Supportive Scorpio

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Truncated text of tweet from MrPitBull, Mar 11, 2026:

She kept finding women in laboratory photographs from the 1800s. Then she read the published papers—and every single woman had vanished. Someone had erased them from history.

Yale University, 1969.

Margaret Rossiter was a graduate student studying the history of science. She was one of very few women in her program.

Every Friday afternoon, students and faculty gathered for beers and informal conversation. One week, Margaret asked a simple question: "Were there ever any women scientists?"

The faculty answered firmly: No.

Someone mentioned Marie Curie. The group dismissed it—her husband Pierre really deserved the credit.

Margaret didn't argue. But she also didn't believe them.

So she started looking.

She found a reference book called "American Men of Science"—essentially a Who's Who of scientific achievement. Despite the title, she was shocked to discover it contained entries about women. Botanists trained at Wellesley. Geologists from Vermont.

There were names. There were credentials. There were careers.

The professors had been wrong.

But Margaret's discovery was just the beginning. Because as she dug deeper into archives across the country, she found something far more disturbing.

Photograph after photograph showed women standing at laboratory benches, working with equipment, listed on research teams.

But when she read the published papers, the award citations, the official histories—those same women had disappeared. Their names were missing. Their contributions erased.

It wasn't random. It was systematic.

Women who designed experiments watched male colleagues publish results without giving them credit. Women whose discoveries were assigned to supervisors. Women listed in acknowledgments instead of as authors. Women passed over for awards that went to male collaborators who contributed far less.

Margaret realized she was witnessing a pattern that stretched across centuries.

Women had always been present in science. The record had simply pushed them aside.

She needed a name for what she was documenting.

In the early 1990s, she found it in the work of Matilda Joslyn Gage—a 19th-century suffragist who had written about this exact phenomenon in 1870.

In 1993, Margaret published a paper formally naming it: The Matilda Effect.

The term captured something that had been hidden in plain sight for generations. Once you knew the term, you saw it everywhere.

Her dissertation became a lifelong mission.

For more than 30 years, Margaret researched and wrote her landmark three-volume series: Women Scientists in America. She examined letters, institutional policies, individual careers. She gathered undeniable evidence that women in science had been consistently under-credited and structurally excluded.

Her work faced resistance. Many dismissed women's history as political rather than academic. Others insisted she was exaggerating.

Margaret didn't argue emotionally. She presented data. Documented cases. Patterns repeated across decades and institutions.

Eventually, the evidence became undeniable.

Her research helped restore recognition to scientists who had been erased:

Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work revealed DNA's structure—credit went to Watson and Crick.

Lise Meitner, who explained nuclear fission—omitted from the Nobel Prize.

Nettie Stevens, who discovered sex chromosomes—received little credit.

Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, who discovered stars are made of hydrogen—initially dismissed.

And countless others whose names had nearly vanished.

Margaret changed the narrative. Science was no longer just the story of solitary male geniuses. It became a story of collaboration that included women who had been written out.

Above: plant growths caused by the larvae of three different species of gall wasp, including Trigonaspis teres, Callirhytis seminator, and Feron izabellae

These tumor-like growths are known as plant galls. They develop in response to chemicals that are injected or secreted by certain insects, mites, and nematodes. Each plant gall forms around the body of a single larva (or, in some cases, a small group of larvae), and the structure serves as both protection and sustenance for the tiny creature developing within.

Above: the plant gall of the oak apple gall wasp, Atrusca quercuscentricola, with a bisected view that shows the larva within

There are many different insects that can trigger the production of plant galls, including certain aphids, psyllids, flies, beetles, scale insects, and caterpillars, but gall-forming wasps are especially diverse. They also create some of the most distinctive plant galls in nature.

Above: the photo at the top shows the plant gall of an unidentified gall wasp from the family Cynipidae, and the photo at the bottom depicts the plant galls of the urchin gall wasp, Cynips quercusechinus

The color, shape, size, and texture of each plant gall varies depending on the species of gall wasp that induces it. Some wasps are associated with plant galls that look like fuzzy little pom-poms; others produce mushroom-shaped structures, colorful discs, cones, pink spheres, cottonballs, etc.

Above: this photo shows a mushroom gall wasp, Heteroecus sanctaeclarae, which produces plant galls that look like tiny mushroom-shaped houses

As this article explains:

Galls are plant growths (similar to tumors) that are induced by various organisms such as bacteria, fungi, and insects. Gall wasps have evolved to “trick” the plant into forming this growth which they then use for food and shelter as they transform from a larva to an adult.

The wasp larvae secrete chemicals that mimic growth hormones in a particular plant upon hatching. The chemicals trick the oak into growing a gall on its flowers, acorns, leaves, or stems. The larva is then encapsulated by the gall as it grows, waiting patiently inside until its metamorphosis is complete.

Above: Feron parmula, commonly known as the disc gall wasp

Many of these plant galls have elaborate, colorful features that are truly stunning.

Above: the spined-turban gall wasp, Cynips douglasii

Gall-forming wasps are only parasitic toward plants -- they do not parasitize other animals. The larvae feed on the nutritive tissues of their plant galls, but the adult wasps do not feed at all.

Above: plant galls produced by two different species of gall wasp

These wasps also have a peculiar reproductive cycle:

Many species have alternating generations, meaning all of the adults emerging from galls during one time of the year are female-only, while the adults emerging in a different season have both males and females. Most species have females that can reproduce using parthenogenesis when they emerge by themselves. This means that their eggs are essentially clones of themselves. What’s more, some species appear not to have any males at all.

Above: the huge, fuzzy plant galls of Striatoandricus furnessae and Druon pattoni

Scientists have named and described roughly 1400 species of gall wasp, and that's likely just a fraction of the number of species that actually exist, as gall-forming organisms are widely understudied.

Above: close-up of a gall wasp larva nestled in its plant gall

Once the larva transforms into a fully-developed wasp, it finally emerges from its gall.

Above: adult gall wasps

Sources & More Info:

Forest Watch: Gall Wasps

Gallformers: What the Heck is a Gall?

Southwick Country Park Nature Reserve: Ecosystem Engineers

Insect Systematics and Diversity: Comparative Anatomy of Venom Glands Suggests a Role of Maternal Secretions in Gall Induction by Cynipid Wasps

Entomology Today: Gall-Inducing Wasps Have Enlarged Venom Glands, Study Finds

The British Plant Gall Society: Plant Galls