"The history of science as we know it is what we have learned from schoolbooks: how Archimedes discovered the principles of fluid mechanics in his bath; how Galileo proved that the Earth is not the centre of the universe; how Newton discovered gravity from seeing an apple fall. Official written histories are the record of a few great men having that "Eureka" moment that ushered in technological and material advances.
In his A people's history of science, American historian Clifford D. Conner attempts to show that in fact, science has always been a collective endeavour. This myth-busting book uncovers the contribution made to knowledge by those considered unknowledgeable: hunter-gatherers, peasant farmers, sailors, miners, blacksmiths, carpenters and many others who worked with their hands. In eight broad chapters, from the "First Peoples" to the American teens of the 1970s laying the foundations of computing for Everyman, the book looks at the timeline of human history, paying tribute to the contribution made by "people of the common sort" to scientific progress.
The book's basic premise is that the different "scientific revolutions" could never have happened without the knowledge and practical techniques patiently built up, handed down and improved by thousands of unknowns. Clifford D. Conner, who himself did a miscellany of jobs before coming late to academic study, profusely illustrates his thesis. He shows how Galileo's regular discussions with workers at Venice's weapons factory (the Arsenal) enabled him to develop his theories on ballistics, how much anatomy is indebted to the anonymous anatomical artists – whom Vesalius failed to credit! – of the 420 illustrations of his De Humanis Corporis Fabrica, how much Tycho Brahe's astronomical discoveries owed to the telescopes produced by eyeglass manufacturers, etc.
This dissident historian's work is less a lavish exercise in rehabilitation than a denunciation of the use of science as a means for domination. Conner piles example on example. Among the most compelling is that of quinine. He notes that quinine was a traditional remedy of the Quechua Indians of Peru. Once under the control of colonists, cultivating the cinchona tree enabled the white man to eradicate malaria in Europe… and to make incursions into the African continent with no further health fears.
But he argues that the systematic exploitation of science for the powerful (against the people) is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the 19th century through what Conner calls a "union of capital and science" culminating in today's "scientific-industrial complex". He inveighs against the culture of science and technology dominated by experts and obsessed with efficiency, rationalization, and profit accumulation. "Almost all scientific research is the work of professional scientists either directly employed or indirectly funded by capitalist corporations and governments", he observes.
The boundaries between public, industrial and academic research have become blurred. "The upshot is that public dollars pay universities to produce knowledge that becomes the private property of corporations," he argues.
While the author's persistently strict divide (the elite vs. the people) can grate, his A People's History of Science to its great credit does throw a light on those whom history with a capital H has airbrushed away and the social conditions of that disregard. Trade unions can draw conclusions from this, such as the need for these "artisans of knowledge" to be involved in formulating the standards and policies for risk prevention in the workplace – spheres that are still today the private preserve of experts and technocrats. — Denis Grégoire"

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