Maps: Power, Plunder and Possession: episode 2 – Spirit of the Age
In a rather neat coincidence, a TV programme from 2010 that features some of the key maps that I discuss in Mapping Society, such as John Snow’s map of cholera in Soho, Charles Booth’s maps of poverty, and the 1900 rare map of Jewish East London is showing on the BBC iplayer for the next few days. It features Professor Danny Dorling, Ed Parsons from Google, and a rather more fresh-faced version of yours truly (amongst others).
In a series about the extraordinary stories behind maps, Professor Jerry Brotton shows how maps can reveal the fears, obsessions and prejudices of their age.
Religious passion inspires beautiful medieval maps of the world, showing the way to heaven, the pilgrims’ route to Jerusalem and monstrous children who eat their parents. But by the Victorian era society is obsessed with race, poverty and disease. Royal cartographer James Wyld’s world map awards each country a mark from one to five, depending on how ‘civilised’ he deems each nation to be. And a map made to help Jewish immigrants in the East End inadvertently fuels anti-semitism.
‘Map wars’ break out in the 1970s when left-wing journalist Arno Peters claims that the world map shown in most atlases was a lie that short-changed the developing world. In Zurich, Brotton talks to Google Earth about the cutting edge of cartography and at Worldmapper he sees how social problems such as infant mortality and HIV are strikingly portrayed on computer-generated maps that bend the world out of shape and reflect the spirit of our age.
And my tip of the day: most UK universities provide access for free to BoB: Learning on Demand, which allows staff and students at subscribing institutions to record programmes from over 65 free-to-air channels, and search the archive of over 2 million broadcasts on TV and radio.
Reading the Historical Geography Research Group’s summer newsletter led me (via a piece by David Beckingham) to look at an interesting moment in the history of medical cartography: a map by Dr. Edward H. Barton that was included in his “Report upon the Sanitary Condition of New Orleans” (part of the famous Report of the Sanitary Commission of New Orleans on the Epidemic Yellow Fever of 1853).
As Stevenson (1965) points out, this actually wouldn’t qualify as a spot map of disease, nor does it fulfil the claim for “presenting the localization of all the cases of yellow fever of the year”, though it does show the general locality. Indeed, he points out that this would have been a graphic challenge, given that there were nearly 30,000 cases in that year. Yet the map is important for the history of social cartography for two reasons: First, it presents an apparent association between locale and the clustering of disease, showing (in glorious detail), the location of “various Nuisances and other causes affecting the Salubrity of the City. . . . ,” such as cemeteries, slaughter houses, “vacheries,” [“nasties”] livery stables, sugar depots on the levee, factories of various kinds, open basins and unfilled lots, canals, drains, and gas works, not omitting “fever nests” and crowded boarding houses. It also shows pavements of stone, plank roads, and unsurfaced streets, as well as regions where soil had been disturbed and overturned, alongside information on the seven ships that – it was thought at the time – were the source of the disease. Second, it provides evidence of an association between topography and spatial layout.
Barton’s report showed how a plague spot “exists here on the river bank, because at this season (August and September) the river is low and the bank exposed, leaving an extensive surface—the common receptacle of all kinds of filth—and here, or not far distant, we find the large amount of unacclimated population; but it [the disease] first breaks out and spreads in St. Thomas and Madison streets, St. Mary street, about the Markets, at the triangle, Gormley’s Basin, &c. Sec. . . . — all filthy, crowded and badly ventilated localities.” (quoted in Stevenson, 1965, 257-258)
According to the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control, yellow fever is spread via Aedes (Stegomyia) aegypti, commonly known as the Yellow fever mosquito. It is a known vector of several viruses including yellow fever virus, dengue virus chikungunya virus and Zika virus. It thrives in densely populated areas which lack reliable water supplies, waste management and sanitation.
In fact, as Willoughby (2018) maintains, the construction of the city 300 years ago, which entailed draining the swamps and building flood walls against the Mississippi, shaped its landscape for the long term. In addition, massive demographic change that brought about a large influx of workers, including slaves, contributed to the emergence of New Orleans and its surroundings as a zone of yellow fever. The map featured above captured the city shortly after the most devastating epidemic of the disease, that killed nearly 15% of its inhabitants.
Barton was an anticontagionist – rather than supporting the idea of disease being spread through human contact – anticontagionists believed that contagion occurred due to the locale, namely – that the environment of the locale itself was blamed for the disease. (See full explanation in Gilbert, 2002). The local stench was supposedly a sign of this, though confusingly there was the added element of incomers (“foreign elements” bringing the disease with them via the ports. This was a theory that had barely progressed from Seaman’s yellow fever maps of New York, 1799 (see image below), which had similarly showed the apparent association between “the fever” and the port. Yet, the report is significantly more sophisticated, with detailed descriptions of sanitary conditions, along with tables of statistics.
The spatial ecology of the disease is clear from Barton’s report. What is saddening to note is the preponderance of cases having occurred close to the water, in low-lying areas. That same spatial patterning can be seen 100 years later in the redlining map of New Orleans, pictured below, which designated the districts by the water as being most at risk for defaulting from loans. It is no coincidence that the city surveyor coloured as red, namely “hazardous” vast tracts of areas inhabited by “Negroes”, who were spatially segregated from the white inhabitants of the city due to racial zoning laws from decades earlier. It is also a sad truth to find that the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina in 2005 also disproportionately affected the city’s African Americans, still living in the flood plain 60 years after the city’s spatial patterns of poverty had been fixed on a map.
Gilbert, Pamela K. 2002. The Victorian Social Body and Urban Cartography. In Imagined Londons, edited by P. K. Gilbert: State University of New York Press.
Stevenson, Lloyd G. 1965. Putting Disease on the Map: The Early Use of Spot Maps in the Study of Yellow Fever. Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 20 (3):226-261.
From the turn of the 19th century, social cartography was centred on mapping contagious disease – the most urgent problem of rapidly growing cities around the world. The examples which feature in my forthcoming book, Mapping Society range from Yellow Fever in New York, 1798, followed by a large number of maps of cholera, ranging across France, Germany and the United Kingdom. Before the creation of epidemiology as a science in its own right, it was the combined efforts of physicians and medical officers (namely public health officials, many of whom themselves had medical training) that contributed the effort of understanding the spatial distribution of disease.
In the UK, it was John Snow who famously hypothesised in the 1850s that cholera was caused by a germ spread through contaminated water, in contrast with the prevalent miasma theory of contagion through bad air (though evidently there were scientists in Italy and Germany working on isolating the bacterium several years previously). The two theories were debated vigorously, but Snow’s ground-breaking studies of the 1853–5 epidemic resulted in his being considered the father of epidemiology, due not only to his well-reasoned statistics but to his maps, which illustrated to a lay audience the evidence of a cluster of cholera cases amongst people living close to a single water pump on Broad Street and, hence, that contaminated water was the source of the disease.
Nevertheless, both in Europe and much farther afield in New Zealand, the evidence for cholera and typhoid being water-borne continued to be debated, with the Wellington medical officer William Chapple’s mapping the incidence of typhoid across the city, to see if he could find where blocked pipes were causing sewer vapours to back up into houses (see image below[i]).
Chapple’s map identifies a cluster of typhoid cases in the Holland Street area of the city, where he had found that the street’s sewer was leaking had contaminated the surrounding soil. Coupled to empirical fieldwork, which found overcrowded housing in the street, the maps were able to highlight (with graphic emphasis of the leaking sewer), the spatial association between housing quality, urban situation and disease.
While the map is quite late for the sequence of disease maps reported in Mapping Society, Ben Schrader has pointed out that the ‘miasma theory’ that disease such as cholera or typhoid were air borne, continued to persist in the country, despite the discovery in 1885 of Salmonella typhi by a US veterinary pathologist Daniel Elmer Salmon[ii] (almost simultaneously with the discovery in 1884 of the cholera bacillus, Vibrio cholerae by the German scientist, Robert Koch.)
Although the fact that the disease was likely to have been the result of contamination of drinking water by leaking cesspits was not yet accepted at this stage, the subsequent construction of municipal water and sewer schemes seems to have had the desired result of a drop in mortality from water-borne diseases in urban New Zealand by the turn of the 20th century.