ARCHAEOLOGY
and the
PUBLICS
EDITED BY:
CHRISTOS NIKOLAOU,
STANLEY ONYEMECHALU,
CHIKE PILGRIM,
AND BENNY SHEN
VOLUME 38.2, NOVEMBER 2023
Archaeology
and
the Publics
edited by
Christos Nikolaou, Stanley Onyemechalu,
Chike Pilgrim & Benny Shen
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
I
The Archaeological Review from Cambridge is a biannual journal of archaeology. It is run on a
non-profit, voluntary basis by postgraduate researchers at the University of Cambridge. Although
primarily rooted in archaeological theory and practice, the ARC invites a wide range of perspectives
with the aim of establishing a strong, interdisciplinary journal which will be of interest to a variety
of fields.
Archaeological Review from Cambridge
Department of Archaeology
University of Cambridge
Downing Street, Cambridge, CB2 3DZ
United Kingdom
http://arc.soc.srcf.net
Volume 38.2: Archaeology and the Publics
© The Archaeological Review from Cambridge
Theme Editors: Christos Nikolaou, Stanley Onyemechalu, Chike Pilgrim and Benny Shen
Published in November 2023
ISSN 0261-4332
Issue design by Christos Nikolaou, Chike Pilgrim and Benny Shen based on Oliver Antczak
Graphic Design by Renee Yearwood and cover design by Tecla Negro
All articles for publication in the Archaeological Review from Cambridge are peer-reviewed
All images are the authors’ own, except where otherwise stated
Printed by: Victoire Press Ltd
ARC Committee
General Editor
Marianna Negro
Treasurer
Megan R. Hinks
Secretary
Christos Nikolaou
Book Reviews
Stanley Onyemechalu
Subscriptions
Natasha Rai
Open Access
Guganesan Ilavarasan
Web Management
Chike Pilgrim
Publicity and Events
Julia Gustafson
Back Issue Sales
Benny Shen
General Members
Glynnis Maynard, Liam McClain, Rachel Phillips, Ali Giritlioglu, Julia Gustafson, Polina Kapsali,
Simon Stoddart, Alexes Mes, Benny Shen, Andriana-Maria Xenaki, Maria M. Gajewska, Dylan O.
Flicker, Jinoh Kim, Nynke Blomer, Jake Stone, Elizabeth Popovic, Devika Kainth, V.G. Marcano,
B.A. Lucas, Ihini Aambreen, Luca Adams, Siddharth Kutty, Nicole Marie Newhouse, R. Moffat,
D. Sicotte, N.P. Zocco, Katrina Rorhus, E.M. Wright, Beatrice Tailby Hardstaff, Madhulika
Chebrol, Lola Graziani, P. Bergaudas, E.G. Oldridge, R.T. Russell, O.K. Rostad, Denéa S.
II
Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Contents
v
Acknowledgements
Editorial
Archaeology and the Publics
Christos Nikolaou, Stanley Onyemechalu, Chike Pilgrim,
and Benny Shen
1
Contributions
Ghosts of Archaeology: The Journey of Archaeological Knowledge
from Science to Science Fiction
Andrea Kocsis
14
Politics on a Small Scale: Archaeological Ethnography as a Lens of
Understanding Community Politics
Klairi Gianniri
35
Towards a new project design methodology for archaeological
projects in England
Sadie Watson
58
Archaeology, Indigenous and Local Knowledge, and Climate
Change in the Caribbean: Select Case Studies among the Kalinago,
Macushi and Maroon communities in the Windward Islands and
the Guianas
Andrea Richards, Cheryl White, Louisa Daggers, Thanya Soké-Fonkel,
Annalisa Edwards, Augustine Sutherland and Irvince Auguiste
78
From Soot to Saplings: Integrating Industrial Pasts into Public
Demands for Environmental Sustainability
Kieran Gleave
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
106
III
Contents
Digital Archaeology In Schools: The Use Of Archaeological Games
In Public Education In The State Of São Paulo in Brazil
Amanda Daltro de Viveiros Pina and Matheus Morais Cruz
128
Stonehenge in Punch Cartoons 1860-1999: A Leaky Pipeline from
Experts to the Public
Gregorgy Michaelson
147
Cultural Heritage in Modern Conflicts: A Theoretical Analysis of
Memory and Materiality in Babylon, Iraq
Martina Bortolan
171
Untangling Difficult Heritage: Arguing for Equal Linguistic Access
for Stakeholders of Past International Conflicts
Oliver Moxham
186
Construction of the Archaeological Inventory of the Sites with
Rock Art of the Vides River.
Sara Valentina Guerrero Gonzalez
201
Exploring the Complex Relationship between Archaeology and
Society: Lessons from India's History
Aritri Samadder
226
Forthcoming Issue
240
IV
Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Acknowledgements
This volume is a collective effort and credit for its creation goes beyond
just the four of us. We wish to thank our peers in Cambridge for stimulating
discussions and feedback.
Thanks also go to the ARC Committee for helping steer us through the
process. Special thanks to Marianna Negro for her role as General Editor, and
to Tecla Negro for the front cover illustration.
Thanks also go out to Renee Yearwood for the cover design and Oliver
Antzcak, for helping with typesetting.
The most important heroes of this volume are the authors, whose articles
adorn our volume like constellations in the night sky, and the reviewers for
their feedback being as fluid as a cleansing river.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
v
V
VI
Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Archaeology and the Publics
Christos Nikolaou, Stanley Onyemechalu,
Chike Pilgrim & Benny Shen
Department of Archaeology, University of Cambridge
It has been exactly 40 years since the publication of one of the earliest
ARC issues: Volume 2:1 Archaeology and the Public (1983), emerged
from a Theoretical Archaeology Group conference put on by Mike Parker
Pearson and others in 1982. Our publication likewise has strong theoretical
underpinnings. Archaeology as a discipline has never been more concerned
with its positionality within public discourses and its relativity to different
segments of the publics. This is because the Information Age has brought
with it new challenges with respect to what defines public spaces and who
are accepted as authorities in these spaces (Stephens et al 2023). By pluralising
the ‘public’ in our volume title, Archaeology and the PublicS, we hope to
demonstrate and highlight the multivocality and diversity inherent in the
public – and the opportunities and challenges that come with this diversity.
Archaeology is not purely scientific. This is because all archeological
data is embedded in the past, and so is non-testable. There is no way to truly
falsify an archaeological hypothesis. In contrast, purely scientific methods can
form hypotheses and then repeat tests until these are falsified or confirmed.
Archaeology therefore does not adhere solely to the hypothetico-deductive
model advanced by Popper (2014) and proposed in the field by Binford
(1969). Archaeology and the PublicS, by pluralising the "Public" embraces
some of this post-processualism as an admission that archaeology is subjective
and open to interpretation (Hodder 2004).
Simply put, we believe that there are many publics and no meaningful
relationship with archaeology can begin without first recognising this fact.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
1
By resisting the dualism implied by Strauss (1972) we avoid solidifying the
public and archaeology into one monolithic pair, and so oversimplifying
human experiences and agendas. Also, by doing away with dichotomy –
and duality of any kind – we are able to sift domains into their constituent
parts - to atomize them, so to speak. Archaeology, by its very nature, is a vast
discipline - it is the study of the remains of humans in all places throughout all
time related to human existence. This combination of materials and peoples
is all-encompassing. Archaeology is conducted to what aim then? Why devote
all of this natural and social scientific study to this tremendous space-time
block? For the sake of curiosity is always a good and satisfying response to
the question Why study something? (Einstein 1955). However, through this
theme we have chosen, we also argue that archaeology has a very public profile
and a resultant public debt.
Archaeology's progression away from its roots in an irresponsible 16th and
17th century Antiquarianism is thus emphasised by our choice of topic. This
earlier (primarily Western and European) network of upper-class collectors
and imperial forces seeking through private collections to build “national
histories” and “national museums” is addressed by our use of Publics. Often
this meant ‘sanitising’ archaeological heritage in accordance with Eurocentric
narratives (Hamilakis and Greenberg 2021) or the appropriation of heritage
by colonial populations to disempower native colonised groups (Matenga
2011). These former acts of collecting are understood as being indifferent
or even antagonistic to groups, civilizations and movements with their own
separate reasons for enquiring after and interrogating the material past. We
use the term Publics here to therefore partially mean localised communities
who were formerly subjected to imperial and colonial extractivism. We have
here recognised them as key stakeholders in archaeological and heritage
practice. In these imperial and colonial contexts, archaeological questions and
investigations have often revolved around material culture, and only recently
have grown to concern people and their relationship with their environments.
Similarly, in studying how the past is used in the present, heritage scholars
and practitioners have sought to increasingly engage in conversations with
the Publics to whom much of the material culture belongs. Yet, there are
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
rising concerns over the production of the heritage discourse - from debates
about cultural restitutions and the ethics of handling cultural belongings to
conversations about misinformation, conflict and their impact on heritage
conservations - that have little to do, and are even dissonant positions with local
communities. One reason for this dissonance is the multifarious nature of the
‘publics’ with varying meanings in different parts of the world. Simultaneously,
public communities, whose interests in protection and management of
heritage places and materiality may not necessarily fall within contemporary
archaeological and heritage practices, had been constantly taken as passive
agents to be informed of an ‘authoritarian’ archaeological construction of
the past, towards which their knowledges are sometimes extractable but not
levelled in their epistemic validities. We believe that their knowledge and how
they wish to manage the past, as well as the lessons they extract from it, should
be subject to equanimous consideration, not patronising judgement.
Societies around the world are composed of many publics, often clashing or
cooperating in these fields. Archaeology, like a proverbial Sword of Damocles,
hangs in the background of these conflicts, its presence and sharpness always
being present in our social, cultural, and political imaginaries (Castoriadis
1997). Dogmas like ‘There Is No Alternative’ work much like Indra’s Net,
obfuscating countless more just alternatives for societies to organise themselves
(Fisher 2009). In an age of increasing sectarianism and nationalism, of climate
crises and the risk of nuclear conflicts, many claim archaeology’s authority
in their actions (Meskell, 2018), despite all national ideologies being formed
through selective ideas of the past (Diaz-Andreu and Champion 1996). Rather
than submitting to its role as an authority and subservient to structures of
power, we show through the carefully selected contributions in this volume,
that archaeology and heritage can provide for the various publics to forge their
own destinies; not to merely explain the world, but to change it (Marx 1845).
This volume presents eleven articles with a diverse range of thematic
and geographical foci (fig.1), not only highlighting the different ways that
archaeological and heritage practitioners engage with the Publics through
its disciplinary history, but also by disentangling the dichotomy between the
presumably wider and amorphous ‘public’ and professional archaeology.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
3
We submit that this professional archaeology is all too often conscripted
to serve the ‘Authorised Heritage Discourse’ (Smith, 2006). It also serves as
a recognition of the responsibility of archaeologists, like other intellectuals
(Chomsky, 1967) to not merely prostrate themselves before authority given
our access to knowledge-producing institutions.
Our issue, Archaeology and the Publics, finds light similarities with the
1983 issue, for example on the focus of the relationship between archaeology
and various forms of media. Michaelson (this volume) takes a quantitative
as well as a qualitative approach understanding archaeology’s links to the
public via the use of popular media. The article focuses on how Stonehenge
was depicted and shown throughout the ages in Punch magazine and how
this perception shifted over time in the eyes of the public. This study reveals
the multiplicity of narratives found amongst the cartoons and their utility
for communication by archaeologists while also diving into the debate on
whether art reflects or projects our conceptions into the past, and whether
cartoon authors have monopoly over these depictions.
Where the 1983’s issue discusses the predominant media at the time
– television and magazines – ours contains an article that speaks about the
role of digital media in archaeology, in particular cyber archaeology and
archaeogaming. The past, whether in its reception in the construction of
‘imagined communities’ based on factors such as ethnicity, race, class, and
political affiliation (Anderson 1978). The past is also present in its absence via
the occlusion of past practices informing alternative futures for communities
(Wengrow and Graeber 2021) is prominent in people’s imaginations, whether
it is immediately evident or not. Media and heritage are usual arenas for these
expressions, from video games depicting archaeology such as Tomb Raider
and Uncharted, to contested landscapes like those in Ayodhya (Bernbeck and
Pollock 1994), or in Cyprus (Navarro-Yashin 2013). de Viveiros and Cruz
(This Volume), for instance, demonstrated how low poly modelling gaming
can provide educational tools for low-income students and users within the
field of archaeology.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Where the 1983’s issue discussed fringe theories, Kocsis (this volume)
also discusses the engagement between science and pseudoscience in the case
of T.C. Lethbridge’s legacy, and ties it to the very current misinformation
debate of our own era and how it finds expression through parapsychology,
folklore and local rumours, and the condemnation and disregard of the ivory
tower by rogue intellectuals – and vice versa. The role of fictional archaeology
and pseudoscientific work has not failed to find expression in the popular
imagination even to the present day. However, as Kocsis highlighted, the
appealing model of alternative knowledge production of the past framed
as the ‘late antiquarian polymath’ stemmed out from the very disciplinary
history of archaeology itself. It is exactly due to archaeology’s monopolistic
epistemic claim to authority over knowledge production of the past that some
actors can claim ‘truth’ from their own rendering of archaeology for varying
agendas, including those that are adversarial, misleading, and even nefarious.
The tension therefore lies in the power imbalance between the different
segments of the public, and especially between archaeologists and heritage
practitioners and the rest of the public, over the authority for interpretation
and decision-making for heritages. More recently, archaeologists have
advocated not only for more genuine engagements with the public
stakeholders, but more importantly for observing an ‘epistemic humility’, as
Schmidt (2018) argued, by stepping away from leadership roles, committing
to power-sharing and collaborative decision-making, and respecting and
learning from the communities’ own ways of creating history and ‘doing
archaeology’ (Lane 2011). By establishing such ground for epistemic levelling
and symmetry between the ‘scientific’ and ‘other’ knowledges of the past
(Jopela & Fredriksen, 2015), that the archaeologists and heritage practitioners
can fulfil their ethical responsibility to make archaeology a present-centred
and future-oriented practice for the publics (Giblin, King & Smith 2014).
The article by Richards et al. (this volume) illustrates this point. Coauthored with Maroon colleagues, explores climate justice, to which
indigenous Caribbean groups have long determined to be vulnerable, but also
holds the distinction of highlighting how Traditional Ecological Knowledge
(TEK) might be used for present and future climate change resilience. CoNovember 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
5
authoring work with communities whose archaeological heritage are the
crux of archaeological studies is an excellent example of how we might bring
community and our varied meanings of “Publics” to the traditional academic
space of “Archaeology.”
Different segments within the professionalised archaeological and
heritage community also have different concerns when engaging with the
broader publics. Watson (this volume) looks towards the English context of
development and of commercial archaeology. Questioning the technical and
often commercial approaches taken by development-led private archaeological
contractors, the article focuses on the socially contingent nature that
archaeological work of this sort should take, and for more human-centred
approaches to evaluate existing paradigms of practice La Arqueología Social,
if you will (Tantaleán, H. and Aguilar 2012).
Archaeology’s role in understanding the past is often highlighted in lieu
of its potential to help us understand the future. The mass repository of
past lifeways and social organisations, with their contradictions and equally
revolting and inspiring events and practices, can help communities today
tackle these insurmountable challenges not through blind imitation, but
through careful observation and critical reception. In this sense, archaeology
can function much like the legendary plant Haoma in the Persian Avestas,
with healing properties and invigoration.
Archaeology is important as a foundation of the ideas of various national
and cultural movements, and this has led to the formation of multiple publics.
Often the discipline has both been complicit in the selective formation of
national identities. The multiplicity of uses of archaeology is intrinsically
linked to the publics. It must be acknowledged that there has been an
increasing focus on subjectivities and particularities in archaeology’s critical
reception of its own role in the construction of these imaginaries.
In this vein, and in the tradition of Tambiah (1997), Samadder’s (this
volume) article on archaeology and communities in India tackles the difficult
question of subjectivities and politicised contestation of stories and artefacts
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
in India. The author tries through her own subjectivity as well as through
the study of the case studies in the article, to show the emotional stakes that
archaeology can take in the public sphere with the possibility of alternatives
to often tragic results. The result is a plea for multivocality and assuming the
responsibility required by archaeologists and other professionals working
in history to bridge public perception and history while acknowledging the
power of emotion and unscrupulous politicisation in the use of history and
archaeology.
Bortolan (this volume) looks at the effects of conflict on national memory
in general and on the city of Babylon under US-led occupation in particular.
Looking at the instrumentalisation of archaeological heritage in contexts of
conflict, the article connects concepts like iconicity together with materiality
to show how these sites become theatres of conflict between different publics.
Similarly, Gianniri (this volume) discusses the intertwining of archaeology,
politics, and local communities from a case study in Eastern Crete. Whilst
archaeology has historically served colonial and nationalistic agendas in
the Greek history, archaeological project with a bottom-up archaeological
ethnography approach had a positive impact on the community’s identity and
future in a village with a traumatic history of abandonment, by encouraging
community engagement with archaeology and heritage and a construction
of a more inclusive version of their past. It highlights the need for a more
politically self-conscious and present-centred archaeology that can unlock
multiple future possibilities from the past for the public to see and encounter.
Valentina-Guerrero (this volume) takes a heart-centred approach to the
topic indigenous archaeologies. The paper looks at the engagement of local
communities in the SAR River in Colombia and links its importance to the
struggle of those communities in the struggle against enclosure by predatory
corporations. The article also serves as a reflection on how archaeologists
engage with their local interlocutors and who does archaeological work
benefit.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
7
Whilst archaeologists and heritage practitioners may often find themselves
situated in a difficult context imbued with traumatic community experiences,
sometimes the very heritage itself can be a traumatic one. Gleave (this volume)
dealt with a traumatic heritage from the pollutive and productive legacies
of the industrial past that has been cited to have caused the climate crisis
of our own time. By examining different ‘rewilding’ strategies to integrate
industrial sites into public visions of environmental sustainability, the article
is an enlightening alternative reuse strategies for formerly pollutive sites to
contribute to a greener future.
Moxham (this volume) takes the view that decolonization work should be
at the forefront of the various initiatives linked to difficult heritage. The article
focuses on the theory of translational justice and its application to working
with various stakeholders linked to difficult heritage, with particular note to
that of the ‘translator’ and their own agency on such matters.
The Publics therefore reintroduces a conversation that does not
necessarily adhere to hyper-diffusionism. In moving away from conservative
ideas of human innovation, we also therefore come to understand that the
environment shapes human culture and civilization, and so the physical natural
environment must also be understood - embraced even - in any archaeological
inquiry. The advent of the Internet, the resultant multiplicity of medias, and
the wave of misinformation and pseudoscience that this has brought has led
to a sort of universal pessimism with regard to grand narratives and unifying
theories – “What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,/ Long
hope for calm, the autumnal serenity/ And the wisdom of age?” (Eliot, 2023)
The Publics hints that this is not necessarily a bad thing.
To be clear, misinformation and pseudoscience is never good, but what
does happen is that scientists and scholars must now make their positions and
their ideas for clear to the publics, and so are no longer able to comfortably sit
in the ivory tower and conduct their experiments - if that was their inclination.
For archaeology, of course, the ground is even more treacherous. Our ambition
to make archaeology more scientific has made it more correct and has allowed
us to make more robust statements about human life, without question.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Nevertheless, we are still confronted with the reality that none of our theories
are genuinely falsifiable. In admitting this to our publics, we do not admit that
everything or anything is true as a result, but we do come to - have to - embrace
new and other ideas. Social constructs such as race (Lydon and Rizvi 2016),
class (Bourdieu 2016), and gender (Moore 2012) have unconsciously informed
previous archaeological practice. It is our submission that considerations of
these and other ideas must now inform current narratives - consciously.
What will the next 40 years look like for the relationship between
archaeology and the multivocal publics, of which the archaeologists and
heritage practitioners are part of?
It is difficult to assess what type of archaeology will emerge when equally fundamental
reconsiderations are repeated from other points of view – Hodder
The answers are many, but surely it will not be the stories of distancing,
seclusion, and monopoly over the knowledge production of the past as it had
been seen in the history of the discipline. In an era of polycrisis, the knowledge
of the past is becoming not less but more and more important for future
solutions, by providing baseline data for long-term environmental change,
past examples of resilience building to inspire future adaptational strategies,
and alternative historical narratives that contribute towards postcolonial
transitional justice and community empowerment. Disentangling the blurry
lines between heritage practitioners and the many public stakeholders, by
epistemic levelling and genuine engagement with the Indigenous and local
communities, by re-politicising and reorienting the focus of archaeology
to the present and future, and by democratising the academia, is critical to
tackling myriads of unfolding challenges. Similar to the productive and
pollutive industrial heritage, archaeology, the acclaimed authority of which
had been coerced in licensing nationalistic, colonial, and other prejudicial
historical narratives, also needs a rewilding from an exclusive garden on the
ivory tower into a full biome where critical conversations and empowering
engagements may grow to bring positive changes and even radical alternatives
for a better future.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
9
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Figure 1. Map of all locations discussed in the volume: 1) Kocsis, 2) Gianniri, 3) Watson, 4) Richards et al., 5) Gleave, 6) de Viveiros
Pina & Cruz, 7) Michaelson, 8) Bortolan, 9) Moxham, 10) Gonzalez, 11) Samadder
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Thomas, J. 2006. Archaeology and modernity. London: Routledge.
Trigger, B.G. 2014. A history of archaeological thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
13
Ghosts of Archaeology:
The Journey of Archaeological Knowledge from
Science to Science Fiction
Andrea Kocsis
Northeastern University London
[email protected]
Abstract
The paper aims to evaluate the boundaries between science and pseudo-science in the public
understanding of archaeology. It uses the legacy of T.C. Lethbridge as a case study to illustrate
the process of transitioning from a scientific to a pseudo-scientific realm. It establishes the
relationship between Lethbridge and the academic community based on archival documents,
while it aims to glimpse the parapsychological communities’ narratives by the distant reading of
dowsing forums, using data parsing and topic modelling techniques. The paper claims that the
role Lethbridge represented as the late antiquarian polymath, opposing the institutionalisation
and processual methods of archaeology, is still an appealing model for some members of
the public, who prefer interacting with the local past outside the institutional formulas of
professional archaeology. However, Lethbridge’s rediscovery in the parapsychological world
carries the danger that an outdated version of archaeology is becoming reinforced in times
when misinformation is a global challenge.
Introduction
The paper aims to evaluate the fine line between science and pseudoscience
in the public understanding of archaeological work. It uses the legacy of
T.C. Lethbridge (1901-1971) as a case study to illustrate the process of
transitioning from a scientific to a pseudo-scientific realm. Several examples
demonstrate that archaeological heritage can be easily nationalised by the
public or appropriated by predatory identities, however, it is less researched
how easily it slips the border between the academic and non-academic spheres
of knowledge production, giving space for esoteric interpretations.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Although this paper is not T.C. Lethbridge’s biography, his case serves
as an excellent example as it illustrates both sides of the same coin. On the
one hand, originally a self-made archaeologist at the Museum of Archaeology
and Ethnography in Cambridge, he became a hero of the parapsychological
audience. On the other hand, how Lethbridge fell out of academic circles
demonstrates the struggles and insecurities the field faced in the middle of the
20th century. This era was the time when archaeology as a profession solidified,
but there were individuals involved in it who still carried characteristics from
the antiquarian past, making its disciplinary boundaries blurred. Therefore,
this fuzziness helped the esoteric communities to find their theorists more
easily in archaeology, such as Margaret Murray, who became the “grandmother
of Wicca’. Lethbridge became a grandfather figure for parapsychologist
communities while losing his academic credibility.
How can we track this process? Where are the limits of academic
interpretation and uncertainty? How do parapsychologist communities relate
to archaeology? My research aims to answer these questions with the help of a
combination of archival research and digital humanities methods. I established
the relationship between Lethbridge and the academic community based on
archival documents, his personal correspondence and manuscripts, while
I researched the parapsychological communities’ narratives by the distant
reading of forums, reviews, blogs, and non-academic publications, using data
parsing and topic modelling techniques. As I wanted to examine the spectrum
from science to fiction in archaeology, I chose a public sitting between the two
communities: archaeological dowsers. Dowsing is the practice of using forked
sticks or similar tools to find water and other substances.
Parapsychology has yet to prove the efficiency of dowsing, and regarding
archaeology, how we relate to dowsing is not absolute either (cf. Finneran
2003). While in the UK, the practice is mostly harmless due to the success of
the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) and the Treasure Act, there are parts
of the world where it is an element of the living tradition, hence more or less
well-regarded. There are also some places where it is attached to conflicts
between nationalistic or political groups and professional archaeology, such as
Hungary, where questioning academic credibility is a political statement for
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
15
archaeological dowsers.
This article is not about deciding what value we attribute to archaeological
dowsing, however, it points out some of its elements that conflict with
academic archaeological practice. The main focus is on how Lethbridge’s case
study illustrates what happens when archaeologists do not accept not having
all the answers, as it carries the risk of losing control both over academic
integrity and public understanding.
Nevertheless, we must first understand T.C. Lethrbrige’s role in this case
study. The internet barely knows him, despite the significant influence his
work on pendulum had on those using dowsing methods. As pseudo-scientific
references are not the most meticulous, it is unsurprising that his teachings are
inherited without being linked to his name. The most notable reference to him
is in the pseudo-science parody publication Sex Secrets of Ancient Atlantis,
mentioning the characters always having a Lethbridge edition in their pockets
(Grant 2004). Otherwise, the handful of Google hits about him is primarily
second-hand bookshops still storing his publications or his newer biographies
written by parapsychologists and followers (Welbourn 2011, Graves - Hoult
1980). But who was T.C.Lethrbidge?
In and out of the 'Ivory Tower'
This article cannot completely introduce Lethbridge as a person or
provide a full biographic overview. According to his widow, Nina, editor of
his autobiography’s manuscript, he was a great entertainer and never ran out
of conversation topics (Lethbridge 19891). Within these pages, we can focus
only on the conflict of his leaving the Cambridge archaeology scene, which is
a rich story illustrating the process of the professional discipline turning its
back to the residue of an antiquarian past. However, as it can fill the pages of
a monograph in preparation, here we have to sample representative steps of
1 Posthumous publication by Mina Lethbridge.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
this journey.
Lethbridge, born in 1901, came from an aristocratic family and studied
natural sciences at Cambridge with little enthusiasm. As he spent time at
the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography (today MAA), Louis Clarke,
curator, befriended him. Along with Cyril Fox2, he introduced the young
Tom to archaeological digs. Despite never having a formal archaeological
education, he became the Honorary Keeper of the Museum of Archaeology
and Ethnography (see Lethbridge 1989). He did not receive a salary in
this position but participated in archaeological excavations and published
their results. He was never formally associated with the predecessors of the
Department of Archaeology, but he was part of a circle of elite academics
based in Cambridge. It gave him the means, supported by the Cambridge
Antiquarian Society, to be involved in the archaeological works in the area,
such as Waterbeech, Burwell, Fen Ditton, and Sohan (e.g. Lethbridge 1924,
1927, 1933, 1936a). He excavated a variety of periods but was most interested
in Anglo-Saxon cemeteries (Lethbridge 1931).
However, his approaches and methodology were reminiscent of an
unstructured time of the profession, where diversification and specialisation
did not yet exist. Practitioners in this era aimed to be experts in everything:
material culture, history, linguistics, osteology, archaeozoology, and
anthropology, while being knowledgeable in cultures from the Bronze Age to
the Mediaeval periods of the British Isles and overseas.3 Lethbridge called these
2 Cyril Fox was the first receiving a PhD for Archaeological work in England for his work on
The Archaeology of the Cambridge Region.
3 Being a general practitioner necessarily led to some misinformation. For example, Lethbridge
used craniology to tell the age, ethnic group, and origin of a skeleton: “They were certainly not
Anglo-Saxons, who would have what is known as a “coffin-shaped” skull.”(...) “If you have a
good eye for the shapes of things and a reasonable memory also, it is not difficult to get a working knowledge of the types of human skull found in Britain. (Lethbridge 1989:35).
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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times, passing the 19th-century digs but not joining the institutionalisation of
archaeology yet, “The Golden Age of Archaeology” (Lethbridge 1989: 2). As
he put it, ”That age had completely passed and been superseded by one of
perhaps not very enthralling technology.” (Lethbridge, 1989: 2).
However, I prefer to title it ‘late antiquarianism’ and consider it a practice,
not an era. While archaeology was already an established discipline in the
middle of the 20th century, some people following an earlier practice still
were active in the field. Shift in paradigms does not necessarily mean that
schools of thought consecutively follow each other without overlapping
as multiple generations of researchers work alongside each other within
the same disciplinary network. In this case study, I consider Lethbridge as
an example practitioner of this tradition, which was one of the reasons for
the conflict between him and the established archaeology. I also argue that
these methods are closer and more available to the current pseudo-scientific
public than publications, technologies and practices of academic archaeology,
making these ostracised authors, like Lethbridge, an accessible reference
point for understanding or misunderstanding the profession. What did this
late antiquarian practice consist of? Social class was an essential element of
how archaeology functioned in what Lethbridge calls “the Golden Age”.
Archaeology was a hobby rather than a job and did not necessarily rely on
salaries. In Lethbridge’s words, “If you had enough money to live on, and your
main driving force was curiosity rather than restless ambition, archaeology
was a great life in the Golden Age” (Lethbridge 1989:3). It also meant that
elitism was an inherent part of the picture: “Once paid posts began to become
common, of course, the Golden Age was doomed.” In an elitist outburst
against professional archaeology, Lethbridge continued: “If you make men all
equal, you destroy originality.” (Lethbridge 1989: 99).
However, it also points out another important feature of late antiquarianist
practice, which played the most crucial part in Lethbridge’s career: the
emphasis on imagination. “So, with some first-hand knowledge, a great mass
of varied information and an independent outlook, the old dons [Golden
Age archaeologists] could use observation and inherent probability in their
imagination to solve many problems, which are much more difficult today.”
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
(Lethbridge 1989:47) Lethbridge stated. “It [Imagination] was the magic
key, which he used to open the door into the past”. One of the examples
of his imaginative interpretation is an anecdote from the excavations of the
Christian Saxon cemetery at Shrudy Camps (Lethbridge 1936). There, among
the skeletons, he thought to identify a gambler cheating in a game, leading
to his murder based only on a collection of objects. 4However, Lethbridge
was unwilling to recognise that in professional archaeology, the interrogation
and interpretation of data can speak without substituting it with vivid
imagination.
His close friends maintained the epistemic bubble around him,
reinforcing his approaches.5 For example, in letters exchanged with James
Whittaker, a London-based publisher, they agreed to favour amateurism
over professionalism. As Whittaker complained: “Ah how right you are in the
scathing remarks you pass upon Universities and teachers and the rest of that
crap.” (Whittaker 1951: 66). The resistance against institutionalisation and
professionalism led to his ultimate break with Cambridge archaeology over
his theory about the Gogmagog giants.
In 1956, he claimed to identify chalk giant deities on Wandlebury Hill and
interpreted them as proof of the presence of Celtic religion in Cambridgeshire
(Lethbridge 1957a). To outline the chalk figures rumoured by locals (cf.
Meadows 2015), he and his wife used sounding bars to indicate the change in
chalk (Fig. 1). A method against which he was warned by fellow archaeologist
Christopher Hawkes: “The probing method adopted by Mr. Lethbridge
(...) has been regarded by my colleagues with suspicion. The fact is that this
method on chalk sites is mistrusted by almost all modern professional British
4 “I said, looking at a collection of objects, which resembled ratafias. Those are playing-men
from a game (...) The men in question had cheated evidently with dice, (and) was loaded with
an iron pin.” (Lethbridge 1989:47)
5 His letters reveal who his close friends were as they used nicknames for the Cambridge archaeology and museum scene amongst each other.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
19
Archaeologists. Their mistrust of it is very understandable since it is certainly
not reliable on chalk sites of the sort that such archaeologists normally
examine. The probing method would probably lead, as it did in fact lead, to
suspicion of his digging.” (Hawkes 1957:2)
However, Lethbridge did not acknowledge the limitations of his excavation:
“It was the recognised method of looking for lost field drains and similar things
in the country. All kinds of excuses have been thought of by archaeologists for
not using such an obvious aid to research” (Lethbridge 1957a: 4-5). In the
end, a scrutiny panel of experts in chalk archaeology and geology rejected his
Figure1. T.C. and Mina Lethbridge probing the chalk on Wandlebury Hill. London Evening
News, 18 Nov. 1954, p.4. Newscuttings on Gogmagog. giants at Wandlebury, 1954-1957,
GBR/0012/MS Add.9777/26/7/25-34. Cambridge University Library.]
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
findings, determining the outlines as glacial marks (Grimes 1957)6 and future
excavations did not verify his theory either (cf. French et al. 2004).
Despite the scientific disapproval and warnings from the head of the
Cambridge Preservation Trust (Willink 1956: 310)7, his theory was published
and circulated in the media (e.g., Cambridge Evening News, The London
Evening News, BBC, etc.), giving us a good insight into the public reception
of the pseudo-discovery. The press welcomed it as a sensation, but the
professional reviews of his book (Lethbridge 1957b) were devastating, as they
compared Lethbridge to Schliemann. (Anon 1957a). Lethbridge could not
tolerate that his progressed approaches were not welcome in the professional
setting of Cambridge archaeology. He moved to Devon, where, in some sense,
he continued antiquarianism for a different public.
Turning to parasychology
In his archaeological practice, Lethbridge gave much credit to folklore
and local rumours, which already provided him with a good connection to
the public. Furthermore, the letters and positive feedback to the Gogmagog
publications from esoteric practitioners could have indicated an affirmation
of a new, acceptive and welcoming audience8, helping him to find his way
6 “I have to confess that we [Grimes, Piggott and Cornwall] feel unable to support your views.
Apart from the archaeological difficulties, Cornwall’s analyses indicate that the fillings (apart
from that in the grey pit) are not the result of human activity, but essentially natural in character; and with other features suggest that the phenomena as a whole are due to solification
processes. I know you disapprove of these ideas, but there it is.” (Grimes 1957)
7 “Would it not be the best to restrain to the utmost possible degree all publicity? Would it
not be best in matter which is clearly very controversial to proceed by the method of a paper
published by yourself in the appropriate archaeological journal?” (Willink 1956: 310)
8 Such as the one from Mrs M.E.Hone, an astrologist from West Wittering who was interested
in “Sun-and-Moon religion” (Hone 1957:171).
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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into extrasensory perception (ESP9) (cf. Lethbridge 1965). He published the
ideological background of his Gogmagog theory for this new audience in
1962 (Lethbridge 1962), but the real jump was immersing in dowsing.
There is no room here to discuss the history of British dowsing or
Lethbridge’s personal history with dowsing either (for those, see Graves 1980
and Finneran 2003). However, he supported the method even in Cambridge
while working on excavations: “Dowsing is quite efficient in some cases;
although frowned upon by the too conventional type of archaeologists, who,
knowing little of science, describes it as ‘unscientific’. For those who fear the
opprobrium of these old ladies of archaeology, electrical gadgets are available,
which perform the same function at greater expense.”(Lethbridge 1957a: 9).
In his Devon garden, he further experimented with the forked sticks. After
a local woman, referred to as a “witch” (Wilson 1980: xi), recommended he
use a pendulum instead of dowsing sticks, Lethbridge dedicated experiments
to establish how the pendulum reacts at different lengths (Lethbridge 1976).
His recommendations still circulate online (Fig.2).
The posts refer to Lethbridge’s journey from pendulums (see published
Lethbridge 1976) to chasing ghosts, as he claimed to find the dimension of
paranormal phenomena using the pendulum at a given length (Lethbridge
1961). As an extremely prolific writer, he published several short books almost
annually on these pendulum techniques (1963, 1965, 1967, 1976) and the
dimension of ghosts and ghouls (1961, 1963). Yet he did not stop there but
ventured further into imagination by exploring the possibilities of alien
intervention in ancient history (Lethbridge 1972).10
9 Extra Sensory Perseption or ESP for short, is an angle of parapsychology interested in perception without using phisical senses, experimental exploration of a six sense.
10 An idea which gained great popularity as a result of Eric von Däniken’s books at that time.
Cf. (Wilson 1980).
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Figure 2. Screenshot of a Forteana forum discussion about the uses of the pendulum. Source:
https://forums.forteana.org/index.php?threads/t-c-lethbridge-dowsing.35840/.
Accessed:
16:43 1 May 2023.
Dowsing forums: What the public sees
Professional archaeologists have been researching the alternative realm for
decades, however, these studies mainly focused on the US (cf. Williams 1991,
Harrold - Eve 1995, Shermer 1997, Sagan 1997, Feder 2002, Schadla-Hall
2004, 2006, or most recently Moshenska 2017). I aimed to glimpse British
alternative practices by examining the British dowsing community’s online
discussion.
Lethbridge's ideas were transmitted to British dowsing primarily via Tom
Graves, who first edited Lethbridge's parapsychological work and himself
published several volumes on archaeological dowsing (Graves - Hoult 1980,
Graves 1980). To establish how archaeological dowsers feel about professional
archaeology, I have analysed all the available 281 posts on the British Dowsing
Forum’s Archaeology “Go out and find stuff much?” and “Archeo-dowsing”
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
23
sections. Although the forum is not the main communication channel
anymore for the community, as the posts ranged from 2006 to 2022 and users
read these feeds 258512 times, it could give a solid longitudinal look into the
discussion.
Firstly, I conducted an LDA (Latent Dirichlet Allocation) topic modelling
on the collected posts to see the overarching debate. LDA works by assuming
that each document in the collection - in our case, forum posts - comprises a
combination of different themes (topics), and each topic is represented by a set
of keywords that commonly occur together (see Blei et al. 2003). From these
keywords, the researcher can reconstruct the main themes of the discussion.
Secondly, I closely read the topics, supplemented by netnographic
participant observation of relevant social media groups, to discover
intersections between the narratives of the forum and the late antiquarian
practices discussed above. The investigation aimed to see if the practices
represented by Lethbridge have an impact on contemporary archaeological
dowsing discussions.
The four main topics the LDA modelling discovered were: the community
aspect of dowsing(1), the debates around the destructive and non-destructive
approaches(2), reporting vs. selling finds(3), and the technicalities of
dowsing(4) (Table 1).
Topic
Keywords
(bi-gram tokens,
lemmatised)
Representative Post
Topic 1: Community
aspects of dowsing vs.
discovery
Group event, go group, individually part, rods go, social
group, part social, location
get, reaction rods, group
rather, get reaction, rather
individually, nice location,
spur moment, reputation
dowser, nothing back
“Dowsers seem to go out in
groups, rather than individually, as part of a social groupevent to a nice location, get a
few reactions from their rods
and then go home"
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Topic
Keywords
(bi-gram tokens,
lemmatised)
Representative Post
Topic 2: Destructive vs. Take spade, could destroy,
non-destructive
mood trench, would wrong,
spade unless, unless train,
setting dig, wrong encourage, make discoveries, trench
could, discoveries take, hole
want, train archaeologist, archaeologist setting, go along,
dig big, trench archaeology
“Just setting to and digging
a mighty big hole or if you
want to get in the mood, a
trench, could be destroying
history.”
Topic 3: Reporting vs.
Selling
Detector enthusiast, dowser
archaeologist, find object, get
welly, structure exist, country often, encounter metal,
believe opportunity, detector people, people search,
search field, opportunity sell,
finance reward, many search,
object gain, find motivate,
motivate many, gain financial, sell find
“I don't know of any professional dowsing archaeologists and certainly there
is not a great deal of money
to be made out of dowsing
archaeology. Even archaeologists are not well paid unless
they are at the top of their
league.”
Topic 4: Technicalities of Metal detectorist, archaedowsing
ological dowser, code conduct, dowse today, king
stone, many things, dowse
around, san louise, ring true,
gold dust, land owner, dowser find, thing keep, dowser
work, would damage, go
alone, gold find, rare mineral,
robbery take, dowser could
“He has a device which electronically records the swing
of a dowsing rod, similar to
an L-rod and combines it
with GPS data, stores it all on
a laptop with custom-built
software which can plot
where he's walked, similar
to a GPS "track" but with a
colour representation showing which way the rod was
swinging at each point along
the way.”
Table 1 showing the topic keywords of the four identified topics. Andrea Kocsis.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
25
As topics 2 and 3 discussed the problems the late antiquarianist practice
was concerned about, I close read the posts in these two corpora. The main
link between the two ideologies was balancing being on the fringe while
wishing to work in the mainstream due to the firm belief in the method.
Within these posts, the voice of those advocating not excavating alone but
only in collaboration with archaeologists to avoid “destroying history” was
strong (Post no.1839). For example, post no. 1841 emphasises the vision of
dowsing as helping archaeological excavations while keeping it as a hobby: “I
think that possibly there is a different approach between the metal detectors
and the dowsing archaeologist in that the metal detectors are finding things for
commercial reasons or just for a hobby whereas a the dowsing archaeologist is
doing it to gain information, to aid an archaeology dig whilst also doing it as a
hobby. I don't know of any professional dowsing archaeologists and certainly
there is not a great deal of money to be made out of dowsing archaeology.
Even archaeologists are not well paid unless they are at the top of their league.”
(Post no.1841)
Forumers even gave tips on where dowsing help might be needed in
professional settings: ”Might be a good thing to dowse Flag Fen and point the
Archaeology folks in the right direction, so less ground is covered/searched,
it's a win-win situation for them, they don't spend time on empty ground, and
all the goodies are found” (Post no. 1471). Similarly to the views represented
by Lethbridge, these narratives discredit the advancements of archaeological
technology and methods to which they have no access.
The second link was the easy accessibility of low-quality information.
While for the late antiquarianist practice, it meant the lack of proper peerreview and reliance on folklore, today's amateur archaeologists rely on nonedited online information: "I hate technology, but look at what it does for
us, good and bad. I love to read, but going to the Library or Book Store is
not something I do much anymore. But, now with the internet I can just
type something and find history, ancient sites, pictures, blogs, etc.” (Post. no.
20856). The low-quality resources also come with a sea of misinformation,
such as “I’m sure the Pyramids at Giza date to a very early time, parts of the
complex date to 10500 years ago, but now I believe some of the Giza complex
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
date many thousands of years before that, it’s a huge building site that has seen
Pyramids erected over many thousands of years I believe, probing the treasure
close to the main Pyramids point to this being the case. I know most books
refer to the Pyramids being less than 5000 years old, well for me you have
to go back MUCH further in time, with the Sphinx being youngest in that
grouping.” (Post no. 4824).
The third link was hostility against the institutionalised practice: “[Until]
who(...) can dowse themselves is allowed to explore sites with this open
mind and NOT what he learnt in Oxford or Cambridge history books, then
dowsing will always be looked down on” (Post. no. 12629). Interestingly,
while for the late antiquarianism, professionalisation meant a step away from
elitism, today, university education implies a form of intellectual elite to show
hostility against.
These themes resonate well with what Moshenska defined as the factors
that “make alternative archaeologies alternative” (Moshenska 2017:123).
These are the rejection of scholarly rigour, embracing or fighting the outsider
status, and claiming fuzzy boundaries between the two realms. While it would
be possible to further study the online discussion on archaeological dowsing,
these excerpts demonstrate that despite the changing circumstances, the
inheritors of Lethbridge’s practices are still in the same shoes as half a century
ago due to being stuck on the fringe. While the users did not talk about
Lethbridge per se, they reproduced the discourse he was a firm representative
of.
Lessons from Lethbridge
Lethbridge found his audience by journeying from science to pseudoscientific realms. What can we learn from his story as professional
archaeologists? I found two components which helped his communication:
his storytelling techniques mimicking historical and fantasy fiction and his
connection to local communities. On the flip side, his story demonstrates
pitfalls archaeologists should beware of.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Storytelling
Professional methods might sound as realistic as dowsing rods for the eyes
not used to stratigraphy or being wary of the technology behind geophysics.
Until the answer to the “but how do you know this?” question is “the
consistency of the soil changed”, paranormal explanations will always be
more appealing. Especially with the boom of the fantasy genre in popular
culture, ghosts and ghouls might be sexier than pottery fragments. Pyburn
has recognised it in her thought-provoking manifesto in which she rang the
alarm on perpetuating the “Indiana Jones” image of archaeology (2008). In
this essay, although she correctly criticised the hype around archaeological
sensation, she did not provide an alternative model which could be competing
for public attention.
Very early, Lethbridge recognised the need for the extraordinary, the
mystical, and the story behind the amateur interest in archaeology: “The
trouble is that, to an amateur, the whole thing is a fascinating interest. To
a professional, it is his bread and butter.” (Lethbridge 1989:49.). The
contemporary press reinforced his ideas, as there was a continuous interest in
his Gogmagog story despite the academic debates in its background (Anon
1957b).
The trouble with uncontrolled storytelling is that it easily leads to
misinterpretation, enabling political abuse of the past (see, e.g. Höfig, V. 2020,
Kim, D. 2019). As the tangibility of archaeology makes it more prominent
and confrontational than pseudo-history, archaeologists have to carry this
responsibility of interpretation.
Nonetheless, I claim that interpretation is a spectrum which enables us to
tell an authentic story. The aim is to find the delicate balance between when to
let professional accuracy go for public authenticity: what interpretation will
enable the story element but not harm the professionalism . However, there
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
is a point with which professionalism11 cannot compete: magic, the element
leading from science to fiction. Is there a way to professionalise magic?
Communities
There might be a way towards magic: initiation into the profession's secret,
the rite of passage. When we talk about community archaeology scholarly, we
mostly mean scenarios when indigenous groups gain control over their own
past in a post-colonial context (cf. Marshall 2002). However, most community
archaeology projects in Britain are exchanges between experts and locals, in
which the locals are still mostly actors but not directors.
In contrast, the dowsers are their own managers and have the right
to plan, execute and interpret their research. Anyone can be a superhero
without the need to go through institutional training. A single dowser also
manifests multiple players in an excavation: non-intrusive researchers (like
geophysicists, geoinformatics specialists, and surveyors), archaeological
technicians and archaeologists. The merge of these roles in one person
invokes those late antiquarian practices the study represented via Lethbridge.
However, gaining all the control and the full understanding of the process is
not a practice in today's professional archaeology, as it is highly specialised and
diversified, turning archaeology into a highly skilled profession from a DIY
hobby. Therefore, the best practices to bridge the professional and amateur
realms might be those community projects that actively demonstrate that
professional participation is not exclusive but rather teamwork (for an exciting
early example, see Chippindale 1990).
Lethbridge respected - although he gave too much credit to - local
knowledge, which led to being able to write about subjects the audience was
interested in. He was concerned about the practice of bringing archaeology
11 Scholars working on the historical misinformation in video games have already established
models for it (see Kapell - Elliot 2013).
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
29
close to the locals. For example, when he complained about museum
displays: “The Saffron Walden Museum had a number of local things in it of
considerable interest to a wider range of students than those in the immediate
neighbourhood (Lethbridge 1989: 96).
I might consider Lethbridge “the man he saw the future”, quoting the
title of his biography written from a parapsychologist's point of view, but
for a different reason than the parapsychologist community does (Welbourn
2011). He understood something crucial about communicating with the local
audience through stories (cf. Holloway - Klevnas 2007). These are pavements
of scientific communication, museum outreach and engagement today.
The pitfalls
It does not mean, however, that it would be wise to rehabilitate Lethbridge
fully. We must acknowledge his role in spreading misinformation - Finneran
directly compares him to Däniken, the too widely-read author propagating
pseudoscience about extraterrestrial influences on early human culture
(2003). The trend of selling fictional archaeology to the public is as popular as
ever, as the debate surrounding the recent Netflix show, Ancient Apocalypse,
indicates (see Heritage 2022).
Common pseudoscience patterns appear both in alternative archaeological
practices and in Lethbridge’s work. These are building on anecdotal evidence,
not using control groups, cherry-picking data to match preconceptions,
and not testing hypotheses. Lethbridge was not willing to accept that the
meticulous excavation methodology and documentation procedure being
developed during the dusk of his career had been serving as a control to the
ego of the archaeologist. As archaeological research is intrusive and hence not
reproducible, it must be executed based on systematic sampling and strict
documentation after careful planning to remain scientific. As a consequence,
selecting what to excavate is crucial for preserving information. This
responsibility divides amateur and professional archaeology. The meticulous
documentation, trusting specialisation, careful interrogation of data, and peer
review, all to which Lethbridge was a laud opposition, should lead to omitting
unsupportable theories. Letting preconceptions go is a painful process that
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kills the creativity that Lethbridge and some other archaeologists worldwide were unwilling to part with.
Nonetheless, it ensures that the stories the artefacts tell the public ring
true.
Conclusions
Although Lethbridge stood in the centre of the study, I claimed that not
only his restless and imaginative personality was responsible for his shift
between scientific and pseudo-scientific realms but also the institutionalisation
of archaeology, which provided a route for stricter methodology and peer
review. I argued that the role Lethbridge represented as the late antiquarian
polymath is still an appealing model for some members of the public, who
prefer interacting with the local past outside the institutional formulas of
professional archaeology. The imaginative component, the DIY approach,
and the humour of his writing can make his books more appealing than
peer-reviewed publications locked behind paywalls when searching for local
history. However, his rediscovery in the parapsychological world carries the
dangers that an outdated version of archaeology is becoming reinforced in
times when misinformation is a global challenge.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
31
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Politics on a Small Scale:
Archaeological Ethnography as a Lens of
Understanding Community Politics.
Klairi Gianniri
National & Kapodistrian University of Athens
[email protected]
Abstract
Archaeology, as it is known and being practiced in the West, often played a significant role in
promoting colonial and nationalistic agendas. Although the colonial heritage of the discipline
and its neocolonial present have been exposed and critiqued, the vast majority of archaeologists
do not seem to be fully conscious that archaeology acts politically at various scales. Thus, politics
in archaeology is usually associated with grand national narratives, rather than relationship
networks in a local or community context. As a result, studying the way a small community
is being affected by archaeological research is often considered to be of secondary importance,
even though such activity carries profound political effects and implications. This paper aims
to shed light on these implications through a case study at the mountainous areas of East Crete,
where the utilisation of archaeological ethnography highlighted the role of archaeology as a
mediator of the collective past and contested present.
Introduction
Over recent decades, the role of archaeology in politics, and politics in
archaeology has been the subject of intensive research (Lennox and Richardson
2016; see also Bense 1998; Doeser 2008; Hamilakis and Duke 2007; Kohl
1998; McGuire 2008; Meskell 2002; Perring and Van der Linde 2009; Trigger
1984). It is now increasingly realised that archaeology, as it is known and being
practiced in the West, often played a significant role in promoting colonial and
nationalistic agendas. Even though the colonial heritage of the discipline and
its neocolonial present have been exposed and critiqued, the vast majority of
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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archaeologists do not seem to be fully conscious of archaeology’s multilevel
influence, especially in the countries that can be characterised as cryptocolonies. Such countries are nominally independent, but that independence
comes at the price of a sometimes humiliating form of effective dependence
(Herzfeld 2002, 2020: xviii-xx).
Greece, in particular, provides such an example, offering a complex
case where colonialism and nationalism have worked in unison to shape
the contours of Greek archaeology (Hamilakis 2008: 274, 2016). Since the
establishment of the Greek State at the end of the 19th century, archaeology
has been the principal means of constitution of the national narrative (Plantzos
2008). Greek archaeologists worked to ‘purify’ national monuments, wishing
to emphasise the national, emblematic character required by Greeks as the
foundation of their national identity (Valavanis 2007: 13). Their effort to
turn a historical narrative of ellipses into one of continuities left neither
the monuments nor the landscape untouched. In this newly reconstructed
Hellenic landscape, there were no cities or villages. The ethnographic and the
picturesque were concealed, perhaps because they would provide too painful
reminders of the struggles and violence of the present (Mazower 2008: 33-38).
By vanishing the aspects of everyday life from the archaeological landscape,
despite that not only the ancient past but also the rural life of the contemporary
Hellenes was a source of authenticity for the Greek formulation (Herzfeld
2020: xvi), archaeology turned the past into a sacred relic and placed itself
in the position of its administrator. This alienation of both archaeology and
cultural heritage at large continued tirelessly until recent years, whereas rural
intangible heritage is documented mainly by folklore studies to promote a
unified national narrative (Herzfeld 2003: 304; see also Dragouni and Lekakis
2023).
A significant paradigm shift emerged during the past thirty years, due
to certain developments, such as the spread of field surveys, industrial
archaeology, ethnoarchaeology and the boom in museology, which led the
discipline to sponsor a much wider and more inclusive conception of the past
than it once did (Mazower 2008: 39; see also Hodder 2003). Thus questions
about the identity, the meaning and the role of archaeology, its dependence
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on the state, its relationship to the public (Preucel and Mrozowski 2010: 36),
gradually began to be part of the traditional archaeological research. Despite
this remarkable transition, the development of archaeology as an academic
subject across the world usually catches the public’s eye for the wrong reasons,
while the great majority of it relates archaeology primarily to the distant past.
This tendency can be thoroughly comprehended if one considers the way
archaeological heritage is being often treated by professionals up to date. In
most cases, archaeologists are unaware of the impact of their work on the
local communities and its effect on their life (Dragouni and Lekakis 2023;
Hodder 2003). In addition, archaeological heritage is usually mistreated to
serve political agendas and its management does not meet the contemporary
political, social and economic issues that the society faces. Furthermore, it
often goes unnoticed that politics and archaeology go beyond grand narratives
of nationhood, and extend into everyday matters, such as relatively small but
vital functions of a local community (Lennox and Richardson 2016).
The above issues, that arise when archaeology moves into the real world of
economic conflict and political struggle (Ascherson 2000: 2) will be discussed
in this paper, which is based on my doctoral research1 (Gianniri 2022) in the
remote community of Anatoli village in Eastern Crete2. Crete, in general, is
of special interest, due to the influence of the ‘Minoan’ archaeology in the
identity formation of the local people, who are treated either as the ‘fallen
from grace’ and thus unworthy descendants of the ‘Minoan’ past or as the
subjects of patronising ethnic reconciliation experiments (Hamilakis 2006).
In particular, through the presentation of the case study of Anatoli, the
1 The doctoral research entitled Archaeology as a means to empower remote communities:
the case study of mountainous Crete was supervised by Assistant Professor Marlen Mouliou
(University of Athens).
2 In the wider area of the village, the interdisciplinary project Excavation, study and publication of the Minoan building at Gaidourofas in Anatoli, Hierapetra of the University of Athens
(Papadatos and Kalantzopoulou 2022; Papadatos and Chalikias 2019) under the direction of
Professor Yiannis Papadatos (University of Athens) takes place since 2012.
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utilisation of archaeological ethnography within an archaeological project,
the ethics of an archaeological project and the ways it is impacting the local
community, the political agendas of the various stakeholders involved in the
research work, the perception of their local communities about their cultural
heritage and their identity and the role of the researcher as a mediator of the
collective past and contested present, will be explored.
Case Study
Anatoli is a mountain settlement, situated within the wider area of
Hierapetra in South Eastern Crete (fig.1). The village lies on the foothills of
Dikti Mountain range, at an altitude of 600 meters, overlooking the Libyan
sea (fig. 2). Its location is privileged and offers an outstanding climate for
human living, but it lacks significant water resources and its flat land lies by
the sea, in a highly arid area, unsuitable for intensive cultivation.
However, despite the limited capacity for agricultural development,
until the late 1960s, Anatoli used to be a thriving village of approximately
1200 inhabitants, bursting with life, undeterred by the dry conditions that
dominated throughout the year. Due to the limited agricultural production,
the vast majority of the residents were employed as workers in other villages
and just a few of them managed to earn a satisfactory income from the trade of
olives, almonds and carobs that were produced in the land around the village.
A drastic change occurred in the 1970s when Anatoli was abandoned rather
suddenly, as a result of the expansion of greenhouse vegetable cultivation in
the Hierapetra plain (fig. 3).
The formerly unsuitable for cultivation coastal land acquired value and
generated great profits for the people of Anatoli, who began to relocate to the
lowland in order to work exclusively in the production of greenhouse vegetable
crops. Consequently, they established the settlement of New Anatoli, whose
population progressively surpassed the population of the maternal village in
less than a decade (Table 1).
As a result, nowadays, the population of Anatoli consists of only 80, almost
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Figure 1. The position of Anatoli on the map of Crete (photograph by Google Earth).
Figure 2. Photo of the settlement of Anatoli village (reproduced with permission of Sotiris
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Figure 3. Photo of the greenhouses at Hierapetra plain (reproduced with permission of Sotiris
Tsiganos).
exclusively overaged, inhabitants. The village shows clear signs of decline, as
evidenced by the abandoned and decayed houses, which haunt both those
who remained and those who left, while the young generation is gradually
abolishing its connections with the village and its identity. Multilayered
indications of contestation and conflict are written both into the landscape
and the community’s collective identity. Anatoli was turning into an oblivion
society up until 2012 when the archaeological excavations of the University of
Athens in three neighbouring mountain sites shook things up. The ‘invasion’
of a large group of young students and researchers, who were staying for
almost three months every year in the village, affected considerably not only
the pace of the village’s life but also the aspirations of the inhabitants about
the future of their small community. That realisation came as both a pleasant
surprise and a concern about the new role that the archaeological team had to
take over.
Methodology
To address the issues related to the dynamics between the local community
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Table 1. The population change of Anatoli and New Anatoli (EΕΤΑΑ 2023).
and archaeology and how this relationship can influence the shaping of the
community’s identity and its relation with the past, but also to explore
whether there is a bottom-up decolonial way to approach and empower the
local community, an archaeological ethnography project was introduced in
2016, as a part of the archaeological project in Anatoli village. Archaeological
ethnography was selected as the most suitable method, because of its ability
to open a shared, trans-cultural space of co-existences and interactions among
people and communities of diverse origins and backgrounds (Hamilakis
and Anagnostopoulos 2009; Hamilakis 2016; Shankland 1999). Moreover,
ethnography operated as an interpretive tool that contributed to the
composition of a horizontal stratigraphy of the host environment and provided
a clear-cut understanding of how archaeological discourse interrelates with
personal experiences and memory practices.
The ethnographical research was divided into two distinct parts: deskbased research and fieldwork. Desk-based research included both archival and
bibliographical work in local archives and various libraries at the University
of Athens and online. Bibliographic and archival research provided an
adequate background on the biography of Anatoli village and the wider area
of Hierapetra. Subsequently, fieldwork not only focused on gaining a holistic
view of the area but also on collecting and examining the views of the local
community in the limited time of the on-site investigation. Therefore, a range
of qualitative methodological tools was put into place, such as interviews
(Davies 1999: 95; Mason 2002: 63; Yow 2005: 8), life stories (Davies 1999:
167; Marcus 1998: 94) and participant observation (Davies 1999: 67).
The semi-structured interviews constituted the main methodological tool.
In particular, the face-to-face interviews followed a detailed interview guide,
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but at the same time, they remained open to follow concepts brought up by
the discussants. In order to increase the level of participation and provide
comfort for the informants, all the interviews were held in their activity areas
and lasted as long as they desired, while all the participants provided their
informed consent. Approximately sixty informants participated in a total of
thirty-five individual and group interviews (fig. 4), that were conducted over
a period of six months of fieldwork, spread over three years (from July 2017
to August 2020).
Figure 4. Still frame from an individual interview in Anatoli village (reproduced with
permission of Sotiris Tsiganos).
During the same period, intensive participant observation was
accomplished through involvement in various activities led by the informants
and through the organisation of public archaeology activities and events in the
village (fig. 5). Among them were community gatherings, archaeological tours
and lectures, workshops on ancient diet and pottery manufacturing, seminars
on beekeeping, herbs and cultivation offered by the locals, communal dinners,
the creation of an experimental ethnographic video about the village and the
implementation of a three-day public archaeology festival in the wider area.
This process of open, long-term and patient observation and entanglement
allowed the development of greater insight and understanding of the social
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Figure 5. Still frame from a community event in Anatoli village (reproduced with permission
of Sotiris Tsiganos).
position and perspective of residents, while it facilitated the affirmation of
concepts recorded in oral interviews (Davies 1999: 94-116). Through the
systematic study of their content, its documentation and juxtaposition with
other written sources, along with the immersion into Anatoli’s society, arose
some central conclusions that reveal the grand scheme of things regarding
the local society’s association with its place and past, and by extension with
archaeology and its finds.
The social role of the archaeological project in Anatoli village
A key point in the conclusions of the ethnographic research in Anatoli
village is that the local community’s attitude toward archaeology is filtered
through its relation to place. This was not surprising, since, as seen in the
anthropological research of many rural communities, the landscape is attached
to every aspect of the inhabitants’ life, embodies their values and serves as pegs
on which people hang memories, construct meanings and establish arenas of
action (Hirsch and Stewart 2005; Stewart and Strathern 2003: 1-3; Shankland
1999: 139). What was surprising, though, was that the relationship of the
inhabitants of Anatoli with their village can be described as bipolar, since the
landscape simultaneously acts as a depositary of the community’s identity
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and as a reminder of the bygone hardships. An older informant confessed:
“Only God knows what I went through… we suffered in the past…”. To that
end, place seems to intervene in the inhabitants’ perception of the past. Their
oral testimonies unveiled a spatial conception of time (Basso 1996: 34), where
the recent past of Anatoli is divided into two time periods, the one before
the abandonment of both the mountain areas and the village settlement
in the 1970s and the one that followed right after it, which resulted in the
abolishment of the community (Gianniri 2022: 117-134).
The lack of continuity in the life histories and the structure of Anatoli’s
past in terms of a ‘before’ and an ‘after’ imply the existence of trauma within
its society (Rogers et al. 2000: 15), that is yet to be resolved. This traumatic
relationship was often evident in the words of the informants: “Well… they
[those who left] don’t want to return to the village. A woman from Anatoli
once told me: I am not returning there, not even dead.” The displacement
of the population affected the formation of the social identity of both the
remaining residents and those who left. The first felt they were left behind,
whereas the latter, who suddenly became rich, turned away from the village
which was becoming reminiscent of their deprived past. Anatoli formed a
contested space, where economic gains, memory and identity were involved in
a silent struggle, pushing the community toward a space-time break with its
past (Gianniri 2022: 182-183).
These opposing feelings had not been recalled until archaeology triggered
the reintroduction of the past in the present. Apparently, the double
abandonment of the mountain areas and the village settlement and the trauma
resulting from it affected the community’s stance toward the archaeological
project in multiple ways. The fact that the mountain areas, where the
archaeological sites are located, are not in use prevented the emergence of
competing concerns and conflict between the locals and the archaeologists.
A local farmer stated: “Fortunately where it is [the archaeological finds] it
doesn't affect anything, no property or anything, it just adds value to the area”.
On the contrary, the interest of the archaeologists in the area, their devotion to
the project and their choice to reside in the small and remote mountain village
won the locals over. Besides, the discovery of Minoan antiquities in the wider
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area of the village stirred up feelings of pride about their place (Gianniri 2022:
184). An informant, who could be described as an ‘external observer’ (van
Boeschoten 2015), as he is from the village and has an intimate knowledge
of it, but he is not living there permanently, explained the positive stance of
the residents of Anatoli: “… you know the excavation enjoyed a high level of
acceptance… you became beloved to the village and I will tell you why… the
villager felt a sense of pride when he saw your team struggling to bring to the
surface the history of the place. Meanwhile, you invited them, they came to
the excavation site”.
Hence, there was no confrontation neither over the use of the heritage
site nor over the conceptualisations and the meanings attributed to it. The
reasons for this are twofold. In the first place, the nature of the findings was
not as grand as the residents expected at the beginning of the investigation.
During a group interview, they actually confessed: “There was nothing to
make a splash!”. While the Minoan building and the peak sanctuary on the
mountains of Anatoli are of great scientific importance, they are certainly not
comparable to the Minoan palaces of Knossos, Faistos, Mallia and Zakros.
Consequently, they cannot form the basis for a local touristic development
and the opening of the site to the public seems to be a risky business that will
not include great economic stakes for the community. But even if it had, the
ethnographic research showed that the locals are not interested in attracting
tourism to the village because most of them make a sufficient living from
greenhouse cultivation. Secondly, it was expressed during the interviews that
the local community is not willing to use the archaeological evidence, in order
to construct or reproduce a ‘Minoan identity’. As opposed to other areas in
Crete (Solomon 2003; see also Hamilakis 2006; Lenakake 2000), the people
of Anatoli do not identify themselves as descendants of the Minoans3, and
3 This is particularly interesting, considering the ways the archaeological record that we call
‘Minoan’ and its deployment and consumption in various contexts, intersects with the lives of
people in Crete (Hamilakis 2006; see also Hamilakis and Yalouri 1996; Solomon 2003; Herzfeld 2003). Other case studies in which the local community does not draw its identity from
descent from the Minoans are these of the villages around the site of Gortys (Hamilakis 2006)
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Figure 6. The wider area of Anatoli on the map of Crete (photograph by Google Earth).
they do not seem to perceive the archaeological excavations and their finds
as a means to achieve reputation, prestige, notability or symbolic capital on a
local, regional or inter-regional scale (Gianniri 2022: 185). This observation
was also expressed by an informant, who said that the value of the find is not
realised by his fellow villagers: “Well, don't think now… don’t expect that the
locals understand what it is going on up there [Gaidourofas site]. If it is good
or if it’s not, but… You see, my child, in other areas they’re on it, people care”.
On this basis, the economic and social effects of the archaeologists’ presence
within the village setting were confined to the money that was provided to the
workmen4 and the mere presence of the researchers as outsiders. Nevertheless,
and of the village Gonies in central Crete (Anagnostopoulos et al. 2000).
4 It is worth noting that in some cases archaeologists’ efforts to hire wage labourers in order
to combat inequality, might lead simultaneously to its sustenance since the economic benefits
of archaeological research are distributed unequally (Kurnick 2020; see also Shankland 1999:
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the expansion of the archaeological project to other areas (fig. 6) during recent
years and the organisation of a series of large-scale events, including a public
archaeology festival, shifted the power dynamics, both in Anatoli and in the
wider area.
The trace of politics
This came as no surprise since archaeology is always already a political
project (Castañeda and Matthews 2008: 8; see also Leone 2008). Politics is
inseparable in the life of the discipline since archaeological practice is socially
embedded and politically contingent (Perring and Van der Linde 2009; Tully
2007), and therefore it has real consequences for the groups related to the
archaeological sites in various ways. Accordingly, their interests and agendas
often collide with those of the scientific team (Catapoti 2013; Hamilakis
2010; Sutton and Stroulia 2010), resulting in conflict situations, that involve
economic and social stakes.
Thus, while the local community of Anatoli perceived the prolongation of
the archaeological project and its expansion to other areas as a positive sign for
the village’s future and felt honoured that it became the centre of attention,
not everyone shared the same enthusiasm. The new cultural association of the
village, whose members do not live permanently in Anatoli, felt threatened
by the multiple events and public archaeology activities implemented by the
archaeological team, as they could have overshadowed its action. At the same
time, the team’s seasonal accommodation at the village was compromised,
due to the antagonism between the members of the new and the old cultural
association, who had offered the association’s premises to the archaeological
project in order to work and reside for free.
Thus, while the local community of Anatoli perceived the prolongation of
the archaeological project and its expansion to other areas as a positive sign for
138).
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
47
the village’s future and felt honoured that it became the centre of attention,
not everyone shared the same enthusiasm. The new cultural association of the
village, whose members do not live permanently in Anatoli, felt threatened
by the multiple events and public archaeology activities implemented by the
archaeological team, as they could have overshadowed its action. At the same
time, the team’s seasonal accommodation at the village was compromised,
due to the antagonism between the members of the new and the old cultural
association, who had offered the association’s premises to the archaeological
project in order to work and reside for free.
An evident conflict of interests occurred simultaneously between the
archaeological team and other stakeholder groups, as the archaeological
research was moving from the mountain to low-lying coastal areas. The
conduct of surface surveys in the greenhouses’ areas and the discovery of an
intact late Minoan tomb in an olive grove, near the village Kentri in Hierapetra
provoked the cultivators, who were afraid of losing their properties. Likewise,
the majority of the residents of Kentri village took a stand against the
archaeologists and their fellow villagers who helped them, since they did
not want anything to do with archaeology. Later on, when the value of the
archaeological finds was revealed their attitude toward archaeology changed
and they even claimed their right to a financial reward for the find.
To bridge the gap between the diverse stakeholder groups, namely the
permanent residents of Anatoli village, those who come from Anatoli but have
left the village, the Hierapetra plain greenhouses’ cultivators, the residents of
Kentri village and the Hierapetra city’s inhabitants, and bring them together
so they could get to know the archaeological team and its work, a three-day
public archaeology festival, the ‘ArchaeoLogic Festival’, 5 was organised in
the wider area. This goal was fulfilled through the implementation of the
festival, which constituted an arena for the production, negotiation and
transformation of meanings, memories, identities and values (Crang and
5 The documentation of the ArchaeoLogic Festival can be found on the following link:
https://vimeo.com/340295123.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Tolia-Kelly 2010; see also Jones 2017) and seemed to be a fruitful experience
both for the participants and the archaeological team. Particularly meaningful
was the fact that the locals not only actively participated in the activities of the
festival, but also coordinated their own, such as a narrative tour through an
outdoor photo exhibition in Αnatoli’s narrow streets (Gianniri 2023).
However, traces of politics were pinpointed once again. On the very first
day of the festival, representatives of the different local political parties showed
up to shake hands and be photographed with the director of the archaeological
project, as a way of promoting a positive image given the upcoming elections.
It is worth mentioning that the mayor at the time, who had supported
ArchaeoLogic Festival since day one, did not make any attempt to manipulate
either the archaeological team or the activities of the festival to promote his
reelection.
Thoughts and questions on our role in a local community context
In light of the above, it can be clearly seen that the choice of an
archaeological ethnography approach and/or the initiative to run a bottomup public archaeology project is a two-way political act itself. By driving the
communities to engage with archaeology and heritage, they become social
agents of their own history and archaeology in the present, they construct
a more inclusive version of their past and by extension, they are empowered
to feel differently about themselves (Matthews 2008: 179). While these
processes are in progress, the researcher can reconstruct the complex network
of community relationships, learn about the interests and the conflicts that
formed the sociopolitical landscape and elaborate further on his understanding
of both distant and recent past. At the same time though, ethnographic work
itself has the potential to enact power relations, that are often ambivalent and
potentially counter-hegemonic (Kurnick 2020; Clifford 1992: 6-9), especially
when the local voices emerge in the passive form of the ‘ethnographised’
(Edgeworth 2006: 15), and not in direct dialogue with the professionals,
to examine the sociopolitical relationships between them and negotiate the
power and control through reflexive and participatory practices.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
49
Undoubtedly, working with communities is a sensitive issue, since
the existence of groups with different agendas poses a great challenge for
archaeological practice and raises questions about the role of an archaeological
project within local communities and its imprint on a constantly changing
world. Thus, what we should be asking ourselves as scholars, social beings
and political animals by nature is how do or should we pursue our work
given this diversity of interests related to the sites (Bartu 2000: 102)? Should
a scientific project take a stand and how? Should we strategically deal with
emerging interests to serve our own ends? Should local views be minimised
in favour of archaeology? Should archaeological work be determined by the
contemporary political and socioeconomic conditions of the community? Is
the impact of public archaeology activities strong enough to break even the
power imbalances? Do we have the skills to impact a diverse community for
the better? Do we have the right to try to do so? Do we unwittingly resonate
with colonial rhetoric by drawing attention to a community’s activities
(González-Ruibal 2009: 114; see also Kurnick 2020)? How may a reflexive
public archaeology be designed so that it can express the concerns of the
margins (Matthews 2008: 163; Hodder 2003) and their present-day needs?
Conclusion
There may be no clear answers to these questions yet, but the fact that
such questions are forming and keep coming back over the last few decades
underlines that the discipline is in a good position to understand its
sociopolitical dimension, to face its responsibilities as a producer and interpreter
of knowledge (Zimmerman 2006; see also Smith and Wobst 2005) and to
consider the work of the archaeologist as more than scientific or academic.
We cannot pretend to be neutral these days, while politics and archaeology
go beyond grand narratives of nationhood, and extend into everyday matters,
such as relatively small but vital functions of the local communities, which
we work with (Lennox and Richardson 2016; Perring and Van der Linde
2009). Thus, to address the political dimension of archaeology is not only to
confront the political means through which it has been constituted but also
to oppose power asymmetries and inequality inside and outside the discipline
(Hamilakis 2008: 11), even on a small scale.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
Archaeological ethnography can effectively contribute to it. The
ethnographic research in Anatoli village showed that one such practice leads
to personal relationships that enable archaeological expertise to be of use to the
local community and enables the researchers to navigate the complexities of onsite power networks (Kyriakidis and Anagnostopoulos 2015; Hodder 2003).
What is more, archaeological ethnography prioritises the living communities
over the deceased and moves their present to the foreground, where it remains
their own and not archaeology’s (Zimmerman 2008: 202). This way, it serves
as a catalyst in ideological struggles that have real consequences for people,
recognises and benefits social groups, reinforces a sense of community and
contributes altogether to the construction of an honest and emancipatory
scholarship with an archaeology that is politically self-conscious (McGuire
2008: 21, 36-37) and concerned not only with the ways people engage with
material past but also with the ways they engage with the present (Jones 2017;
Smith and Akagawa 2009:2; Stroulia and Sutton 2009).
It has been almost 30 years since Homi Bhabha (1994: 42) encouraged
the breakdown of Western thought’s ‘linear narrative of the nation’, with
its claims of a ‘fixed horizontal nation-space’ with ‘holism of culture and
community’ (Leone and Knauf 2015: 7), yet his call seems to be more
relevant now than ever. At a time when a neoliberal agenda of economic
utilitarianism, along with empirical-quantitative models of science, threatens
to dominate academic research (Zapf 2016:1), it is essential to realise that it
is only through the involvement with local communities and small scale case
studies that the non-linearity of the world and its phenomena can be grasped
and new cosmopolitics can be conceptualised. Particularly, approaches such
as archaeological ethnography have the unique ability to trigger out-of-thebox thinking, uncertain exploration and unlimited circulation of ideas, to
establish new multiscalar vistas of reality, to insert reflexivity into academia,
to evoke empathy and care and to deconstruct the anti-emotional culture and
the prioritisation of intellect over other aspects of human experience. After
all, if we assume that archaeology offers the possibility for people ‘to see a
world in a grain of sand’ (Blake 1971: 585), then archaeological ethnography
could unlock multiple worlds for them to see and encounter.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
51
Acknowledgements
I am always grateful to my supervisor Professor Marlen Mouliou for her
constant support and selfless guidance since the beginning of my postgraduate
studies and for introducing me to the world of Public Archaeology; I am also
grateful to Professor Yiannis Papadatos for always supporting my choices,
even when he disagrees; My warm thanks go also to Professor Dimitris
Plantzos for being an endless source of inspiration. Last but not least, I feel the
need to give special thanks to the community of Anatoli for their hospitality
and friendship, and especially to Koula Angelaki and the Archos family
(Manolis, Doxa and George), who unconditionally helped me in every phase
of my research and stood by me as a second family; And of course I am deeply
thankful to my mother Parisianthi Valakou for being as a good mother as she
is an archaeologist.
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Towards a New Project Design Methodology for
Archaeological Projects in England
Sadie Watson
Museum of London Archaeology
[email protected]
Abstract
The policy framework within which development-led archaeology is conducted in the
UK is well understood and the contracting sector is an accepted stage in the planning process
due to various policies, originating from both national and local Government. Projects are
undertaken following standards established by Historic England almost two decades ago, with
management systems and stages commonly followed. Yet our project design methodology
hasn’t evolved to reflect the changing times, or encouraged capacity for considering the publics,
with intended beneficiaries of our work poorly identified and often misunderstood. This paper
proposes a new process of project management for development-led archaeology, to ensure that
we conduct work that has meaningful and sustainable outcomes for the wider publics. I outline
the challenges within the current structure and provide a revised project life cycle with publics
at its heart.
Introduction
The national and local Government policy landscape within which
development-led archaeology is conducted in the UK is well established and the
contracting sector is an accepted stage within the wider planning process (the
clearest explanation of the system is provided by the statutory body Historic
England [2022a]). The UK-based commercially contracted sector undertake
projects through standards established decades ago, with management systems
and project stages commonly understood by both individual practitioners
and a range of representative professional bodies alike (Chartered Institute
for Archaeologists [CIfA] 2023a; Federation of Archaeological Managers and
Employers [FAME] 2023; English Heritage 1991; Historic England 2015a;
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2015b).
A recent review reported that the commercial archaeological sector
contributes £218m annually to the national UK economy, providing
employment to over 6300 people (Aitchison, German and Rocks Macqueen
2021). There is a widespread belief that development-led archaeology
operates at a high technical level (British Academy 2017: 27-29; Thomas
2021), and those contracting organisations that are part of the sectoral
professional body’s (CIfA) scheme comply with agreed standards of work.
This is the primary form of archaeological work that occurs in Britain, vastly
outstripping academic or community projects. This separation however is
unhelpful, as it perpetuates the understanding that development-led work is
somehow neither of an academic standard, nor community-facing.
These are ongoing challenges that the sector has tackled on more than one
occasion (e.g. Wills 2018; Society of Antiquaries of London [SAL] 2020).
The largely privatised contracting system means that many different actants
are responsible for archaeological projects with a cynicism that projects are
undertaken on behalf of clients, rather than the public at large (Fredheim
and Watson 2023: 20-21). This is in opposition to the industry’s accepted
professional standards, which require us to commit to specific competencies
and ethical behaviours (CIfA 2023b) with a focus on public service, and is
despite the fact that archaeology is a highly socially contingent endeavour,
even more so in the development-led sphere with Carver calling this type of
work a form of ‘social contract’ (2009: 358); conducted on behalf of the wider
public.
This paper is the culmination of a 4-year Future Leader Fellowship, which
has involved extensive consultation with communities, the client body and
policy makers (MOLA 2019). Results have shown that there is much appetite
for a more human-centred consideration of archaeology within the planning
process, the next step is to review existing project design mechanisms to enable
that change.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Legislative background and guiding principles
The basic legislative landscape within which archaeology is enabled (and
required) through the planning system within the UK has not changed
significantly since 1991. Notably the legal protection for archaeology is
extended to undesignated assets, including those as yet unknown (for a
full exposition see Historic England 2022a: 3-8). Both national and local
governments provide critical support to this system. Whilst providing
a structure for decision-making (and crucially, funding) the planning
frameworks are often restrictive in the expectations they can place on
developers. Professional, county/district council-based curatorial staff utilise
guidance on deciding significance, with a complex and inter-linked series of
values to be considered (Historic England 2008; 2022a: 36-37). The guiding
principle remains that the development-led process provides outstanding and
uniquely sourced knowledge of the historic environment (Ibid: 9). There are
also significant opportunities for public benefit, defined as environmental,
economic and social (Ibid: 10) all of which are specified in the National
Planning Policy Framework (NPPF) (MHCLG 2019).
However, the provision of these opportunities is patchy, and often
depends on individual input and specific funding arrangements. As such, the
introduction of the NPPF has not seen wholescale improvements in public
benefit, reasons for which have been discussed by (e.g.) Thomas (2019). The
challenge of embedding public benefit into all stages of work is no small one,
but incremental steps are currently being undertaken by the sector-wide 21st
Century Challenges in Archaeology project (Wills 2018) which acknowledges
that all areas of work (policy, curatorial services, standards and guidance,
commercial practice, project design, dissemination, archiving) need to be
drawn into this endeavour.
Despite the fact that the four nations of the United Kingdom have differing
mechanisms within which archaeology takes place they aim to provide parallel
routes to public benefit. Recent developments in the Scottish provision have
placed public benefit considerations at the fore of development-led work
(Mann 2023) and in Wales the Wellbeing for Future Generations Act should
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encourage similar refocusing of commercially driven archaeology towards
public benefit and social value (Belford 2019: 195). In Northern Ireland
there is a more challenging backdrop due to the recent history of sectarian
conflict and contested heritage landscapes but the Archaeology Strategy 2030
(O’Keeffe 2021) is clear on the need to embed public benefit throughout
the sector. There is a gradual movement towards the aspirations of the Faro
Convention (Council of Europe 2005), which states the right of everyone to
benefit from their cultural heritage.
However, we have not yet seen a major impact on contracting practice
(Watson and Fredheim 2022), despite some meaningful local case studies
(e.g. Considerate Constructors Scheme [CCS] 2023; CIfA 2023c).
Internationally, the European Archaeological Council ([EAC] 2018: 18)
suggests that the social impact of a development is rarely considered by
archaeologists during their project design process, which can separate their
work from more deliberate attempts to increase its wider value. The United
Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) have
highlighted that the gap between policy makers and communities should be
narrowed through increasing the scale of co-designed projects (2022). This
might be a challenge due to the ‘normative’ behaviours still threaded through
practice (Perry 2019: 358) that are consistently failing to engage wider publics
rather than encouraging them to engage, due to the focus on conservation,
preservation and the endangerment narratives so ably critiqued by May
(2020), Fredheim (2020) and Högberg et al (2017) as perpetuating ideas of
traditional engagement and a continuation of current management practices,
thereby stifling new opportunities for participation.
Project design and management in archaeology
Developed in the 1990s, the project design and management system used
throughout UK development-led archaeology (Management of Archaeological Projects, known as MAP2) followed structures utilised widely in commerce and industry (Andrews and Thomas 1995: 204-5), with a clear influence from science and engineering where objectively measurable milestones
are seen as most useful (Brooke 1995: 130). This task-driven approach has a
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61
focus on review stages and the introduction of a post-excavation assessment
(PXA) stage was intended to ensure that projects no longer ran out of funding
prior to analysis and dissemination, which had previously been a major problem (Andrews and Thomas: 196-199).
Nonetheless this issue perpetuates, despite this attempt to rationalise the
process. Heaton (2014: n12) notes that MAP2 was designed for backlog
and state-funded projects, rather than live commercial projects, and while
the relevance of this today is open for debate, contracting archaeology undeniably occurs within a highly competitive commercial environment, the
current extent of which was (understandably) not previously foreseen. The
MAP2 Preface (English Heritage 1991) suggested it should be revised in the
future but this has not yet happened to any significant degree. Today, after
the passing of more than 30 years a successful outcome for an archaeological
project has evolved from ‘published report...supported by an...archive’ (Ibid:
5) to something more akin to the provision of public benefit, although that
remains poorly defined, rarely stringently evaluated, and open to individual
perspectives (Fredheim and Watson 2023: 22-23).
There is not room here to discuss the contents of MAP2 in detail, but
although many aspects of projects have moved on significantly for legal, commercial or client-driven reasons the process remains closely aligned with the
construction sector’s need for a series of incremental work packages that can
be closed off in successive steps (Darvill 2006: 231). It is interesting to see
which areas of MAP2 have been adopted wholesale as standard practice, and
which fell by the wayside, specifically in the case of this paper the presumption of community involvement (English Heritage 1991: 28). That this isn’t
generally undertaken is almost certainly due to the sub-contracted nature of
archaeology, which has positioned our work as an expert technical service,
usually provided during groundworks in advance of development, rather than
a value-added opportunity (Fredheim and Watson 2023: 20-23).
The perception that increased public benefit will inevitably involve access
to dangerous construction sites and would require extensive funding persists,
holding the sector back from considering alternatives (Sloane 2018). This is
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probably due to pervasive ideas of fieldwork as the most interesting aspect of
a project, despite growing evidence that there is appetite for other forms of
participation, including intellectual input into project designs, research aims
and dissemination plans (Faccia in prep.). The persistent gap between the legal requirements placed on developers and their archaeological contractors to
merely mitigate the damage to archaeological assets, and the suggested best
practice around dissemination and public engagement means that innovative
provision of the latter cannot yet be a necessity of commercial funding or
planning permission.
In England MAP 2 was largely superseded for technical guidance by
the Management of Research Projects in the Historic Environment (MoRPHE) (Historic England 2015a) and Project Planning Note 3 (Historic England 2015b), intended to provide guidance for projects of varying funding
and contractual origin. The presumption is still that projects will result in a
knowledge gain, dependent upon the dissemination of results (Ibid: 4). In
an acknowledgement that the benefits provided through this system can be
expanded beyond knowledge creation, Historic England themselves have a
rapidly developing understanding of how impactful heritage and archaeological work can be for wider communities, including provision of positive wellbeing improvements (2022b; Monckton and Watson 2022), so there is space
for an evolution of policy to enable that. Considering new ways of sharing the
knowledge gain are a necessary reminder that archaeology can be presented in
myriad ways depending on how the knowledge benefit is to be provided, as
Sloane suggests in relation to very specific aspects such as scientific advances
concerning the historic spread of disease (2021).
The current ways in which these various guidance notes and professional
standards are implemented are examples of classical and specialist management systems, whereby specialists are organised through a line management
hierarchy as well as through a project-specific structure (Nixon 1995: 221).
Commonly understood concepts such as quality control and ‘by rote’ tasks
have their origin in manufacturing (Cooper 1995: 75), with a focus on process
and product rather than on people. These systems can neglect the impact on
humans as a result, and key needs such as agency and motivation are sidelined
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63
in favour of a task-driven emphasis. This approach was deemed appropriate
at the onset of contracting practice, when the sector was keen to integrate
into client structures to illustrate its relevance to construction operations. A
task-driven mentality might be applicable to some stages of fieldwork, where
tight adherence to programmes and budgets is key, although perhaps it is less
helpful when thinking about post-excavation and public-facing work which
can be inherently less process-driven, externally managed, and linear (McAdam 1995: 98). The persistence of this project design structure reduces the way
that we might illustrate archaeology as a social practice, given that it enforces
the idea that archaeology is a highly procedural problem-solving operation
(Cumberpatch and Roberts 2012: 33).
Despite this situation, archaeology as a public-facing undertaking has increasingly grown within many of the organisations that make up the contracting sector, with recent data showing 250 archaeologists with job titles broadly
identifying them as ‘public archaeologist’ (Aitchison et al 2021: Table 2.19.1).
There are successful organisations set up with public-facing delivery at the
heart of their model (e.g. DigVentures, Past Participate and Big Heritage, although these organisations do not generally provide services to the construction industry and operate under different funding models). The exclusion of
project beneficiaries (which could mean academics, wider publics or specific groups thereof) from the project teams in both MAP2 (Historic England
1991: 25) and MoRPHE (Historic England 2015a: Figs 3a and 3b) is a symptom of their period of production and doesn’t reflect a deliberate attempt to
exclude. In 2023 we can now recognise the need to identify beneficiaries to
enable research, design, and results to be targeted usefully; in other words, to
deliberately include.
Other models in theory and practice
As part of construction procurement chains archaeological organisations
are increasingly asked to include their public benefit provision in tender documentation (where social value is the commonly used term). This is already
formalised in the 2013 Public Services (Social Value) Act (UK Govt 2021)
which outlines requirements for publicly funded projects to be assessed in
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terms of their social value as well as their financial implications. Social value
in this context is broadly defined as the financial and nonfinancial value that
contributes to the wellbeing of both individuals and communities, in addition to positive impacts on the environment. It is not created through the
standard operations of an organisation, but should be beyond ‘business as
usual’. Accordingly, for archaeologists; excavation, archiving and dissemination of results would not count as social value as defined by the Act. Projects
requiring value creation beyond the standard offer would include transport
infrastructure, which has formed the largest proportion of commercial archaeological income in recent years (Aitchison et al 2021: Table 1.5.3.). In
the Public Procurement Bill (UK Govt 2022) the UK Government advocates
moving from a Most Economically Advantageous Tender (MEAT) to a Most
Advantageous Tender (MAT), recognising and requiring that adding value to
a project means more than simply monetary value. The construction sector
is facing increasing pressure to behave more responsibly, and companies now
specify their intentions to provide value beyond their standard offer. Parallel
to this, the consulting sector has grown exponentially and now forms a crucial
part of the wider archaeological ecosystem. Collcutt (2006: 220) frames this as
a reason for concern, in that adding more managerial levels shows a ‘decreased
willingness to allow downward delegation of decision-making' but many of
the larger firms offering heritage consultancy services also have in-house social
value teams, who need to be invited to sit at the same table during the early stages of a given project, in order to design and embed ideas around how
archaeology can contribute to their wider aims for impacted communities.
There are clear opportunities here.
Allied professionals have created toolkits to lead their sectors through decision-making over public benefit (social value) provision (e.g. UK Green Building Council [UKGBC] 2022; Royal Institute of British Architects [RIBA]
2020). The key point for us here is that these are guides to project management processes, which (amongst other things) specify a model delivery plan
(UKGBC 2022: 33) and provide sample questions to be asked of communities
(RIBA 2020: 14-15). In a profession such as archaeology, where a flowchart
often leads us through our widely recognised and commonly followed processes, this is both immediately familiar and theoretically broadly applicable.
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Figure 1. Logic model illustrating rationale behind proposed changes to project
design methodology, showing how expanded resources at early stage might lead to enhanced
outcomes from development-led projects.
Towards a new model
The preceding discussion has led us to the point where we need to propose
how these issues might be tackled, at least within a framework that archaeologists will recognise and pivot towards with understanding.
The logic model (Figure 1) illustrates how a typical project could contribute to value for wider society through expanding the resources used, and by
targeting outcomes as well as outputs to the needs identified during the early stages of a project. The three horizontal aspects of the model indicate the
three principal stakeholder groups this is intended to benefit: the sector (to include curatorial archaeologists), the communities, and the client body. Others
could be incorporated but it is useful to consider who the main beneficiaries
of an amended model could be. Several of the larger organisations working
in archaeology are educational charities, with enhanced expectations of their
public benefit provision, although this has been questioned with reference to
vague reporting and lack of specific identification of beneficiaries (Fredheim
and Watson 2023: 30-31). Including beneficiaries in project design teams
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would provide evidence of these aims, and evaluation of the public benefit
provision would be a meaningful way to realistically interrogate them.
This degree of revision requires a change in project management methodology, to lead us through the decision-making processes, to introduce those
various new datasets we should be including in our assessments identified in
Figure 1, and to enable us to produce plans that are achievable, scalable, and
regularly evaluated.
The revised and simplified life cycle of a typical project (Figure 2) has been
adapted from models provided in current guidance (Historic England 1991;
2015; 2022a) and shows in more detail how these decisions could be made
at each typical step. Critical here are the new milestones, and the new ways
of thinking about impact. The order of actions remains broadly the same,
with allowance for the value creation at certain intervals as indicated. There
is less focus in this version in the costing and tendering process, as that is an
accepted (and expected) part of this process, as are the professional requirements for reporting and archiving. For reasons of space, the fieldwork referred
to here is evaluation followed by excavation, but there are other forms this
work could take depending on results and scale of the works. If a desk-based
assessment reveals only the need for a ‘watching brief’ whereby groundworks
are monitored by an archaeologist then perhaps there will be less opportunity
for public benefit, although it could be argued that a small amount of archaeology on a local site means much more to the surrounding community than
a lot of archaeology many miles away. The scalability of these proposals needs
experimentation, as an enlightened client may see the potential in results from
a watching brief, thereby providing an expanded interpretation of significance
beyond merely its archaeological aspects.
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Figure 2. Revised life cycle of typical development-led archaeology project (adapted from Historic England 1991; Fredheim and Watson 2023: 24-25). The tasks are shown vertically, the
revised milestones relate to Review Points (as in Historic England 2015b: 9) and are shown in
the bubbles where they may be appropriate.
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Put simply, in the absence of a suitable regulatory framework to require
such a process, these proposals are intended to encourage decision making to
be more value-led, putting people at the heart of a project rather than profit
or client, or even, perhaps, on occasion, the archaeology. Archaeologists are
used to paring down or adapting fieldwork plans in response to traditional
concerns such as evolving research aims and unexpected results, but these proposals are calling for other criteria to be considered alongside these, perhaps in
response to research aims determined by the local community, the potential
for reuse of discarded archaeological materials or an obligation to consider
the wellbeing of participants above the physical condition of aspects of the
archaeology (see Archaeology on Prescription [York Archaeology 2022] for an
example of when this might occur).
Critiques may come from the inclusion of client aims in these methodologies, but contracting archaeologists operate within a highly competitive
commercial environment and these considerations are crucial to ensure that
work is undertaken by organisations who understand the need to respond to
both their clients and their communities. This will not solve the fundamental
challenges posed to us by the ill-fitting imposition of neo-liberal economic
models that have required a previously academic, participatory pursuit such
as archaeology to become a cost-driven exercise at the expense of research-led
practice, but it will offset some of the major issues many of us are increasingly
aware of (see Watson 2021).
To further illustrate the need to include other actants in this process, Figure 3 shows an adapted version of the possible MoRPHE project roles (from
Historic England 2015b: 13). This model is primarily intended for larger projects with wider responsibilities but also indicates how these principles could
also be relevant for much smaller projects. The assumption that MAP2 decisions will be based on research potential (Andrews and Thomas 1995: 204)
will be thrown into relief by bringing wider voices into the discussion. The
consultees are shown at a remove from the main project roles as previously
but there will be more linkage and increased two-way communication in this
system.
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Figure 3: Revised model showing typical MoRPHE project roles (adapted from Historic England 2015b).
Making it happen
Progress away from accepted systems and structures is naturally slow, and
the development-led sector operates within the tricky dichotomy of providing technical specialist services to the construction industry while also aiming
to provide innovative and meaningful public benefit. This results in narrow
funding regimes and programmes that restrict opportunities for wider participation. Expecting sector buy-in without the additional levers of policy is perhaps naïve, as our system operates within a rigid structure of policy, funding,
and embedded notions of expertise. However, whether or not we theorise to
this degree during contracting projects, both a multiplicity of opinions and a
recognition of uncertainty are acknowledged as necessary for archaeology to
be undertaken responsibly (D’Alisa and Kallis 2015: 220).
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We need to expand these concepts beyond our own professional and commercial circles, whilst actively bringing the members of those new circles along
with us. Here we might usefully turn to the considerations raised by D’Alisa
and Kallis (2015) that a separation between experts, policy makers and the
public is problematic, and that all three elements should rather be integrated
within the design and development of research and policymaking. This could
move us ‘from an expert community to a community of experts’, wherein we
draw on experience and expertise from a wider societal group to ensure and
assure that the work we undertake is proportionate and useful (Ibid: 219).
This supports the UNESCO view that policy-driven decisions can in fact
run counter to concerns of communities if the ‘plurality of narratives’ is not
considered (UNESCO 2022: 2). Tarlow and Pluciennik (2007: 125) further
remind us that ethical practice need not only be reliant upon adherence to
business ethics but should also include considerations of impact on publics.
This tension is already recognised within the arena of cultural heritage capital, which seeks to understand where the value lies in heritage for people, and
how to measure that value in order to maximise its potential for individual and communal wellbeing (Dorpalen nd; Leeson nd; Watson 2023). The
professional interpretation of concepts such as value, rarity, complexity and
significance will rarely match the ways in which wider society will interpret
these (Darvill 2006: 415), which blurs the line in ways that we should find
worth exploring.
When innovation does happen in development-led archaeology it generally falls into areas of technological change and comprises a celebration of ‘newness’ (Frieman 2021) which seems to require a forward and linear movement,
a direction away from ideas, methods or tools that are now seen as out of date
or obsolete. Frieman (Ibid: 16-18) warns us that social innovation is far more
complex and we can use this framing to reconsider how the innovation proposed in this paper might instead focus on people, and therefore may not be
an efficiency-driven progression, but a reconsideration of method and practice; leading us to a more human-centred approach.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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The onus on communication between humans might seem old fashioned
in the context of innovation and change but this might be what many Western
structures need. Existing professional frameworks are recognised as exclusionary to colleagues (Brunache et al 2021), let alone the wider public, and amending this requires a reconsideration of professionalism and expertise, and how
these interact with notions of value and significance. A review need not be
a rejection of previous pathways but should encourage an honest reflection
of how the embedded methods have come to be so well-worn. The models
provided here are intended to catalyse conversations over how we might enable a wider set of voices to engage with project design, how project management might become more inclusive, and how revising project implementation
could widen participation in development-led archaeology on a sustainable
basis.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the editors for accepting this paper and for their assistance throughout the editing process. Particular thanks are due to the two
peer reviewers who sent in detailed and helpful feedback. The research leading
up to this was funded by UKRI (Future Leader Fellowship) and supported
by MOLA. Thanks to MOLA illustrators Juan Jose Fuldain Gonzalez and
Jemina Dunnett for producing the figures. My thoughts on this topic have
been shaped by conversations with many colleagues over the last four years,
in particular I want to acknowledge Kate Faccia, Guillermo Diaz de Liaño
del Valle, Harald Fredheim, Sara Perry, Emma Dwyer and Barney Sloane. The
opinions behind my research focus have been shaped by decades in the sector,
alongside respected and treasured colleagues too numerous to name.
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Watson, S. 2021. Degrowth in development-led archaeology and opportunities for change.
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Watson, S. 2023. Cultural heritage capital, the challenge and the opportunity for archaeology,
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Archaeology, Indigenous and Local Knowledge,
and Climate Change in the Caribbean:
Select Case Studies among the Kalinago, Macushi
and Maroon communities in the Windward Islands
and the Guianas.
Andrea Richards
Leiden University
Cheryl White
Anton de Kom University
Louisa Daggers
University of Guyana
Thanya SokÉ-Fonkel
Anton de Kom University / Saamaka Maroon Community of
Guyana
Annalisa Edwards
Macushi Amerindian Community in Guyana
Augustine 'Sardo' Sutherland
Kalinago Tribe in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
Irvince Auguiste
Kalinago Community in the Commonwealth of Dominica
[email protected]
Abstract
Within the geographic space known as the Caribbean, vulnerability to and because of
climate-induced hazards is commonplace. Contributing to this are the various geophysical
features and historical land use issues which define the region, some of which have contributed
to how traditional communities are both impacted by and respond to the changing climate.
These hazards are experienced through rising sea levels, coastal inundation and storm surges,
and increasingly severe and erratic weather events, impacting, for example, wet and dry
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seasons, water and food security, and infrastructure. Although the region's vulnerability has
increased, climatic challenges are not a 21st century phenomena. Its first inhabitants several
millennia ago experienced climate-induced and other natural hazards, requiring ongoing
adaptation to constantly changing environments. Our traditional communities have had long
relationships with their natural environment and so play a critical role in studying this humanenvironment dynamic through a long-term perspective. Not only are they exposed to these
hazards contributing to vulnerability at the community level, but their heritage is also exposed.
Through their traditional knowledge and archaeological data from their ancient villages,
knowledge is passed down today as a guide for climate action and providing essential indicators
for past and future resilience.
This paper examines how the changing climate intersects with archaeology, Indigenous
and local knowledge in relation to ongoing and future climate action and narratives in
the Caribbean. This is approached through a focus on case studies among the Kalinago of
Dominica and Saint Vincent, the Macushi from Guyana, and Maroon communities from
Suriname, highlighting how traditional knowledge and archaeological research can provide
valuable data concerning past climate adaptation and a better understanding of Indigenous
and local responses. This paper emanates from a knowledge-exchange event held in Aruba in
November 2022, which brought together communities, researchers, and students to discuss
the role that archaeology and traditional knowledge can play in the region’s response to the
changing climate.
Introduction
Archaeological research in the Caribbean Basin has provided valuable
information regarding how the region and its peoples have been impacted
and responded to the changing climate over several millennia (e.g., Perdikaris
and Boger 2022; Cooper 2012; Fitzpatrick 2012; Hofman and Hoogland
2015, 2016; Plew and Daggers 2022; Rivera-Collazo 2019; Whitehead et
al. 2010). This research has highlighted adaptation strategies utilised by
past populations which have been transmitted over generations and are
evidenced in the archaeological and the traditional knowledge and practices
record of Indigenous and local communities living in the Caribbean today,
and manifested in the placement, organisation and relocation of settlements,
housing construction, water and food procurement and management
methods, and the development of resilience networks across islands (Cooper
and Peros 2010; Hofman et al. 2021; Hofman and Hoogland 2015; Samson
et al. 2015; Versteeg and Schinkel 1992).
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Although the region has benefited from research on past climate
variability and reconstruction demonstrating climate instability over the
last several thousand years (Curtis et al. 2001; Hodell et al. 1991; Beets et
al. 2006; Malaizé et al. 2011), there is still much to be learned about humanclimate relationships over time.In the Guianas component of the Caribbean
in particular, much is still relatively unknown or inconclusive despite the
support from regional palynological data (Boomert 1980; Bush et al. 2013;
De Grandville 1982; Flautua et al. 2016; Hoock 1971; Roeleveld 1969; Rull
1999; Van der Hammen et al. 1964; Williams 2003). Holocene climatic
data also offers some insight into past human adaptation to environments
and demonstrates that past populations (particularly during the archaic age)
played an essential role in shaping their landscape to increase resilience to the
impacts of climate variability (Beets et al. 2006; Daggers et al. 2018; Daggers
et al. 2022; Hofman et al. 2021; Williams 1985).
Although we can infer based on scientific data regarding these adaptations,
archaeology and traditional knowledge relating to climate change management
provides an alternative and complementary means of understanding
adaptation from the past to the present. This important intersection between
archaeology, traditional knowledge and climate change is acknowledged,
and was the focus of the workshop on 'Traditional Knowledge Solutions
for Present and Future Climate Change Adaptation and Resilience in the
Caribbean,' held in Aruba from November to December 2022 (see Figure 1).
It brought together traditional and local communities, students,
archaeologists, anthropologists, and other researchers from or working
throughout the Caribbean, for a knowledge exchange and an initial "where
are we?" discussion on how archaeological and traditional knowledge can
support the elaboration of solutions and strategies for future climate change
adaptation in the region. This initial discussion was deemed critical, as this
nexus of archaeology and traditional knowledge for climate change adaptation
is a relatively understudied area in the region, and so it was important to
have insights on where things were at the regional level. Invitations were
therefore sent to traditional communities, researchers and institutions known
to be undertaking relevant research, with the aim being to have at least one
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Fig 1. The Aruba workshop: Traditional Knowledge Solutions for Present and Future Climate
Change Adaptation and Resilience in the Caribbean, November 2022
researcher and one Indigenous or local community member from each
participating country.
The workshop provided an opportunity for the presentation of research in
relation to traditional knowledge, archaeology and climate change adaptation
intersections, support communities in articulating how they experienced
and responded to climate change, discuss adaptation strategies, as well as the
challenges preventing the availability and use of this knowledge at a wider
society level. Importantly, it discussed the limited voice of Indigenous and
local communities in climate change discourse in the Caribbean, and issues
with the documentation of this knowledge in a free and informed manner that
gives agency to these communities instead of merely extracting information.
This was undoubtedly the beginning of a process where researchers and
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communities combined their efforts in identifying the need for further research
on these strategies, their documentation, and the eventual development of
relevant case studies of traditional knowledge solutions and building greater
awareness of the value of this intervention at the national and local levels.
It is important to note that throughout this paper, the words Indigenous,
traditional, and local knowledge are used. The term ‘traditional knowledge’
is used and is meant to convey knowledge, skills, and practices developed,
sustained and passed on from generation to generation within a community’
and expressed through science, technology, ecology (and biodiversity),
medicinal, and expressions1.
Uses of the term Indigenous connote tribal or nativeness, and formal
international definitions focus on historic continuity, distinctiveness,
marginalisation, self-identity, and self-governance (Dove 2006: 192). The
ILO (1989) for example, defines Indigenous as tribal peoples in independent
countries whose social, cultural, and economic conditions distinguish them
from other sections of the national community, and whose status is regulated
wholly or partially by their own customs or traditions or by special laws
or regulations; (b) peoples in independent countries who are regarded as
Indigenous on account of their descent from populations which inhabited
the country, or a geographical region to which the country belongs, at the time
of conquest or colonisation or the establishment of present state boundaries
and who, irrespective of their legal status, retain some or all their own social,
economic, cultural and political institutions. [ILO 1989: Article 1.1]2
From the definitions provided, it can be inferred that while all Indigenous
and local knowledge is traditional, not all traditional knowledge is Indigenous.
The aim of this paper is not to debate who should be considered as
1 World Intellectual Property Office
2 Convention C169 - Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169) (ilo.org)
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Indigenous in the Caribbean Basin, the indigeneity of the selected case
study communities or even to interrogate the use of the word Indigenous
by these communities. It instead recognizes the right of these communities
to self-identify as Indigenous or traditional. Nevertheless, the word has
been contested in the Caribbean when used by the Maroon and Garifuna
communities who are mentioned throughout this paper.
The case studies selected from the workshop for this paper include the
Macushi in Guyana, Maroons in Suriname, and the Kalinago in Saint Vincent
and the Grenadines and Dominica (see Figure 2). Although other identified
Indigenous communities such as the Santa Rosa First Peoples from Trinidad
and Tobago were present at the workshop in Aruba, it was not possible to
include their case study within the context of this paper.
The narrative elaborated by each case study demonstrates in some
instances a stronger reliance on archaeological data or traditional knowledge
and identifies differences in how data is understood and applied in each
country. Therefore, the perspectives presented in these case studies are not
Fig 2. Location of case studies within the Caribbean Basin
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uniformed and are discussed from the approach taken by researchers and
communities and their chosen areas of focus. They nevertheless represent the
diverse stories of social adaptation through the combined voice of researchers
and traditional communities.
The case study from Guyana focuses on the importance of archaeology
in identifying past adaptation strategies and examines complementarity with
traditional knowledge, the Suriname case study discusses the experience of
Maroon communities in relation to climate change and the application of their
traditional knowledge, and finally, the Dominica and Saint Vincent case study
highlights this human-environment and climate change dynamic through the
temporal lens of the past, the present, and the future and specifically the loss
of their archaeological heritage.
Broader issues concerning public engagement in relation to Indigenous
approaches, presented cases of social adaptation, strategies impacting public
discourse, as well as workshop insights are discussed later in the paper.
The Lokono, Macushi and Wapishana in Guyana
Traditional knowledge systems of the Indigenous populations of Guyana
complement the archaeological record by providing deep insights into the
human-environmental relationships of the past and present and reinforce
the importance of anthropogenic manipulation of the landscape for human
adaptation to long-term ecological instability. An example of this is the clear
demonstration of Indigenous land use actions in coastal adaptation practices
during the Middle and Late Holocene human occupations.
The anthropogenically built environment of northeastern Guyana with
its habitation mounds and raised fields (see Figure 3) were engineered to
adapt to local environmental conditions emerging during the Mid-Holocene,
which saw rising river levels and seasonal savannah inundation with increasing
rainfall (Plew and Daggers 2022; Williams 2003). This is supported by recent
stable isotope composition data of human and faunal remains along the
coast (Daggers et al. 2018, 2022). The human environment interaction and
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material evidence produced in the Berbice, suggest a long-term influence
on the area's ecology, ecosystem, and productivity, resulting from extensive
landscape domestication, and interestingly, archaeological findings from the
Berbice presented to coastal farmers in recent years have led to the adaptation
of similar strategies for resilience building among vulnerable communities and
has renewed the interest of such practices among the Indigenous communities
along the Berbice river.
Fig 3. Past Holocene cultural adaptation in Guyana:
A - Image of Shell Midden Adaptation along the Northwestern Coast
© Louisa Daggers, 2019
B - Raised Field Adaptation in the Berbice © George Simon, 1994
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Recent isotopic analysis of human and faunal remains across seven shellmidden sites (between 7500 cal. BP and 270 cal BP) in the northwestern
littoral suggest warmer intervals in the early Holocene and stabilisation of the
environment around 4000 BP (Daggers et al. 2018, 2022; Plew and Daggers
2022). These conditions appear to have influenced seasonal mobility and the
increasing use of multiple resources supporting an increasingly sedentary way
of life. Data from charcoal in sediments transported to four sites suggest a
drier, more combustible environment (Daggers et al. 2018), as reported in
South America, and possible anthropogenic fires for resource manipulation.
As reflected in the archaeology of Northern Amazonia, anthropogenic
activities and fire were important tools for adaptation by past populations
to environmental change, though the extent of anthropogenic influences on
landscape and resource management is not yet fully understood (McMichael
et al. 2014; Pyne 1997; Walker 2012; Watling et al. 2018).
To some degree human impacts on the Holocene landscape have been
inferred based on the presence, absence and density of charcoal presented
in dated stratigraphy of the Amazon and Guyana, suggesting increased fire
regimens possibly because of landscape domestication resulting in vegetation
changes (Daggers et al., 2018; Flautua et al. 2016; Hammond et al. 2006;
Mayle and Power 2008, 2013; Tardy 1998).
Many similar strategies identified in the archaeological record exist
within contemporary Indigenous communities. The Lokono, Macushi
and Wapishana continue to occupy and adapt savannah type environments
and flood plains and rely heavily on traditional knowledge systems which
constitute an essential aspect of social memory that is undervalued and
quickly disappearing in Guyana. Landscape modification exhibited in
the archaeological record remains critical to contemporary adaptations to
unpredictable climatic conditions which continue to challenge adaptation
practices among Indigenous and local communities.
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As highlighted by co-author Annalisa Edwards3 from the Macushi
Indigenous community, ‘our relationships with the environment enhance
the overall health, resilience, and well-being of the Macushi people, and this
knowledge has been transmitted and evolved from each generation to the next.
It is through traditional knowledge systems that Indigenous people developed
their unique way of life and have adapted to their local environment. This
knowledge continues to be of great value to our survival as it is a part of who
we are, our identity and culture, thus it also plays a vital role in areas such as
food security and conservation amongst others.’
The Maroons of Suriname
In the tropical rainforest interior of Suriname, Maroons, descendants of
escaped enslaved Africans (see Figure 4), continue to live in areas negatively
impacted by the effects of climate disasters (Jabini 2020: 4). However, the loss
of food, the damage to and degradation of living areas and places of historical
memory, has seemingly not affected the collective decision to remain in their
traditional territory.
This is perhaps connected to long-held traditional knowledge and practices
that allowed for a swift recovery from crop and land degradation and settlement
reconstruction in relation to climate-induced hazards (Hammond 2005). To
explore this phenomenon, we consider the migration and settlement strategies
the Maroons employed in the colonial period, and the role that traditional
knowledge plays in how they adjusted to changes in climate and in identifying
adaptation strategies in the archaeological record.
In Suriname, 73% of deforestation is caused by illegal and legal gold
mining (see Figure 5) (AAE 2017: 15). The consequences are the loss of
biodiversity, damage from heavy rainfall, flooding, landslides in the interior,
and other environmental effects (GoS 2019-2029). The accumulation of
3 Annalisa Edwards, personal communication 2023 to co-author Louisa Daggers
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Fig. 4. Map of Maroon tribes in Suriname
these issues means that Suriname must contend with the ongoing effects of
climate-induced hazards exacerbated by the afore-mentioned issues. However,
a significant issue in the management of the impacts of climate change is a lack
of data (IDB 2021). To close this data gap, Maroons and Amerindian peoples
have been identified as a mitigation proxy to encourage the promotion and
awareness of non-timber forest products, ecotourism, medicinal plants,
and agroforestry practices. The success of this strategy however requires an
understanding of the historical ecological ties these communities have with
their landscape.
The choice of a settlement can be derived from two historical factors. The
first was safety from the colonial onslaught, and the second was sustainability.
Safe locations could be clandestine transient locales or abandoned Amerindian
settlements appropriated by the escaping enslaved between 1680 and 1720
(Scholtens 1994:16). Tributaries deep in the primary forests provided terrestrial
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Fig. 5. Deforestation due to small-scale mining (Source: Amazon Conservation
Team website)
resources that served as escape routes (Hublin 1989). In the late eighteenth to
nineteenth centuries, sustainable settlements fostered a sedentary way of life.
They can be characterised by the accessibility to a broader variety of terrestrial
and aquatic resources, subsistence farming, surplus storage, and high-ground
settlements to avoid flooding. In an interesting juxtaposition of safety and
sustainability and as an adaptation strategy, Maroon women ensured food
security – particularly in times of flooding - by storing surplus food in a
different location from the primary village, as well as maintaining auxiliary
farmlands (De Groot 1978:17-18; Dragtenstein 2002: 122-123; Jagdew 2014:
48).
Maroons also believe that settlements were determined by the apuku
(forest spirits). More importantly, the matrilineal and matrilocal descent order
determines that the clans within a tribe ascribe to a permanent geographic
area, utilising the resources therein and establishing fixed ancestral territories.
These would have serious implications for how relocation would be pursued
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in times of severe environmental or climate-related events as centuries of
traditional knowledge connect people with areas.
This socio-cultural development contributes to why Maroon tribes do
not leave flooded areas (Jabini 2020: 4-5; Scholtens 1994: 148). The 1960s
forced relocation of twenty-eight Maroon villages to construct the van
Blommenstein hydroelectric dam in the Suriname River was an exception,
destroying a portion of Saamaka's traditional territory and likely some land
use traditions in the process (Scholtens 1994: 153).
During the nineteenth century, bush meat and timber trade became
dependent on seasonality (Boomgaard 1992). At this time, the cyclical nature
of the climate and its predictability meant communities could prepare and
plan. In the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Saamaka Maroons
of the Upper Suriname River logged primary forest hardwood in the wet
season. At this time, the high-water levels allowed felled timber to be easily
transported by a river raft. Felling and transport was a collective kin-based
activity (Boomgaard 1992). Conversely, episodes of dry period forest fires
overlap with eighteenth century Maroon sedentism. In 1746, 1769, 1779,
1797, and 1825, large forest fires lasting for a month or more may have
destroyed more forest vegetation than felling (Boomgaard 1992: 217). Slash
and burn shifting cultivation would have also increased during this period but
was not harmful to the environment (ibid). All these activities would become
a part of the Maroon collective traditional culture, as traditional knowledge is
passed from one generation to another through oral testimony and is the root
of cultural behaviour.
Some Maroons have immortalised climate phenomena. Historically, the
Ndjuka of the Tapanahony River interpreted the exposed portion of rock
outcrops in the river as a sign of an impending water level rise. The watermark
level was a notification that abnormal flooding would occur, prompting
villagers to temporarily retreat to sloped planting grounds kilometres inland
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Fig 6. Inscription of the 1949 flooding event in the village Abenaston on the Suriname River
© Cheryl White, 2022
from the river4. In the village Abenaston, the Saamaka acknowledge a 1949
flooding event with an inscription that reads ‘bigie watra’ meaning high water
level (see Figure 6). In the early 1970s, the Pamaka of the Marowijne River
experienced an unusual flooding event which they refer to as ‘a kon kii mi’ (it's
come to kill me) (Jabini 2020). Their response was to retreat to their sloped
planting grounds or reside in outboard motorboats until the water receded.
After flooding, rituals restored the significance of cemeteries, worship sites,
and medicine houses. These traditional responses have helped Maroons
anticipate climate events and determine alternate landscape use.
Maroons and their landscape-based kinship have strategically adapted
within a narrow geographical and topographical scope. The distribution of
Maroon communities reflects some measure of a geographic selection process.
Archaeological evidence suggests that in their formative period, Maroons
were appropriating pre-Columbian ring ditch sites located at the confluence
4 Personal Communication of Malonti (2022) to co-author Cheryl White
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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of low-lying creeks in the densely forested interior and used defensively for
the historical purpose of being clandestinely safe. Radiometric dating suggests
a late archaic pre-Columbian presence, and an eighteenth-century Maroon
occupation, further substantiated by oral historical testimonials (Versteeg
2003; White 2010). We know that Maroons exist close to their ancestral
settlements, which reflect the collective decision for ecological exploitation
based primarily on nuclear and affinal kin affiliation.
Sustainable living areas near riverbanks may characterise the broader
settlement landscape. Here, phytolith analysis of non-Indigenous plant
species of banana (Musaceae) and rice (Oryza) with mixed pre-Columbian
and historic period ceramic assemblages indicates crop variation and possible
trade (Witteveen et al. 2023). The shifting cultivation plots with extra storage
on the slopes of low mountains of the heavily forested interior would indicate
the use of more traditional ground provisions, like manioc, susceptible to
root rot if left in standing water. During flash flooding, ground provisions are
harvested, and there is reliance on extended kin from neighbouring villages
as all wait for the normalisation of water levels. At that time, household tasks
such as washing, and food preparation are sometimes performed from boats.
As drought and flooding are the main climatic challenges experienced by
Maroons living in their traditional territory, there is an increased likelihood
of inaccessibility due to dependency on boat or plane travel. Moreover,
episodes of drought can lead to poor harvest and lack of terrestrial resources
that migrate elsewhere in the forest. As access to potable water food resources
decreases, government dependence for food distribution will increase (Headley
2023). Co-author Thanya Soké Fonkel of the Saamaka Maroon Tribe notes
that ‘adaptation strategies to severe changes in nature are the bedrock of
the existence of Maroon communities. Climate change is a somewhat new
concept for us, and it is unimaginable that it has the potential to make nature
our enemy and that we may be in danger of losing our ancestral bond to it.’
Maroons are also affected by a globalising western world, exacerbating
acculturation and enculturation within the broader Surinamese society, and
as a result, the transfer of traditional knowledge within communities cannot
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be assumed (Granderson 2017; Scholtens 1994). Despite the destruction
of property and loss of food resources, responses to recent flooding events
in 2006, 2007, 2008, 2017, 2021 and 2022 demonstrate that each tribe is
affixed to a prescribed landscape. Combining traditional knowledge with
the geographic modelling of historic landscape choices (seasonal exploitation
sites, variegated vegetation, and diverse settlement types with an Amerindian
and historic component) may also help identify threatened archaeological
sites and expand our knowledge of the Maroon landscape. The
Indigenous people of Wai'tukubuli and Youloumain
The present-day Indigenous Kalinago of the Commonwealth of Dominica
(Wai’tukubuli) and St. Vincent (Youloumain) and the Grenadines are the
descendants of the Island Carib or Kalinago people who are widely believed
to have occupied the islands of the Lesser Antilles in the late pre-colonial and
early colonial times. Although migrations and habitation in this archipelago
are subject to ongoing debates, archaeological research points to human
groups living in this part of the Lesser Antilles by c. 4000 cal. BP (Keegan and
Hofman 2017). It is generally believed that the Island Carib originated from
the coastal areas of the Guianas and moved in to and subsequently inhabited
the Lesser Antillean archipelago and specifically the Windward Islands
(southern portion of the Lesser Antilles) before European colonisation and
onward (Boomert 1995; Bright 2011; Whitehead and Hulme 1992).
From the early seventeenth century, European powers through the
French, English, and Dutch, colonised the Lesser Antilles which contributed
to a significant reduction in the number of Indigenous people and resulted in
their loss of control over much of the archipelago, leading to the Indigenous
presence remaining only in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines and Dominica
(Honychurch 2000; Wilson 1997). In the case of Dominica, the Kalinago
were relegated to the Carib (Kalinago) Territory, which was formed by the
colonial administration in 1903 (Hulme and Whitehead 1992).
As archaeological research contributes to the availability of more
information on these Indigenous societies, so too are present-day
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archaeological research programmes and studies contributing to new ways of
examining the relationship of the Kalinago with their natural environment
through reviewing the impacts of climate change. In this context, the
archaeology, traditional knowledge, and climate action dynamic are examined
through the loss of Kalinago archaeological sites due to climate change
phenomena, how these communities experience and respond to this loss,
the utilisation of Indigenous knowledge to respond to the changing climate,
and opportunities where this ‘heritage connection' contributes to climate
awareness and/or advocacy. Another important consideration is that the
loss of these archaeological sites prevents research on examining adaptation
strategies utilised by coastal communities.
Archaeological research has provided evidence of the extent of impacts of
climate-induced hazards on coastal archaeological sites along the Dominican
and Vincentian coastline. In many cases, the process of coastal erosion is
exacerbated by sand mining and other development activities (Hofman and
Hoogland 2016), the site of Brighton Beach in Saint Vincent being one
such example. Here, the first-hand accounts of co-authors Sardo Sutherland
(Kalinago from Saint Vincent) and Irvince Nanichi Auguiste (Kalinago from
Dominica) are transmitted through two examples in discussing this humanenvironment and climate change relationship through the temporal lens of
the past, the present, and the future.
Brighton Beach is a Kalinago settlement site located on the Atlantic southeastern portion of the island of Saint Vincent. In addition to co-authors
Sardo Sutherland and Irvince Nanichi Auguiste, other members of the Saint
Vincent Kalinago and Garifuna communities collaborated with local and
international researchers in surveys at the site in 2019 and 2023 (see Figure 7).
This collaboration would also feature at the airport development threatened
Argyle site, also in Saint Vincent.
Here, Sardo and Irvince provide their accounts regarding participating in
an activity concerning one of their sites being impacted by climate change.
The site has been described as essential to learning about the island's sociocultural pre-contact processes and contributing to reconstructing the
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Fig 7. Sardo Sutherland and Irvince Naniche Auguiste participating in rescue archaeology at
the eroding Brighton Beach pre-Columbian site in Saint Vincent
© Corinne Hofman, 2019
pre-Columbian past of the Windward Islands and Saint Vincent and the
Grenadines archipelago specifically (Boomert et al. 2017).
Sardo Sutherland:
After the 1979 eruption of La Soufrière, I moved to attend school in
Brighton. I learned of the beach and the site from history lessons and used
to go there to cut grass. I saw many artefacts and the coastal erosion taking
place. I was interested but did not get seriously involved till excavations at
another Kalinago site - Argyle5. There, my horizon widened about the work
5 Excavations at Argyle were undertaken in response to the site being impacted by the construcNovember 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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of archaeologists. During these excavations at Argyle and Brighton, many
schools and other community members came to see the excavations. I felt
honoured to participate in an excavation at a settlement site of my ancestors.
Unfortunately, in the case of Brighton, we have lost this site that I interacted
with as a young man. I am sure we have also lost many more to the encroaching
sea and waves.
Irvince Nanichi Auguiste:
I became involved with Brighton Beach while working at the Argyle
site. Archaeology and examining our sites has taught us so much about
our Indigenous history. However, more research is needed, particularly in
palynology. We need to learn more about how our ancestors lived in their
spaces and interacted more keenly with their landscapes. We cannot make
the critical connections if we continue losing these sites to coastal erosion,
flooding, and rising sea levels. We also need to participate in activities to better
monitor and protect these sites.
Both Sardo and Irvince acknowledge that their experience at Brighton
Beach has increased their awareness of other sites impacted by climate
phenomena.
Sardo:
The coastal Kalinago village of Sandy Bay was previously relocated due to
severe and ongoing flooding. The area we are now located is called New Sandy
Bay, and unfortunately, it is also being impacted by severe coastal erosion and
the encroaching sea.
In this case, the New Sandy Bay Kalinago community has observed these
ongoing effects, reflected on past events, and continues to document present
tion of the new airport. This activity was truly a collaborative effort including the Garifuna,
Kalinago, heritage managers in Saint Vincent and international research partners.
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Fig 8. Community map initiative highlighting areas lost or impacted by climateinduced and other natural hazards © Augustine ‘Sardo’ Sutherland
impact. With these actions, the community seeks to build advocacy for
measures to protect their coastline and society, starting with a map (see Figure
8) that details coastal areas caught up between volcanic eruptions and coastal
erosion (Sutherland 2021)6.
The government is now building a sea defence extending from Georgetown
to Sandy Bay, with some consultations being organised for persons who needed
to evacuate homes along the coast. However, there has been no widespread
consultation regarding the approach to protecting the coastline and whether
the community might have cultural solutions or mitigation strategies based
on their traditional knowledge having co-existed in that environment for a
long time.
Irvince highlights that 'Indigenous knowledge could be better integrated
and using excavated archaeological information could be better promoted.
Indigenous knowledge is not lost as it is naturally occurring and ‘hidden in
the brain,’ although there has been a decrease in environmental observations.
6 Co-author Sutherland, Augustine ‘Sardo’ of the Sandy Bay Kalinago community in discussion with lead author Andrea Richards, 2021
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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This is due to Kalinago students moving out of communities for secondary
education (see also Auguiste and Hofman 2022).
Both highlight that traditional practices used to adapt to the changing
climate could be better illustrated, documented, and promoted for use by the
wider society. One example of this is traditional building practices in relation
to houses, which are durable or easily reconstructed when faced with severe
weather events such as tropical cyclones. These houses featured (among other
elements) high-pitched roofs that enabled fast rainwater run-off and minimal
hurricane-wind lifting (see Figure 9)
Discussion
A discussion of archaeology's intersection with the changing climate in the
Caribbean and, by extension, our climate action and narrative requires not
just an examination of past adaptation strategies but also an interrogation of
how these past responses can inform present-day strategies, how Indigenous
and local communities experience the loss of their sites from climate-induced
hazards and are empowered to safeguard them, and the community-centred
narratives which can emanate from this dynamic contributing to climate
change actions, literacy, and advocacy.
The research presented here by Caribbean researchers and Indigenous
communities demonstrates that there is a critical place for archaeology
and traditional knowledge in building our resilience and surmounting
environmental instability as a region from the deep past to the present and
also highlighting that through archaeology, there are varied opportunities to
identify the factors that promoted the development of adaptation strategies
in the past, which apply to us in the region and provide alternative solutions
as we face a future of severe climate variability. Presenting this data to present
day coastal communities led to renewed interest in these adaptation strategies,
which would also be further adapted as it enters the social memory of presentday communities. These areas nevertheless require further research and
documentation while encouraging more transformative knowledge exchange
with Indigenous and local communities. There is also the unfortunate context
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of some of these adaptation strategies being lost from the social memory of
Indigenous, coastal, and other local communities
In addition to a compilation of some of the useful adaptation strategies
being utilised by traditional communities within the Caribbean Basin, an
important highlight emanating from the workshop was the need for improved
documentation of these strategies or solutions and their conversion into
formats for use by non-culture actors. This was identified as the next steps in
this ongoing process to be actioned during future collaborations and through
the established online platform combining communities and researchers. As
such, another activity will be planned which addresses documentation and
conversion into a usable format with case studies for non-culture actors.
As it relates to other societal sectors, there are indeed areas where the data
from climate change archaeology can prove valuable in the elaboration of local
strategies in relation to agriculture, food security and water management,
housing construction, and settlement location. This culturally focused
research is an important place to better engage with those responsible for
policy and climate action programming, thereby ensuring a more holistic
environmental approach geared towards sustainability in the Caribbean Basin
Acknowledgments
We acknowledge the contribution of the many voices from local and
Indigenous communities that have edified this research, and the important
feedback provided by Professor Corinne Hofman. This paper emanates from
discussions at the workshop on Traditional Knowledge Solutions for Present
and Future Climate Change Adaptation and Resilience in the Caribbean,
which was supported by the Island(er)s at the Helm and CaribTRAILS
projects (2019 – 2026) through funding received from the Netherlands
Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO), the UNESCO Cluster Office
for the Caribbean, and the National Archaeological Museum of Aruba.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
99
Fig 9. Example of 'A-Frame': Hurricane hits on one side of the building
© Andrea Richards, 2018
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From Soot to Saplings:
Integrating Industrial Pasts into Public Demands
for Environmental Sustainability
Kieran Gleave
Department of Archaeology/Sidney Sussex College, University of
Cambridge
[email protected]
Abstract
At a time when environmental sustainability is demanded across the public spectrum, the
pollutive and productive legacies of the industrial past are increasingly viewed as antitheses of
our visions for greener futures. Moving forwards, the public-facing professional, governmental,
volunteer and commercial networks which manage Britain’s industrial archaeologies and heritages face a challenging task: integrating industrial pasts with contentious climate legacies into
public visions for environmental sustainability. To explore potential avenues for this integration, this article discusses trophic and passive approaches to ‘rewilding’ defunct industrial sites
and landscapes. By drawing from visits to the National Trust’s Castlefield Viaduct Pilot Project
and the Upper Peak Forest Canal, I explore the merits of each rewilding strategy and discuss
their potentials to secure sustainable re-uses for industrial sites: both those presently defunct
and those which face closure through future deindustrialisation.
Introduction
The futures of localised ecosystems and global climates are core public concerns in contemporary Britain. As broader publics and public-facing organisations strive towards achieving environmental sustainability, the productive
and pollutive pasts of the eighteenth to twentieth centuries loom as roots of
our climate woes (Birkeland 2017: 62). This was affirmed in a speech by Mia
Mottley (Prime Minister of Barbados) at COP27 in November 2022, when
she cited historic industrialisation as causing the climate crisis now faced by
the Global South (Greenfield et al. 2022). A year earlier, in anticipation of
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COP26, Nick Ralls (CEO of the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust) stressed
the importance of acknowledging the roles that historic industry has played in
underpinning contemporary climate change (Miskin and Madden 2021). Indeed, some defunct industrial sites continue to pose environmental challenges
through the presence of ground contaminants and other hazardous substances (Quivik 2022: 343; Tempel 2012: 143-4).
Yet, in contrast with this grim vision of smog and soot, several industrial
sites and landscapes have undergone an ecological reformation of sorts
(Historic England 2018:1). Following the termination of their historic
functions, these places and spaces now uphold local ecosystems and serve as
unlikely habitats for flora and fauna (Bartolini and DeSilvey 2020: 45; Box
1999: 138; DeSilvey 2017: 3). This process of ‘rewilding’, which necessitates
the “repair or refurbishment of an ecosystem’s functionality through the (re)
introduction of selected species” (Pettorelli et al. 2019: 1), can be accomplished
through ‘trophic’ or ‘passive’ approaches: the former necessitates the managed
reintroduction of lost floral and faunal species, while the latter entails minimal
human intervention (Wang et al. 2023). These processes are well understood
in the contexts of industrial archaeology and heritage (Edensor 2005: 42-50;
Palmer 2022: 710; Palmer and Neaverson 1998: 155), yet little has been done
to explore the extents that their implementation at defunct industrial sites can
be synchronised with public calls for environmental sustainability.
In this article, my discussion centres around how ‘trophic’ and ‘passive’
approaches to rewilding industrial sites can assist in facilitating this
synchronisation. To accomplish this, I draw from visits to the National Trust’s
Castlefield Viaduct Pilot Project (Manchester, England) and the Upper Peak
Forest Canal (Cheshire and Derbyshire, England) which I made in February
2023. From this, I discuss the merits of each rewilding approach and reflect
on how they might inspire the creation of adaptable and sustainable policy
frameworks or management strategies for historic industrial sites, as well as
those that face closure through future deindustrialisation.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Environmental Sustainability and Heritage
A central pillar of contemporary public climate discourse, which unifies
government policy, the aims of activist groups and an array of public organisations, is the desire to attain and practice environmental sustainability (Just
Stop Oil 2023; UK Government 2013). While the definition and plan for
attaining ‘environmental sustainability’ differs greatly across the public spectrum, the essence of the term implies minimising any form of human activity
which may damage natural environments, be they small-scale ecosystems or
global climates. From this understanding, rewilding is an environmentally
sustainable management practice that facilitates the holistic long-term recovery of natural environments.
In the spheres of heritage management and its literature, the physical
facets of environmental sustainability have received great attention. Chief
among these are the creation and implementation of strategies for reducing
carbon footprints at managed heritage attractions. In industrial heritage,
questions over the continued uses of fossil fuels and the adaptive re-use of
industrial buildings have dominated the sustainability discourse (Historic
England 2023; Holmes 2021; Ministry of Housing, Communities and
Government 2019: 54-57; Nevell 2021; Palmer et al. 2012: 34). While this
paradigm is certainly of merit, it has been criticised for its tendency to overlook
the cultural dimensions of environmental sustainability (Fouseki et al. 2022:
7). In a broader sense, “sustaining heritage means sustaining value” (Mason
2022:17). These ‘values’ are inherently multifaceted and are under constant
renewal and renegotiation by those in the present (Smith 2006). Therefore,
achieving environmental sustainability, in the context of rewilding defunct
industrial sites, requires a long-term approach that needs to be rigid enough to
facilitate environmental recovery, yet malleable enough to integrate and adapt
to the public’s alternate and shifting notions of ‘heritage value’ (Curran et
al. 2022: 61). As many public or public-orientated groups are stakeholders in
Britain’s industrial heritage, their empowerment is essential in securing longterm environmental sustainability (Landorf 2009: 496; Shackel 2022: 10).
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Towards Public Archaeology
To explore how this might be achieved, I look to public archaeology, a multifaceted research paradigm that examines how archaeologies and heritages
intersect across public spheres (Little 2012: 395; Moshenska 2017: 6). In the
contexts of public engagement, archaeology and heritage are frequently cited
for their values as tools which benefit public education, as well as physical and
mental wellbeing (Bartoy 2012: 564; Thomas 2017: 24). This is no exception
in industrial archaeology and heritage, with the dissemination of publicfacing booklets and active public participation in archaeological practice being
credited for their public benefits (Redhead 2021). When we look specifically
towards the public benefits of re-naturalised industrial landscapes, discussions
focus on how public immersion in such landscapes can bolster their physical
and mental wellbeing (Clarke 2020; Gould 2015: 81). They are places that
permit exercise, relaxation, a range of social activities and allow publics to get
closer to nature.
The recognition and communication of the present public benefits
of environmentally transformed industrial sites and landscapes have been
essential; especially when one considers the historic difficulties in capturing
public interest in industrial heritage, and the contentious climate legacies
which surround the industrial past (APPGIH 2019: 26; Oglethorpe 2014: 90).
However, I argue that a fixation on present public benefits does not challenge
us to reflect on how rewilding processes can synchronise with public visions
for long-term environmental sustainability. This is because this approach
predominantly curates the present relevance of the industrial past and
seldom integrates the public as long-term stakeholders in the archaeological
discourse (Franklin and Moe 2012: 575). As has been stated thus far, heritage
sustainability is a long-term process that unifies the past, present and future
and orientates them towards long-term action and stakeholder integration.
To break this past-present binary, I look beyond the ways that rewilded
industrial sites presently intersect across public spheres, and instead consider
the extents that they can become integrated within public visions for
greener futures. Through this reframing, I argue that there is a requirement
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
109
to strike a holistic balance that mediates the industrial past, public present
and environmental future. I believe that this approach would sustain public
interest in and value of rewilded industrial sites, while ensuring that the longterm visions for these sites remain adaptive to any future movements in the
public discourse of environmental sustainability. In short, it is imperative that
we begin to think ahead and reflect on how rewilding can be synchronised
within this future-orientated public discourse.
Having stressed the importance of accommodating this synchronisation,
I now move to examine the individual merits of trophic and passive rewilding
strategies as tools that may contribute towards the public’s long-term goals for
environmental sustainability.
The Castlefield Viaduct Pilot Project
I begin by drawing from the National Trust’s Castlefield Viaduct Pilot
Project as an example of trophic rewilding. To facilitate this discussion, I
draw from data I collected during my visit to the pilot in February 2023. This
includes notes based on conversations with National Trust staff members,
photographs of public interpretation panels and reflections on public
engagement which I witnessed or noted during my visit.
Historic Background
Designated as a Grade II listed structure in 1994 (Historic England 1994),
the Castlefield Viaduct (fig.1) was built over the Castlefield Canal Basin in
1892/3 during the late nineteenth-century expansion of Manchester’s intercity railway system (McNeil and Nevell 2000: 8; National Trust 2023a).
The concentrated spread of textile mills and other industries within
central Manchester demanded an extensive network of railway lines, stations
and warehouses to meet huge demands to import and export raw materials
and finished products (Madgin 2010: 33; Wild 2018: 74). To this end, the
Castlefield Viaduct accommodated the movement of passenger trains to
Manchester Central Station and heavy rail traffic in and out of the adjacent
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Figure 1: A general view of the Castlefield Viaduct, taken from within the Castlefield Basin.
Image: Gleave (2023).
Great Northern Warehouse (Hartwell 2001: 264); the latter representing one
of the largest and most complex goods interchanges in Britain at the time
(Historic England 1996; McNeil and Nevell 2000: 12).
The Castlefield Viaduct’s location within the heart of industrial Manchester
necessitates that it has several deeply rooted connections to historic climate
change and environmental degradation. Perhaps most obvious are the fleets
of locomotives that travelled in abundance over the Viaduct between 1893
–1969 (National Trust 2023a). One cannot overlook the climate impacts of
the raw goods and finished products that were transported across the viaduct.
By the late nineteenth century, imported goods and finished products were
transported into and out of Manchester on steamboats and railways, which
cumulatively consumed millions of tons of coal per year. Further, the mills
and other ancillary industries which earned the city the titles of ‘Cottonopolis’
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
111
and ‘Workshop of the World’, were largely powered by coal and gas (McNeil
and Nevell 2000: 7). In short, the Viaduct was elemental in enabling further
industrial expansion of the city, which propagated further environmental
harm.
Abandonment and Pilot Project
Amidst the post-war economic restructuring of Britain, Manchester’s
industrial fortunes ran dry as the English textile industry shrank and
international labour markets shifted abroad. In 1969, goods trains stopped
traversing the Castlefield Viaduct as industries folded across the city centre.
The rails were removed and the ballast became strewn with buddleia and
overgrowth. In July 2022, the National Trust launched a 12-month-long pilot
project to transform a section of the 330-meter-long Castlefield Viaduct into
an ‘Urban Sky Park’ (fig.2).
Inspired by New York’s High Line walk, this project represents an attempt
to enhance the existing ecological diversity on the Viaduct through trophic
rewilding (Forsyth 2022). This has involved the creation of public green space
along the first third of the viaduct, which has been populated with pollinatorfriendly local plant varieties (National Trust 2023b; Pidd 2022). By booking a
free ticket, visiting publics are encouraged to utilise the space for physical and
mental wellbeing.
While this approach echoes the established paradigm of curating the
present public benefits of rewilding, the pilot goes one step further by
soliciting public feedback by offering “the opportunity to explore the viaduct
and share ideas about the future of this historic structure” (National Trust
2023b). In my own experience, this is achieved through post-visit online
questionnaires, response forms and an indoor space where visitors can share
their thoughts with staff members. In the contexts of recognising the public
as long-term stakeholders, this style of future-orientated public consultation
is a welcome development.
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Figure 2: A view of rewilded section of the National Trust’s ongoing (at time of publication)
pilot at the Castlefield Viaduct. Image: Gleave (2023).
The Merits of Trophic Rewilding
My visit highlighted two overarching merits of trophic rewilding as a strategy
for rewilding presently defunct industrial sites. First, as trophic rewilding
is an innately managed process with long-term aims for environmental
sustainability, it has the potential to integrate and retain an array of public
or public-facing stakeholders within decision-making processes. As is
illustrated by the pilot at Castlefield, trophic rewilding permits the collection
and integration of public feedback into the long-term environmental
management of the site. While it is too early to draw any deeper conclusions
about how the public perceives the trophic rewilding of the viaduct, the staff
members I spoke with and the forms of public feedback I saw during my visit
(fig.3), suggests a predominantly positive public reaction to the pilot. If, in
a ‘worst case’ scenario, post-pilot analyses of public feedback suggest public
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
113
disapproval with the project, or conclude that there is demand for aspects of
the project to be altered in the future, acting upon this feedback will allow the
project to remain aligned with public demands and values. It is important to
note here that trophic rewilding projects are exercises of public imagination as
much as they are of physical transformation (Angelo 2020: 147).
As stated previously, environmentally-sustainable planning strategies
can only be sustained in of themselves if they account for and integrate the
array of socio-cultural values that the public ascribes to the industrial past. In
this sense, I suggest that trophic rewilding permits the socio-cultural values
of public stakeholders to be understood and integrated into the viaduct’s
environmentally-oriented management plan. This is essential for retaining the
public as long-term stakeholders as the viaduct’s environmental and cultural
Figure 3: The public feedback wall within a temporary building on the viaduct. This space
allows visiting publics to communicate their thoughts on the future of the Viaduct. Image:
Gleave (2023).
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values inevitably shift in the future.
Second, trophic rewilding affords a degree of control over how and to what
extent an industrial site adapts to public calls for environmental sustainability.
The rapid re-development of urban centres during their de-industrialisation
has seldom prioritised the construction of new greenspaces until recently. In
a twist of irony, most greenspaces and parks within British cities were created
during the high tide of industrialisation, with few having been designated
since (White 2022). While access to greenspace is certainly beneficial for
contemporary public wellbeing, greenspaces themselves are also essential
for sustaining ecosystems, in contexts of long-term urban development and
intensification. By instigating the trophic rewilding of the viaduct, I argue that
the pilot has offered an environmentally sustainable future for the structure
while affording the public a greatly needed greenspace within the city.
In the broader contexts of integrating defunct industrial sites into public
visions for environmental sustainability, I suggest that trophic rewilding
approaches are of particular merit in urbanised contexts, which either lack
publicly-accessible greenspace or contain larger industrial buildings which
cannot be easily adapted due to complexities associated with their physical
form. Most importantly, I believe that trophic rewilding permits the
sustainable integration of public stakeholders, and their perspectives, into the
environmental futures of defunct industrial sites. Such stakeholder integration
is key if these sites are to align with public cultural values and adapt to future
shifts in public environmental values.
The Upper Peak Forest Canal
Having outlined the potential public and environmental benefits
of trophic rewilding strategies, I now shift to examine passive rewilding
approaches. To achieve this, I look to the Upper Peak Forest Canal, which
has become gradually re-naturalised after decades of abandonment. To permit
this discussion, I draw from desk-based studies of published material, a series
of notes and photographs that I compiled after walking the route of the canal
from the Macclesfield Junction (Marple) to the Bugsworth Basin (Whaley
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
115
Bridge), and my own reflections as a long-term resident in the area.
History and ecological transformation
Constructed for transporting quarried limestone and ‘quicklime’ (burned
limestone) from the Dark Peak to the industrial hubs of Manchester, work
on the Upper Peak Forest Canal commenced in 1794 and was finalised by
1804/5 (Ashworth et al. 1977: 105). The extracted limestone was transported
on horse-drawn canal barges and was subsequently burned in kilns for later
use as agricultural fertilisers, mortar, or ‘lime wash’ for coating walls (Hulme
1924: 216; Leach 1995: 145). Walking along the 6.9-mile route today, one
will encounter the archaeological remains of several limekilns, warehouses,
wharves, tramway systems and coal mines, which are tangible testimonies of
this once eminent local industry (Littlechilds and Page 2015: 9-47; Steyne and
Crowe 2022: 398). While the initial processes of quarrying and transporting
limestone had minimal environmental impacts, the burning of limestone
in kilns, which was done at the Bugsworth Basin and Marple, demanded
a constant supply of coal to regulate kiln temperatures of around 900°C
(Bishop et al. 2017: 38). This released vast quantities of carbon emissions and
scarred the landscape by encouraging the mining of local coal seams, which in
turn contaminated groundwater and river systems (Leach 1995: 148; Rurek
et al. 2022: 2).
Two centuries later, the landscape of the Upper Peak Forest Canal has
been passively rewilded. The coal mines in the area have been capped off, and
the kilns at Bugsworth and Marple lie dormant under matrices of brambles,
ferns and ash trees (fig.4). The canal towpaths and waterways are now tranquil
settings for walking, picnicking and leisure boating. Herons and kingfishers
scout the waters for fish, and the banks of the canal are populated by woodlands
and pasture. This environmental rejuvenation has recently earned the Upper
Peak Forest Canal both Green Flag accreditation and Historic England’s new
Green Heritage Site Award (Green Flag 2023).
Further, the canal has been recognised as a wildlife corridor that allows
“animals to move across the landscape and through unsuitable habitats”,
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Figure 4: The remains of an overgrown limekiln, located within the Bugsworth Basin, Derbyshire. Image: Gleave (2023).
resulting in the designation of three environmentally-valued ‘local sites’ along
its route (Baldacchino 2016: 22).
The passive rewilding of historic industrial sites and landscapes is by no
means a ground-breaking revelation. Several key academic publications have
explored the positive outcomes that often accompany such processes (Bartolini
and DeSilvey 2020: 39; Desilvey 2017; Edensor 2005). Indeed, during my visit
to the Upper Peak Forest Canal, I noted several public-facing interpretation
panels which communicated how this rewilding contributes to the present
environmental value of the landscape (fig.5). However, as I have touched
upon several times thus far, there is a requirement to look beyond the present
public and environmental benefits of rewilding, and instead consider how it
can be synchronised with future-orientated public goals for environmental
sustainability.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
117
The Merits of Passive Rewilding
Through my visit to the Upper Peak Forest Canal, I noted two benefits of
the passive rewilding of the landscape. The first of these is the sustainment of
local ‘ecotourism’ which, by attracting visitors and canal boaters to the area,
continues to economically and culturally benefit local publics (Canal and
River Trust 2023; Jackson 2019: 7). While this harks to the present benefits
of the regenerated natural landscape, the slow pace of natural restoration
has permitted local publics to gradually position themselves as grassroot
stakeholders who now stand to benefit from the future of the re-naturalised
environment. This is evident in the array of local public charities, volunteer
groups and businesses that are now actively implicated in caring for the
natural environment and curating its industrial past for visitors (Marple
Website 2023a; Wilshaw 2019). Second, and leading from this point, is that
the passively rewilded landscape has come to represent a cornerstone of local
place identity. By allowing the landscape to rewild itself, the canal has gained a
degree of publicly appreciated aesthetic distinction, especially among residents
who remember its earlier days when pollution levels were higher. For example,
landscape and wildlife shots taken along the landscape are popular within
public digital spheres, as are artworks depicting industrial canal buildings and
narrowboats (Marple Website 2023b).
Drawing from these two points, I believe that the primary merit of
passive rewilding defunct industrial sites and landscapes lies in the gradual
environmental recovery that it facilitates. In the case of the Upper Peak Forst
Canal, the rejuvenation of the natural landscape has taken decades. I argue
that the extended public exposure to gradual environmental recovery has
inadvertently permitted local publics to craft their own cultural values and
identities into their visions for the future of the landscape and has encouraged
grassroots action. While the sustainment of ‘ecotourism’ and propagation of
local place identity, as witnessed along the Upper Peak Forst Canal, is not a
guaranteed model if applied elsewhere, my claim here is that passive rewilding
has the potential to encourage, motivate and sustain local publics to position
themselves as long-term stakeholders. This is key in permitting the long-term
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Figure 5: An interpretation panel at the Bugsworth Basin which communicates the ecological
resurgence of the landscape to visitors. Image: Gleave (2023).
integration of former industrial sites within public visions for environmental
sustainability.
Looking Back to Move Forwards: Rewilded Industrial Pasts in Deindustrial Futures
My discussion of rewilding thus far has focused on synchronising presently
defunct industrial sites into public ambitions for environmental sustainability.
While this is an important avenue of discussion, allow me to redirect attention
back to the global climate concerns renewed at COP27. Chief among these
is that active industrial activity is as much of an environmental concern for
contemporary publics as those of the industrial past (Berger and Pickering
2018: 216; McGrath 2022). Though Britain’s core historic industries have
mostly subsided as capital flow has shifted industry overseas, active industrial
sites and landscapes associated with production, power generation and
transport are still found across the landscape today, though in far smaller
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
119
concentrations. At present, legislation stresses the importance of adopting
renewable energy sources, limiting the creation of pollutive waste and
mitigating the release of harmful by-products into natural environments
(Environment Agency 2021).
One needs to look no further than shifting international markets, or
Britain’s weakened economy, to realise that active industries are not impervious
to the same economic movements or ruptures which eroded their historic
predecessors (Gross 1993: 118). This was illustrated in January 2023, when
the Unite Union announced that the British steel industry was "a whisker away
from collapse", placing thousands of jobs at risk (Ashdown 2023). From this
plainly economic account, it is not outlandish to suggest that international
competition, the depletion of natural resources, or new environmental
policies, will contribute to some degree of future de-industrialisation. As with
the historic industrial sites of our time, the termination of active industry
in the future will likely present us with the same challenge: synchronising
formerly-pollutive sites and landscapes into public visions for environmental
sustainability. I believe we ought not to question whether this will pose a
challenge, rather, we need to begin thinking about how we can prepare for it.
Drawing from my discussion throughout this article, I suggest that the
rewilding of presently defunct industrial sites and landscapes can serve as
useful reference points as we think ahead. On a practical level, trophic and
passive rewilding strategies are often highly adaptive, cost-efficient and
environmentally sustainable approaches to securing site re-use. Both strategies
are implementable across the types of industrial sites that are presently
operational in Britain: quarries, mines, factories and larger productive
landscapes. Presenting both strategies as sustainable re-use options is key, as
each has unique merits that can adapt to case-specific management plans,
shifting environmental policies and the socio-cultural values of localised
publics.
Suggestions for Integrating Rewilding as a Management Strategy
If trophic and passive rewilding strategies are to feature as viable options
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for securing environmentally sustainable uses for defunct industrial sites
and landscapes, be they in the present or future, I believe that the first step
is to enshrine them within public policy and management frameworks.
Such a framework might emulate the style of the National Planning Policy
Framework (2019), or contribute to Historic England’s ‘Reusing Industrial
Sites’ guidance (2023). While I do not claim that rewilding strategies ought
to be applied at every industrial site, I believe that they should be equally
considered as viable re-use options alongside the more conventional or
traditional options, such as residential, business, or other commercial uses.
If this is accomplished, I argue that this can encourage those who manage
Britain’s industrial heritage and archaeology to integrate trophic and passive
rewilding strategies as viable options for site or landscape re-use.
Conclusions
Throughout this article, I have explored how the rewilding of defunct
industrial sites and landscapes presents the opportunity to integrate
contentious climate pasts into public calls for environmental sustainability.
By drawing from the Castlefield Viaduct Pilot Project, I suggest that trophic
rewilding, as a managed process, has the potential to integrate and retain an
array of public or public-facing stakeholders within decision-making processes
and to create much-needed public greenspaces within urbanised contexts.
Through my examination of the Upper Peak Forest Canal, as an example of
passive rewilding, I suggest that slower paces of gradual natural reclamation
permit local publics to position themselves as future-orientated stakeholders
who are invested in the environmental future of the landscape. After exploring
the merits of each approach, I then made the case that presently rewilded
industrial sites have the potential to act as reference points as we consider the
futures of active industries that face the prospect of future termination.
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the Economic and Social Research Council’s
Doctoral Training Partnership (ESRC DTP) for funding my ongoing PhD
Project, which has made the publication of this article possible. I would also
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
121
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Digital Archaeology in Schools: The Use of
Archaeological Games in Public Education in the
State of São Paulo in Brazil
Amanda Daltro de Viveiros Pina
Leiden University / Universidade de São Paulo
[email protected]
Matheus Morais Cruz
Universidade de São Paulo
[email protected]
Abstract
Through the presentation of two case studies, this paper aims to discuss digital archaeology’s
possible impacts on public education in the State of São Paulo (Brazil). First, the potential of the
application of digital games in schools and concepts of immersion and interactivity to support
new perspectives on the use of different forms of learning will be presented. Furthermore, the
essential necessity to develop free, accessible, and scalable products in the face of the challenges
imposed by the current conditions of Brazilian public education teaching programs will be
demonstrated. The case studies are based on two digital games Sambaquis – Uma História antes
do Brasil, and O Último Banquete em Herculano, developed respectively by the research group
Arqueologia Interativa e Simulações Eletrônicas (ARISE) and the Laboratório de Arqueologia
Romana Provincial (LARP), both based at the Universidade de São Paulo (Brazil). To conclude,
possible reflections on the future of archaeology allied to technological development and its
probable applications in education will be addressed.
Introduction
In recent years, the use of digital technologies in archaeology has become
increasingly prominent due to the growing significance of the digital age and
the greater accessibility of digital tools. Digital archaeology provides valuable
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means for exploring and interpreting archaeological data through the use of
innovative technological approaches. Additionally, digital archaeology has
emerged as a powerful tool for outreach and education, as it enables greater
public engagement with archaeological data through interactive technologies.
Cyber-Archaeology gained popularity among archaeologists following the
publication of the BAR International Series volume titled Cyber-Archaeology,
edited by the Italian archaeologist Maurizio Forte in 2010 (Forte 2010).
Essentially, Cyber-Archaeology is the application of cybernetics concepts
and practices, primarily Virtual Reality, analysis and virtual interpretation
of archaeological data (Forte 2010; Martire 2017). It is important to note,
however, that cyber-archaeological applications do not aim to replicate past
phenomena. Instead, they aim to propose interpretative 3D models from
archaeological research, which serve as tools capable of facilitating reflection
on the complex phenomena of human history.
Archaeogaming, on the other hand, is a recent subfield of Digital
Archaeology that involves the application of archaeological analysis in and
of video games, which encompasses not only the study of video games from
a physical perspective (cartridges, consoles, and CDs, among other supports
produced for the storage and operation of these games) but also from a digital
perspective (games as archaeological sites that can be investigated) (Reinhard
2018).
Both Archaeogaming and Cyber-Archaeology are now recognised as
critical areas for understanding the relationship between digital games and
archaeology, whether these applications are developed for entertainment
purposes or as products of academic research at universities or research
institutions. Furthermore, these areas highlight the potential of using games
as both playful and didactic tools, as applications of this nature can offer
complex insights into the past and present through interpretive frameworks
that are contextualised and correlated with the use of technology. By adapting
and creating innovative approaches to technology, games can serve as potent
tools for enhancing knowledge and promoting a deeper understanding of the
complexities of the past and present (Arbuckle 2021: 101-109; Boom, 2020:
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27-44; Chapman 2016; Copplestone 2017b; Politopoulos et al. 2019: 163175; Ribeiro and Trindade 2017: 136).
Incorporating digital products into elementary and high school classrooms
can offer a variety of benefits for both teachers and students. In addition
to facilitating a different approach in daily activities, the tools can resonate
(Klopfer et al. 2018) with students/teachers and bring them into a new way
of thinking about education. Moreover, by providing a product grounded in
archaeological research that can be critically analysed, digital applications may
enhance the teaching and learning of historical knowledge in schools (Fleming
et al. 2017: 73–75; McCall 2011, 2016; Politopoulos et al. 2019: 163-175).
According to Champion (2015: 32), digital games serve as an excellent
example of the learning potential offered by visualisation tools that are centred
on non-textual media, as they have the ability to convey stories and meanings
effectively (Arbuckle 2021: 101-109; Boom et al. 2020; McCall 2011,2016;
Politopoulos et al. 2019: 163-175). Although digital games are primarily
perceived as marketable products, they also have the potential to disseminate
knowledge that is shaped and programmed by their developers. They can
also be leveraged for educational purposes and thus should be regarded
as primary or secondary sources that require critical analysis in scientific
research. Within the educational contexts, there are conspicuous examples
that illustrate successful models for the integration of digital historical games
(Ferdig 2008). This is evidenced by the scholarly contributions of Jeremiah
McCall (2011,2016) and the research conducted by Aris Politopoulos and his
collaborators (Politopoulos et al. 2019: 163-175). The burgeoning initiative to
reform the conventional educational paradigm finds resonance, particularly in
its alignment with historical and archaeological subject matter.
Furthermore, as a new type of media (Copplestone 2017a: 33), digital
games should be evaluated as opinion-forming vehicles that have the potential
to shape perspectives. Therefore, it is crucial to explore the possibilities
presented by these tools in bringing together the production of scientific
knowledge, specifically in interpreting and representing the past and its
material culture and interdisciplinary game development practices.
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Despite the significant potential of knowledge-sharing applications, their
effectiveness in practice depends on various contextual factors, such as the
material and socioeconomic conditions of the schools and communities they
are intended for. It is important to assess the extent to which these tools can
effectively support good teaching practices while remaining free, accessible,
and scalable. This paper aims to underscore the need for academic reflection
on the production of such applications that uphold the necessary quality
standards, even in challenging public education contexts.
The following case studies showcase the contextualised use of cyberarchaeological products developed by two research centres at the Universidade
de São Paulo. These products were applied in public schools located in the
state of São Paulo and other regions of Brazil. Through this presentation,
the analysis will focus on the reflections and adaptations resulting from the
practical application of these products in schools, highlighting the challenges
encountered and strategies employed to address them.
O Último Banquete em Herculano (LARP-USP)
O Último Banquete em Herculano (The Last Banquet in Herculaneum) is
a digital game that represents the first electronic game produced and developed
by the Laboratório de Arqueologia Romana Provincial (LARP)1. The game
belongs to the adventure genre and utilises point-and-click gameplay. It was
created using the Unity graphics engine in conjunction with a plug-in called
Adventure Creator to generate the 3D world that the player experiences. The
game was officially released in October 2018, with the mobile version being the
standout offering, alongside the alternative version for Windows. Although
rated for all ages, the game’s target audience is students in the second stage of
Elementary School, aged between 10 and 14 years old.
LARP is a specialised research laboratory located within the Museu de
1 The computer version of the game is available at: http://www.larp.mae.usp.br/o-ultimo-banquete-em-herculano/download/
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Arqueologia e Etnologia at the Universidade de São Paulo (MAE-USP).
Established in 2011 with the financial support of the Fundação de Amparo
à Pesquisa do Estado de São Paulo (FAPESP), LARP is coordinated by Dr.
Maria Isabel D’Agostino Fleming (USP) and co-coordinated by Dr. Vagner
Carvalheiro Porto (USP). The laboratory is primarily devoted to investigating
the processes of inter-regional interaction between Rome and its provinces
with the purpose of formulating reflections on the socio-political and cultural
changes in the Italian Peninsula and other regions of the Empire. At the
same time, the laboratory’s team is actively engaged in the development of an
extensive suite of digital applications and research programs. These initiatives
are designed to disseminate the scientific and academic knowledge produced
within the museum to a broader, non-specialised audience, with a particular
emphasis on reaching the school community2. To illustrate some of its
products, some notable examples include3:
•
Domus VR 2023: an interactive 3D simulation that offers an
immersive visit to an ancient Roman house;
•
Domus AR: an Augmented Reality version of a Roman domus that
allows users to visualise and learn about this type of urban residence4;
•
Interactive Map of the Roman Empire: an application that features
textual resources, 3D models of archaeological remains, and a photographic
collection mapped visually in each region of the Roman Empire;
•
Roma Touch: an application that provides a three-dimensional map
of Ancient Rome for users to navigate while obtaining information about the
2 It's important to ensure that educational materials and games are aligned with the curriculum
standards set by the relevant educational authorities. Adhering to the guidelines outlined in the
BNCC (Base Nacional Comum Curricular - National Common Curriculum Base) guarantees
that the game meets the educational requirements and objectives expected in Brazilian schools.
3 The interactive 3D applications of LARP can be downloaded for free through the link:
http://www.larp.mae.usp.br/rv/
4 This mobile application is available for smartphones and tablets and represents the first cyber-archaeological project developed for mobile devices (Android) in Brazil. This landmark
achievement highlights the LARP’s pioneering and knowledge-sharing mission within the
country.
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city’s monuments and buildings.
O Último Banquete em Herculano offers players an interactive experience
that illustrates the final moments of Herculaneum, a Roman city, before its
catastrophic destruction by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE. The
game serves as a visually stunning representation of the material culture of
ancient Rome, providing an immersive three-dimensional platform that allows
players to explore various environments, including the luxurious domus (a
wealthy Roman residence), the bustling market, the pottery workshops, the
utilitarian warehouse and the sacred area (Fleming and Martire 2019).
To ensure maximum accessibility, the developers of O Último Banquete
em Herculano opted for a low-poly modelling style for the game’s aesthetic.
This choice was motivated by the style’s ability to run smoothly on a wide
range of low-cost devices, including smartphones, tablets, and computers with
limited processing capabilities. By utilising fewer polygons, the low-poly style
does not demand significant processing power, making it easily deployable
across different devices. As a result, the game could reach a broader audience,
allowing more individuals to engage with the rich cultural history of ancient
Rome.
To further enhance the educational value of O Último Banquete em
Herculano, a Didactic Guide (Gregori and Pina 2018) was released alongside
the game. The guide is specifically designed to assist educators in using the
game as a tool for didactic learning in the classroom, offering a range of
suggested activities based on the game’s scenarios, lesson plans, recommended
books and websites about Ancient Rome. Additionally, the guide provides a
comprehensive overview of the game’s historically accurate scenarios and their
contextualisation, enabling educators to provide their students with a deeper
understanding of the material culture of ancient Rome.
Following its launch, the game was included as a didactic resource in
History curricula planned by the Secretaria da Educação do Estado de São
Paulo, which provided an opportunity for LARP to reach a wider audience
and fulfil its mission of knowledge-sharing beyond the academic community.
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Figure 1: Flyer of O Último Banquete em Herculano launch Source: LARP-MAE-USP.
In addition to being implemented in public schools, the use of the game has
also been extended to private schools.
In terms of the number of downloads and views, these platforms can be
very useful to developers. The data from Itch.io, the hosting platform for
the computer version of the game, shows that it received 1,560 views and
852 downloads during the five years since its official launch. On the other
hand, the version available on Android mobile devices recorded around
2,130 downloads over the same period, according to Google Play analytics.
Regrettably, aside from the comments accessible on social networks and the
data provided by Google Play, which indicates a total of 80 active devices
with the game installed, no additional data was attainable for conducting
a comprehensive analysis of the community’s level of engagement with the
applications.
Sambaquis: uma história antes do Brasil (ARISE-USP)
Founded in May 2017, ARISE (Interactive Archaeology and Electronic
Simulations) is a research group recognized by the Conselho Nacional de
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Figure 2: Screenshot of the game O Último Banquete em Herculano. Source: O Último Banquete em Herculano (LARP-MAE-USP, 2019).
Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico (CNPq) Directory of Research
Groups in Brazil, also associated with MAE-USP. Led by archaeologists Dr.
Alex da Silva Martire (FURG) and Dr. Vagner Carvalheiro Porto (USP),
ARISE focuses on the development of research on Digital Humanities,
Digital Archaeology, Cyber-Archaeology, and Archaeogaming.
The group’s primary objective is to promote the importance of studying
and comprehending the potential of digital media, especially digital games, and
its practicality in archaeological research to the Brazilian academic community,
as well as to stimulate the extroversion of scientific knowledge produced in
the academic environment to a non-specialised public. To achieve its mission,
ARISE investigates digital material culture presented in interactive electronic
media (such as electronic games, serious games, and digital simulations)
available in the game industry while also developing interactive applications
intended for use in museums, universities, schools, and other educational and
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research institutions5.
One of ARISE’s noteworthy applications is the game Sambaquis: uma
história antes do Brasil (Sambaquis: A History Before Brazil), designed
primarily for students and teachers in Elementary and High School,
undergraduates from related fields and individuals with a keen interest in
the subject. In collaboration with the Grupo de Pesquisa em Educação
Patrimonial e Arqueologia (GRUPEP) from the Universidade do Sul de Santa
Catarina (UNISUL) (Santa Catarina, Brazil), the project began in September
2017 and was launched to the public in May 2019.
The project was originally conceptualised to be a walking simulator that
would showcase the elements of Brazilian coastal ‘sambaquis’.6 However,
the ARISE development team decided that transforming the project into
an electronic game would make it more appealing to the general public and
encourage wider scientific dissemination. The game features missions and
dialogues between characters and is set in the past, specifically around 3,000
years ago, in a hypothetical lagoon environment that reflects archaeological,
geological, and paleoenvironmental data.
To facilitate learning about the daily life and ritual practices of these
ancient people, the game’s design allows players to move freely through the
territory and interact with characters and objects scattered throughout the
landscape. The game’s adventure-style approach also offers an engaging means
of exploring academic research topics.
To facilitate the use of the game in educational institutions, the ARISE
5 To learn more about ARISE’s projects, access: http://www.arise.mae.usp.br/
6 The term ‘sambaquis’ originates from the Tupi-Guarani language and refers to a type of
shell midden or mound that is prevalent throughout the coastal regions of Brazil and near major bodies of water like dams and rivers. The term translates to ‘heap of shells’, reflecting the
mounds’ composition of accumulated shell debris from the indigenous people’s dietary and
ritual activities over time.
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group developed complementary products, including:
• An Augmented Reality application called Arqueologia R. A. – Grupos
pré-coloniais de Santa Catarina (R. A. Archaeology - Pre-colonial groups from
Santa Catarina) enables users to visualise and learn about the archaeological
artifacts of the ancient inhabitants of the sambaquis.
•
A didactic guide (Cardoso, Silva and Zamparetti 2019) was created
to provide summarised and systematic scientific information about the theme
and bring didactic proposals that can be implemented in the classes.
•
A low-poly version of the original game, entitled SAMBAQUIS –
Uma História antes do Brasil (Low-Poly) (Sambaquis: A History Before Brazil
(Low-Ploy)), was developed and released in 2021. This version was not only
designed for PC like the original game but also for mobile devices (Android)
and in WebGL version, making it more accessible to a broader audience.
The objective of reaching students and teachers in Brazilian schools, as
well as a wider audience interested in the topic, has guided the development
stages of the project since its inception. In this sense, both the game and
AR application have yielded highly positive results: not only have they
been reported in various information channels (TV, websites, social media)
as resources being used in several Brazilian schools, but they have also been
included as suggestions for interactive media on government organisation
websites, such as the Secretaria de Meio Ambiente e Proteção Animal of São
Bernardo dos Campos municipality, and as didactic resources in History
curricula planned by the Secretaria de Educação of the state of São Paulo and
the Secretaria de Educação of the city of São Paulo. Both products have also
received highly positive feedback and comments from teachers and other users
regarding their use in History classes, as reported on ARISE’s social media
platforms (YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and website) and distribution
platforms, such as Itch.io and Google Play.
As mentioned before, in terms of the number of downloads and views,
these platforms can be very useful to developers. The data from Itch.io, the
hosting platform for the original version of the game, shows that it received
5,508 views and 1,520 downloads during the four years since its official launch.
Similarly, the AR app, exclusively available on Android mobile devices,
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recorded around 2,710 downloads over a period of four years, according to
Google Play analytics.
Despite the positive results achieved by the original version of the game
and the AR application, limitations were identified in terms of access by the
public school community. Feedback from users on Google Play analytics,
Itch.io, and the Evaluation Form on the ARISE website revealed that many
users struggled to run the products effectively due to a shortage of computers
in schools and the limited processing capacity of these machines. As most of
these devices are low-cost and outdated, it is evident that these limitations are
a direct result of the socioeconomic inequality in Brazilian society and the
poor material conditions of public schools in the country.
To address these limitations and build on the successful experience of O
Último Banquete em Herculano from LARP-MAE-USP, a new version of the
game was developed with a low-poly aesthetic. This decision was motivated by
the need to create a more accessible and inclusive version of the game that
would not require high-end hardware to run.
The adaptation of the original game to a low-poly version enabled it to
be compatible with mobile devices. Although this new version has not been
incorporated into the curricula of Education Departments, there has been
a noticeable increase in access to the game, as indicated by data from the
distribution platforms. According to Itch.io, the low-poly computer version
achieved 1,136 views and 757 downloads within two years, while the mobile
version garnered 4,510 downloads within the same period and is currently
installed on 102 active devices, according to Google Play analytics.
The data indicates that the number of downloads for the low-poly
computer version has a similar pattern to that of the original game, whereas
the mobile version has seen a substantial increase in downloads in just two
years since its release. This observation underscores the importance of making
applications available on various platforms and devices and highlights the
potential of low-poly techniques for producing applications that require
more basic technical and material resources.
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Figure 3: Cover of the game Sambaquis: uma história antes do Brasil. Source: ARISE-MAEUSP, 2019.
The Potential for Scientific Communication
The case studies presented in this paper employed a low-poly modelling
technique, which involves creating stylised models using a minimal number of
polygons. This technique is designed to produce a final product that can run
on low-cost equipment, including smartphones, tablets, and computers with
limited processing power. The reduced computational demand also enables
the development of multiple game formats. Specifically, the mobile and
browser-based (excluding the need for download, installation, and hard drive
memory consumption) versions widened access to the games, particularly in
school and home environments where a significant portion of the population
may lack access to personal computers.
The concern about public access to these digital educational resources in
Brazil is based on an analysis of the country’s education system, encompassing
both public and private sectors, and their relationship with the socio-economic
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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Figure 4: Screenshot of the game Sambaquis: uma história antes do Brasil (Low-Poly). Source:
Sambaquis: uma história antes do Brasil (Low-Poly) (ARISE-MAE-USP, 2021).
context. According to the 2021 Basic Education Census7, the most recent
governmental statistical survey, published by INEP (Instituto Nacional de
Estudos e Pesquisas Educacionais Anísio Teixeira) in collaboration with state
and municipal education authorities, as well as Brazilian public and private
schools, a substantial majority of students, specifically 81.4%, are enrolled in
public educational institutions, with the remaining 18.6% being part of the
private education system.
Complementing this assessment, the INSE (Indicador de Nível
Socioeconômico) survey8, published in 2021 by SAEB (Sistema Nacional
7 Available at: https://www.gov.br/inep/pt-br/centrais-de-conteudo/acervo-linha-editorial/
publicacoes-institucionais/estatisticas-e-indicadores-educacionais/resumo-tecnico-do-censo-da-educacao-basica-2020
8 Available at: https://www.gov.br/inep/pt-br/acesso-a-informacao/dados-abertos/indicadores-educacionais/nivel-socioeconomico
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de Avaliação da Educação Básica), scrutinised the socioeconomic status of
students in Brazilian basic education. This assessment classified students into
eight distinct levels, denoted as I through VIII, where the former designates
students whose parents possess minimal educational qualifications and endure
precarious material conditions, including the absence of essential household
amenities like refrigerators, washing machines, computers, etc., while the
latter characterises students whose parents have attained higher education
degrees and enjoy affluent material conditions. This investigation discerned
that 28.6% of students fell within levels I to III, 55.2% occupied levels IV to
VI, and only 16.2% were situated within levels VII to VIII.
In the specific context of the state of São Paulo, which has integrated both
digital games into its educational curriculum, the proportion of students
regularly enrolled in the public educational system stands at a slightly lower
figure of 76.2%, still overshadowing the 23.8% of students in the private
sector. Regrettably, the INSE technical document does not provide a granular
breakdown based on the total student enrollment but rather presents a general
average that positions schools within the state at level V in terms of INSE’s
socioeconomic status.
Thus, the expansion of accessibility to these digital products serves as a
paramount strategy aimed at fostering enhanced social equity. By prioritising
the integration of these educational games not only within private institutions
but also within public schools, we extend access to students hailing from
disadvantaged socio-economic backgrounds. According to the TIC Educação
2019 survey9, which was conducted by Cetic.br (Centro Regional de Estudos
para o Desenvolvimento da Sociedade da Informação), and published in June
2020, it was found that only 40% of public school students possess access to
personal computers or tablets at their homes. Moreover, 21% of public school
students access the internet only through mobile phones.
9 Available at: https://cetic.br/pt/pesquisa/educacao/analises/
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Prior to the Covid-19 pandemic, virtual learning environments or
platforms were available in only 14% of public schools, including both state
and municipal schools with free study programs.
On the other hand, the data released by IBGE (Instituto Brasileiro de
Geografia e Estatística) in 202210 reveal that merely 10% of public-school
students lack access to the internet, and 97.6% of them rely on their mobile
phones as their primary device for internet access. Furthermore, the study
shows that 82.2% of children aged 10 to 13 use their cell phones regularly.
The case studies of O Último Banquete em Herculano and Sambaquis –
uma história antes do Brasil (Low-Poly) serve as exemplars of the advantages of
using low-poly games to address some of the constraints that may arise during
the implementation of these products in both school and home environments,
particularly when considering the material and socio-economic circumstances
of the target audience. It is evident that the utilisation of the low-poly style
constitutes just one among several strategies for optimising educational games
and, as a consequence, broadening the accessibility of these products within
the school community.
Developers must ensure that the final product minimises resource
wastage, compresses animations, meshes, graphic textures, and manages heavy
audio assets. Employing fast low-level programming languages like C++ and
achieving a harmonious balance in rendering processes is indispensable.
Furthermore, developers should deploy performance profilers to pinpoint
areas within their code that exhibit suboptimal performance.
Nonetheless, it is imperative to acknowledge that when adopting the
low-poly style, certain visual and graphical elements commonly found in
other types of applications, such as the intricate level of detail characteristic
of photorealistic applications and games created through methods like
10 Available at: https://agenciadenoticias.ibge.gov.br/agencia-noticias/2012-agencia-de-noticias/noticias/34954-internet-ja-e-acessivel-em-90-0-dos-domicilios-do-pais-em-2021
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photogrammetry or various scanning techniques, must be sacrificed.
Models made in the low-poly style often assume a more blocky or jagged
appearance. Hence, the adoption of the low-poly style may pose challenges
in accurately representing the nuanced features of material culture should be
cautiously limited to contexts where sacrificing a higher level of detail does
not significantly hinder the generation of valuable knowledge. Nevertheless,
it is noteworthy that even within the constraints of low-poly aesthetics, these
models still facilitate a comprehensive exploration of the multifaceted facets
of past societies.
In the realm of game design, it is widely accepted that games should not be
constrained to be dull or ‘serious’. Instead, games should strive to be resonant
with their players, engaging and captivating them both intellectually and
emotionally (Klopfer et al. 2018). Ultimately, the primary purpose of a game
is to entertain, and it is only through an enjoyable and stimulating gameplay
experience that educational goals can be effectively achieved. Therefore, game
designers must prioritise the creation of engaging and entertaining gameplay
above all else, recognising that it is this foundational element that enables
the educational component to flourish organically. By effectively combining
educational content with engaging gameplay, games can become powerful
tools for learning and can foster critical thinking, problem-solving, and other
important skills in players.
As previously mentioned, public universities have a critical role to play in
developing accessible, scalable, and usable products that serve the public good
by promoting scientific advancement and disseminating knowledge to those
who need it most.
Final Reflections
This paper emphasises the significance of archaeogaming tools as an
effective means of disseminating knowledge about archaeology and cultural
heritage. In particular, the focus is on public schools in Brazil, where there is
a pressing need for accessible, scalable, and usable products that can be easily
adopted by students.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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It showcases two case studies that illustrate the effectiveness of
unconventional approaches to learning, specifically through video games.
Low-poly modelling was chosen as the design aesthetic for both games, as it
provides an alternative design tool that overcomes limitations in educational
and domestic environments’ material conditions. The main objective of
these case studies was to explore the potential of video games as a tool in the
classroom, proposed by teachers from both public and private institutions.
Educational and research institutions can leverage technology to provide
engaging and effective learning experiences by creating and using accessible,
scalable, and usable products. One way to achieve this is through the use of
resonant games, which are designed to be enjoyable and captivating to players,
fostering emotional and intellectual connections with them. Resonant games
need to be fun, as well as the act of learning.
The potential of these technologies is clear. Improving accessibility and
inclusivity in archaeology and enabling more people to engage with and learn
from the discipline are key goals for the future of education. By exploring
the opportunities and challenges presented by these two case studies, we
aim to contribute to ongoing discussions about the role of archaeology and
technology in shaping our understanding of the past and preparing future
generations for the challenges of tomorrow.
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Stonehenge in Punch Cartoons 1860-1999:
A Leaky Pipeline from Experts to the Public
Greg Michaelson
Department of Archaeology, School of Geosciences,
University of Aberdeen
[email protected]
Abstract
Popular accounts of prehistory usually reflect prevailing archaeological understanding.
However, cartoons about prehistory are based on a small number of well-established tropes,
that seem resistant to new evidence and changing interpretations. In an ongoing study, over 850
cartoons about prehistory, published in Punch between 1841 and 2002, are being interrogated.
Of these, 96 concern Stonehenge, an internationally renowned monument, whose origins,
purposes, and symbolic status are regularly contested.
From expert publication, public dissemination, and educational and popular accounts, it
might be expected that Stonehenge cartoons would expose Druid, Bronze Age or Neolithic
origins, astronomical, mortuary, religious or ritual use, and wider British exceptionalism.
However, while timelessness is a pervasive theme, origins and use are jumbled, and explicit
nationalism is rare. Rather, the cartoons offer multiple readings, reflecting recurrent concerns
and whims. The cartoons suggest a longstanding disjunction between humour about
Stonehenge, and expert debates. This offers opportunities for informed, yet entertaining,
interventions.
Introduction
Stonehenge is one of the few monuments that truly deserve the sobriquet
‘iconic’. Internationally recognised as of central significance for the Western
European transition from Neolithic to Bronze cultures, Stonehenge has been
the subject of vast numbers of scientific and popular accounts, over many
decades. Visiting Stonehenge has steadily grown in popularity since it was
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acquired for the state in 1918, and there have long been far more visitors than
its facilities can cope with. However, the monument’s wider status rests on
interpretations in popular media like magazine articles, mass market books
and television programs.
How, then, might public understanding of Stonehenge be assessed? And
how might that understanding have changed, as archaeological interpretations
have changed? In the absence of longitudinal studies, one approach is to seek
proxies, and cartoons are a promising candidate. As Geipel (1972) observes,
“cartoons represent a priceless primary source of information about the
fleeting modes and mores of the passing generations’’, offering insights into
the “’unofficial attitudes and reactions of ordinary folk” (p10). That is, for
cartoons to work, they must reflect their audiences’ conceptions.
Cartoons are humorous drawings, often augmented with text, whose
effects depend on dissonances amongst their elements. They are intended
to be glanced at, not pondered over, which requires the rapid recognition
of elemental tropes, of which readers must have some prior understanding
(Gombrich 1963, Geipel 1972, Hewison 1977). Thus, if such tropes can be
identified, their origins worked out, and their changes traced, this may give
insights into prior and changing reader understandings.
In the later 20th century, several archaeologists observed that cartoons
catch the zeitgeist. (Bray 1973, Bray 1981, Daniel 1992a, Gamble 1992, Sillar
1992a&b). Based on very small numbers of cartoons, they suggested that
there was a disconnect between archaeology and public understanding, and
that cartoons deserved further investigation. This study offers a way to explore
this for the case of Stonehenge.
From experts to the public
Figure 1 shows the model of the pipeline from expert interpretation to
cartoon readers that underpins this study. From the bottom up, prehistoric
people make material culture which is interpreted by experts. An expert is
usually an academic or a professional practitioner, whose expertise is peer
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Figure 1. Flow of interpretations from experts to laypeople
acknowledged. So, an interpretation is usually within an academic domain,
as a scholarly or technical book, paper, report or presentation, typically peer
reviewed.
Popularisers then make popularisations of interpretations, that is
presentations of interpreted material for a wider, lay audience. These are nontechnical, principally in textual, broadcast and on-line media, and museum
and site displays and exhibitions. A populariser is not necessarily expert,
though experts may be popularisers.
In particular, an artist is a populariser, and a cartoon is a popularisation,
informed principally, though not entirely, by other popularisations. These are
separated out here, because the central foci of this study are the contexts for
the creation of cartoons, and for lay people seeing them.
This apparent one-way flow is patently a simplification. In particular, as
Moser (2003) notes, knowledge is a dynamic social construction “created
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through an interaction between scholarly discourse and popular culture”
(p4). Furthermore, an individual may embody multiple actor roles at the
same time, for example where an expert produces popularisations. As Moser
(2003) further observes, experts were once lay people, and were influenced by
popularisations as children, and as students (p4). And a source of information
may have multiple functions. Thus, Galanidou (2008) refers to texts that “sit
uncomfortably on the fence between archaeology and education” (p182).
Nonetheless, this model provides an organising principle.
Punch as a source
In a wider exploration of cartoon presentations of prehistory, broadly
conceived of as covering the Palaeolithic to the Early Medieval periods, over
850 cartoons were collected by exhaustive inspection of over 300 volumes of
Punch covering 1841 to 2002. While cartoons about “cavemen” predominate,
96 cartoons depict, or mention, a megalith. These form the cohort for this
study.
Punch, or the London Charivari, was a British humorous magazine that
appeared weekly from 1841 to 1992, and then from 1996 to 2002. It was
distinguished by a high cartoon content; indeed, the term ‘cartoon’ originated
with Punch. While initially radical, Punch quickly became an influential
establishment voice, fondly, if irreverently, promoting British imperialism and
colonialism, and reactionary views of gender, ethnicity and class. Spielmann
(1895) is a canonical account from 1841 to 1894. Price (1957) extends the
history to 1957. Prager (1979) continues to 1979.
Punch is a valuable source as its extent covers the emergence of modern
archaeology from antiquarianism, through the New Archaeology, to the start
of Post-Processualism (Trigger 2006). In so far as cartoons about Stonehenge
reflect contemporary archaeological thinking, this should show up in Punch.
Further, Punch sustained a wide if fluctuating circulation: from 40,000
in 1850 to 200,000 in the early 1950s, declining to 82,000 in 1979 (Orme
1985a, 1985b). Orme (1985b) notes that Punch’s readership far outstripped
its sales (p36). Thus, substantial numbers of people will have seen Punch’s
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Stonehenge cartoons
Approach
The Stonehenge cartoons were classified using categories derived from
the literature, explored below, to identify their components. The semiotic
practice (Williamson 1978), of distinguishing denotations and connotations
is followed. Loseke (2013) terms these manifest and latent content (p92).
Denotations concern what images portray. To locate them, the “narrative
structure” of each cartoon is analysed, interrogating how their components
interact (Eco 1981). The close analysis in Rossholm (2016), of late Victorian
Swedish cartoons about gendered bourgeois behaviour, offers an excellent
model.
Connotations concern what the cartoons may imply to a contemporary
reader, beyond their immediate elements. Gombrich (1963) notes that it is
difficult to appreciate old cartoons, because analogies that were once topical
are no longer understood; allusions in images depend on how much the artist
and audience share “a common stock of knowledge” (p133). Thus successful
cartoons depend on how the artist combines “the topical and the permanent,
the passing allusion and the lasting characterisation.” (p138). Finally, aspects
of gender, ethnicity and class will also determine a cartoon’s different readings
(Berger 1972).
Typology
The starting point is that humour about Stonehenge will more or less
follow contemporary, that is period, understandings, noting that, for all the
twists and turns, there is close agreement between late Victorian and early
21st century interpretations. Flinders Petrie (1880), in Stonehenge. Plans,
Description, and Theories, set out four theories about its purpose: “(1)
Sepulchral, (2) Memorial, (3) Religious, or (4) Astronomical; or combinations
of some or all of these.” (p31). And Travis Elborough (2016), in discussing the
1929 concrete Stonehenge simulacra in Washington State, says that “current
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thinking variously fingers the landmark as a burial place, a lunar temple, an
astronomical clock, a place of healing and, most improbably of all, as a landing
pad for UFOs.” (p83).
There has been a strong popular association of Stonehenge with the
Druids since William Stukely (1760), which was reinvigorated by the early
19th century reinvention of the Order (Piggot 1968). This is augmented by
late 20th century New Age beliefs (J. and C. Bord 1974). Both are reinforced
by annual mass media coverage of midsummer celebrations at Stonehenge.
Similarly, astronomical interpretations were given new impetus in the
1960s, following the work of Gerald Hawkins (Hawkins and White 1965)
and Alexander Thom (1967). Indeed, Jacquetta Hawkes’ (1967) much
cited “Every age has the Stonehenge it deserves - or desires.” (p174) is from
her rebuttal. Finally, Barclay and Brophy (2022) have suggested that British
nationalism has been a major component of archaeological narratives about
Stonehenge.
These, then, are all aspects of archaeological interpretations that might be
found in cartoons about Stonehenge, depending on which theory or theories
are in the public ascendancy in any period.
A key question concerns the relationship between representations of the
past and experiences of the present. Do things change through time, or do
they remain much the same? Is there some notion of teleological progress,
from prehistory to contemporary society? Thus, will there be othering,
where, for example, earlier people have restricted competences compared with
contemporary people, or are competences unchanging?
In particular, how are the people in the cartoons, ‘them’, related to the
people reading the cartoons, ‘us’. Are ‘we’ invited to laugh at or sympathise
with ‘them’, or indeed both? Are ‘they’ depicted as being like ‘us’, or are ‘they’
very different, that is like ‘themselves’ and other than ‘us’? If ‘they’ are like ‘us’,
is that because ‘they’ have our sensibilities, despite living in the past, or are
‘they’ actually ‘us’ projected into that past? Or are ‘they’ simply ‘us’?
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Throughout this period, there are gross imbalances in favour of men in
illustration of prehistory, as Moser (1993), Gifford Gonzalez (1993), Solometo
and Moss (2013) and Galinadou (2007) all identified. Comparable gender
representations in cartoons might be expected.
Finally, cartoons may be ‘Whacky’, where the humour depends on
improbable juxtapositions. A longstanding prehistoric example is the presence
of humans and dinosaurs in the same period. Prehistoric people with future
knowledge or understanding, or deploying future technology, also come into
this category. This is related to the broader ‘zany’ or ‘crazy’ cartoon humour,
where the cartoon follows its own logic but remains grounded in reality
(Hewison 1977) (p45).
In summary, the typology used here has 9 categories, based on these
criteria, and firmed up by a first pass through the cartoons:
•
Context – is the megalith Relevant or Incidental?
•
Megalith – is the depicted megalith a Dolmen, a Single stone,
Stonehenge or some other arrangement of Stones?
•
Type – is the cartoon Them Like Us (TLU), Us Like Them (ULT),
Them Like Them (TLT), Us Like Us (ULU), Nothing Changes (NC) or
Whacky?
•
Time – is the cartoon set in Deep Time, Biblical time, Lithics use
time, Druid time or Roman time, or is it Contemporary?
•
People – does the cartoon depict Children, Male, Female, Druids or
Roman people, or a Crowd?
•
Speaking – which people are speaking, and to who?
•
Builder – if the cartoon shows the megalith being constructed, is it by
Aliens, Ancient Britons, Druids or Lithics using peoples?
•
Topic – what is the cartoon about?
•
Use – what use of the megalith is depicted?
Note that boundaries between Topic and Use are flexible. The intention is
to gain an overall feel for how the sense of cartoons changes.
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Despite the longstanding deployment of problematic ethnic analogies,
which often served to distance prehistoric peoples as primitive, characters in
all cartoons appear to be undifferentiated European. Only a small number of
cartoons refer to class, and then indirectly. Few cartoons reflect any overt sense
of Britishness.
Image coding and processing
The cartoons were hand coded by identifying visual and textual aspects
that reflected the above typology. Each cartoon embodies multiple categories.
Key considerations were: when and where the cartoon was set (Context,
Megalith, Time); what the characters looked like (People), what they were
doing (Construction, Use, Topic), and how they interacted (Speaking, Topic);
and the relationship between cartoon characters and audience (Type).
Coding was organised using NVivo 12 Pro under Windows 10 Home, to
generate .xlsx reports, associating images and code. NVivo does not adequately
support time sequence analysis, so, to generate code occurrences by year and
period, the reports were processed as .csv files by a C program, running under
Ubuntu on Windows 10 Home, written by the author. Excel was then used
to structure the .csv file this program generated, to produce Figures 2 and 10.
Cartoon characterisation
Figure 2 shows the distribution of occurrences of the 96 cartoons found
between 1860 and 1999. The apparent increase may be because Punch steadily
grew in size.
It would be disingenuous to discuss cartoons spanning 140 years as if
they were a single cohort. Readers who saw earlier cartoons will not have
seen any markedly later ones. Later artists may well have seen the work of
their predecessors, but later readers are unlikely to have seen markedly earlier
cartoons. With these in mind, cartoons are placed in their historical contexts of
publication, drawing on contemporary popular accounts of cartoon subjects.
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Figure 2. Occurrences of Stonehenge cartoon by year
Given relatively low numbers of cartoons across the timespan, for
conciseness, cartoon characteristics are presented in periods of twenty years.
It is fortuitous that the boundaries align well with major events like the two
World Wars, and with changes in interpretations of Stonehenge, as well
as wider archaeology. It is worth considering overall trends where there are
substantive differences between occurrences of characteristics, so some whole
cohort characteristics are also presented.
To illustrate coding, one cartoon from each period is discussed, exemplifying
the interplay of different categories. Cartoons are cited as [artist year.volume.
page] and [artist year.volume.month.day.page] after 1983, reflecting changes
in Punch indexing practice.
It is salutary to note that analysing cartoons loses what little humour they
may hold for a casual reader.
Figure 3 [Moyr Smith 1878.74.70] from 1878 is the first in a panel of 12
vignettes depicting The History of British Courtship: From the Earliest Period
To The Present Time. Each shows a couple in stereotypical period dress, in
one of the supposed stages of courtship, culminating in a Victorian marriage.
Stonehenge is incidental to the Ancient Briton context, which combines
the types Them Like Us and Nothing Changes. Topics are gender as well as
courtship, driven by the myth of how a man woos a woman.
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Figure 3. 1. Early British. Admiration. J. Moyr Smith, Punch, 1874, Volume 74, p.70.
The tattooed man, with a severed head tastefully covering his genitals, is
very like John White’s 1585 depiction of a Pictish Man (Moser 1998 Plate 7).
In contrast, the woman is wearing what could be a contemporary fabric
skirt, with a large bow at the back. While Stonehenge is a minor element, it
connotes Britishness, which in turn is signified by the titles for the individual
vignette and overall panel.
Figure 4 [Reed 1894.107.34] from 1894 shows one of Edward Tennyson
Reed’s Prehistoric Peeps (Reed 1896), long acknowledged as a pioneering
series about prehistory (Horrall 2017). Here, Stonehenge is relevant, with a
trilithon forming a gargantuan stumps and bail for the cricket match. This,
like most of Reed’s Peeps, is Us Like Them, with contemporary people
conducting contemporary activities projected back into the past. The cartoon
is also Whacky, with the improbable cricket match disrupted by a genial
plesiosaur. Here the use is leisure. The people are Reed’s classic cavemen,
that is Europeans wearing furs and wielding stone and wooden tools. The
cartoon may reference international cricket tours of 1893 and 1894. It
includes caricatures of well known cricketers, for example W. G. Grace. As in
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Figure 4. Prehistoric Peeps. A Cricket Match. “How’s That, Umpire!” E. T. Reed, Punch,
1894, Volume 107, p.34.
many Peeps, women are absent. The combination of Stonehenge and cricket
connote Britishness.
Figure 5 [Morrow 1919.156.481B] from 1919 is one of a Nothing
Changes sequence of Scenes From Our Great Film: “Audacity Down The
Ages”. Stonehenge, here a curve of trilithons, is incidental to this Roman time
jest. The cartoon, populated by Them Like Us Druids and a Roman man, is
further Whacky, as the safety razor was not invented until the 18th century,
and one druid has his beard in a trolley. Nonetheless, travelling pedlars will
have been commonplace for contemporary readers, as well as in a Roman
context.
Figure 6 [Beauchamp 1932.183.447] from 1932 is a contemporary
cartoon. Here Stonehenge is relevant to the barbed conversation that puns
the ages of the monument and the woman posing on the sarsen, driven by
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Figure 5. Roman Commercial Traveller Trying To Sell Safety Razors To The Druids. G. Morrow, Punch, 1919, Volume 156, p.481. Under licence from Topham Partners LLP.
stereotyped female rivalry. This Us Like Us cartoon is about social class as well
as gender, visually mocking the parvenu visitors.
Figure 7 [Morrow 1946.210.466] from 1946 is a complex cartoon. At
first glance, a relevant Stonehenge is portrayed in Roman time. Here, Them
Like Us soldiers discuss the monument’s use for leisure, through a Whacky
reference to cricket: five stones form stumps and bails, recapitulating Reed’s
cartoon in Figure 1. The pedlar selling souvenirs recapitulates Morrow’s
earlier cartoon in Figure 5.
However, this cartoon also inverts a much older tradition of showing
naïve or ignorant British tourists visiting Roman remains. Furthermore,
the cartoon appeared a year after the end of World War Two, when British
occupation troops in Italy may have wondered at Roman monuments, just as
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Figure 6. He. “That’s prehistoric, that is.” She. “Looks even older than that to me.” K. Beauchamp, Punch, 1932, Volume 183, p. 447. Under licence from Topham Partners LLP.
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Figure 7. “Temple my foot! It’s some kind of native game.” G. Morrow, Punch, 1946, Volume
210, p. 466. Under licence from Topham Partners LLP.
Figure 8. “Quick! Dismantle it! Romans are coming!” W. Miller, Punch, 1965, Volume 249, p.
387. Under licence from Topham Partners LLP.
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Roman occupation troops may have wondered at British monuments 2000
years earlier. Perhaps this irony of the conquerors conquered also connotes
something about shared humanity across time and nation.
The cartoon in Figure 8 [Miller 1965.249.387] from 1965 is also complex.
Stonehenge is relevant to this Roman period jest, showing its Whacky use
for Them Like Us leisure: the people, who might well be Druids, are clearly
enjoying themselves, just as contemporary folk might. The steam train, a
19th century stereotype, is referencing contemporary international interest
in monorails as a potential form of urban transport, with a widely publicised
system installed in Seattle for the 1962 Century 21 Exposition (Seattle Centre
Monorail 2022).
However, the alarm at the approaching Romans may also connote Cold
War fears of regional blocs acquiring each other’s technologies, as, for example
the USA removed advanced equipment, along with experts, from a shattered
Germany after World War Two (Gimbel 1990). Note that the cartoon predates
the later 1960s New Age theories that the ancients had advanced technologies
now lost to us.
Finally, the stripped back Them Like Us cartoon in Figure 9 [Hobart
1984.287.8.22.15], from 1984, shows lithic time, male megalith builders.
While a relevant Stonehenge is not directly depicted, it is denoted by the sarsen
on the rollers. The puzzlement about what constitutes a henge connotes a
wider lack of knowledge of why the monument was constructed, reflected in
several other cartoons about contemporary visits.
Cohort analysis
Trends between 1860 and 1999, in twenty year groups, are considered next.
Figure 10 shows summary graphs of occurrences of cartoons by individual
categories. It is not feasible here to present occurrences of combined categories.
These are alluded to when significant. Topics and uses with less than three
occurrences have been amalgamated as Other.
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All the cartoons depict megaliths. In 18, the megalith is incidental,
establishing the context for the rest of the cartoon. 86 cartoons show
Stonehenge itself, and it is relevant in most of these.
Overall, most cartoons are set in a contemporary period (45), with the
proportion increasing towards the present. 16 cartoons are set in Lithic time
and 14 in Druid time. Most of these appeared between 1960 and 1999.
The cartoon type is particularly interesting. Only 10 cartoons depict
othering of past peoples (TLT), with six appearing between 1960 and 1999. In
contrast, 41 cartoons set in the past depict people behaving as contemporary
folk might (TLU), whereas only two cartoons show contemporary people
projected into the past (ULT). As a plurality of cartoons are contemporary
(45), it is not surprising that 37 show contemporary people being themselves
(ULU). Six cartoons are about the timelessness of human experience (NC).
Overall, the cartoons are about contemporary concerns, explored in both the
past and present.
Only 25 cartoons are Whacky, with most occurrences between 1960 and
1999. This may reflect Punch editorial policy. In contrast, The New Yorker,
which started publishing in 1925 and was aimed at a comparable readership,
had predominantly ‘crazy’ cartoons (Price 1957) (p237).
Men (79) appear far more frequently than women (31), with the exception
of the period from 1920 to 1939 when occurrences approach parity. Given
the overall disparity, it is not surprising that men speak most frequently to
other men (34). When women and men appear together, men speak more
frequently to women (12) than women to men (9), and women speak rarely
to other women (2). There is a little variation in the balance of speaking across
the timeline. The poor representation of women, and their relative passivity,
corresponds to the disparities in wider illustrations of prehistory noted above.
Druids (19) appear more often than lithics using people (16), with most
such cartoons appearing between 1960 and 1999. Similarly, Druids (8) are
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Figure 9. “What exactly is a ‘henge’, anyway?” N. Hobart (Nick), Punch, 1984, Volume 287,
22nd August, p. 15. Under licence from Topham Partners LLP.
shown slightly more often in the building of Stonehenge than lithics using
people (7), again with most appearing between 1960 and 1999. Druids are
typically shown designing or using Stonehenge, and lithics folk hefting
stones, giving a class connotation. It is notable how long the association with
prehistoric, as opposed to modern, Druids persisted, despite their progressive
repudiation in mainstream archaeology (Piggott 1968).
The lithic time construction of Stonehenge commonly depicts sarsens
being moved on rollers, and manipulated from ramps into foundation pits
using levers and ropes. This is strongly in accord with illustrations of the
construction of Stonehenge in educational literature, from at least 1920
onwards, for example (Quinnell and Quinnell 1922, Airne 1932, Davies and
Steel 1937). Perhaps 1960 to 1999 artists had seen such books when younger.
The most frequently occurring topics are the circumstances of megalith
construction (8), gender (6), impact on the environment (4), ownership (4)
and purpose (4), often by visitors, with doubt, or unlikely theories, being
raised.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
163
Figure 10. Occurrences of codes by 20 year period.
The most frequently occurring use is for visiting (20), with peaks in 1920
to 1939 and 1960 to 1979, which both saw increasing post-war mobility and
leisure time. There are only 11 occurrences of religious use, mostly after 1920,
and four of astronomical use, all after 1940, which is striking given their central
roles in archaeological discourses about Stonehenge. In contrast, there are 11
occurrences of leisure use and five of military use, the latter corresponding
to late Victorian manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain, and the Second World War.
There are few cartoons about modern Druids after 1879, and none
showing later 20th century New Age use, despite the growing controversies
over the Stonehenge Festival, which began in 1974 (Fowler 1990). This
may again reflect Punch editorial policy: Bender (1998) includes a number
of newspaper cartoons concerning contested access and state suppression
of travellers. Similarly, while there was a later 20th century fad for ancient
extraterrestrial interventions in prehistory (Von Daniken 1968), aliens only
appear once.
Conclusion
Analysis of Stonehenge cartoons has failed to identify any persistent
underlying archaeological tropes, beyond its prehistoric construction and
association with Druids, and maleness. Overall, the cartoons suggest a
genuine lack of understanding of Stonehenge, at least by the cartoonists, and,
by implication, their audiences. Perhaps Stonehenge serves to represent an
undifferentiated prehistory.
The findings confirm the intuitions of the archaeologists mentioned
above, that cartoons demonstrate a disconnect between interpretations and
public understanding, at least for these cartoons. Several also expressed
pessimism about realigning cartoon representations with interpretations.
Bray (1981) distinguished “archaeology as perceived by archaeologists, and
archaeology as perceived by the man in the street.” (p221). He claimed that
“there are no new jokes” and “certain long term trends stand out”, suggesting
a ”progressive trivialisation of archaeology”(p222) represented by a mythic
‘Archaeologyland’ (p224). Sillar (1992b) also thought that cartoons have
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not changed with the archaeology. Particularly pertinent, Daniel (1992b)
observed that “it is clear that Stonehenge and megalithic architecture are now
so much a part of the general public’s awareness of the prehistoric past that
any joke will pass” (p63).
However, as Moshenska (2017) comments: “The reality of popular culture
archaeology is more complicated than Bray [(1981)] suggests” (p152). As the
above analysis indicates, the cartoons do not only project current concerns
into the past, as Bray (1981) and Sillar (1992b) presume. Cartoons offer
multiple if interconnected readings.
Cartoons may serve as an intervention as well as a record. Clark (2009)
observes that cartoons both ‘’respond to, and can shape, public understandings
of science in important ways’’ (p573). Sillar’s suggestion (1992b) that
archaeologists should deploy cartoons to “make people reconsider their ideas
about the past” (p208) deserves further exploration.
There have been fruitful collaborations between archaeologists and
cartoonists. Thus, Bill Tidy lampooned a wide range of archaeological
concerns, but as text illustrations, for example (Bahn 1996, Bahn and Tidy
1999), or for informed audiences, for example in British Archaeology (Pitts
2023). There is a current impetus for archaeologists and artists to work together
in making comics to promote archaeological ideas more widely (Kamash et al
2022). Perhaps new collaborations might produce pithy Stonehenge cartoons
aimed at generalist audiences.
The study in McDowall (2023), which is contrasted with that in Wood and
Cotton (1999), suggests that public understanding of prehistory is evolving
beyond cavemen and dinosaurs. However, establishing new tropes requires
considerable public traction. The problem with Stonehenge is precisely
its iconic status, which occludes its situated and cultural contexts. Further,
Reed’s longstanding tropes underpin ongoing humorous representations of
prehistory as impoverished. Comprehensive major exhibitions like Symbols
Of Power At The Time Of Stonehenge (Clarke et al 1985) and The World Of
Stonehenge (Garrow and Wilkin 2022) are vital for presenting contemporary
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
165
interpretations, but these are very infrequent and of restricted reach. In the
meantime, annual live reporting of the midsummer sunrise further reproduces
Stonehenge’s mysterious centrality.
Punch humour was originally predicated on puns, and Stonehenge offers
considerable scope for concocting new ones. How might browsers, rather
than archaeologists, come to recognise the archer who gets lost at Avebury,
the cursus seekers at the circus, or the guitarist in search of blues tones?
Cartoons are a specialised form of popularisation, and on their own
can have little impact. They should be deployed as part of a multi-faceted
popularisation of the wider Neolithic/Bronze Age context for Stonehenge,
emphasising the richness and diversity of everyday culture, alongside ongoing
evaluation of public understanding.
Acknowledgements
Cartoons [Morrow 1919.156.481B, Beauchamp 1932.183.447, Morrow
1946.210.466, Miller 1965.249.387, Hobart 1984.287.8.22.15] are subject
to copyright, and shown under licence from Topham Partners LLP (https://
www.Topham Partners LLP.co.uk/).
I’m pleased to thank:
•
my supervisors Jeff Oliver and Elisabeth Niklasson, for stimulating
discussion about the approach in this paper;
•
the anonymous referees, and the editors, as well as my supervisors, for
sage suggestions for improving the paper;
•
the staff of the University of Aberdeen Library, University of
Edinburgh Library and the National Library of Scotland, for access to bound
volumes of Punch, and the University of California and the University of
Michigan, for online access via the Hathi Trust and the Internet Archive.
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Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
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Cultural Heritage in Modern Conflicts:
A Theoretical Analysis of Memory and Materiality
in Babylon, Iraq
Martina Bortolan
Department of International Development, University of Oxford
[email protected]
Abstract
Performative, symbolic, and material aspects pervade remembrance. Cultural heritage becomes
a source of individual and collective identity, a point of reference from which to conceptualise
society and its functioning. Thus, its violent destruction has strong repercussions on the people that identify with it. Drawing from the case of the US occupation of Babylon, a site that
lies at the core of Saddam Hussain’s nationalisation efforts, I explore the instrumentalisation
of memory within conflictual contexts. I will analyse such instrumentalisation by considering
heritage sites through the lens of materiality and object biographies. I then connect Babylon to
the concept of iconicity, and how it can be leveraged to embed new narratives to existing sites.
Finally, I highlight how heritage is an important field in which conflicts unfold, contributing to
the negotiation of power relations between the actors involved.
Introduction
Cultural heritage lies at the intersection of different areas of interest: it is
central to identity and social reproduction, acting as a bridge between present
and past. In times of conflict, an important part of the strategic significance
of heritage arises from the interplay between its tangible and intangible, social
and material aspects. This article aims to make a theoretical contribution to
the discussions on heritage in conflict by centring the concept of change, and
situating it within theories on memory and materiality. In fact, while debates
on damage and conservation have evolved past treating them in dichotomic
terms, the conversation can benefit from a single theoretical framework
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
171
that encompasses destruction and construction as part of the same process.
The concept of change as framed by this article aims to bring together three
established theories that have not been connected before. Heritage sites have
often been described in relation to memory, to highlight heritage sites as
central hotspots to the creation and reproduction of identity by the people
connected to them. In this context, damage to sites has often been understood
in terms of harm to memory and identity.
To further complexify this dynamic, I want to frame sites as objects, in
order to conceptualise the events they undergo as part of their ‘social life’. This
aids in understanding changes to a site as a continuous process encompassing
both construction and destruction. However, such a continuous process
Figure 1. Photograph by Safa Daneshvar. Photo of Saddam Hussain palace over Babylon’s ruins, Hillah, Iraq. (This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike
4.0 International license).
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of change is influenced by the relations between the communities involved
with the site. As such, it is necessary to link the life history of heritage sites to
the idea of memory, and the theme of iconicity. In fact, iconicity merges the
intangible importance of sites with their materiality, and how such materiality
enables people to interact with them, for instance by apporting tangible
modifications. These changes are guided by the power relations between the
groups surrounding the site, and the symbolisms that they ascribe to the site.
These three aspects can thus be leveraged to negotiate relations between the
groups involved.
The case study: recent history of Babylon
Babylon is an ancient Akkadian city located south of Baghdad. During the
1980s, the Baath Party led by Saddam Hussain started a monumental work
of reconstruction of the historic site. The project included the restoration
of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar II with new bricks bearing the inscription
“To King Nebuchadnezzar in the reign of Saddam Hussein”, as well as new
elements such as a modern palace erected on the ancient riverbed (fig. 1)
(Barhani 2006; Isakhan 2013; 224, Yuan 2023; Kathem & Kareem 2021).
The project was part of a nationalisation campaign, drawing from the history
of Mesopotamia and classical Islam to unify people in Iraq across ethnic and
religious divisions under the Baath party’s rule and values. In doing this,
Saddam “appropriated” the narrative of glory and accomplishment that
characterised colonial imageries (Kathem & Kareem 2021: 836) and reframed
it to serve his political aims.
In 2003, despite surviving the bombing during the invasion of Iraq,
the site suffered significant damage due to looting (Barhani 2005) and the
placement of a large military camp on the site by the United States (fig. 2),
which later hosted Polish troops (fig. 3). This led to irreversible damage.
The movements of heavy war machinery broke the floor beneath. Trenches
were built using ancient soil, thus ruining the stratigraphy, while parts of the
area were flattened to construct a helicopter landing zone and parking lots.
In addition, nine animal figures from the Ishtar Gate went missing (Barhani
2006, Moussa 2008, Al Jazeera, 2005; Curtis 2009).
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Figure 2. U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate 1st Class Arlo K. Abrahamson. US Navy
030524-N-5362A-010 U.S. Marines, assigned to the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force (1st
MEF), stand guard duty at a palace compound, Wikimedia Commons, (as a work of the US
federal Government, it is in the public domain in the United States).
To this date, the legacy of Saddam and Western narratives left an imprint
on how the residents of the city of Hilla, neighbouring the site, view Babylon.
Many interviewees told Kathem and Kareem (2021, p.840) that they consider
the site with a “sense of achievement” and a “core part of Iraqi culture”, as
well as holding “global importance”. Consequently, the damage caused by the
US and Polish occupation of the site was commonly considered a “violation
of Iraqi identity and heritage” (ibid., p.837). The site of Babylon, thus,
continues to be culturally and politically relevant to current communities and
warrants a careful examination of why it continuously emerges as a flashpoint
for destruction and construction amidst conflictual contexts.
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Figure 3. Photograph by Department of Defense. American Forces Information Service. Defense Visual Information Center. A Polish Army Soldier takes a break while performing security at the main entrance (Reno) to Camp Babylon, Iraq during Operation IRAQI FREEDOM,
National Archives Catalog (This photograph is in the public domain in the United States).
Theorising sites as objects: intersecting memory and object biographies
A common element of discussions on Babylon is, understandably, the
emphasis on destructive events. Yet, the recent history of the site presents a
more complex picture of construction and destruction, in which construction
itself can be destructive. To rethink the implications of conflicts on memory,
I want to start by conceptualising heritage sites as objects. Especially in the
case of sites that have sustained violent damage, the focus is often destruction,
rather than the broader process of transformations that brought the site to the
present day. Theoretically, the tension between destruction and construction
and their impact on memory can be understood through Appadurai’s (1986)
concept of the ‘social life of things’. Appadurai (ibid.) develops this idea in
relation to commodities, and argues that objects that are exchanged carry value
that is embedded in them. Of course, a heritage site is not a commodity under
Appadurai’s criteria of exchangeability (ibid.:13). However, exchanges are
not the only way objects can be interacted with. Kopytoff (1986) argues that
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175
objects, like people, can be approached through a biographical perspective.
He posits that biographies tend to select what events and aspects of someone’s
life are to be commemorated and how to frame them.
I want to analyse the recent history of Babylon through the lens of object
biography as a way to overcome the construction/destruction dichotomy. The
events of the last few decades at the site do not present planned, deliberate
destructive attacks on the site, and yet destruction has taken place, contributing
to the trauma of the war. The concept of destruction alone, thus, is not
sufficient in understanding the damage made to the site and its repercussions.
The concept of change is more useful in understanding the modifications
apported to the site in their complexity, as it enables us to steer away from the
“negative and positive collections of terms” (Munawar, 2017, p.34) associated
with destruction and construction. To understand these social implications,
I will thus contextualise the changes apported to the site as events within the
‘object biography’ of Babylon.
The social implications of the changes to the site can be better understood
by linking this material approach to discussions on memory, to add the
depth of time to the entanglements between people and sites. Heritage sites
represent a key element in the construction, embodiment, and performance
of the past. Nora (1989.) defines memory as a version of the past that is very
much alive, emotional and ever-evolving, specific to the group that constructs
it. “Sites of memory” are “reconstituted objects” (ibid.:12), places, or practices
that become loci of re-evocation of the collective memory of a past that has
disappeared and only exists in historical records. Groups draw on these sites
to construct their identity and make conscious efforts to safeguard them
from oblivion, resulting in a process that involves both modification and
crystallisation in recognizable forms. By applying Nora's concept to heritage
sites, we can gain insights into their significance in contemporary identity
formation. Nora’s elaboration links sites of memory to the building and
reproduction of collective identity, further blurring the dichotomy between
people and things.
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This approach to memory mirrors the idea of entanglement between
objects and humans. Humans need objects both in terms of material
livelihood and to shape obligations between each other at a variety of scales.
Objects need humans for their production, upkeeping, and definition. Such
mutual dependence is unstable and prone to change (Hodder, 2012). While in
his discussion Hodder focuses mainly on everyday commodities, the concept
can be transposed to heritage sites. In particular, the instability of humanobject relations, then trickling into the instability of human-human relations,
can help explain the vulnerability of sites to destruction. Sites of memory
attract and focalise the performance of what is constructed as the past, which
according to Nora (ibid.) is what constitutes memory in the first place. Thus,
heritage sites as sites of memory play a pivotal role in the production and
social reproduction of a group, not only due to their presence, but also to the
role they play in a community, and the way in which the community interacts
with them.
The capacity of heritage sites to become fulcri of identity and memory
formation can be actively leveraged to try and influence such a process of
identity production. According to Benjamin (1968) the appropriation of
ruins by nationalistic narratives works by constructing a direct link between
past and present groups, assuming them not to change over time. In the case
of Babylon, the extent of the success of such appropriation was differential
between the different ethnic groups of Iraq (Kathem & Kareem, p.836) but
that does not take away from the act of claiming it under Baath authority itself,
adding an additional layer of meaning to an already charged site. Benjamin
(1968) considers ruins as images isolated from such lineage: ruins are produced
in the present, and as such should be analysed. Associating Benjamin and
Nora’s ideas highlights how archaeological sites can be promoted as sites of
memory as part of a specific project, not simply reproducing but producing
memory and identity. In the case of Babylon, the extent of the success of such
appropriation was differential between the different ethnic groups of Iraq
(Kathem & Kareem, 2021, p.836) but that does not take away from the act of
claiming it under Baath authority itself. Such a claim hardly passed under the
radar of the US army, turning Babylon from a symbol of Saddam’s influence
to a field in which such influence could be contested.
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The performance of memory within a site’s biography
As discussed, historical sites undergo continuous transformations that shape
their present condition. Some can be intentional, such as the reconstruction
operated by Saddam Hussain in Babylon. Some can be intentional but not
organised as part of a deliberate project of memory, such as the looting that
took place. Some can be unintentional, as the effects of weathering and decay
are. However, none of them are casual. In discussing heritage conservation,
Holtorf (2005) posits that conservation involves loss and destruction, similar
to the uninterrupted passage of time, as it preserves certain forms of heritage
consumption while preventing others. He argues that history involves change,
and such change should be embraced in the approach to conservation. His
argument highlights that conservation and reconstruction also involve an
element of selective loss, showing that construction and destruction are not
mutually exclusive. Moreover, this idea highlights how continuous change
contributes to the history of the site itself. However, his discussion neglects
the power relations that are inherent in every decision about cultural heritage,
and that determine whose interests shape such decisions. Holtorf (2005)
claims that conservation is politically motivated by the will to create a desirable
collective memory.
Yet, deciding not to preserve is not a neutral stance either. Construction,
destruction and neglect are all political choices that one or more actors make,
and the overall result is highly dependent on the power relations between
them. Change is inevitable but it does involve an element of causality in terms
of the choices taken. Even the decision to allow weathering can be a deliberate
choice, reflecting a particular set of values and priorities. As discussed,
the reconstruction of Babylon was part of a precise political project aimed
at building nationalist feelings and popular identification with the party.
The occupation of the site, in concomitance with the occupation of other
monuments of national relevance, also denotes intentionality in the choice
of interaction, independently from the intentionality of the damage itself.
Placing materiality at the centre of the conversation on heritage, we can better
understand how every form of material change is the result of the structures
of power in which heritage sites are entangled. As such, centring materiality
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and change in the discussion on heritage in conflicts helps to understand part
of the conflict dynamics. In fact, it provides the tools to place every event,
from apparently ‘natural processes’ such as decay, to damage and conservation
within the decisions – or lack thereof – of the groups involved.
Given the relevance of Babylon to multiple communities, the way memory
is built upon the site became a matter of contention, and an important
instrument to negotiate relations between groups. The US choice of placing
the military camp has raised a lot of critiques, and debates on the reasons
behind it. Some mention “strategic reasons” (Bailey, 2005). The CNN reports
spokesperson Lt. Col. Tamara Parker to have declared the “purpose, among
others, of protecting the ruins from looting after the provincial museums
in Babylon and Kufa were robbed” (CNN). However, others underline the
symbolic value of the site and its international relevance, and what it meant
for US troops to take control over it. Isakhan (2013) suggests contextualising
the events in Babylon among the occupation and repurposing of various Iraqi
heritage sites, both directly connected to the Baath party and ancient, as part
of a broader project of de-Baathification. The author notes that the events
at Babylon were paralleled by the widespread use of national monuments as
bureaucratic or military bases under foreign occupation, such as the Martyr’s
Memorial and Saddam’s Palace, as well as the planned deconstruction of
monuments of the regime, such as the Arch of Victory (Isakhan 2013).
Ultimately there is no official explanation provided: the Archive of White
House Official Statements and the US National Archives do not report
anything on the topic.
However, the Report by Parapetti and Jahjah (2008), published by
UNESCO asserts that “This transformation of Babylon into a military base
must be seen as putting the seal on a victory, as it had been for Cyrus and
Alexander” (p.10). While the damage itself may not have been a deliberate
plan, it is hardly unpredictable when planning the construction of trenches
and helicopter landing facilities. The same Polish Minister of Defence Jerzy
Szmajdzinski stated on Polish state radio that “Where there is war, where there
is activity including man’s intervention, there is always some sort of damage".
Given the attention that the Allies paid to Saddam’s use of monuments, and
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the international fame of the site of Babylon, it is likely that the meaning
invested in Babylon by the Baath party had a role in the decision. In fact, while
not directly built by the Party, Babylon was central to its construction of a
national identity united under its rule, and taking possession of such symbols
of Saddam’s rulership represented a subversion of the association that Saddam
drew between himself and the legendary rulers of the city.
The key factor that connects the site’s social life to identity and memory
is performance. In fact, building on Connerton’s idea of embodiment of
memory, it is possible to conceptualise how present performances upkeep
memories of past events in an object's life history and create new ones. The
dynamism between past and present contributes to a site’s vulnerability during
conflicts. Connerton (1989) explains that we perceive the present according
to all the past experiences we had: our past experiences are recalled within
the present context through embodiment and performance, and as such are
influenced by it. This idea implies that the past is not a static and bounded
set of events. Rather, memories recall narratives that reproduce events over
time as framed in culturally-constructed ways, evoking specific emotional
effects. This also entails an element of variability, both among groups and
individuals, regarding how the past is recalled. The performative element of
memory highlights how people connect with the past through channels that
merge the material with the mnemonical. This implies that past and present
are not connected in terms of linear causality, but rather by an embodied form
of co-production, which involves emotions and performativity.
The dynamism and performativity of the past are what define the cultural
relevance of a heritage site, as they become sites of production of memory
and the identities connected to it. The various layers of meaning can come
to define the vulnerability of heritage sites: physical disruption to the site,
even just through occupation, becomes a way to negotiate the narratives of
the past and present connected to that place. The US military, by occupying
the site and leaving permanent marks of their passage, tied the new memory
of their occupation to the site, inscribing its biography with their presence
and action. This impact extends beyond the present: lasting damages ensure
that future recollections and interactions will be affected by the events of
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the occupation as well, reproducing the memory of the war. Nonetheless,
heritage sites are not static outside the context of armed conflict, as testified
by Saddam Hussein’s modification of the site. The act aims to construct a
direct connection between his rule and the rulers that shaped the legendary
past of the site (Isakhan 2013), impressing his print on the social life of the site
through a form of construction. Through construction and destruction, the
materiality of the site mediates the projects that key actors have for the present
and the future of the groups connected to the site. These projects become
materially embedded in the ‘biography’ of the site, incorporating with it the
actors behind such projects. The memory of actors who associated themselves
with Babylon through construction and destruction becomes embedded in
the collective memory by virtue of the long-standing biography of the site
itself.
Heritage sites and materiality
The process of memory-making through destruction and construction is
mediated by the materiality of the sites. The current discourse on materiality
grants objects a degree of agency in shaping human-object interactions.
Tilley (2007) posits that objects become so not only through interaction
between the materials from which they are constituted and of which other
objects are made (as per Ingold 2007), but also through their interaction
with humans, the history of such interactions, and the value they have been
assigned through such interactions. Moreover, Keane (2005) highlights that
an object’s characteristics, such as shape, substance, and cultural significance,
create allowances that mould and direct how people engage with it.
These ideas are valuable to comprehend how the performativity of memory
(Connerton 1989; Nora 1989) interacts with the materiality of heritage sites
to build their ‘life histories’. Ingold’s emphasis on materials is beneficial to
understanding how the tangibility of a site is what enables interaction in the
first place, both in terms of construction and destruction. Tilley’s concept
helps us appreciate how the site has been associated with a grand past by both
the Baath party and Western narratives of ancient Babylon, with differing
added layers of identity claims, antagonism, and political connotations.
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Moreover, the long history of the site, surviving across multiple millennia,
contributes to giving it an aura of immortality. With respect to Keane’s
concept, the site of Babylon is characterised by monumental stone buildings
and open spaces, allowing visitors to experience them after thousands of years
due to the sturdiness of its materials, conformation of the site, and degree
of preservation. Such preservation owes much to the reconstruction projects
of the 1980s, which rather than undermining the impression of permanence,
enhanced it. The historicity and cultural significance of Babylon have earned
it its designation as a heritage site. This, in turn, shapes the behaviour of
those interacting with it. There is an expectation that visitors treat it with
respect and even reverence, yet its materiality can also catalyse transgressions
against these expectations. Their tangibility, constructed ability to transcend
time, and history of reverential interaction create favourable conditions to
inflict and maximise damage, rendering it possible and detectable in the first
place. Transformations to a heritage site, destructive and constructive, are
rendered striking due to the impression of permanence and longevity that
the site transmits through its material characteristics and its long history of
interactions.
Iconicity: bringing together memory and materiality
The concept of iconicity helps to bring together the vulnerability related
to the site’s role of signifiers as sites of memory and the site’s characteristic as
an object. Beaven (2006) argues that iconoclastic efforts do not simply target
an object, but the people and the culture behind it as well (May 2012), if not
primarily. Wandel (2012) considers iconoclasm as violence “against images,
‘things’, and “persons”. In her study of iconoclasm in the ancient Near East,
May (2012) describes how effigies were considered to hold the power of the
individual they represented. In other words, they were icons of their signifier,
rather than mere representations. May (2012) also observes that violence
against buildings like temples was directly connected to the intended violence
against the entity to which it was dedicated. The icon was thus a tangible
presence of the signifier, a medium through which people could interact
with much bigger entities. The concept of iconoclasm can be adapted to
understand the occupation of Babylon. The site of Babylon is complex since
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the boundary between destruction and construction is blurred, with damage
to the site being closely linked to the construction of military facilities. In this
case, the iconic power of the site is not leveraged through destruction alone and
is employed to reshape the power relations between the groups involved. The
control over sources of collective memory gives access to significant control
over the power relations of that society (Connerton, 1989), having real-life
impacts on the populations affected. The changes to the site in the form of its
repurposing as a military camp is a powerful image of subjugation that the US
military sends to the Baath party. By modifying and reshaping a site so central
to Saddam Hussain’s political project, the US military produced a tangible
vision of the end of Saddam’s rule over Iraq, as the war was still going on.
They employed the iconic power of the site as a metonymy of the conflict, not
just in a metaphorical sense but as a tool to achieve control. The intersection
between performativity and iconicity, thus, not only influences the past, but
can also be instrumental in negotiating present and future experiences. The
link between memory and identity, thus, connects the symbolic and physical
domination over a site of memory to the project of domination over the party
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Untangling Difficult Heritage: Arguing for Equal
Linguistic Access for Stakeholders of Past
International Conflicts
Oliver Moxham
Department of Archaeology, University of Cambridge
[email protected]
Abstract
This paper is a manifesto for applying the theoretical argument for translational justice —
equality through linguistic presence and accuracy — at difficult heritage sites for stakeholder
language groups. Decolonizing museum and heritage spaces has dominated debates in the
field of archaeology. Difficult heritage sites relating to conflict are no exception (Macdonald
2010, 2015). Transparent discourse between stakeholders is a prerequisite for reconciliation
around the difficult past represented by heritage. Theories in translation and heritage studies
around language identity support this, demonstrating how the presence of one’s own language
creates a feeling of inclusion and consideration essential for reconciliation processes (Baker
2018; Giblin 2022; Inghilleri and Harding 2010). Developing on translation studies theories
of “translational justice” (De Schutter 2017; González Núñez 2016; Meylaerts 2006) and the
relationship between conflict and translation (Baker 2018), this paper argues for a best-practice
translation policy at difficult heritage sites which prioritises facilitating mutual respect and
dialogue between stakeholders of international traumatic histories.
Introduction
In considering how difficult heritage sites are meaningful yet contested by
an international public, I propose language and its translation (or lack thereof)
as a helpful focus in understanding how differing discourses are created by
managers of difficult heritage and in turn interpreted differently by visitors
depending on their language. One of the most tangible examples of the role
of archaeologists and heritage scholars in shaping public historical discourses
is difficult heritage, a term coined by Sharon MacDonald (2010: 1; 2015: 6).
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It has been long established that all heritage is contested due to the diversity
of human identity (Tunbridge et al. 1996, 5). Difficult heritage is distinct in
referring to sites which recall a past meaningful to the present yet contested
and awkward for public reconciliation in a positive manner. In other words,
what makes difficult heritage difficult is its controversial history: multiple
discordant discourses on the history it represents complicates the creation of
a comprehensive official discourse. This is demonstrated well by Hyun Kyung
Lee’s (2019) work on how heritage sites left by the Japanese Empire in South
Korea have complicated the creation of a national historical discourse.
While MacDonald’s work has considered difficult heritage within
national contexts of Germany and Britain, I seek to further the transnational
approach in the recent works by Lee (2019) and Shu-Mei Huang et al. (2022)
understanding the reception and management of difficult heritage, specifically
conflict heritage, when engaged by an international, multilingual public. In
the age of mass tourism, it is necessary to consider how someone visiting a
country which within living memory was at war with their homeland might
interpret or identify themselves in relation to national war heritage they come
across in their travels. Furthermore, how managers of such sites react to and
accommodate such visitors, if at all, is equally important. I argue that by
taking a linguistic approach to heritage we can begin to effectively investigate
these issues and perhaps even untangle difficult discourse through promoting
best practice for translation at heritage sites. This paper proposes this can be
achieved through a bottom-up focus on individual interpretation rather than
top-down political discourse, considering individual visitors on a cultural
tourism level with the agency to independently challenge authorised heritage
discourse.
I will begin by explaining how the language groups we belong to affect
our interpretation of the texts around us, shaping our semiotic landscapes
(Thurlow and Jaworski 2011: 2) and, in turn, the meanings we bring with us
to heritage sites where our primary language is not standard. I then address the
role of translation in conflict contexts, highlighting the translator as an actor
rather than a passive intermediary (Baker 2018: 107; Tang 2007: 136), capable
of presenting biassed opinion as authoritative fact. From this, I discuss how
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this creates divergent discourses and interpretations within a single heritage
site which could facilitate post-conflict reconciliation (Giblin 2014: 513).
Finally, I demonstrate how a policy of translational justice recently developed
by translation studies scholars can be applied to address issues of divergent
discourses and interpretation at difficult heritage sites (De Schutter 2017:
17, 23; González Núñez 2016: 7–8; Meylaerts 2006: 61). I argue that by
informing best translation practice at sites of difficult heritage, heritage
scholars can facilitate reconciliatory public historical discussion around past
conflicts, whose memory is still a source of tension and social harm on local,
national, and international levels.
Language, identity, and translation
Let us begin with a definition of language. A language is a system of codes
agreed upon by a community linking objects and concepts with meanings
(Gontier 2022: 610). Linguistic anthropologist Charles Taylor (2006: 21,
33) describes language as the creation of a shared “semiotic dimension”
where the meanings and use of certain codes can be contested, and new
associations created. The most familiar category of such semiotic dimensions
are the linguistic systems officially adopted by nation-states, such as English,
French, and Japanese, regulated and standardised through school curricula
and national media. Judith Irvine (2006: 689, 697) proposes that those
who share a common understanding of a language can be considered part
of a “language community”, although this is not an exclusive body existing
in cultural isolation. Furthermore, a language community should not be
equated to national citizenship. For example, while over 99% of Japanese
speakers are Japanese citizens, there are those who after significant study make
themselves a member of the language community (Paul et al. 2014). In other
words, one can be a member of the Japanese language community without
being Japanese.
It is important to note that language is not limited to the lexical, however;
meaning can also be conveyed through non-lexical means such as appearance,
body language, performance, and speech. While this article focuses primarily
on lexical interpretation, we must establish that the primary locus of language
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is conversation between conversational partners, or “interlocuters”, within a
language community (Taylor 2006: 32). This could be a verbal exchange, an
author speaking to a reader, or a pair of dance partners. Taylor (2006: 33)
argues this creates the common space in which meanings can be expressed,
debated, and codified into a certain semantic dimension before manifesting in
other forms of communication.
While more could be said on the hierarchy of diglossia between parent
languages and dialects (see Ferguson 2016; Igarashi 2020; Irvine 2006), this
is a suitable understanding of language for the purpose of this paper. The
focus of this paper is specifically on the translation and interpretation of
lexical language at difficult heritage sites, leaving discussion on interpreting
visual, performative, and otherwise non-lexical languages to potential future
publications.
The relationship between language and identity has grown ever stronger
in the Information Age,1 with affordable international travel and mass
availability of and exposure to languages and cultures other than our own
through the internet and other popular media. This engagement with other
language communities, referred to as “language contact” by Weinreich (1953)
and Cohen (1956), was originally used to understand the development of
pidgin languages, loan words, and other modes of communication developed
in a nation-state framework of colonial and post-colonial contexts. Today
language contact occurs for all those with internet access on a daily basis,
through public translations, multilingual marketing materials, and online
spaces where new, forum-specific languages are forming (Crespo-Fernández
2015: 10). Surrounded by established and emergent lexical languages, it is
plain to see the linguacultural horizons of our semiotic landscapes — that
is, the visual imagery, nonverbal, architectural communication as well as
lexical texts and discourses that make up our informational world (Thurlow
1 First coined by Castells (1996), the Information Age refers to the third industrial revolution
in the mid-20th century ushered in by long-distance mass communication through computer
networks, creating an information-based economy.
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and Jaworski 2011: 2). Briefly put, we are increasingly aware of the other
worlds of meaning that exist parallel to our own familiar semiotic landscape
without needing to belong to the language communities they are built upon.
Consequently, lexical languages act as a point of accessibility and group
identity in both online and transnational contexts. For example, we might
consider a heritage site, business, or website unwelcoming or irrelevant to our
language community if the languages present are unfamiliar and inaccessible.
In the absence of lexical access, we therefore fall back on applying meaning
from our own semiotic landscapes to the non-lexical texts we encounter, if
we choose to engage at all. In the context of heritage, this paper argues the
presence of a visitor’s first language at a site is a major factor in determining
their capacity to not only interpret the space but to identify with it and its
discourse therein. The role of the translator in facilitating this, particularly
with conflict discourses, shall be discussed in the next section.
Translating conflict heritage
Demand for translation has risen in response to increased engagement
with texts from language communities other than our own. Automated
translation services such as Google Translate have risen in prominence to
facilitate on-demand communication between language communities (De
Vries et al. 2018: 417; Maulidiyah 2018: 512); however, automated translation
alone is insufficient in facilitating linguistic access and interpretation due to
a significant loss of nuance that can only be achieved through bilingual or
professional translators (Maulidiyah 2018: 522). Even then, translation cannot
be thought of as an impassionate, infallible conversion of meaning between
languages, especially where conflict discourses are concerned, as the biases of
the translator must be accounted for. In this section I will explain the goal of
translation as negotiating meaning, demonstrate how selective translation has
been used to distort conflict discourses, and finally discuss the gap between
official discourse and interpretation.
It is taken for granted that the goal of translation is to facilitate the
communication of information between language communities; however, the
nature of translation and the agency of translators is a matter of much debate
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within translation studies (González Núñez and Meylaerts 2017; Katan
2018; Latour 1984; 2017; Waeraas and Nielsen 2016). Bruno Latour’s actornetwork theory approach to translation provides a fundamental framework
of the process, theorising translation as a transmission of information, or
connection, between nodes, nodes being human and non-human actors in the
network with political power (Latour 2017: 177). The political power of actors
in translation in actor-network theory is often analogized by researchers today
through Michel Callon’s essay on the sociology of translation (Waeraas and
Nielsen 2016: 237), where four ‘moments’ of translation become apparent:
(a) problematization, (b) interessement, (c) enrolment, and (d) mobilisation
(Callon 1984: 196). In brief: problematization sees an actor suggest a problem
while convincing others it has the correct solutions; interessement is where the
actor seeks to define the interest of the other by defining their role in relation
to the problem; enrolment sees the actor suggest how the ascribed role of the
other guides their actions in relation to the problem; and mobilisation ensures
a wider network is maintained to support the actor’s translation (Callon
1984: 196; Waeraas and Nielsen 2016: 238). These theoretical concepts of
translation focus on the translator as an actor seeking to assert their point of
view over other actors through translation shaped by discursive techniques
and driven by political goals (Waeraas and Nielsen 2016: 242).
It should be noted that Callon and Latour have disagreed on how
translations are interpreted. Where Callon argues that this creates homogenised,
standardised interpretations, a “voice of unison” (1984: 223), Latour has
argued that the act of interpretation is independent of the intended result of
translation and therefore leads to a diverse network of understanding (1984:
276–77). I argue that the reality is a mixture of the two: while the translator
may hope their work presents a comprehensive interpretation of the source
material to be readily accepted by its audience, there will always be those who
contend with the translator’s interpretation when it comes to odds with their
own experience and education. At any rate, these foundational theories present
the translator as an actor prone to bias, attempting to negotiate meaning from
within their own linguacultural horizons to another. In the context of difficult
heritage, I suggest that translation and interpretation therefore present a
rare space where conflicting historical discourses potentially meet across the
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linguacultural horizon between language communities. This context shall be
explored further in the following section.
Examples of fallible translators abound in the context of conflict discourse.
I define conflict in accordance with Mona Baker’s comprehensive text on
translation and conflict as “a situation in which two or more parties seek
to undermine each other because they have incompatible goals, competing
interests, or fundamentally different values” (2018: 1). Under the umbrella of
this broad definition, my research focuses on the discourses of contemporary
violent conflict, referring to sustained military action taken by one political
entity against another.
The discourses of these conflicts can become enduring continuations of
the conflict they represent as the entities involved, or their descendants, seek
to control the global record of who did what to who, where, and when. In
this battleground, translation is a key weapon in convincing valued groups,
avoiding antagonising potentially hostile groups, and marginalising minority
groups to assert a dominant discourse (Inghilleri and Harding 2010: 166). It
achieves this as a performative and interpretative frame, a concept coined by
Richard Bauman (1975: 292) and adopted by Baker (2018: 107), whereby
literal communication is reworked and presented as “the equivalent of words
originally spoken in another language or code”. This can lead to abuses such as
selective appropriation, whereby source material favouring a political view is
collected, translated in a biassed manner, and presented to the target audience
as representative of the whole.
For example, Baker refers to the Middle East Media Research Institute
(MEMRI), which produced high-quality Arabic-English translations of
Arabic texts albeit to further the political agenda of Israel by presenting Arabs
as antisemitic religious extremists (ibid. 2018: 73–75). This is reminiscent
of the fourth step of Callon’s translation process, mobilisation, whereby
dominating translations of conflict discourses establishes the translator’s
desired interpretation as the “voice of unison” over alternative interpretations
(1984: 196, 227). This can also be a product of what Jun Tang refers to as
“conflict-unconscious translators”, those who are simply uninformed on
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the sensitivities around the conflict topic they are translating (2007: 146–
47). Whether intentional or otherwise, misinterpretation of such sensitive
discourses can lead to real-world harm, such as the perpetuation of racial
stereotypes to justify hostilities and persecution as seen in the MEMRI
example.
Having established the impact of mistranslation of conflict discourses,
intentional or otherwise, I will now demonstrate why there is a need for
accurate translation of such discourses in the context of heritage.
John D. Giblin (2014; Cross and Giblin 2022) has rapidly become the
authority on the capacity of heritage to heal divisions that endure in societies
once violent conflict has passed. Giblin takes issue with the term “postconflict societies” as he argues conflict is an enduring feature of society and its
heritage, and that framing societies as post-conflict through heritage policies
inevitably simplifies the complicated network of groups involved as victims
and perpetrators (2014: 503–4). Such discourses are vulnerable to abuses
like in the MEMRI example, where one party in a conflict seeks to present
themselves as the victim worthy of the international community’s sympathy
while alienating their former opponents through distributing selectively
translated information.
Giblin points to heritage institutions in such contexts as being ideal spaces
for pursuing post-conflict development of reconciliation and social cohesion
between formally hostile parties, although this aim is rarely explicitly pursued
in institutions established post-conflict (2022: 245). To effectively address and
move forwards from historical traumas, it is necessary to have open discussion
between stakeholders in these spaces that tackle the memories of trauma
(Giblin 2014: 513). When dealing with multiple language communities, the
importance of equally accessible information through informed translation
at relevant heritage sites cannot be understated. While Giblin’s studies have
focussed on intranational conflicts in Rwanda and Uganda (2014), the same
arguments apply to international conflicts. I argue there is a need to determine
whether a similar awareness of multilingual stakeholders can be found at
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heritage sites by way of equal translation access.
In this section, translation has been established as a key tool in the creation
of contested discourses of the past, an authority rarely challenged with the
power to include and exclude, to inform and misinform. Good translation
here therefore depends not only on the language ability of the translator but
also on their familiarity with the discourse in both language communities
and negotiating a shared meaning between them. It is also necessary for the
translator to recognise their own bias and to avoid presenting it as historic fact
through authorised heritage discourse that Smith (2006) conceptualised. This
is not only to provide stakeholders with equal linguistic access to their shared
history but also to demonstrate that their connection to the site has been
considered and accounted for by the heritage management. The following
section considers this through applying the concept of translational justice to
heritage policy as a potential first step towards untangling difficult heritage for
visitors and management alike.
Translational justice at difficult heritage sites
While the implications of language and translation at cultural heritage
sites have been understudied in heritage studies, progressive policies have been
debated and developed by translation scholars which could well address the
issues raised above. The work of Gabriel González Núñez (2016; 2017), Reine
Meylaerts (2006; 2011), and Helder De Schutter (2017) in particular have
been instrumental in demonstrating the impact of public translation practice
beyond the matter of converting text from a source language to a target one,
emphasising the social impact of translation methods and advocating for
translational justice in a transnational, multilingual world. I will briefly define
translational justice before exploring its benefits and limitations in being
applied at cultural heritage sites.
De Schutter (2017: 15–16) summarises translational justice in translation
policy as a balance between furthering people’s identity and non-identity
interests. In the context of public translation policy, this puts the onus on
the state to accommodate the interests of its multilingual citizenry. I argue
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this can be equally applied to a heritage context, with heritage management as
the responsible actor and its multilingual visitors, in particular stakeholders,
as those whose interests should be considered. De Schutter (2017: 17) then
presents three policies for implementing translational justice: privation
theory, full translation theory, and multilingualism-with-limited-translation
theory. These theories refer to policies addressing a nation’s responsibility
to communicate with internal language communities either by: educating
towards a single common language with minimal translation (privation
theory); providing full translation to all language communities as an identitybased language right (full translation theory); or through a combination of
the two (multilingualism-with-limited-translation theory, or ‘dual theory’)
(ibid. 2017: 20–21, 26, 28–29). In this national context, De Schutter argues
for the dual theory as a compromise between providing access and recognition
of identity where necessary and beneficial while working towards a common
language (ibid. 2017: 29). Given the typically transnational context of conflict
heritage, I argue that full translation theory would be the best approach
to implement translational justice at these sites as it is unreasonable and
impractical to expect stakeholders to speak a common language.
If a full translation approach to translational justice were put into practice
at a conflict heritage site, several benefits are immediately apparent. Primarily,
it puts heritage managers in a position where they must consider who the
site is relevant to beyond its national borders. By extension, linguistically
accommodating for these stakeholders requires a consideration of how the
subject matter at hand is discussed and considered beyond the semiotic
landscape and language community of the host nation. This may well have
a reflexive effect on the source texts, bringing these transnational perspectives
into the semiotic landscape of the local language community. All this furthers
the reconciliatory potential of conflict heritage sites highlighted by Giblin,
not only acknowledging stakeholders but also informing stakeholder language
communities of one another’s presence, significance, and perspective (2014:
513).
The most immediate shortcoming of transferring policies of translational
justice to a heritage context is how its original argument is based in the limited
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
195
and actionable legislative scope of the nation-state, something not easily
transferred to the transnational, discordant context of conflict heritage. There
is no heritage body with the political power to enforce universal policy at
heritage sites. The UNESCO World Heritage Operation Guidelines 1.A.3
in 2021 are specifically targeted towards heritage site managers; however,
those seeking to gain or retain World Heritage status are held accountable
to their guidance. Furthermore, while the guidelines recognize the necessity
and potential financial cost of translation as well as the need for shared
understanding at heritage sites, there is no mention of best translation practice
(UNESCO 2021: 35, 137). This reflects a further potential limitation of a
full translation approach, as extensive professional translation might well be
considered financially unviable by many heritage managers.
When it comes to difficult heritage, the onus then falls upon heritage
scholars to promote translational justice at sites of transnational significance.
If such spaces are to become less ‘difficult’ and have their reconciliatory
potential tapped into, I propose a policy of translational justice as an
important first step. In putting the theories discussed in this paper to practise,
heritage practitioners of difficult heritage sites can work towards untangling
contentious discourse through dialogue with stakeholder visitors.
Conclusion
This paper has addressed the overlooked importance of translation at
difficult heritage sites, especially regarding international conflict heritage.
By marrying studies of the reconciliatory potential of post-conflict heritage
with translation theory, the capacity for dissonant discourses through biassed
translation and lack of international perspective at conflict heritage sites has
been laid bare. I argue that heritage scholars can begin untangling the difficult
discourses that create difficult heritage sites through considering who controls
the discourse, which stakeholders identify with the site, and whether or not
their identity needs are being met through a full-translation approach. This
can inform policy on a case-by-case basis at difficult heritage sites and create
the important first step towards reconciliatory intercultural discourse sorely
needed in regions suffering from multigenerational post-conflict animosity.
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If heritage provides a means of identifying ourselves within a local,
national, global, and human context, then we as heritage specialists must
advocate that closer attention be paid to the role of language and translation in
facilitating and inhibiting this process. Nowhere is this more important than
at sites of difficult heritage where dissonance between discourses presented by
the management and discourses brought by the visitors can only be untangled
through a translation policy that recognizes stakeholders and strives towards a
transnational discourse of respect and recognition if not consensus.
Acknowledgements:
My thanks go to my supervisor Dr Liliana Janik for her ongoing invaluable
advice and support which helped in forming the theoretical thinking behind
this article
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
197
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Construction of the Archaeological Inventory of the
Sites with Rock Art of the Vides River.
Sara Valentina Guerrero Gonzalez
University of Avignon
svguerrerogo@gmail
Abstract
This research is an inventory of six rock art sites and the state of their conservation
in the Vides River basin in the Amazon region of Colombia. It also discusses the social
and economic relationships that the local inhabitants have with these rock art sites.
This paper draws theoretical and methodological support from the feminist, decolonial
and heart-centred approaches in archaeology. Additionally, the research is complemented
by the methodologies of the Colombian Institute of Anthropology and History (ICANH).
Finally, a series of reflections are made on the potential of archaeological heritage to
construct community social relations
Introduction
This article proposes the theoretical and methodological grounds for
a community-based "inventory of rock art sites in the Vides River'' with
suggestions for their conservation. From now on, to refer to sites with
rock art, the acronym SAR will be used. The fieldwork was conducted in
the villages of Santa Teresa and Sinai in the municipality of Villagarzon,
Department of Putumayo in southwest Colombia. The starting question
for the research was: What are the rock art sites of the Vides River and what
is their current state? (fig. 1) This question in its approach has a technical
focus, but required a more sensitive and communitarian approach in
order to be adequately answered, even though it did not seem to require it.
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The creation of this archaeological inventory arose as a response to the lack
of systematic data on the rock art sites of the Vides River and as an initiative
to open the field to further archaeological research in the area. In Colombia,
when an archaeological site has low documentation, the Colombian Institute
of Anthropology and History (ICANH), the highest entity in charge of the
archaeological heritage in the country, recommends an investigation focused
on archaeological diagnosis. In accordance with these guidelines, the inventory
of Vides River rock art sites produced in this article is guided by archaeological
diagnosis and therefore meets the official requirements for inclusion in the
archaeological data bases of the State. The inventory also takes into account
other aspects at the community level, which will be expanded upon later.
Geographically, the site is located in the Andean-Amazonian piedmont, an
area between the departments of Putumayo and Caqueta. This place is, from
an ecological point of view, the border between the Andean and Amazonian
regions; it is the place where two great biomes converge. Therefore, the
Andean-Amazonian piedmont is considered a zone of interest for investment
and conservation. (Wildlife Conservation Society 2021). Currently the
inhabitants of the research area are involved in conservation projects to monitor
Figure 1. Petroglyphs in SAR of the Vides River, "Piedra La Sabiduria" © Guerrero 2021
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vulnerable fauna (WWF 2014) with the objective of safeguarding the animals
and their habitats. It is worth mentioning that environmental protection in
this area is closely linked to the protection of archaeological heritage since
the "protection and struggle for the territory" (Azuero 2017) includes the
protection of all the elements of the landscape and the communities that
inhabit it (Guerrero 2022).In other words, the archaeological sites are annexed
to the landscape, a landscape that has been the scene of systematic violence and
is now a space of resignification of the conflict by the people who inhabit it.
In social terms, the study area has been characterized as a place where the
Colombian armed conflict occurred (Serje 2005; CNMH 2015). Phenomena
such as forced displacement (Urueña 2018), massacres (CNMH, 2012), coca
economy (Lyons 2020), and presence of armed groups disputing territorial
control (Azuero 2017; Ramirez 2001) occurred throughout the department of
Putumayo in the 1990s and 2000s (CNMH 2015; Azuero 2017). In 2016, the
Colombian government signed a peace agreement in Havana, Cuba to bring
an end to the conflict (Poder Legislativo 2016; CLACSO 2019). However,
the violence experienced for more than 50 years has drastically impacted the
inhabitants of the department, in their daily lives and in the way they relate to the
territory (CNMH 2015). Even now, remembering the past for the communities
that inhabit this territory often implies referring to traumatic events.
Nevertheless, there are currently other tensions in the area. The interests
of the Gran Tierra Energy oil company in Villagarzón and its rural areas is a
cause for concern for the communities (Betancourt 2015). For the people of
the Santa Teresa and Sinaí villages the presence of oil companies constitutes
a threat because, with oil exploitation projects, environmental and sociocultural well-being is put at risk (CNMH 2015; Azuero 2017; Guerrero 2022).
The resulting inventory of rock arts in the Vides River contributes to
expanding the knowledge of the past of the Amazon region and is an input for
future research, as it serves as a proof of the archaeological richness of this area
in Colombia. The findings demonstrate that it is an area of high archaeological
potential according to ICANH criteria: “representativeness, uniqueness and
integrity” (ICANH 2021: 26), which will be developed in the results section.
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Likewise, it is an archaeological site valued by the current communities that is part
of economic dynamics, belonging, identity and commitment to the territory.
Building a community care-based approach to archaeological inventory
Taking into account the context of historical violence experienced in
this area, I asked myself: What kind of archaeology could be appropriate
for a place where life has been at risk? What does it mean to think about the
past from a painful and still problematic present? My answer was that the
kind of archaeology should be a critical archaeology conscious of the pain
that the communities have suffered, conscious of their current territorial
struggles and highly sensitive to the social and historical characteristics of this
territory. I thought that this should be an archaeology for life, an archaeology
for peace. This meant mainly listening to the communities and their own
interests about the territory they inhabit and creating a relationship of trust
with them while conducting this research. Meanwhile, I was engaged in
documenting the existence of rock art sites and their physical characteristics.
After the previous reflection, for the purpose of this research, I focused
on the idea of feminist archaeologies, for which the methodology must be a
critical construction in each case study (Berrocal, 2009: 25). From this idea, I
made a union of institutional methodologies of archaeological inventories in
Colombia that allowed me to address the technical and quantitative aspects
of the sites with rock art, with theoretical and methodological resources
of feminist, decolonial and heart-centred approaches. The union of these
two frameworks made it possible to give an explanation of the physical and
technical aspects of the SARs while giving a relevant place to the social and
historical relationships of the communities with the archaeological sites.
Archaeological background
Historically, most of the archaeological research conducted in the
Colombian Amazon has been immersed in multiple power relations and
myths that have caused an analytical and conceptual stagnation, where this
immense territory —which is erroneously considered homogeneous — has
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been observed as an area with low population density, with low technological
development, and with a culture derived from cultural borrowings from
Andean populations (Herrera 1986; Meggers 1948; Meggers 1977; Meggers
and Evans 1957; Meggers and Evans 1961; Meggers and Miller 2006).
Likewise, the armed conflict, the costs of travel to the region and the lack
of infrastructure are social aspects that have hindered the archaeological
study of the Colombian Amazon and Putumayo (Aceituno 2010: 18).
However, between 2016 and 2020, during the construction of oil
platforms of the Gran Tierra Energy company, three significant findings were
made in the department, which changed the archaeological perspective on
Putumayo. These are the oil platforms Cumplidor in Puerto Asis (Sanchez
2019), Pomorroso (Reyes 2019) in Valle del Guamuez, and Vonu-Este in
Villagarzón (Calderon 2020). At Cumplidor, abundant ceramic material
was found and 3 carbon -14 dates were extracted: one sample related to a
hearth from 2450 +/-60 BP; the second from a concentration of ceramic
fragments from 1980 +/-10 BP and finally a fragment from 860 +/-30 BP
(Sanchez 2019:10). The evidence from this archaeological site added to those
found in Pomorroso add up to 20 tons of cultural material, these evidences
are currently exhibited in the Suruma Museum in Mocoa (Reyes 2019).
Finally, in Vonu, 22,178 archaeological elements were found, of which
there is evidence of two periods of occupation: the first from 700 AD to
1100 AD and the second from 1100 AD to 1600 AD (Calderon 2020: 316).
The above findings serve as an input for future discussions on the classic
ideas of depopulation of this part of the Amazon, small settlements and
low technological development (Herrera, 1986; Meggers, 1971; Meggers
and Evans 1973; Meggers and Miller, 2006). Currently, the analysis of
the material evidence from Pomorroso, Cumplidor and Vonu Este is a
challenge for new researchers in the region. For now, one can imagine that
these findings open the door to think that the anthropic presence in the
Andean-Amazonian piedmont has been long, complex and interesting.
Now, with respect to the SARs of the Santa Teresa and Sinai villages in
the municipality of Villagarzon, Putumayo, these were mentioned for the first
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time in the article "the seated man: myths, rites and petroglyphs in the Caqueta
river" (Urbina 1994). Subsequently, between 1998 and 2000, researchers
Martín Roa (1998), Hector Llanos and Jorge Alarcón (2000) referred again to
these manifestations in other archaeological works in the south of the country.
On the other hand, in the framework of contract archaeology projects since
1997, the company INGETEC reported the existence of the SARs of the
Vides River in a report made in the framework of the Andaki project (1997).
Subsequently in other reports of contract archaeology projects
developed in the department of Putumayo the existence of the SARs of
the Vides River was mentioned, these were superficial mentions that only
referred to the presence of rock art but did not expand the information
(Becerra 1998; Perez and Olave 2010; Sanchez 2019; Calderon 2020). A
common element of the previous sources (Becerra 1998; Pérez and Olave
2010; Sánchez 2019; Calderón 2020) is that they are descriptive records
about some characteristics of the SARs. However, these texts do not
contain data related to their number, location, and conservation status.
The absence of the aforementioned SAR data for the Vides River
constituted a problem because it prevented the creation of management
measures appropriate to the particular needs of this site. This includes
conservation, safeguarding, administration and research actions, all of which
are the responsibilities of the local authorities and the civilian population.
This responsibility is also a matter of law, as the SARs are immovable cultural
properties of the nation and so are covered by a legal framework that commits
all citizens and state institutions to ensuring their care (Law 397 of 1997).
Methodology
For the development of the methodology, institutional resources of the
Colombian State designed to inventory archaeological sites were used. In
that order, elements were taken from the methodologies established by the
Ministry of Culture of Colombia in the "Manual of Inventory of Movable
Property" (2005) and by the ICANH (2021, 2010). Likewise, elements
were taken from the master's proposal "Guidelines for the patrimonial
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management of sites with rock art in Colombia as an input for its social
appropriation" by Diego Martínez (2015), since it contributes to understand
these archaeological sites as units of analysis that include elements of the
rocks where it is carved or drawn as well as the surrounding landscape.
Taking into account that there was little or no information about the
Vides River SARs, according to the ICANH research modalities (2010), a
diagnostic and reconnaissance study on the presence and spatial distribution
of the ARs was carried out. The ICANH's “Fichas de Hallazgos Fortuitos”,
the official document recognized by the State where the technical and
quantitative data were consigned, was used to collect information. The
use of this card is recommended by the methodologies of the Ministry of
Culture (2005), Diego Martínez (2015) and the guidelines given by ICANH
(2021). These documents recommended how to collect information
on the landscape surrounding the SARs, their state of conservation and
the level of access to the sites that was also collected in the fieldwork.
Simultaneously, the critical feminist approach (Conkey and Spector
1984; Wyle 2007; Berrocal 2009) was applied in the collection of previous
information, giving a privileged place to reflexivity in the analysis of the sources.
Much of the archaeological literature and some historical sources reproduced
colonial and androcentric biases. With this approach we were able to detect a
connection between ideas related to low population density, low technological
development, and a culture derived from cultural borrowings from Andean
populations (Herrera 1986; Meggers 1948, 1977; Meggers and Evans 1957,
1961; Meggers and Miller 2006), with practices of physical and symbolic
violence that began in the sixteenth century and continue to the present. It is a
violence exercised by colonizers or explorers, and later by the State itself, towards
the native and settler communities of the territory (Tovar 1996; Flores 2009;
Flores 2009; Arcila 2010; González 2012; Sánchez Steiner 2012; Betancourt
2015; CNMH 2015; Azuero 2017; Uribe 2017; Palacio 2018; Urueña 2018;
Revelo 2019; Rincon 2022). Ideas such as the savagery of the communities
(Tovar 1996) and the conception of nature as a barrier in opposition to
cultural development (Mora 2006), have been applied for the inclusion
of the Amazon region to the Nation-State as well as for its academic study.
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Therefore, the decolonial approach proposed by the Brazilian author
Loredana Ribeiro (2017), which proposes the need for the construction
of knowledge that advocates for the recognition of social justice of groups
historically subalternized by patriarchy, colonialism and imperialism (Ribeiro
2017; Trigger 1984), was applied transversally in the research. It was applied
mainly with the approach that an archaeology for the preservation of life and
the promotion of peace was to be done. This was done taking into account the
interests of the communities that inhabit the area where the SARs are located.
In this order, a participatory work was constituted through a constant dialogue
with the communities. As a result, this work was to serve as an information
document for local tourism initiatives that work with archaeological and
environmental tourism. At the end of the research, a short documentary
was made with the results and supporting brochures were designed; this
documentary was presented at the fourth Putumayo Film Festival under the
title "Retornos" (fig. 2) (Returns), which received an honourable mention.
Figure 2. Poster of the short film "Retornos
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Currently, the community has copies of the research, pedagogical material and
the documentary for free use. The four basic pillars of heart-centred archaeology:
rigor, relationality, care and emotion (Supernant et al. 2020), served to establish
relationships with the archaeological record and with the communities.
How these four pillars were helpful will be discussed in the considerations.
Research Process: Participatory Fieldwork
The above methodology was put into practice during the fieldwork that
took place during a week in October 2021.Before entering the rural area a
meeting was held with community leaders to ask for permission and support.
This was given and mutual collaboration agreements were reached between the
community and me as a researcher. When I arrived in the field I spoke with the
inhabitants of the villages of Santa Teresa and Sinai, and was informed about the
activities to be carried out, and the assistants agreed to participate in the research.
The work began with the tours that were made with the help of the
community around the sites that they had recognized as SARs. Likewise,
the locals did maintenance and constant surveillance of the SARs, so
finding them was not a costly job. They, with some years of work, had built
routes to visit them, signs and signage at several of the sites. They also made
their own interpretations of the petroglyphs as we went along the routes.
In each SAR, the group stopped, GPS coordinates were taken, ICANH's
Fichas de Hallazgos Fortuitos were filled out, and a photographic and video
record of the petroglyphs was made. Likewise, the locals were listened to talk
about the meanings they gave to each one of the representations, in the listening
moments the pillars of relationality, emotion and care were applied, with attentive
listening to the stories and with the inclusion of this information in the results.
On the other hand, five interviews were conducted with inhabitants
of the communities to inquire about their knowledge of the SAR, as
well as to better understand the importance of the SAR at the social level.
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After the tours, a meeting was held on the banks of the Vides River
with the community of Santa Teresa and Sinai to thank them for their
support throughout the process. Here the principle of emotionality was
applied, since a collective act of gratitude strengthened the relationship of
closeness with the community and the territory. Approximately 40 people
from Inga and Embera peasant and indigenous communities of different
age groups participated in the activity. During the meeting the attendees
made interventions related to the importance of protecting the natural and
archaeological heritage, and a thanksgiving ritual was performed (fig. 3).
To conclude the field work, a mapping exercise was carried out
with the children of Santa Teresa, a group of 10 children between
Figure 3. Thanksgiving ritual with the community © Guerrero 2021
Figure 4. Mapping exercise with children from Santa Teresa and Sinai © Guerrero 2021
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3 and 10 years old (fig. 4). The objective was to draw the important
places in their neighbourhood. Several of the drawings represented
the school, the field, the community hut and an SAR near the hamlet,
a place that stands out because it is located next to the main bridge.
Results
In this research, six sites with rock art were found in an area of 359300.4
km2 between the Santa Teresa and Sinai villages. A total of 105 petroglyphs
with anthropomorphic, zoomorphic and geometric figures were recorded
(Table 1). The area has a high archaeological potential, because the set of six
SARs found in the fieldwork meet the ICANH criteria: representativeness,
uniqueness and integrity (ICANH 2021: 26). Their representativeness is
due to the fact that the SARs show the presence of human groups in the
Andean-Amazonian piedmont that modified the environment through a
series of interventions in the rocks around the Vides River. The uniqueness
of these sites corresponds to the fact that they are the only SARs reported so
far in this area of Putumayo, i.e., between the municipalities of Villagarzón
and Mocoa, where abundant archaeological evidence of other types has been
found (Calderon 2020). Finally, the criterion of integrity is met, since 90%
of the petroglyphs have a high degree of conservation, i.e., 95 of the 105
petroglyphs are in good condition. Regarding the social use of the SARs,
Table 1. Technical information on the SARs
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83.3% or five of the six SARs are related to community tourism activities.
Through the interactions with the community, it can be said that archaeosocial relationships were found that have to do with the representative role
of the SARs in local identities, belonging to the territory and a series of
affections and commitments that the communities have acquired to conserve
the SARs in their villages. One of these actions is the constant maintenance
of the trails and the signs that the community has made to access the sites.
The inhabitants of the communities of Santa Teresa and Sinai highly
value the SARs, and include them in their daily lives and in their future
projects, such as the archaeological tourism project, which encourages the
communities to work together for a common goal. This type of tourism
is currently presented as an alternative to the coca economy that has
dominated since 1990 in the department (CNMH 2015). At the moment,
the success of this new economic activity is not clear, as it is just beginning
to develop, but the villagers are working with the hope that it will be
successful and that they will be able to improve their quality of life as a result.
Likewise, in the mapping workshop with children it was
found that some of them recognized a SAR as part of their village;
this is an interesting point to promote future activities of social
appropriation of archaeological sites that include the child population.
The relationship between these communities and the SARs has
allowed the reactivation of community bonds of solidarity deteriorated
by the war and cycles of violence. The SARs have undergone a process
of patrimonial valorisation by the communities that are in daily contact
with them. This is a case of social appropriation of the archaeological
heritage at the service of peace building managed by the victims of the
conflict themselves. It is also a case study that shows that archaeology can
be committed to the communities of the present and their problems.
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Considerations
With this information it can be said that it is necessary to continue
with the integration of this information in the Archaeological Atlas of
Colombia and formulate an archaeological management plan (ICANH,
2021), which is a guiding document to ensure the conservation and
safeguarding of these material evidences (fig. 5). The formulation of this
archaeological management plan requires the active participation of the
communities of both villages, including the different actors within them,
such as the indigenous communities that inhabit these villages. The SARs
are of social and economic importance, so the management measures must
be in accordance with the needs of the communities and in favour of the
safeguarding of the SARs. An archaeological management plan that leaves
out the social sphere of the SARs could affect the current relationships
already established between the community and archaeological sites.
The critical approach of feminist archaeologies (Conkey and Spector, 1984;
Wyle 2007; Berrocal 2009), decolonial (Ribeiro 2017), and the theoreticalmethodological pillars of heart-centred archaeologies (Supernant et al. 2020)
contributed to the inventory methodologies proposed by the Ministry of
Culture (2005) and Martínez (2015) and to the recommendations given by
ICANH (2021) for this research, insofar as they allowed the treatment of
SAR information from a historical, social and sensitive perspective while
accounting for the technical characteristics of these cultural assets. In that
order, the quality of the information improved as access to the site was obtained
through the bonds of trust. Group work was carried out with the community,
who gave their interpretations of the SARs. The physical aspects of these
archaeological assets and also their socio-economic role for the local inhabitants
were reported. This study was highly committed to disseminating the results
and the communities now have copies of the research, educational material
and a short documentary film that they can use for their tourism projects.
The application of the four principles of heart-centred archaeologies
(Supernant et al. 2020) was key to achieve the development of the research
in its different stages. The principle of rigor refers to reviewing each and every
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
213
aspect of the research, both in the categories used and in the present scenario in
which the research is developed, with an emphasis on self-reflexivity (Supernant
et al. 2020: 6-7). This principle is reflected in the research both in the analysis
of previous sources and in the collection of data on the sites with rock art in
the field, which complements the critical feminist approach explained above.
The second principle, relationality, recognizes the importance of
relationships within human groups but also relationships with non-human
actors, including archaeological materialities and landscapes (Supernant
2020: 10). It was taken into account when understanding that sites with rock
art for the inhabitants of the veredas were connected to their natural and
social environment, including with community resistance processes. That
is to say, the SARs for the communities occupied a space in the landscape
that was connected with the river, the animals, and even with the current
struggle between the communities and the oil company Gran Tierra Energy,
since they constitute an "inheritance" for which they feel responsible.
Therefore, when asked in the interviews about the SAR, the inhabitants
included them in environmental and community resistance narratives.
The pillar of care takes up Carol Gilligan's (2014) ethical proposal of care,
according to which speaking of care implies striving for the integral health and
wellbeing of the individual and the group (Supernant 2020: 8). In conducting
this research, care has to do with the idea of not damaging (Gilligan 2014),
this includes not harming the archaeological record, which includes not
generating alterations on the surface of the SAR or its environment at the
time of the visits, as well as not harming the welfare of the communities with
discriminatory and offensive practices. Care is also taken in the responsibility
after the field work, in the delivery of the expected results and products:
copy of the research, documentary, and pedagogical material, together with
explanatory talks and screening sessions of the documentary at the sites.
The principle of emotionality admits that emotions are situated in a cultural
spectrum and vary according to each group, both in the past and in the present.
This is not intended to share the beliefs and values of communities, but to
recognize that they play an active role in the construction of the communities'
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Figure 5. Petroglyphs in SAR of the Vides River, “Piedra Pintada”.
past (Supernant 2020: 11). Emotionality is taken into account to understand
that the archaeological materialities evoke a series of feelings and affections for
the communities of the present, this was also evidenced in the interviews with
the inhabitants of the community and the information related to the affections
between the community and the SARs is included in the inventory document.
In that order, the quality of the information was improved to the
extent that access to the site was obtained through trust. Group work was
carried out with the community, who contributed their interpretations
of the SARs. Information was provided on the physical aspects of these
archaeological assets and also on their socio-economic function for the local
inhabitants. This study was very committed to disseminating the results
and the communities now have copies of the research, educational material
and a short documentary film that they can use for their tourism projects.
This case study allows us to take a look at how to conduct archaeological
research in a context where violence and war have been a continuum.
This type of phenomena has occurred throughout Colombia (CNMH
2013; Poder Legislativo 2016), therefore an archaeology that thinks about
generating research seeking the welfare of communities is completely relevant.
Archaeological studies consented by the communities and aligned with local
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
215
interests can contribute to the creation of deep and meaningful ties with the
past and at the same time reinforce the sense of belonging to a territory. At
the same time this type of research with an approach that prioritizes the social
relations of the present with the archaeological record can serve as a tool for
the local inhabitants, in this case a whole process of diffusion of the results was
done and they are currently used for tourist purposes by the same communities.
In Colombia the transition to legal economies is a peace commitment (Poder
Legislativo 2016), archaeology can support this type of economic transitions
through the production of research that dialogues with social realities.
This research leaves open the discussion on how to do archaeology for life
and for peace, as well as on its scope and limitations, and on the possible
dialogues between archaeological studies and the communities of the present.
Acknowledgements
I am deeply grateful to the communities of Sata Teresa and Sinaí for all
their support and generosity in the research, and to the tourism initiatives
Una Huella en Piedra and Selva Vides for their support and work.
216
Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2
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Exploring the Complex Relationship between Archaeology and Society: Lessons from India's History
Aritri Samadder
University of Cambridge
[email protected]
Abstract
This paper discusses the relationship between archaeology and society, arguing that the discipline can be used to serve multiple agendas. The paper explores the influence of archaeology
on the public and investigates how political manipulation of history affects the archaeological
practices of the Archaeological Survey of India. It uses the Babri Masjid demolition as a case
study, highlighting the role of social memory in historical discourse. The author concludes that
archaeology can serve as a tool to satisfy multiple agendas, even if they are sometimes contradictory. The paper suggests that policies regulating the misuse of archaeological information
should be put in place to mitigate the loss of intellectual and cultural property and prevent the
loss of valuable human life.
Introduction
For the general public in India, the term ‘archaeology’ is not used in everyday conversation but everyone interacts with at least one piece of ‘material culture’ every day albeit unknowingly. People are intertwined with their past and
history and everything they interact with in the present is related to it. This
understanding can become a very impactful tool to move and motivate people
toward particular agendas. Archaeology, as an academic discipline, pursues a
fundamental objective: the preservation, management, and conservation of
historical artifacts for future generations (Fagan, 2006). In archaeological research, three key objectives prevail: 1) establishing cultural chronology (form),
2) reconstructing ancient ways of life (function), and 3) interpreting and elucidating cultural transformations. These objectives collectively serve the over226
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arching purpose of safeguarding the archaeological legacy (Fagan, 2006). This
endeavour aims to enlighten society about its past, recover forgotten aspects,
and restore fragments of history to individuals who might have lost parts of
their identity due to deliberate erasure and oppression.
Archaeology is for the public, a sentiment especially poignant with the
fruition of the “impact” agenda – which exerts pressure on governments to
demonstrate how archaeological research and conservation benefit society.
Here, the ‘public’ refers to simply groupings of individual people (Rawlins
and Bowen 2005). In an attempt to unpack the complex relations between
archaeology and society through the following case, it can also be portrayed
how archaeology and its inherent subject that is ‘for’ the public can be used
‘against’ the public as well. The term 'for' denotes positive outcomes that benefit the general public or specific communities without detriment to others'
interests. Conversely, 'against' signifies negative repercussions, causing harm
to particular individuals and disrupting public harmony. Therefore, it is imperative to establish precautionary measures to minimize such adverse effects
and ensure the positive impact of archaeology on society.
The Babri Masjid Case
History and Demolition
It is speculated that the Babri Masjid (Mosque of Babur) in Ayodhya was
originally constructed in 1528 by Mir Baqi, a courtier of the Mughal Emperor
Babur. This mosque has been a site of contention between the Hindus and
Muslims in India since the 1880s, leading to communal riots, a leftover symptom of colonisation. The mosque was allegedly built by demolishing a temple
from earlier times marking the location of Ramajanmabhumi, (the birthplace
of the Hindu God Rama) (Johnson‐Roehr 2008).
The legal dispute can be traced back to the 1880s when the first contention
occurred when Sunni Muslims claimed that the temple in nearby Hanumangarh was built after demolishing a mosque. The archaeological landscape had
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been slowly changing since the 15th and 16th centuries when the city’s older
sites became ‘Rama-tized’ over the earlier association of Vaishnavism, a major
Hindu religious sect before the era of Lord Rama. Bakker (1986) conducts a
comprehensive analysis of the archaeological remains at the primary pilgrimage sites in and around Ayodhya, coupled with a comparative examination of
different versions of the city's traditional pilgrimage guide, the Ayodhyamahatmya. This text exhibits a gradual elimination of non-Vaisnavite (devoted to
the god Visnu) pilgrimage sites within the city, a phenomenon that persisted
in the earliest versions from the 13th and 14th centuries AD. The artificial
transformation of the Ramaite landscape becomes apparent iwhen these older sites are retroactively integrated into Rama-centric narratives, tracing their
origins back to the semi-mythical Tretayuga period, during the reign of the
Iksvaku dynasty to which Rama belonged (Bakker 1986: 160). A similar trend
is observed in the comparison of pilgrimage routes documented in these texts.
Fig 1: “The Babri Masjid” ([Babri Masjid, Faizabad]. Albumen print, Getty Museum. Public domain photograph. - PICRYL - Public Domain Media Search Engine Public Domain Image, 2023)
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The earlier routes, encompassing Saivite (related to the Hindu god Siva) or
local cult sites, evolve into standardized Ramaite paths. Even the Janmabhumi, although mentioned in the earliest version of the Ayodhyamahatmya, becomes a part of the pilgrimages only after the period when it was purportedly
destroyed.
Thus, the significance of most pilgrimage sites in Ayodhya is inherently
unstable, continually changing based on factors such as sect, caste, time, or
season. This religious fluidity, evident in both the texts and Ayodhya's archaeological terrain, contributed to the Ramajanmabhumi fiasco (Shaw 2000).
In the constant ebb and flow of discontent between the Hindus and the
Muslims, in December 1992, Hindu extremists forcefully entered the mosque,
resulting in its destruction and subsequent ruin (Berbeck and Pollock, 1996).
In 1949, an idol of Rama was placed outside the disfigured Mosque. In 1950,
a suit was filed in Faizabad district court seeking the right to worship the idol.
Throughout the next few decades, there were multiple lawsuits from individuals and groups with different religious backgrounds seeking possession of the
disputed land like that of the Nirmohi Akhara in 1959 later followed by the
UP Sunni Central Waqf Board in 1961 demanding similar rights to the land
(Outlook 2022).
Despite attempts at finding common ground and negotiating between
conflicting interests, the Babri Masjid was eventually destroyed on December 6, 1992. The act was carried out by Hindu militants who received support from the political organisation of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and
its sangh parivar, which represented the majority political group at the time.
The violence that erupted across the subcontinent after the mosque's destruction resulted in a death toll of over 2,000 people (Johnson‐Roehr 2008).
Later Stages and the Present
Moving on to the 2000s, in 2002, the Allahabad High Court resumed
hearings on the Babri-Ram Janmabhoomi property dispute. In 2003, the Supreme Court prohibited all religious activity on the obtained territory. They
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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invited the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) to conduct a thorough investigation through excavation at the site. With a 2:1 majority, the Allahabad
High Court ruled in favor of a three-way division of the disputed area in 2010.
The Sunni Waqf Board, the Nirmohi Akhara, and the Ram Lalla petitioners
were to split the territory. The Supreme Court upheld the Allahabad HC’s
verdict in 2011 (Outlook 2022).
Eventually, as a result of the ruling government’s religious inclination towards Pro-Hindutva ideology, on November 9, 2019, the Supreme Court
granted the god Ram Lalla complete ownership of the 2.77 acres of disputed
land in Ayodhya, while simultaneously ruling that possession of the land shall
remain with the central government receiver. The government as consolation
also mandated to grant a 5-acre plot of land to Muslims in a prominent location for the construction of a mosque (Islam 2007). In present-day Indian
law, deities are acknowledged as juristic persons. This recognition of legal personhood for deities can be traced back to British colonial law, which, in turn,
drew upon indigenous legal traditions, albeit with differing degrees of success.
Consequently, Indian deities have a legitimate basis for asserting their rights
in the same forums as human devotees, utilizing the same representatives and
adhering to the same legal principles (Das Acevedo 2023).
The violent outbursts continued through the 2000s as well. The instances
occurred in February 2002, when a group of 57 Hindu nationalists associated
with the reconstruction of the Ayodhya temple were killed by Islamist arsonists who attacked the train they were traveling in. In July 2005, law enforcement officials eliminated five suspected Islamist gunmen after they exploded a
bomb along the perimeter of the site, killing a guide who had previously been
suspected of being a suicide bomber. The Indian government kept introducing new security measures, which were met with strong resistance from members of opposing Hindu and Islamic groups (Johnson‐Roehr 2008). The utilization of archaeological evidence to rationalize the loss of innocent lives in
a highly charged communal context was deeply disturbing. In this particular
incident, the evidence presented in court by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) almost served as a justification for the violence and destruction that
had transpired. This was compounded by the court's failure to unequivocally
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condemn these acts as morally wrong. The situation highlighted a harrowing
instance where historical events were perceived as needing 'retribution' to redress present imbalances.
Ultimately under the current government of India, which is very prominently pro-Hindu in all its dealings, the Ram Mandir construction has started
on the site of the demolished Babri Masjid and should be completed in January 2024 according to ‘Ram Temple at Ayodhya to open from January 22:
RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat’ (2023).
The Archaeological Survey of India Report
One of the integral points in the court case leading up to the final verdict
by the Supreme Court in favour of the Hindus was the archaeological report
submitted by the ASI (Archaeological Survey of India). The ASI is a central
government body in India that is in charge of archaeological research as well as
the conservation and preservation of cultural-historical monuments throughout the country. The Supreme Court invited the ASI to conduct an excavation in order to finally put to rest all the allegations and to ascertain whether
there was evidence of a Hindu temple beneath the Mosque. Due to pressure
from the judicial system, the excavation and subsequent report were made in
such abysmal conditions that the introductory chapter of the report had an
entire extra section titled ‘Constraints’ (Avikunthak 2021).
The excavation was carried out under constant interference from the judiciary and representatives of the feuding parties overseeing the minute details
of the excavation. This made the Ayodhya excavation the "ultimate bureaucratic circus," according to one informant from the ASI (Avikunthak 2021:
231). The constant vigilance and daily intrusion of various representatives
were stressful, further aggravated by the national media reporting every potshard discovered (Avikunthak 2021).
The central government and the judiciary forced the ASI to write the excavation report titled ‘Ayodhya: 2002–04—Excavations at the Disputed Site’ at
a record-breaking time of 10 days. The most controversial inconsistency of the
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text is the mysterious un-authored tenth chapter of the report, which provocatively and without much empirical basis asserted the presence of a temple
under the disputed site. Each of the nine chapters has two or more authors,
whereas the last chapter, unexpectedly and very suspiciously, had been written
anonymously. This last chapter of the report is called ‘Summary of Results’
and is the most assertively interpretative section of the report. This chapter
notes in the report that the monumental pillared structure found under the
mosque was a temple. This assertion was usurped by the judges to adjudicate
that a temple did exist under the Babri Masjid. The importance of this section
can be judged by the fact that it has been cited twice in the Supreme Court
judgment (Avikunthak 2021).
Another significant shortfall is that the report was never published and
thus remains inaccessible to the public. The hurried and forced nature of the
task led to a report that would not stand well by any archaeological standard.
The report read more as a testimony for the court rather than an actual piece
of analytical work. (Avikunthak 2021).
An Assistant Archaeologist at the ASI confided, “It is a good thing that
report is not published, we are ourselves very embarrassed of it ” (Avikunthak 2021:234). This further portrays the ASI in a bad light as they can be
seen as evil conspirators adding to the confusion and mayhem by withholding
valuable information.
Delving into the Complexities
I have touched upon the bare bones of the case under the limited scale of
this article. The exact emotions that strongly connect people to their history
and make them react in extreme ways is an especially heavy challenge to unpack. But very exact combinations of history, politics, cultural understanding,
and present economics have resulted in the above cases occurring.
In the case of the Babri Masjid demolition, accusing fingers can be pointed
in quite a few directions, from the ASI, the judicial system of India, and the
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political parties vying for power within the country. The lasting effect of the
divide-and-rule policy of the British colonial regime can also be accounted as
a crucial factor amongst many other factors. All of these facets came together
to create this very concerning situation.
For ASI, if they could have been given more time to run a thorough investigation, maybe the results would have been different and if not at least the
report would be published so that other people, historians, and archaeologists could speak up about any discrepancies. The conditions that led to the
last anonymous chapter being added to the report which under any normal
circumstance cannot be called a piece of scholarly writing but was used as an
integral piece of evidence in one of the most historic court cases ever fought in
India is a grave matter to be considered. The report could have been tampered
with due to corruption within the ASI or even the people involved refusing
to take accountability for writing that chapter due to a fear of repercussions
from various sources. This exposes problems within the bureaucratic structure of the ASI’s proceedings and the overall ambiguity created by not publishing the report. This also could be a decision enforced by the government
or any political entity that would profit from the obscurity of the facts.
The responsibility is not just to be laid at the ASI. As an assistant archaeologist at the ASI said, “We came to the rescue of the court. This case needed
a civil judgment, at worst a political judgment. The court instead decided on
an archaeological judgment” (Avikunthak 2021: 229). The very premise of
the excavation was absurd. The accuracy of the excavation results notwithstanding, the historicity of a monument, no matter how old or new, is not a
judgment factor in whether it should stand in its place or not. The age of a
monument does not spell out its importance. The whole argument of who
came first is useless and will just create more antagonism. How far do we go
back in history then? To only specify a singular religious identity to a site just
negates the whole changing religious landscape of that particular place. Every
place has its own fluid identity and nothing is rigid. The use of archaeology
and its tools as an infallible science (the result of colonial archaeology leaving
its marks on the ASI and its workings) for ‘hypothesis testing’ regardless of
the essential contrast between folklore and fanaticism, the possibility of alterNovember 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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nate readings of the past is dismissed (Shaw 2000, Ray 2019). Archaeology
cannot be considered as an infallible science due to various factors like such
as incomplete evidence due to decay, destruction, and selective preservation;
varying interpretations of the evidence found based on context and subjectivity, limited experimental opportunities etc. ‘On both sides of the Ayodhya
argument, archaeology has "defeated itself through its own claims’, because
in its quest for ‘facts,’ it has separated itself from the collective memory "
(Thakurta 1997: 38). This kind of thinking was very evidently lacking from
the judicial officials who in their stance to remain neutral and ‘true to real
history’ thought this was the best pathway forward.
The demolition of the mosque and the hundreds of lives lost in the conflict over the years were initially at least commonly considered to be a tragedy
in the minds of the public. The recent government decision to build a new
Rama temple on top of the Babri Masjid site is a direct contributor to this
deliberate erasure of parts of history and gives importance to only certain parts
of majoritarian perspectives.
What could have been done to stop this? This erasure of parts of history,
this negation of the fluidity of our culture, and the spread of hate among various sections within the society add to the oppression of minorities. People
with the willingness to be aware of the social, religious, and political climate of
the country seem to understand how the political abuse of history and culture
affects the public but are also pessimistic about any improvement in further
misuse of the communal narrative.
Historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, sociologists, and any other
professionals who deal with the history, culture, and identities of the people
have very integral parts to play in circumstances like these. But as we go ahead
with our ‘pieces of evidence’ to try and curb any information that seems inaccurate and could provide to be dangerous, the intention behind it could be
considered admirable but the question remains whether we or rather anybody
is qualified to tell others that the stories and culture that their society and
identity is based on, is false and thus is of no value?
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In this situation, the most viable resolution to this issue appears to lie in
abstaining from making judgments based on historical authenticity or attempting to assign varying degrees of significance to different historical facets.
Instead, it is imperative to maintain a steadfast commitment to the principle
that regardless of the historical accuracy or legitimacy, one's history and culture should never be wielded as instruments to inflict harm upon the lives,
histories, and cultures of others. We learn of our past not to repeat it but in
order to learn from our past mistakes. There is no moving forward as a society,
country, or human beings if we cannot give due and equal respect to all of our
pasts. This is definitely an idealistic notion but that does not mean we should
not try to strive towards a semblance of it.
Unfortunately, there has been a gradual progression since even before the
independence of the country towards a specific narrative which has become
glaringly clear with the current government’s policies and their bent towards
‘Hindutva’. ‘Hindutva’ as a political ideology (in the simplest of terms can
be defined as Hindu nationalism, ideology of the Hindu right, represented
by the political party Bharatiya Janata Party) (Sharma 2020), seems to be
gaining a forefront in the country where there is a conscious effort in actively
returning to and re-evaluating the past anew in a way that would suit their
political needs. The act of collective forgetting, perpetuated by specific narratives, stands as a fundamental component of collective memory, as argued
by Harrison (2012). This phenomenon holds profound implications for the
preservation and treatment of a nation's heritage in contrast to the heritage of
its diverse populace. India, characterized by a rich tapestry of cultures, societies, religions, and identities, is a reality that must not merely exist as ink on
constitutional pages but should be embraced and celebrated fervently. The
current governmental approach towards Indian heritage, ostensibly aimed at
constructing a unified national narrative, inadvertently leads to the marginalization and obliteration of minority perspectives. This assertion underscores
the pressing need for a nuanced understanding of the complexities intrinsic to
India's pluralistic heritage, advocating for a more inclusive and comprehensive approach that recognizes and cherishes the diverse cultural mosaic that
defines the nation.
November 2023 / Archaeology and the Publics
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The archaeology of India would benefit from the ASI not being controlled
only by the central government as it results in only certain parts of the country
being focused on and the others falling into ruin. One of the viable solutions
to his problem would be decentralization of archaeology institutes. By allowing states to control their own narratives, the proposal aims to mitigate the influence of centralized political powers on historical interpretations. Localized
control can reduce the manipulation of historical facts to suit political agendas, fostering a more authentic representation of the region's history. India
boasts a rich tapestry of cultures, languages, and traditions. Allowing states to
shape their own narratives ensures that the diverse cultural heritage of each region is acknowledged and preserved. This approach counters the tendency of
a singular national narrative that might overlook or oversimplify the unique
histories of various states and communities. It could also potentially reduce
tensions arising from communal and ethnic differences. When communities
have agency in representing their own histories, it might promote understanding and tolerance among diverse groups, fostering social cohesion. This can
empower local communities and instil a sense of pride in their heritage, fostering a more inclusive national identity that appreciates the mosaic of regional
cultures. Such a system by spreading out the responsibility for conservation
and protection of monuments and sites, can ensure more equitable distribution of resources. This can address historical imbalances where certain regions
received disproportionate attention and funding for preservation efforts. Local control can foster academic freedom and diverse perspectives in historical
research. Scholars and researchers in different states can explore their regional
histories without the constraints of a uniform, centrally imposed narrative,
leading to a more comprehensive understanding of India's past. However,
it's essential to recognize that while decentralization has its advantages, it also
requires careful coordination to maintain a cohesive national historical identity. Balancing regional autonomy with a shared sense of national heritage is
crucial to ensuring that the proposal effectively addresses the challenges of the
politicization of history in India.
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Conclusion
The involvement of publics and their knowledge in regard to the archaeology of their culture and country is an integral factor in helping curb the
misuse and abuse of historic events. The case study I have used here is negative in nature but the discipline of archaeology was originally constructed to
do the complete opposite. Even now through the help of public archaeology
scholars have been trying to bridge this gap between actual historic events and
the cultural memory that is connected to the same material.
The enduring presence of unscrupulous individuals seeking to exploit
public sentiments regarding their historical identity remains a regrettable reality. Through the examination of both case studies, it becomes unmistakably
clear that these emotions wield significant influence, mobilizing disparate
segments of society and serving as tools for acquiring power and dominance,
often at the expense of minority populations who are oppressed through various means. The intense emotions linked to the public's historical heritage
constitute a profoundly complex subject, yet one that is repeatedly manipulated to further specific agendas.
Addressing this issue necessitates a multifaceted approach. The most viable solution lies in enhancing public awareness regarding these manipulative tactics and fostering engagement in archaeological endeavours. By empowering the public with knowledge and critical thinking skills, individuals
can become vigilant against manipulative narratives and recognize attempts
to exploit their historical sentiments for nefarious purposes. Active engagement in archaeological pursuits can promote a deeper understanding of the
complexities of history, fostering a more nuanced and informed perspective.
In this manner, society can guard against the divisive forces that seek to exploit historical emotions and work towards a more inclusive and empathetic
future, where historical identity is respected and understood without being
weaponized for oppressive agendas.
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Acknowledgements
Many thanks are due to my supervisor Professor Cameron Petrie without whose guidance and support this project would not have been possible.
Thanks also to Dr Meg Westbury who always ordered for me the reference
books I needed. I am also very grateful to Jack Kwock, Manogya Sahay, Maria
Fernanda, Javier Sandovaal, Andres Alfonso and Hannane Kanan along with
my parents for their encouragement and support.
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Forthcoming Issue
Volume 39.1:
Human-Insect Entanglement: Past, Present, and Future
Edited by Nynke Blömer, Benny Q. Shen and Jake Stone
Despite insects being the most diverse and numerous group of animals,
their roles in human societies in the past, present, and future have been largely underrepresented in the archaeological and heritage disciplines, often due
to Western biases that have regarded insects as pests. Archaeoentomological
approaches developed from the late 1970s have demonstrated great potential
but predominantly treated insects as passive environmental proxies.
The recent 'animal turn' within post-humanist anthropology has urged
researchers to reexamine the relationships between humans and non-human
animals, including insects. This paradigm shift has prompted a more focused
exploration of the cultural aspects of human-insect interactions, such as apiculture, sericulture, and the ritual importance of termites in sub-Saharan Africa.
This volume seeks to bridge these two streams of research by highlighting
insects as active agents in shaping human-insect co-history through interdisciplinary perspectives by bringing together fields like archaeology, entomology,
palaeoecology, anthropology, and history of science. Additionally, the volume
underscores the importance of studying human-insect interactions in underrepresented regions, such as Africa, Asia, Oceania, and South America.
Ultimately, the volume aims to provide a deeper understanding of how
insects have played a dynamic role in shaping human societies, shedding light
on both the past and potential future relationships between humans and the
natural world in an era of environmental emergencies.
240
Archaeological Review from Cambridge / Vol 38.2