how a butterfly can contain multiple types of potential: manifesting its inherent potential as it transforms from caterpillar to butterfly, the plasticity of the butterfly body as it is crafted into a scientific specimen, and the potential of that specimen to be used as a site for extracting genomic data. Perceptions of time, salvation, loss, and care emerge as specimens are prepared, sampled, and reimagined as solutions for recreating lost ecologies. (shrink)

This paper charts the history of the Rockefeller Foundation’s participation in the collection and long-term preservation of genetic diversity in crop plants from the 1940s through the 1970s. In the decades following the launch of its agricultural program in Mexico in 1943, the Rockefeller Foundation figured prominently in the creation of world collections of key economic crops. Through the efforts of its administrators and staff, the foundation subsequently parlayed this experience into a leadership role in international efforts to conserve so-called (...) plant genetic resources. Previous accounts of the Rockefeller Foundation’s interventions in international agricultural development have focused on the outcomes prioritized by foundation staff and administrators as they launched assistance programs and especially their characterization of the peoples and “problems” they encountered abroad. This paper highlights instead how foundation administrators and staff responded to a newly emergent international agricultural concern—the loss of crop genetic diversity. Charting the foundation’s responses to this concern, which developed only after agricultural modernization had begun and was understood to be produced by the successes of the foundation’s own agricultural assistance programs, allows for greater interrogation of how the foundation understood and projected its central position in international agricultural research activities by the 1970s. (shrink)