Timed to coincide with the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence that launched a revolution that created the United States of America, this series of articles complicates traditional narratives of this transformative event by situating it in a larger British world context. This article examines the controversy surrounding the lightning strike at the Royal Gunpowder Magazine at Purfleet-on-Thames in 1777 to explore how political conflict shaped scientific authority during the American Revolution. Although Benjamin Franklin's theory of electricity and pointed lightning conductors had achieved broad acceptance within the Royal Society, the Purfleet incident enabled his long-standing rival, Benjamin Wilson, to revive discredited criticisms by appealing to patriotic sentiment and royal patronage rather than experimental evidence. Drawing on correspondence, Royal Society records, published pamphlets, and committee reports, this article demonstrates that the scientific consensus remained firmly in Franklin's favor even as political opposition to the American cause reshaped public perceptions and institutional priorities. The Purfleet controversy reveals how political allegiance could influence scientific institutions, redirect research agendas, and transform the public presentation of science without overturning established scientific knowledge.
In Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, Justice Samuel Alito cites the Ellenborough Act of 1803, the first statutory prohibition of abortion in the Anglo-American common law system, and endorses one interpretation of the bill as an effort to protect fetal rights. However, the reasons behind Lord Ellenborough's decision to criminalize abortion have been unclear to historians, especially given the common law's historical indifference to abortion and the absence of general outcry over the practice at the time the bill was passed. This article argues the Act's origins instead lay in Ellenborough's professional history as counsel for the Merchants of Liverpool in their opposition to various abolitionist bills before Parliament between 1792 and 1799. The article incorporates data collected from the first comprehensive review of nineteenth-century abortion trials held in England and Wales, whose statistics on domestic, birth-related prosecutions illustrate that abortion was not a crime the criminal justice system was interested in punishing. Instead, using Ellenborough's personal and professional papers, the article argues that the 1803 statute should be interpreted through Ellenborough's sustained commitment to the protection of private property and the defense of the institution of slavery.
Timed to coincide with the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence that launched a revolution that created the United States of America, this series of articles complicates traditional narratives of this transformative event by situating it in a larger British world context.As American Patriots declared their independence from Great Britain, there was one British politician whom they continued to celebrate as a hero: William Pitt, Earl of Chatham. In 1776, Chatham's face adorned statues, portraits, swords, and even waxworks throughout the new American states. By Chatham's death in 1778, however, Americans had cooled appreciably on the British "Patriot" leader. Why did William Pitt remain an American hero for so long? And why, after 1776, did his reputation fall so quickly? This article argues that the issue of American independence caused a political split in a once-powerful transatlantic Patriot alliance. While American Patriots viewed independence as their paramount goal, British Patriots such as Chatham could not conceive of a British Empire that did not include North America. The British Patriots' attempts to balance imperial sovereignty and civil liberty proved unworkable, and ultimately, they chose empire. The death of William Pitt represented the end of British Patriotism's core political ideal: to create a British Empire that was both expansive and free.
Timed to coincide with the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence that launched a revolution that created the United States of America, this series of articles complicates traditional narratives of this transformative event by situating it in a larger British world context. This article considers the significance of the US Declaration of Independence in the western hemisphere. It argues first that the influence of the Declaration was limited in an era we call "the age of imperial fracture." Second, it contends that the former colonies that achieved independence, including the United States, did not experience a sharp break with the past. Instead, they grappled with the legacies of colonialism and imperial ambitions. Throughout the western hemisphere, independence triggered new waves of contestation and conflict and gave rise to new forms of imperialism.
In Britain in the 1970s and 1980s public perception of the dangers of asbestos changed dramatically as asbestos came to be understood as an environmental and public health risk, rather than one limited to those who worked in the industry. The invisible presence of asbestos in the everyday spaces of life caused widespread anxiety and prompted community action in towns and cities across the UK. This article examines how, in the 1980s, asbestos in schools became the focus for public concern. It tracks how different levels of government responded to these concerns and how different conceptualizations of risk were used to push for action or reject it. The focus for this study is London, where, in 1983, the left-wing Greater London Council (GLC) committed to removing all asbestos from schools in the Inner London Education Authority (ILEA). While local governments attempted to remove asbestos, national government resisted calls for new policy and financial assistance and instead cited government-commissioned research by consultant scientists to dismiss concerns. The government response was contested by activists, including Nancy Tait and Alan Dalton, and fueled a growing distrust among concerned parents. Drawing on archival sources from unions, campaigners, and national and local government and media, this article demonstrates how asbestos was caught up in wider questions about regulation and the state's role in negotiating risk in everyday life.
