CONTROLLING THE PAST,

OWNING THE FUTURE

The Political Uses of Archaeology in the Middle East
Edited by
Ran Boytner, Lynn Swartz Dodd, and Bradley J. Parker
The University of Arizona Press Tucson
The University of Arizona Press
2010 The Arizona Board of Regents
All rights reserved
wvvw.uapress.ariz(ma.edu
Library of Congress Cataloging-in- Publication Data
Controlling the past, owning the future : the political uses of archaeology in the
Middle East / edited by Ran Boytner, Lynn Swartz Dodd, and Bradley J. Parker.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8165-2795-3 (hard cover: alk. paper)
1. Archaeology-Political aspects-Middle East. 2. Archaeology and state
Middle East. 3. Middle East-Antiquities-Political aspects. 4. Middle
East-Antiquities-Collection and preservation. 5. Cultural property
Protection-Middle East. 6. Cultural property-Government policy-
Middle East. 7. Nationalism-Middle East-History. I. Boytner, Ran,
1962- II. Dodd, Lynn Swartz, 1964- III. Parker, Bradley J.. 1962
DS56.C625 2010
363.6' 90956--<iC22 2010025040
Manufactured in the United States of America on acid-free, archival-quality paper
containing a minimum of 30% post-consumer waste and processed chlorine free.
15 14 13 12 rt 10 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Acknowledgments VI1
1 Filtering the Past: Archaeology, Politics, and Change 1
Lynn Swartz Dodd and Ran Roytner
2 Heritage Politics: Learning from Mullah Omar? 27
Reinhard Bernbeck
3 Archaeology and Nationalism in Iraq, 1921-2003 55
Magnus T. Bernhardsson
4 Political Excavations of the Anatolian Past: Nationalism and
Archaeology in Turkey 68
Ash Gur
5 By the Rivers of Change: Strategists on the Heritage Front 90
Sandra Scham
6 Undermining the Edifice of Ethnocentric Historical Narrative in
Israel with Community-Based Archaeology 103
David [Ian and Yuval Gadot
7 Who Owns the Past? The Role of Nationalism, Politics, and
Profit in Presenting Israel's Archaeological Sites to the
Public 123
Ann E. Killebrew
v
vi Ctmtents
8 Heritage Appropriation in the Holy Land 1+2
Add H. Yahya
9 Exploring Heritage Discourses in Central Jordan 159
Danielle Steen, Jennifer Jacl1hs, Benjamin Porter, atld
Bruce RoutJet{qe
10 From Practical Knowledge to Empowcn... -d Communication: Field
Schools of the Suprcme Council of Antiquities ill Egypt 178
Willeke Wendrich
11 Decolonizing Archaeology: Political Economy and Archaeological
Practice in the Middle East 196
Susan Pollock
12 We Are All Middle Easterners Now: Globalization, Immanence,
Archaeology 217
Yannis Hamilakis
13 Potential Abuses and Uses of the Remote Past in the Middle East
(and Elsewhere) 230
Philip L. Kohl
Notes 2+9
Bibliography 257
About the Editors 30[
About the Contributors 303
Index 307
II
Filtering the Past
ARCHAEOLOGY, I ~ L I T I C S , AND CHANGE
Lynn Swartz Dodd and Ran Boytner
WE DO NOT KNOW when someone first held up an ancient ohject
to tell a story ahout it. Neither arc we certain when the disl.;pline ofarchae
ology was actually born. But we do know that the past has been a building
block in social discourse f()r thousands of years. During the sixth century
BCE archaeological work was under way at the ancient site of Larsa in
what is today modern Iraq. Royally sanctioned excavations allowed a new
temple to align with one built generations earlier. That search for tangible
remains of the past was recorded on bricks used to rebuild the temple on
behalf of the Babylonian king. The inscriptions are a display of his legiti
macy claims before the people and the sun god, showing his intense desire
to establish a dynastic continuity that reached back to the founder of the
Babylonian dynasty, Hammurabi (1792-1750 BeE):
It was thus that in the year 10, on a favorable day of my reign, dur
ing my eternal royalty beloved by Shamash, Shamash remembered his
former dwelling; he happily decided from his chapel on the ziggurat
to re-establish, better than before and it is to me, King Nabonidus,
his provider, to whom he entrusted the task of restoring the E-babbar
and remaking his house of dilection .
. . . the eternal holy place, the eternal chamber appeared the
temenos; their plan become visible. I read there the inscription of the
ancient king Hammurabi ... my tasks became clear and I set about
mobilizing workers ... holding the pick, carrying the shovel, moving
the basket .... Specialists examined the setting where the temenos
had been found to understand its decoration.
I placed bricks upon the temenos .... I rebuilt this temple in the
ancient style and I decorated its structure.
2 Dodd flnd RtJ'V/1ltT
That which W.IS not accorded to Jny king, my great lord, ShaIll<lsh,
.lCcorded to me, t(X me, his devotee, and entrusted it to me It()r the
full text, see Schnapp 1996:13-171.
This text illustrates how Nabonidus excavated so that he could employ
the tangible remains of the past t'()r political purposes. His was .111 e.lr1y,
bold attempt to mohilize ancient objects and plan,"S in order to inaeasc
prestige and power.
The Egyptians also had a long tradition ofdoculllenting ancient struc
tures and often were aware ofhuHders' identities. Already in the Old King
dom the antiquity of their civilization and its material remains was appar
ent to them. The Egyptians imagined that the past was hcf()re them rather
than hehind them (Hornung 1982:20). The greatness that was Egypt was
re-created and celebrated repeatedly as years passed. The divide between
past and future that characterizes linear models of time was less relevant
and productive than the existence of the past as a part of their communal
fiJture as Egyptians (Molkot 2003). The use of the past to frame or envi
sion new social realities is a persistent phenomenon through time and
space (among many examples sec Dodd 2002; Yonce 2007). In contem
porary society the past is frequently in service of wide-ranging political
agendas that might change the status quo or support one social vision over
another (Bernbeck and Pollock 2004; Cuno 2008; Geurds 2007; Green
berg and Kcinan 2007; Hamilakis and Duke 2007; Insoll 2006; K1etter
2006; Lucero 2007; McGuire 2004; Politis and GoBan 2004; Scarre and
Scarre 2006; L. Smith 2004; Smith and Wobst 2005). Archaeology has
come a long way since David Clarke's lamentation about the "loss ofin no
cence" (1973; fix interesting insights, see Rowlands 2006:59). Certainly,
the fact that the past is relevant in cultural discourse is not news, but its rel
evance has not been adequately or exhaustively studied and understood,
even as it has become a topic of greater interest.
This book is centered on political appropriations of the past in the
present. We interpret the term political broadly in the sense that people's
actions are political when they seek to influence society according to
the priorities and agendas that suit their needs as memhers of particular
groups. These priorities and agendas emerge from the quotidian experi
ence ofideotogy, which serves as the filter through which individuals and
groups perceive reality. The intersection of understandings ofs c l f ~ actions
I
3 filtering the Past
in daily lite, and navigations through the communicative structures of
society among other people (whether these arc real or, increasingly t()r
some, virtual beings) creates our place in the world, our perspective of
where we have been and where we will deign to go.
This introduction first defines the archaeologically tC:lUnded past that
concerns LIS and then considers past research. In order to look t()rward to
the tilture relevance ofOllr production as archaeologists, we tC:>ClIS on the
extraordinary contingency of social communication in which the inter
action of people with objects (including other people) creates fields tc:)r
reflecti(m, memory, emotion, and persuasion in our public and private
lives. We consider appropriations of the archaeological past as an inten
tional process of social communication that otlcrs archaeologists a way
to understand the manit()ld outcomes and responsibilities engendered by
archaeological practice.
Everywhere around us changes in the usc of the past are occurring,
and the past is being used to create social change (e.g., sec Hamilakis
and Duke 2007; Kohl and Rao in press; Meskell, ed. 1998; Silverman and
Ruggles 2007; Voss 2008). If this ubiquity is allowed to be an excuse
for avoiding penetrating analysis, then we lose a significant opportunity
to understand the implications of archaeological praxis. Even worse, we
would ignore and remain unint()rmed by one of the most significant
underpinnings fi)r archaeological work today: its relevance to contempo
rary communities not only as a marker of where we as human communi
ties have been but also as a harbinger of where we may go (the sections
in Insoll 2006 focusing on age, the body, and caste are illustrative).
The personal perspective is visible in this edited volume, where each
contribution reflects the distinctive opinions of its author( s). We fully
expect that these contributions will be perceived as biased perspectives,
which is how we understood them, whether or not we agreed with every
author. The contributions to this volume are emblematic of the need tor
radical contextualization of interpretations of the past. We encouraged
the authors to include personal explanations in their contributions where
they felt these were relevant, and all were asked to provide a summary
biographical statement in order to allow readers to contextualize their
contributions. To the extent that authors wished to participate in this
process ofenabling readers to understand the personal authorial context,
summaries have been included.
+ D(Jdd alld R(J:mU:1'
The editors of this volume co-organized a conference that centered
on the dynamic ways that the ungible remains of the past are used.
Becausc of the editors' personal interests and the exigencies of funding
sources, we consciously tC>ClIsed on the eastern Mediterranean, Middle
Eastern, and Southwest Asian social and political systems. Therd()re, this
volume is constrained to a single sllpraregional geographic tC)cus. The
contributions are almost ellually split between those centered in Israel or
the West Bank and Gaza (the Palestinian occupied territories as defined
by the United Nations) and those tc)(:used elsewhere in this region. TIle
conterence participants present case studies with an emphasis on the
dynamics of process, the dynamism of the appropriations of the past,
sources of change, and the multivocal nature of the many narratives that
invoke aspects of the past and its tangible material remains. In this vol
ume the contributors allow readers to tc>cus closely on a mechanism of
social change: innovations that emerge trom political appropriations of
the past. We argue that although these uses of the past are entirely con
tingent, they can nonetheless be studied profitably through structured
analytical trameworks that allow us to understand a fascinating domain
of human society: how it remembers itself into the future.
What Past?
The first necessity when considering this object of inquiry is to provide
a definition of the past that we are using, the past that interests us. In
the context of this volume the past means neither "anything that came
before" nor all possible usable pasts nor the usable past mobilized solely
for a national agenda (Brown and Hamilakis 2003c). Rather, the contrib
utors and editors are interested in the variety of ways the archaeological
past is actually used to create social change.
The archaeological past is grounded in data from archaeological sites,
objects, monuments, and the interpretation oftangible material remains.
A past grounded in archaeological material ofters three notable advan
tages tor its claimants. First, archaeological evidence is perceived as or
claimed to be independent and objective, thus oftering potentially irre
futable evidence of authenticity and primacy that can support claims.
Second, because the archaeological record is fragmented, its incom
plete nature allows flexibility in building compelling narratives that may
}-:iltering the Past
be presented as persllasive evidence. rinally, the physical nature of the
archaeological record otlers ready, dear visuals that can rapidly turn into
powertlll symbols to illustrate a political message. The apparent "'real
ness" of the archaeological past is one reason why it is potentially so
powerful. The past can function as an evidentiary rderent,
lending an air of objectivity or scientific support to a presentation or to a
group's agenda (sec discussion in Rowlands 2006).
Existing Research into Uses of the Fast
Initially, social scientists believed that the past-and a reliance on it as
a source of unity in modern nation-statl."S-was an integral part of any
social organization. The past was viewed as the origin place of a group's
unique cultural identity. In this view the past was "'primordial," and the
features of the past and of group identity were understood to be essen
tial and immutable. This primordial past was present in inherited myths,
symbols, and material remains to torm the basis of group identity. Later
theoretical shifts moved the debate in more critical directions so that
instead of seeing the past based on the past, it became viewed as con
structed through a manipulation ofits components and through an inter
pretation ofits meaning t{)r current political goals (e.g., Lewis I975). The
past is now widely understood to be an instrument of modern politi
cal aspirations and needs (sec Eriksen 1993; Hamilakis and Duke 2007;
Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983; Meskell and Pels 2005; Smith 1987). Philip
Kohl explains:
The relationship of archaeology to nationalism is changing. His
torically, archaeologists have helped to underwrite many nationalist
programs, according historical significance to visible material remains
within national territory. They arc still playing this role throughout
many areas of the world. Today, however, some arc critically examin
ing how archaeological data are manipulated for nationalist purposes,
while others arc celebrating the inevitable political nature of the dis
cipline and promoting alternative indigenous reconstructions of the
remote past [(998:225-226].
Hence, the list of those who have sought to tollow strategies similar to
that used by King Nabonidus (sec above) is now viewed as a very long
b Dodd fwd Ro:mur
one indeed. Researchers in diverse disciplines, including political science,
sociology.. and history, have investigated the lise of the past in the ancient
and modern present, including its role within mythical pasts in mod
ern nation-states (see Abu El-Haj 1998, 200,; Brass 1991; Geurds 2007;
Hamilakis 2000; Jotfe 2007; Killebrew et al. 2009; Lewis 1975; Schnapp
1996; Shavit 1996, 1997; Silberman and Small 1997; Tait 2003; Trigger
1984, 1995). Among these publications is an implicit suggestion that the
appropriation of archaeological materials is a characteristic of modern
societies. We would be hard-pressed [0 find any modern society or nation
in which there was no manipulation ofor recourse to a sense of the past
or to aspects of the past.
A well-documented category of the appropriation of the past is the usc
of the archaeological record for the support of national claims. Nation
states, a fundamental building block of the modern world, arc a relatively
new phenomenon. Around the world both established states and aspiring
ethnic groups strive to legitimize their claims t(.)f sovereignty by seeking
independent, defensible evidence supporting their right to space and land
(tt:)r a succinct, excellent discussion, see Smith 2001). While the nation-state
is a modern Western construct, groups around the world have adopted the
concept-willingly or not-and have used it successfully in their attempts to
establish politicailegitimal:Y and independence. The role ofarchaeology in
the legitimization ofthe Israeli nation-state and the appropriation ofarchae
ology of the Great Zimbabwe or during the recent struggles over Kosovo
stand as representative examples tor such mobilizations of the archaeologi
cal record (see Kuklick 1991; Lowenthal 200[; Pollock and Bernbeck, eds.
2005; Shavit 1997; Silberman 1990b, [993b; Smith 1987; Trigger 1984). In
the last few decades alone this list has been growing at an astonishing rate
as innovative research has been published widely on this subject (e.g., see
Abu EI-Haj 2001; Atkinson et aI. 1996; Babadzan 2000; Bond and Gilliam
1994; Diaz-Andreu and Champion 1996; Diaz-Andreu et al. 2006; Dietler
1994; Glock 1992, 1994; Hamilakis 1996; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983;
Hodder et aI. 1995; Killebrew and Lehmann 1999; Kohl and Fawcett, cds.
1995; Kohl and Rao in press; Lewis 1975; Lowenthal 1985, 1990; Meskell,
ed. 1998, 2001; Meskell and Pels 2005; Plumb 1969; Podgorny 1990; Pol
lock and Bernbeck, eds. 2005; Said 1979; Scham 1998, 200la; Scham and
Yahya 2003; Shavit 1991, 1997; Silberman 1989, 1993a, 1995a, 1995b; Silver
man 2002b; Smith and Wobst 2005; Snead 1999; Trigger 1984, 1995).
7 riltering the P,lst
During the 1990S there was a substantial increase in the number of
publications the political uscs of ardueology t<)r national
istic projects, particularly hy Europeans or European-trained scholars.
Research ranged trom Nazi uses of archaeology (Arnold and Hassmann
1995) to Soviet manipulations of the past (Shnirdnhln 1995) and trom
China (Tong 1995; von ralkenhallsen 1995) to Atrica (Hall 1994, 2000;
Ogundele 1995) to South America (Benavides 2001; Higueras 1995; Sil
verman 2002b). In 2003 Yannis Hamilakis began l"c.>rmulating theoretical
trameworks t<)r understanding dynarnic archaeological appropriations.
Focusing on the relationships between archaeology and nationalism
within the Greek state, Hamilakis asserted that the n"ational narrative has
affinities with the dreaming process in that it is essL'tltially iconographic.
Monuments and archaeological material arc the t<>LIndation t<)r that ico
nography (Hamilakis 200,h:59). Rrown and Hamilakis (2oo3a) suggest
that the concept of metahistories and usable pasts reters to those seg
ments of history and archaeology that arc selectively assembled by mod
ern individuals to weave narratives that support specific political goals
(see also Papadopou los 2003; t<)r the original discussion of the terms, see
White 1973, 1987).
Following Homi Bhabha's (1994: 1-2) suggestions that researchers
move away from meta narratives that formulate people as one unit and
away trom a notion of singularities within groups, Lynn Meskell (1998)
emphasized the diversity among the groups that constitute the modern
Middle East. Indeed, this diversity encourages widely varying constitu
ents to mobilize the archaeological past in myriad ways and leads to a
wide range of uses far beyond nationalism. The contributions in this
volume refer to uses of archaeology well outside the level of nationally
coordinated action and versions of the past that are used in service of a
national agenda.
Moving to the realm of economy, scholars began to explore the uses
and appropriation of the past tor pure economic benefits, especially as
they relate to the tourism industry (see Britt and Chen 2005; Hamilakis
and Duke 2007; Hotfman et ai. 2002; Jennings 2002; MacCannell 2000;
Rowan and Baram 2004; Silverman 2002b; Zorn 2004). A continued
interest in indigenous archaeology (e.g., see Hamann 2002; Mathers et ai.
2005) brought a more radical approach. Instead of merely researching
and documenting the appropriations of archaeology, a group of scholars
8 D(}dd IJ1ld R(}yt1ltT
within the discipline 'H.ivoCf.lteu 'lCtivist engagements. The establishment
of the radical journal Public Archm:olol1.'Y is elnblematic of this interest
(e.g., see Bernbeck 200,b; Diaz-Andreu et al. 2006; Hamilakis 200,a;
Shepherd 200,:1, 2007; Tarlow 2001).
An even more- radical movement developed in which ethical codes are
seen as fundamentally biased and in need of alteration. These scholars
see asymmetrical relationships between the dominant West and the sup
pressed Other (see HamiIakis and Duke 2007; Meskdl and Pels 2005).
This work is especially well known in European scholarly circk-s, but
its rhetoric has been cautiously received in mainstream North American
archaeological discourse. Nonetheless, its critique and methodology pro
vide a convenient framework to examine appropriation processes of the
archaeological record (e.g., see Kohl 1993, 1998, 2004-; Silverman 2002a,
2oo2b; Trigger 1984-, 1995).
Critique of Existing Research
Archaeological analysis involves evaluating data derived from studies of
material that usually is ancient but may still be relevant and in use. Stud
ies of the past, whether led by academics or by others, rely on selected
data. Those data are collected because they are deemed to be relevant to
the mission of the body undertaking the research; therefore, the study
can be understood as a forward-looking backward glance (e.g., Wildung
2003). Intellectual interest in the political appropriation of the archaeo
logical past creates an opportunity for a critical examination of the range
of such appropriations and the methods by which they are deployed in
various cultural settings. For instance, people who would use the past
may have an interest in creating a perception of the past and its condi
tions as primordial, with long histories shared uniformly by members of
whole constituencies. Thus, the use ofthe past is rendered as monolithic
and static. Where research echoes the intended perception, rather than
de mystifYing the processes of appropriation, it becomes impossible to
track and explore parallel social identities that are dynamically shifting as
actors negotiate diverse social roles (at work to subordinates and bosses,
at home to spouse, among friends, at a public presentation, etc.).
We believe that the more reflective approaches better take into account
the dynamic nature ofappropriations. Such approaches should be attentive
9 rilrering the Past
to sources and processes of change, emphasizing the coexistence of mul
tiple voices within hrroups, each competing f()r the ability to appropriate
the past to achieve specific politic.ll goals. We also believe that as indi
viduals live, they embody different roles and inhahit the varied identities
that constitute their whole personhood. In this process appropriations of
the past will shih to serve these diverse roles.
This is an important research endeavor because the existence of lllul
tiple personal identities creates social venues t()r multiple uses of the past
and its tangible remains throughout society. The fact that the archaeo
logical past is used in a multiplicity of ways and may occur in all social
domains creates an inherently dynamic situation. lnherent in this dyna
mism is the reality of continual social hecoming and transt(>rtning. New
voices can-and do--emerge from existing social groups. New voices
may advocate f()r conflict and resist suhordination, or they may advo
cate avenues of coexistence and cooperation. In our view these dynamic
negotiations and their role in social transt()rmation have been underem
phasized and undervalued in research thus far.
There are many potential ends toward which social groups may
engage the memories and beliefs of their constituency through the use of
the archaeological past (for diverse and recent examples, see Abu EI- Haj
2007; Cross 2006; Lippert 2008; Lucero 2007; Shepherd 2007; Sofaer
2006, 2007; Voss 2006, 2008). The range of parties active in appropria
tion of the past can be substantial within any given cultural situation. It
is difficult to imagine how a single research enterprise could capture the
full range, unless an army of researchers works synchronically, like poll
sters who are mobiJized for political surveys. However, recognizing the
innumerable arenas in which people consider and respond to references
to the past and its material remains is a first step. This recognition posi
tions the researcher to more efTectively evaluate the shifting ground and
divergent positions being espoused by groups that initially seem similar.
This kind of sensitivity oilers the opportunity to understand, identity,
challenge, or possibly harness the diverse filters through which the past
is being appropriated.
In accepting the appropriation of the past as a dynamic endeavor, the
foundation is laid for assessing the mechanism by which the past is aftected
by or impacts social change. Appropriations of the past and its tangible
remains shift to accommodate power relations between established and
10 Dodd and Ro:muT
emerging political agendas. We see uses of the past as pointers to com
peting visions of the future both individual and group levels.
Mobilizing the Past: An Analytical
Franlework linking the Past to Its Uses
in the Present
We take seriously the caution that simple explanations inadequately reflect
true complexities, especially when they relate to appropriations of the
past (Brown and Hamilakis 2003a:13). Our goal is not to discard
razor by overlooking elegant and siml'}le solutions in favor of tortured
and complex ones. A fundamental point is that the past and, more par
its tangible remains become important in the context of social
discourse. An interpretive tramework is dlcctive if it assists in elucidat
ing the fluidity of the relationships between the material past and the
political present. Anyone or any group in a society may have recourse
to the past te)r their agenda (Erll et al. 2008). Shifts in appropriations of
the archaeological past take place as power relations within and outside
groups evolve. Social changes and changes in the use of the archaeologi
cal past occur as difterent agendas gain ground over others. Essentially,
we are asserting a model structured by multivocality, which in itselfis not
new territory. It is worth stressing it anyway because this is a teature that
makes the use of the past possible, relevant, and productive.
We see appropriations of the archaeological past as acts ofsocial com
munication designed to accrue benefits to particular groups. This process
operates constantly in multiple, parallel, and often competing tracks. As a .
continuous and dynamic process, the shape and nature of the dominant
position within eachgroup is altered along with the legitimacy and accep
tance of any particular appropriation. All the contributors to this vol
ume provide evidence of this kind of transformation; additionally, some
actively created structural opportunities tor its occurrence (see Willeke
Wendrich, Danielle Steen et al., Ann E. Killebrew, and David Han and
Yuval Gadot).
The mechanisms through which appropriations of the past take place
can be understood and examined with a social communication model
in the context of collective memory employed within a multidirectional
matrix of communicative action. In this way appropriations of the past
II riltering the Past
can be more intelligibly interpreted as sociological phenomena. This is
one of the reasons why the contribution by Ash Giir in this volume is
particularly relevant, because she comes to this project with an explicitly
sociological perspective. The concept of collective memory was devel
oped by the rrench sociologist Maurice Halbwachs during the first quar
ter ofthe twentieth century (Halbwachs 1992). At the time contemporary
psychologists claimed that individuals are born with a set, predisposed
memory where memory itself is related to an ethnic, racial, and bio
logical matrix. (n other words, they suggested that individuals are born
with some sort of essential biological or racial memory. Halbwachs took
a contrary position. He suggested that memory was mediated through
social interactions.
Memory, defined as the hllman vision of the past, is constructed in
rdation to others. Specifically, the various groups in which individuals
operate create experiences of relating. This occurs through actions and
interactions that are embodied and perceived in the brain as the person
encounters and interacts with an object or any outside otherness, includ
ing other people within whatever group may t()rm at a particular moment
(Damasio 1999). Cultural memory and, by extension, the subset of col
lective memory based on an archaeological past is always constituted in
communication with others. I tis, theret(}re, eftective to examine the lise
of the archaeological past as a teature of social discourse and of commu
nications that individuals usc to project themselves to others. One hardly
needs to point out the political nature of communications in which one
projects oneself to others. Contributors to this volume explore this terri
tory in manitold ways, including from the perspective of projection used
in creating a national understanding (such as Magnus T. Bernhardsson
examines in Iraq and as Philip L. Kohl has detailed in the Caucasus) or
fi'om the perspective of dialogue with a debated otherness (as captured
by Sandra Scham and also by Adel H. Yahya).
Jan Assmann has clearly articulated that the "'"others arc other people
in groups who conceive of their unity and peculiarity through a com
mon image of their past" (1995:127). This applies to a diverse range of
social groups, which may begin with families and extend to neighbors,
trade associations, religious affiliations, political parties, citizens ofstates,
and even whole nations. At any given time the individual belongs to
numerolls groups and thus "entertains numerolls collective self-images
12 Dodd Iwd ROyUItT
and memories" (Assmann 1995:127). Brown and Hamilakis (2oo3a) sug
gest that at least some collective llK'111ories are t'(mned as utopias with
dreamlike qualities. They claim that because dreams are iconographic
in nature, monumcnts--cspecially ancient ones-supply the icons and
illustrate depth and tradition. It is the appropriation of archaeological
remains in connection to icons ofmemory that is our chief concern here.
Advocating t()r ll1ultivocality in training (as modeled by Willeke Wen
drich) may also prestige a particular set of voices, ones that may develop
increasing control in a postcolonial constnIct.
There are many uses of the archaeological past at any given time.
These come from ditlcrent perspectives to suit the needs ofdiftcrcnt users
or groups. Social actors arc continuously moving the dialogue in various
directions. \Vhile Hamilakis (1996, 2007) suggested that sllch a process
may lead to increased sophistication and is a top-down phenomenon, we
believe that the process can also move in other directions. Appropria
tions of the past may occur within either complex or simple systems and
groups. Additionally, they may originate at the "bottom" in terms of
sociopolitical power, gaining support to topple dominant narratives.
Collective memory may be differentiated from communicative mem
ory. Like collective memory, communicative memory is a cultural view of
the past. However, communicative memory is primarily constituted by
orally transmitted facts. It is characterized by a limited temporal depth
of 80-100 years and covers no more than two or three generations into
the past (Niethammer 1993). Communicative memory is tounded on per
sonal recollection and is dependent on the attestation of living witnesses
or on repetition ofa direct testimony. Even in societies wherein oral trans
mission is the default mode of documenting socially significant informa
tion, there is a difference between hearing about an experience-from
a participant or as hearsay-and the potentially more pervasive quality
of collective memory. Whether we are talking about literate or illiter
ate societies, such a memory may be transmitted forward in time. The
transmission may exceed the human lifespan, as the temporal horizon of
communicative memory continually fades and is re-formed as time passes
(Assmann 1995). There are fewer perceived constraints on communicative
memory because of the possibility of living witnesses to revise memories.
Communicative memory may eventually be transtormed into collec
tive memory, a memory based on archaeological remains. It will then
filtl'ring thl' Past 13
become less susceptible to being dismantled or assemhled freely. That is
not to say that people may not take liberties with interpretation of the
archaeologically fC)l)nded past. On the contrary, historical cases indicate
the opposite. But as a matter of perception it may be more ditlicult to
alter existing explanations when they are anchored in material evidence.
This difliculty may arise not as a matter of fact but as a matter of argu
ment, because one participant can point to material remains as support
t()r his or her claim. One explanation of the archaeological past may be
evaluated against another and so gain or lose adherents who care about
the correspondence between evidence and interpretation. It is this cor
respondence between material and narrative that leads Philip Kohl ([998)
to suggest that there ought to be a limit to the varieties of lIses ofthe past
that we arc willing to embrace.
Alterations to collective memory may also be constrained by logis
tics, by the practical mechanics of social communication. Any changes
in appropriations of the archaeological past must be broadcast through
out the community and then adopted. This involves cost and access to
an internal communication mechanism and implies the expenditure of
political capital to ensure that the perspective is heard in order to con
vince community members to change perceptions. This may not be an
easy task, especially in a bottom-up process wherein access to commu
nication channels is proscribed. Still, with f()Cused, intentional efforts,
the archaeological past is malleable and flexible in this direction as well.
Finally, so too are the personal and cultural identities that emerge trom
socially mediated collective memories. Thus, the entire system by its very
nature is characterized by dynamism at different scales. An archaeologi
cally based past may seem stable and supported, but it must be under
stood as constantly exposed to potential molding through the pressure
of social discourse.
There is a political potential inherent in archaeological work because
material objects can be moved easily from the physical to the symbolic
realm. Material objects may become politicized in a manner not antici
pated by their original makers or the archaeologists who excavate them.
In choosing to resort to the archaeological past, actors are gauging their
audience and trying to frame a message that the audience wilJ believe in
and act in response to. Jurgen Habermas (2001) codified the ability of
a group-often elites-to mobilize an audience to action or to elicit a
specific political response in the concept of communic .1tive action. Any
user ofan an.-haeologically t(mnded past filters that past by presenting only
the portion that is relevant to a specific agenda. This concept of active
filtering of the past is central to the cases presented in this volume.
The conceptual framework t<)r this volume distinguishes between
strictly mythical and material-based pasts. Strictly mythical pasts do not
seck material support t<>r their claims. Material-based pasts require tan
gible evidence offered in support of a particular narrative. Tangible evi
dence is especially important in modern post- Enlightenment contexts
where positivism and empirical approaches demand physical evidence that
can be independently evaluated. Archaeological material has been mobi
lized as the physical instantiation of independent evidence that exists
outside of individual or generational memory. While the tangible may be
interpreted in a variety of narratives, its material existence is perceived as
a limiting factor to the range of narrative reinterpretations.
When individuals refer to an archaeologically based past, they are
filtering data. They communicate only relevant parts. These filters are
engaged in the service of specific goals and always constitute a reduction
of the original context and complexity (Le., there is little concern with
the actual connection of archaeological evidence as part of an ancient,
living culture). Numerous archaeologists have explored the fact that the
very acts of excavation, interpretation, and publication impose selective
filters on the original data. Within the realm of widely varying social dis
course, interpretation and publication multiply the filters on archaeologi
cal data and material remains.
The Usable Past: Case Studies
If statements about the archaeologically founded past by various groups
were the only filters meted out on the archaeological record, archaeolo
gists might be relieved. Speech acts themselves cannot actually destroy
physical archaeological data (although a specific order may lead to an
action that destroys physical data or materials; see, e.g., the dramatic acts
described by Reinhard Bernbeck in this volume). However, the many
and varied uses of the past are not the only filters to consider. There
are numerous others, as Susan Pollock clearly explains in this volume in
her analysis of the political economy that shapes archaeological research.
hlrL..-ing the P"lsr 15
Another obvious domain is the pressure of development in a landscape
that contains known and unknown an.:haeological materials.
In the region dealt with in this volume burgeoning population is one
of the reasons t()r the destruction of archaeological material data. This
does not merely mean that archaeological sites are being covered by the
tarmac of parking lots. Across the region agricultural demands grow,
glving incentive to those who would flatten archaeological sites in order
to increase arable land. As populations move to cities, settlements expand
into new areas. Apartment blocks built on deep t()lmdations are appear
ing rapidly in the once sparsely settled areas around cities. War, repres
sive regimes, and the imposition of international sanctions can LTeate
dire economic conditions and insecurity that provide an incentive or an
opportunity t()r removing material from archaeological sites. When this is
done without archaeological documentation or in the absence ofpermis
sion of a national government, this is characterized as looting the site.
There is little dispute that most archaeological sites are being investi
gated (torn apart) by people who will never read this book. The existence
of buyers t()r ancient objects, both where the object is found and in the
developed world beyond, is a major incentive for people to mine ancient
sites, museums, and storerooms. In this last case the object itself is not
lost and indeed may be made accessible in new ways, but usually the data
abollt its context are compromised if not actually lost or reimagined tor
various reasons. In this last case a talse filter is placed on the archaeologi
cal past. Meanwhile, buyers of such artifacts create, curate, and encour
age a valuing of the past represented by the objects in their collection.
A number ofthe more significant collectors are also connected to museums
that function as cultural arbiters. This indicates to their audiences what
art or what material remains of the past are worthy ofcuratorial attention.
In an extended way art institutions encourage a climate of positive assess
ment or negative assessment of particular pasts. The public that votes and
makes political contributions then receives these social messages.
Yahya's concern about the looting going on in the West Bank is rel
evant here. In spite of the practical reality of the antiquities market and
the problem of entorcement, the antiquities authorities in Israel, Jordan,
and the Palestinian occupied territories (both an Israeli and Palestinian
authority) do not sanction unofficial excavation. These excavations are
illegal and are interpreted as looting, but such looting does not occur
16 Dodd a1ld R(}vtll(r
in a value-free environment. As YahY<l describes in this objects
looted by Palestinians trom Iron Age sites in the West Bank are thought
of by many Palestinians as being outside their cultural heritage. While the
Palestinian national movement is based on a Palestinian assertion of full
and complete sovereignty over disputed lands, including archaeologi
cal sites, the Palestinian imagination that supports lootingexc.:ises the
sites of interest to Israelis and Jews-cspecially Iron Age sites-trom this
sphere ofsovereignty and normal protections. Such sites are seen as asso
ciated with biblical archaeology and are therd()re part of the heritage of
the enemy-the Jewish Israelis. The destruction of these sites through
looting is seen as part ofa struggle against Israeli dominance and is some
times encouraged in Palestinian nationalistic rhetoric (see Yahya 2005).
A reverse instance of this situation has been visible in dramatic ways
in Iraq since the first Gulf War in 1981. In this volume Bernhardsson
assesses the destruction and looting of the cultural heritage of Iraq as a
critique ofits negative heritage value. The archaeological heritage ofIraq
had become so identified with the regime of Saddam Hussein that these
acts cannot be said to represent only unscrupulous dealers capitalizing
on unstable security conditions. Rather, a component of the Iraqi pub
lic saw archaeological heritage as a weapon that had been used against
them through overt and obvious communicative actions such as rebuild
ing ancient sites in ways that positioned images of Saddam Hussein in
place of ancient ones. Some acts taken against the major archaeological
museum in Baghdad and regional museums should be understood as
an expression of anger at the regime and the public's desire for social
change.
Elimination of the tangible remains ofanother's past is a dramatic use
of the past. This elimination is ongoing even with the largest museum in
Baghdad having been secured. The elimination of national archaeological
heritage was aimed at the heart of an effort to create a unified, national
Iraqi identity and state amid a population that still telt itself essentially
regional or tribal. The horrific loss oflife that has characterized the Iraqi
and Mghani experience from both internal and external torces (most
recently, the U.S.-led invasion) stands alongside the destruction ofantiq
uities not in terms of valuation but as a reflection of the long-contested
nature of Iraq's future. In the case of Afghanistan it was the local actors
who decided how to deal with the material remains of the past (Bern
beck, this volume). Benefits that would normally accrue trom a stable
the Past 17
..
government, tourism, and natural resource sales are presently undefined
tor the Iraqi people and those living in Afghanistan.
War is among the most significant human actions in terms of its del
eterious eHects on both lives and landscape, but it is not alone by any
means. Large-scale landscape modifications can aftect lives and archat.'1>
logical remains in dramatic W.1YS 'lS well. This includes building highways,
pipelines, and dams (among other t<>rIllS of development). In hl! man
terms slIch development projects displace, UPSL't, and sometimes disen
franchise people living in the aftected region. This impacts their live
lihood, property, and political influence while providing benefits to a
broader community. For example, the ambitious Southeast Anatolia
Development Project, initially undertaken in the mid-twentieth century
to harness rivers in Turkey (stich as the Tigris and Euphrates), includes
the internationally contested Ihstl Dam. Like all dams, the IhsLl Dam will
submerge and destroy modern and ancient habitation sites. Recognition
ofthis impending destruction provides both the national government and
archaeologists with incentives to survey and excavate archaeological sites
prior to their destruction. Such is the case tor two ofthis volume's editors
(Dodd and Parker), whose excavation in this upper Tigris River valley
region represents one of the longer-lived toreign research projects there.
While rescuing archaeological data surely constitutes a positive aspect of
this work, participation in salvage excavation is not unproblematic t(:>f
archaeologists, as Hamilakis articulates in this volume. Archaeologists
constitute a group (or groups) employing the archaeologically founded
past f()r their own reasons. The various agendas relate to the expansion of
knowledge about our shared human past in an endeavor that is academic
and scholarly in its motivation. Such agendas also support and expand
access to the benefits derived from a political economy in which we as
archaeologists are embedded and on which our livelihoods depend (see
Pollock, this volume). In parallel, the national governments that engage
in these kinds of landscape transtormations, which affect archaeological
and modern landscapes, that is, the governments that sponsor develop
ment projects, also seek to ensure their internal public and international
partners that they have attended to the interests of the global human
community for whom these soon-to-be submerged or otherwise imper
iled sites represent a portion of the shared past of humanity.
Egypt and Sudan are among those nations where massive development
projects and salvage research created a dramatically diflerent modern and
18 D(}dd a'tld RlJytncr
archaeological landscape. When the Aswan Dam was huilt ticcades ago,
Egypt and Sudan tumed to the international community t()f action, largely
hecause ofa dearth oflocal archaeological fimding and practitioners. Now
t()rty years later Egypt's national antiquities organization is reprising this
turn to outside practitioners. Wend rich argues that Eb'YPt's own national
hodies arc now actively com hating certain status lluO teatures of Egyptol
ogy such as t{)reign agency in archaeological exploration in Egypt and the
movement of antiquities outside Egypes borders. These arc now being
portrayed by the current leadership ofthe Supreme COUlKil ofAntiquities
as <lisadvantageous to indigenes and to national interests. A new training
requirement has been imposed on Egyptians who aspire to higher posi
tions managing archaeology in Egypt: the necessity t()r advanced train
ing. It is especially interesting that t()reigners-such as Wendrich-are
L-nabling this change by leading field schools designated exclusively t()r
training Egyptian supervisors. This top-down initiative is part of a range
of programs initiated in the last twenty years that have elevated U.S.
trained archaeologist Zahi Hawass to positions of increasing authority.
In the present case an effort is being made to redraw the landscape
ofarchaeological praxis by significantly improving the prospects for local
archaeologists through the field school, in which local and foreign partic
ipants interact. This creates a space for understanding and, as Wendrich
describes, a space for misunderstanding in an archaeological team still
dominated by a foreign permit holder who brings funding. Thus, for
eigners function as arbiters of Egypt's own past even as local agents are
being trained to characterize it in their own voice in an evolving process
of social negotiation. In this instance the power relations focused on the
material remains of the past are in rapid flux not only because ofa single
man but also because of a web of relationships and ethical assessments.
Foreign archaeologists must either embrace or tolerate these changes.
If Egyptians claim credit for discovering their pre-Islamic past, there
are real implications for Egypt's regional and global influence as an Arab
nation, albeit one dependent on tourism dollars in a world driven by
media infotainment. A light is made to shine brightly on a significant
modern tension between modern interests in the past and Islam's unin
terest in the pre- Islamic past. Egypt's focus on its Pharaonic past is cur
rency of a spendable sort. But, in terms of the historical understanding
ofIslam within the Arab world, the Pharaonic past lies entirely within the
filtering the Past 19
as both Bernhardsson and Stein et al. have made deart()r Iraq
and Jordan, in this volume. Indeed, as Bernbeck argues,
there arc groups whose agenda actively opposes Western hegemonic
interests in uncovering the "'great" civilizations of the past that Western
culture otten looks to either as a wellspring t()r itself or as a model of
long-lived, seemingly ul1t.:ontested m.lstery of a landscape.
Assessing the tangible m;'lterial remains of the past as a shared one
or as a resource with curatorial merit t()r all humanity is a contested and
disputed endeavor outside the offices of UNESCO. Perspectives on this
curatorial responsihility arc not univL'TSal. Bernhcck addresses an alterna
tive to that position in his contribution about the challenging case ofthe
destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas. In a stunning episode of destruc
tion the Taliban-led government ofAt ghani stan asserted what Hamilakis
(2004-) has suggested elsewhere-people's lives can matter more than
archaeo1ogical remains.
The destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas is an example ofa top-down
response to the tangible remains of the archaeological record with the
intent of dramatically altering international social discourse, which this
country's leaders felt unable to effect otherwise. The largely Western view
that tangible remains of the past have value and should be conserved can
be contrasted with a number ofother views about what constitutes appro
priate curation. For example, in certain Native American cases the usc
and the inevitable slow decline of objects may be seen to honor the past
and their sacredness more than an attempt to conserve an object outside
its use context (Baugher 2005; Douglass et al. 2005; Howe 2005; Swidler
and Yeatts 2005; also see Martinez 2006). Elsewhere, tangible remains of
the past that come from periods that are assessed as less valuable may be
subjected to different treatment (al-Sayej in press; Yahya 2008). Examples
exist in the cases discussed by Yahya and by Bernbeck in which remains of
the Islamic past are devalued or solely valued, respectively.
Generally speaking, most archaeologists with whom the editors are
acquainted are aware that their intellectual products might be used in var
ious ways never imagined by them during excavation, study, and publica
tion. Quite diverse audiences pay attention to our intellectual productions
or some filtered version of them that appears in the news, on television, or
elsewhere. Scham and Giir both have provided perceptive examples of the
ways in which motits derived from the distant past filter tOrward through
20 Dodd and Ro:vtllcr
expressive media, arts, literature, poetry, and film. However, the result
could hardly be more ditlerent between the two cases they discuss.
In Turkey the Blue Anatolia movement generated a r.lI1ge of ideas
and concepts that now so pervasively infuse modern discourse that they
have become disconnected from their originators entirely (Gur, this vol
ume). In the same way we have adopted the term despite
our distance from its origin among political and economic writers who
were publishing while John E Kennedy was in the White House (Simp
son and Weiner 1989).
Some audiences may have an interest in archaeology fl)r the same rea
sons that archaeologists are interested, while others do not. But the very
existence of an engaged public otters archaeologists a number of poten
tial benefits, including the support oftaxpayers (Pollock, this volume). It
also ofTers a number of potential problems (Kohl, this volume). As Kille
brew has documented in her essay, there has been a significant change in
the attention of the Israeli public to archaeology, their visits to archaeo
logical sites, and their perception ofarchaeology's relevance to issues that
concern Israelis in contemporary society. During the early, heady days
of the state of Israel, high-ranking military officers and administrators
encouraged Israelis to participate in archaeological projects. This situ
ation has dramatically changed today (Killebrew, this volume). Indeed,
public support for archaeology has so diminished that Ilan and Gadot
now actively invest professional time and funds in a project to gain the
involvement of local people. These archaeologists are open to partici
pants creating their own messages and connections to the archaeological
material being excavated (Hodder 1998, 2000; see also Ilan and Gadot,
this volume; Steen et aI., this volume).
Unlike the well-coordinated messages of early Israeli archaeology,
when certain archaeologists very clearly linked their work to the claim of
the people to the territory ofthe state of Israel and to resistance against its
enemies, Ilan and Gadot encourage a variety of interpretations and con
nections to their archaeological project. Indeed, today's earliest consum
ers ofdata are the workers from the local communities who participate in
short-term excavation episodes at the site of Modi'in. The involvement
of a nearby community participating in an excavation adjacent to their
community is not accidental.
t-:iltering the Past 21
People tell stories abollt places in which they have ;.111 interest and to
which they have a connection (Abu EI-Haj 2001, 2003; Dever 199sa, 1995b;
Finkelstein and Silberman 2002; Marcus 2000; Silberman 1990a, 1999).
This interest and impulse is shared by the Jord;.mi;.m villag(.."Ts whom Steen
et al. have appro"1Cbed and interviewed in their archaeo-ethnographic proj
ect in Jordan. Similarly, Yahya recognizes that the Israelis have engaged
the archaeological past tar more sllccessfillly and systematic;.llly than the
Palestinians have done, especially during the twentieth century. This is a
means of supporting Israeli national identity and international Jewish and
Christian connc... 'Ctions in the area where the Palestinian Muslim and Chris
tian Arabs are living in the West Bank and Gaza. Yahya argues that the
Palestinians are still engaged in a struggle to develop and disseminate their
own version of the archaeological history of the country as part of estab
lishing a national identity. for the Palestinians, crafting their connection
to a place also claimed by the Israelis as a biblical homeland is problematic
on a number of levels. The Israelis already use the archaeological heritage
in support oftheir claims, so this material needs to be reinterpreted within
the Palestinian narrative or excluded f r o ~ it. Scham (2003) has shown
how the remains of the Iron Age linked to the Philistines and the remains
of the Bronze Age linked to the Canaanites otter the Palestinians these
productive possibilities.
Yahya's view of the present use of the archaeological past in Israel
is also instructive because it points to the existence of multiple tiers of
archaeological production and reception. Yahya's perspective that "most
Israeli historians have been geared primarily toward promoting Jewish
claims and establishing a Jewish national identity" stands in direct con
tradiction to Killebrew's assessment that "the overtly political and ideo
logical message that determined so much of the archaeological agenda
through the 1970S no longer resonates with much ofIsrael's general pub
lic, nor is archaeology considered necessary to justifY Israel's existence."
Clearly, there are multiple perceptions atoot that may mirror multiple
approaches within Israeli society. A dynamic situation exists in which
some have moved beyond a t()(US on archaeology in the service ofJewish
national identity. Others, whether in the academy or without, still find
that a productive enterprise (Freidman and Lazaroff 2010). The creation
of a virtual Temple Mount as a joint venture between UCLA's Urban
22 Dodd and Boyt1lCr
Simulation Team and the Israeli Antiquities Authority (see http://www
.ust.uda.edu/ustweb/Pn)jec.:ts/israel.htm) te:)r the l)avidson Center
to both an economic, tourism-oriented operation and the pilgrimage inter
ests and aspirations of the visitors t()r whom archaeology lies at the core
of their experience of Jerusalem.
Settlers usc the names ofcertain ancient sites as part oftheir justifica
tion t()r settlement locations--settlement names bespeak. biblical associa
tions regardless of the spatial distance between the actual site and the
modern settlement (Yahya, this volume). Objects from biblical periods
are privileged by the legal but poorly regulated Israeli antiquities market
and the international demand that is its engine (Brodie et al. 2006; Kersel
2008). Thus it would seem that some support persists within sectors of
Israeli society t()r biblical or early Jewish archaeological material culture,
associations, and even archaeological work.. It is also clear that an interest
in a biblical archaeological heritage cuts across national boundaries. For
gravediggers the reasons are largely economic, and tor settlers they are
primarily a complex mix of the religious and political domains of life.
Steen et aI., Ilan and Gadot, and Yahya all signal the need to involve
local community members in meaningful engagement with the material
cultural heritage remains within their national borders or, more immedi
ately, within their communities. It is of particular interest in these situ
ations that it is the archaeologists who are actively participating in the
creation of a new curiosity and awareness of the past among these com
munity members. They are in tact participating in the creation ofanother
group for whom the past may be mobilized. They are contributing to the
interpretive multiplicity and the dynamic possibilities for the archaeolog
ical past to be employed in society. Indeed, in a very real sense, empower
ment is part of this archaeological agenda. Yahya additionally gives us a
clear example wherein the reality of the past points toward the future, in
which the desired peace will require confronting the future disposition of
the material remains of the past.
The Future of Archaeology
as a Political Context
A gaze across our planet shows us that people are dying from AIDS,
hunger, disease, and armed conflict-a picture that is sobering, scary, and
filtering the Past 2 ~
depressing. We may be prompted to wonder who cares about archaeol
ogy in such a world. Hamilakis enjoins LIS to care about human problems
more. That is dear. As part of this we should recognize that people's lives
may be affected, sometimes dramatically, because of the material remains
that surround them (e.g., in Israel, the West Bank, or Afghanistan). In
a world where the present is deeply unsatisfactory fi)r so many, that is
precisely when and where the archaeological pa!<.1' is most fertile and most
relevant.
An inadequate present can be overcome by a hoped-b:)r, better filture
through anchors situated in the past. Perhaps it is a bit like the diving
board that is anchored poolside. The diver gets the most spring ti'om the
board when it is anchored the farthest back. Likt.wise, political agendas
presented as anchored in the deep past may receive the most credibility,
thus "spring," which enables them to compel change. While it is impos
sible to predict how or who will appropriate archaeology, it is possible
to envision two reactions within our discipline: some will embrace, and
some will run away.
The activist World Archaeological Congress (WAC) includes among
its published goals to promote "appreciation of the political contexts
within which Abu EI-Haj research is conducted and interpreted" (http://
www.worldarchaeologicalcongress.org/site/home.php). The agenda of
the WAC is often explicitly political, claiming to voice the concerns and
rights of those who have been traditionally marginalized by the Western
political establishment. In the United States archaeological practitioners
are also represented in the Archaeopolitics column, which appears in
every issue of the Society for American Archaeology's newsletter. This
column addresses the entanglement of archaeology within the political
domain of the United States and its legislative and legal bodies.
On the other end of the spectrum are those who wish to ignore the
political dimension of their work. These scholars may claim their work
as "pure science," invoking principles ofobjectivity and data as apolitical
concepts. As these case studies have amply demonstrated and as many
have argued elsewhere, there is no such thing as value-tree archaeologi
cal data (Dodd 2007). Some practitioners may wish to deny the political
appropriations of their data and practice. For others, monitoring and
controlling the way their data is used may be beyond their expertise,
capability, or specialization. This does not mean that appropriations will
2+ Dodd ,wd RiI:vt1ur
not occur, nor should archaeologists believe they do not have a role
to p-Iay. Some scholars may view the appropriation of the archaeologi
cal record as residing outside the discipline, rendering its practitioners
powerless to control any aspects of its politicization and not attccted by
political pressures. This is surely not the case.
The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act
(NAGPRA), which was enacted in 1990, showed this very clearly to Ameri
can archaeologists (e.g., see Meighan 1984, 1986; more recently, see Johan
sen 1999; Owsley and Jantz 2001; Swedlund 2003; Watkins 2004). Whether
we approve of it or not, both local empowerment and the f()rces ofglobal
ization are powerful phenomena. An increasing number of debates on a
range ofissues seek to extract support from a class ofevidence that is being
described as "scientific." The physicality of archaeological evidence-that
objects exist in color and three dimensions-makes it attractive to political
appropriations in two ways. Archaeological evidence provides a tangible
and existential locus around which political narratives ean revolve and be
illustrated. As physically present but utterly mute objects, they are easily
transformed into the realm of symbol. This is particularly applicable to
objects that show curation, wear, and physical degradation--<vidence of
great age. These characteristics make the archaeological evidence appear
"true" and thus are presented as undisputed evidence to the strength of
political claims associated with them. Due to the strength of these visible
symbols and the flexibility and persuasiveness of narrative in social com
munication, the appropriation of archaeological material will continue to
be relevant as a dimension ofsocial interaction and social change, initiated
from a range of possible locations within human societies.
This volume joins other recent archaeological work displaying an
increased interest in the usable past and in political appropriation of the
material past (Brown and Hamilakis 2003b; Cuno 2008; Diaz-Andreu
et al. 2006; Dodd 2007; Hamilakis and Duke 2007; Hodder 2002; Kane
2003; Kletter 2006; Meskell and Pels 2005; Pollock and Bernbeck, eds.
2005; Rowan and Baram 2004; Scarre and Scarre 2006; L. Smith 2004;
Smith and Wobst 2005; Vitelli and Colwell-Chanthaphonh 2006; Voss
2008). In this volume Bernbeck discusses heritage politics in terms of
doxic discourse. The term, based on Bourdieu's notion ofconvictions in
the social fields (1977:167-171, 1990:66-68), describes opinions that are
open to dispute and that can be divided into two domains: a dominant
filrering the Past 25
orthodoxy and counterhegemonic heterodoxies. These divisions ;.lre sim
ilar to but not the same as the nature ofdi.llcctic interaction as described
by Marx. When in COIlAiCt, they produce a sort of synthetic structure.
This structure will in turn become one pole ofa new dialectic dichotomy,
tc)rcing the tC)fJllulation of new synthes<..."S and thereby contributing to a
paradigmatic shift (Kuhn 1970).
Hamilakis, together with Bernbeck, developed a connective tissue
between a theoretical model of social communication (centered on the
nature memory and communicative action) and the very prac
tical, real-world case studies otlcred here by a variety ofscholars in signifi
cantly divergent domains of society. Hamilakis otlcrs a conceptual trame
work that describes how and why material culture is uniquely situated to
be transt()rmed into socially persuasive symbols. At the same time, Bern
beck addresses (de- )doxification as a mechanism that provides a fOtlte to
socially persuasive communication. If the members of society support
ing the dominant discourse tail to respond, resist, or accommodate such
discourse, then their position is eroded. Hence, there are social impera
tives to whieh response is required. By placing whatever is deemed to be
the usable past in the context of contested social discourse, the resisting,
adopting, or transforming of that discourse emerges as the only means
of maintaining an intact dominant position. This atTords groups lacking
social power (by normal indices) a way forward toward the social change
they would predicate for the future based on their version of the past.
Once social conversation has been mobilized and the material remains of
the archaeological past have become involved by reference or in actual
ity (as in the case cited by Bernbeck-by being destroyed), the material
remains and the usable past in which they have been framed can be trans
formed into a past within the cultural memory of the present population.
Thus the usable past and with it the material remains are referenced within
social and political identities, and, once situated there, a means of moti
vating social change exists through communicative action strategies.
We hope that readers will join us in appreciating the activist features
of the case studies presented here. They otler clear views ofseveral of the
many agents of change as they seek to alter social and political realities
through appropriations of the tangible remains of the past. The authors
themselves, like readers of this volume, are among the agents of change
to which we rder. This gives us important insight into the motivation,
26 J)odd alld
perception, ami emerging outcomes of these processes in action today
and of the intert:lce between practice and engaged theorizing (sec Kille
brew, Yahya, Scham, Han and Gadot, Wendrich, and Steen et a1. as exam
ples). We gain understanding of historical instances, still highly relevant
and continuing to shape the current political terrain in these regions
(e.g., Bernhardsson, Giir, Scham, and Kohl). Pollock, Kohl, and Hami
Iakis each provides incisive, perceptive critiques of the position of the
archaeologist. These provide opportunity ft)r reflection and revision of
our practices tor those of us active in the field producing material culture
interprctations and, thereby, producing t<)dder t()r possible inclusion in
the tuture usable past.
Becausc engagements with the past and with narratives that arc based
on tangible remains of the past arc inherently dynamic, they arc a signifi
cant field t()r social change, and thc..1' occur at all levels ofsocial organiza
tion. As archacologists, we find ourselves both encouraged and slightly
concerned by the implications ofthc interpretation we have otTered here.
Uses of the archaeological past are ditlicult to predict in advance, and
some interpretations can have "'life or death consequences," as Lynn
Meskell (1998:2) so succinctly put it. It is therefi>re essential to facilitate
a broad-based understanding of the ways that materials become imbued
with meaning relevant to contemporary concerns. This enterprise enables
archaeologists to understand more clearly the diffuse and varied politi
cal potential of our work and, significantly, the responsibilities that flow
from that awareness.