Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage

Laurajane Smith

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2004
• Print ISBN: 9780415318334
• eBook ISBN: 9781134367955
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Archaeology
• Index: Social Sciences

This controversial book is a survey of how relationships between indigenous peoples and the archaeological establishment have got into difficulty, and a crucial pointer to how to move forward from this point.

With lucid appraisals of key debates such as NAGPRA, Kennewick and the repatriation of Tasmanian artefacts, Laurajane Smith dissects the nature and consequences of this clash of cultures.

Smith explores how indigenous communities in the USA and Australia have confronted the pre-eminence of archaeological theory and discourse in the way the material remains of their past are cared for and controlled, and how this has challenged traditional archaeological thought and practice.

Essential reading for all those concerned with developing a just and equal dialogue between the two parties, and the role of archaeology in the research and management of their heritage.

1
INTRODUCTION

In the mid-1990s two extremely public conflicts occurred between archaeologists and Indigenous peoples over the repatriation of items of cultural heritage significance. Although separate conflicts – one occurred in Australia, the other in the USA – and focused on very different material heritage, there were significant similarities in the ways in which these conflicts were conducted, regulated and expressed. In Australia, what has been called the ‘La Trobe Affair’ developed over the control over secular material culture and was popularly believed to have precipitated the ‘death of archaeology’ (Maslen 1995a). What became known as the ‘Kennewick Man’ case in America centred on the repatriation of human remains, and has been defined as the case that ‘will determine the course of American archaeology’ (Preston 1997: 72). The aim of this book is to provide a theoretical framework for understanding the social consequences of archaeological theory and practice. My intention is to illustrate how conflicts over the disposition of cultural heritage, like those above, are framed by archaeological discourse and how, in turn, the politics of cultural heritage and archaeological theory are inextricably intertwined.

Since the 1980s there has been a growing acknowledgement in the Western discipline of archaeology that what we do as archaeologists is ‘political’, and has significance beyond the accumulation of abstract knowledge about the past. However, what is actually meant by ‘politics’ – how is archaeology political, and what is the relationship of politics and archaeological knowledge and discourse? What does archaeological knowledge and discourse do outside of the academy that makes it political?

One of the principal things that archaeologists do outside of academia is cultural resource management (CRM). Although defined in more detail below, CRM refers to the process and procedures, often underpinned by public policy and legislation, used to protect, preserve and/or conserve cultural heritage items, sites, places and monuments. Although often perceived as a process that is in some way separate from the ‘real’ business of archaeological research, or at least as an adjunct area of archaeological practice, it is nonetheless integral to the discipline. Not only does CRM employ a significant number of archaeologists, it is the process through which the archaeological database is preserved and maintained, but also ultimately defined for future research. It is explicitly through the day-today processes of CRM that archaeologists encounter other groups and interests who perceive the ‘cultural resource’ not as data but as ‘heritage’. If we accept that practice and theory inform each other then the practices of CRM cannot be dismissed as insignificant.

Subsequently, my aim is to critically explore and theorize the nature of CRM, and the interrelationship it has with the development and maintenance of archaeological discourse, theory and practice, and in so doing identify its ‘political’ nature. The politics of archaeology is examined through a comparative exploration of the way in which archaeological theory, especially the ‘New Archaeology’, played a constitutive role in the creation of CRM policy, practice and legislation in the USA and Australia. I argue that through CRM archaeology becomes actively engaged in the politics of cultural identity, which has profound consequences not only for the discipline itself, but also for those who define the ‘things’ that are ‘managed’ by archaeologists as part of their cultural heritage. The book examines the conflicts between archaeologists and Indigenous peoples in America and Australia, and demonstrates the political nature of archaeological knowledge and discourse. The analysis draws on and brings together detailed examinations of archival documents, newspaper and other media publications, as well as analyses of academic archaeological discourse and theory, and archaeological practice.

This book contends that through CRM archaeological knowledge and expertise is mobilized by public policy makers to help them ‘govern’ or regulate the expression of social and cultural identity. Material culture, as cultural heritage, is often used to give tangible and physical representation to intangible concepts and notions of cultural, social or historical identity, such as a sense of place, community or belonging. The way in which any heritage item, site or place is managed, interpreted and understood has a direct impact on how those people associated with, or who associate themselves with, that heritage are themselves understood and perceived. The past, and the material culture that symbolizes that past, plays an important part in creating, recreating and underpinning a sense of identity in the present. The past is used both to legitimate and to understand the present. Various groups or organizations and interests may use the past to give historical and cultural legitimacy to a range of claims about themselves and their experiences in the present. These claims may, from time to time, stand in opposition to archaeological knowledge or understandings of the past. However, archaeology as a form of expertise and as an intellectual discipline occupies a privileged position in Western societies, and in debates about the past. The scientific discourse of much archaeological theory tends to underwrite and help maintain the sense of expertise, and therefore the disciplinary authority, that ensures archaeology a privileged position in these debates. However, the consequence of this is that archaeological knowledge, as one area of expertise about the past, becomes what Rose and Miller (1992) refer to as a ‘technology of government’. This is defined as the process whereby the knowledge, techniques, procedures and so on of a particular discipline become mobilized in the regulation of populations (Rose and Miller 1992: 175, see Chapter 4 for details). Archaeology becomes mobilized as a ‘technology of government’ in the regulation or governance of social problems that intersect with claims about the meaning of the past and its heritage. Archaeological knowledge is particularly useful in this context because it is used to judge the significance of physical objects or places. As a technology of government, archaeological discourse and knowledge may be utilized by governments, bureaucracies and policy makers, and ultimately, through the practices of CRM, may help them clarify and arbitrate over competing demands and claims made about the past by various interests. Moreover, it may be used to help define the interests and populations that are linked with, or define, a particular social problem that may itself intersect with an understanding of the past.

The use of archaeological knowledge in the legitimization or de-legitimization of interests may occur without the consent or knowledge of archaeological practitioners, but its use nonetheless places archaeology at odds with others who have an interest in the cultural and social uses of the past. This is particularly the case for Indigenous people in colonial, and so called post-colonial, contexts who may seek to establish the legitimacy of their cultural claims to land, sovereignty and nationhood through discrete links to the past and its material cultural heritage.

In effect, archaeology is a form of expertise that must, and does, become embroiled in social and cultural debates about the past and its meaning for the present. This is not a purely intellectual or academic exercise. Rather the consequence of this process is that archaeology, as a privileged form of expertise, occupies a role in the governance and regulation of identity. This means that archaeological knowledge, and the discourse that frames this knowledge, can and does have a direct impact on people’s sense of cultural identity, and thus becomes a legitimate target and point of contention for a range of interests. Conflicts over the meaning of the past become more than just conflicts over interpretation or differing values, they become embroiled in negotiations over the legitimacy of political and cultural claims made on the basis of links to the past. This conflict and the degree to which various interests, most notably Indigenous interests, contest archaeological knowledge and practices has serious consequences for the discipline of archaeology, which has been extensively criticized, and made the focus of politicized action by Indigenous peoples throughout the world (Watkins 2001a). Certainly, the archaeological literature that discusses this conflict expresses a sense that the discipline feels besieged (McGuire 1989: 180; Zimmerman 1998a). In response, archaeology has tended to maintain a discourse that stresses its position as an expert, neutral and value free practice, despite a number of post-modern incursions into the discipline. This response ensures that the power/knowledge strategy that underpins archaeological expertise is maintained in the face of the critiques and challenges offered by Indigenous peoples. The archaeological discipline must continue a discourse informed by ‘processual science’ if its position as a technology of government, and its role in governing cultural identity, is to be maintained. Ultimately archaeological discourse and archaeological theory become governed by involvement in the governance of cultural identity. Archaeological discourse must maintain its scientific, if not scientistic, values to maintain its position in CRM and thus ensure access to the discipline’s data.

During the 1990s, international and national archaeological organizations and individuals have moved to incorporate Indigenous criticisms into archaeological theory and practice (for instance WAC 1990; AAA 1991; and chapters in Davidson et al. 1995; Nicholas and Andrews 1997; Swidler et al. 1997; Dongoske et al. 2000). These initiatives will be limited and partial, for both Indigenous peoples and archaeologists, unless two things are recognized. First, the discipline has to gain a clearer understanding of the way its discourse uses power and ideology, and is in turn contested on those grounds. Second, the consequences of the discipline’s involvement in the governance of certain social problems must be recognized. By understanding these issues, negotiations over access to sites and heritage items, with both Indigenous peoples and other interests, may commence from a deeper understanding of the ‘politics’ involved, and of the power/knowledge relations that must themselves be negotiated if equitable resolutions are to occur for both parties.

Although this analysis is developed in the context of American and Australian Indigenous heritage management, the model developed here is applicable in other contexts. My examination draws on Indigenous issues and cultural politics in these countries because of the stark political nature of these debates and archaeological involvement in them. The nature of these debates makes them easier to illustrate and define than other debates in heritage management and archaeology, where the protagonists are less clearly culturally or politically defined by postcolonial political and cultural conflicts. However, as conflicts over the management of sites such as Seahenge and Stonehenge in Britain, and Ayodhya in India, and debates over the interpretation of labour history, women’s history, African- American history and many more suggest, the analysis developed here has relevance and applicability for understanding the role of archaeology in other conflicts and social and cultural debates.

The social problem

Archaeology is drawn on to help explain, regulate and govern social problems that intersect with issues of identity and the past. In the 1960s and 1970s a number of coincidental developments and events coincided to create a set of social problems and opportunities that facilitated archaeology’s use as a technology of government. These events created an opportunity to develop not only a formalized role for archaeological engagement with the governance of identity issues, but also an explicit role that became institutionalized through state bureaucracies and heritage agencies.

The first development was an increase in competing demands about the meaning and nature of material culture as either someone’s heritage or as an archaeological resource. In America and Australia this was intimately connected with the development of nationwide assertive Indigenous political movements. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, national and organized Indigenous political and cultural movements had gained media and public attention in both American and Australia. The development of these movements, and subsequent increasing public awareness about Indigenous cultural politics meant that both the American and Australian states were confronted with new social problems. The problems posed by these movements for the state were particularly acute given the tensions over the development of national identities experienced in all post-colonial countries.

The second development was the increasing concern in many Western countries about the fate of cultural heritage, and public debates increased exponentially through the 1960s and 1970s about the need to conserve and preserve ‘the past’ (Lowenthal 1990). A range of reasons has been suggested for this marked increase in interest. Some have identified it as part of wider debates about concern for the environment and the rate of post-war development (Lowenthal 1979: 554; Rains et al. 1983; Glass 1990). Others that it was a result of increased leisure time (Hunter 1981) or even the growth of cultural tourism (Urry 1990), or an obsession with nostalgia as Western public life grew more abstract and impersonal (Chase and Shaw 1989; Lowenthal 1989). Still others considered that it was associated with nascent, but explicit, conservative political tendencies and ‘it was better back then’ ideologies (Wright 1985; Hewison 1987; Shanks and Tilley 1987b; Bower 1995). Some see it as part of modern attempts to reassert and explore perceptions of social, cultural or national identities (Bickford 1981; Lowenthal 1995). Whatever the cause there was increasing social debate about heritage and its significance to Western societies.

The third development was that archaeologists became active players in this debate, lobbying governments in America and Australia for legislation to protect archaeological resources (see Chapter 7). At this time the discipline also increased its ‘professional’ and institutional profile, with archaeological organizations such as the Society for American Archaeology (SAA) producing codes of conduct, while actively defining and developing its lobbying role during the 1970s (SAA 1961; Adams 1984; Knudson 1984; McGimsey 2000). In 1964, the Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies (AIAS) was formally established (now the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies), followed by the Australian Archaeological Association in 1973. Both commenced sustained lobbying and provided codes of conduct for researchers (see Chapter 5).

This lobbying was largely successful, and in both America and Australia legislation was developed in the 1960s and 1970s to protect Indigenous ‘archaeological resources’ or ‘relics’ as they were often called (Chapter 7). This legislation and associated policy underwrote the development of CRM as a formal management process. Although the development of CRM in America can be traced to the Antiquities Act of 1906, and the impetus given by the 1940s and 1950s reservoir salvage programmes, it was not until the 1960s that CRM was extended and given greater legal and policy formality and nationwide substance (see Chapters 5–7). The CRM model developed in the USA was imported into Australia in the late 1960s and early 1970s (Sullivan 1973, 1975a; Chapter 7). Part of the success of the lobbying by archaeologists rests with the development of professional organizations that gave the discipline greater authority and legitimacy in the process. The advent of the ‘New Archaeology’ in the 1960s, which strenuously professed a rational discourse emphasizing a new identity for the discipline as a ‘science’, was highly significant here. The scientific discourse of processual theory was made very public as many of those advocating a new and rational archaeology were also engaged in attempts to make the subject more ‘relevant’ to the public. This was done from the 1960s onwards through increased archaeological participation in outreach and educational programmes as part of CRM, and through the continued lobbying by archaeologists for the protection of archaeological resources from development and looting.

What was significant about this new archaeological discourse was that it was easily understood by the modern liberalism of Western governments. The discourse of rationality and objectivity, and the scientific values that informed it, found synergy with and ‘made sense’ in the context of the 1960s and 1970s liberal forms of governance in both America and Australia (Chapter 6).

These were all coincidental developments that facilitated the uptake of archaeological knowledge, through CRM, as a technology of government by providing, in the first instance, a social problem complete with a truculent population that needed identifying and defining by governments, in this case Indigenous Australians and North Americans. Then, in the second instance, archaeology as a discipline was increasing its public profile through its professional-ization and lobbying activities, and moreover was presenting a newly minted discourse that rendered the new social problem understandable to the rationalities of liberal governance.

What is cultural resource management?

Cultural resource management is the term currently used in the USA, although replaced in Australia since the early 1990s with the term ‘cultural heritage management’. The phrase was changed in Australia following Indigenous criticism that the term ‘resource’ implied that their heritage could be accessed and was of equal significance to allcomers, while the term ‘heritage’ recognized that certain groups could and do have a special relationship with some places, sites or artefacts. The term CRM is used here not only because it is still current in the US but because of its historical significance in both countries. The idea of ‘resource’ also encapsulates much of the discourse surrounding the development of management policy and practices, and was part of a discourse that influenced the relations between archaeologists, Indigenous interests, public policy and legislation.

The standard definition of CRM, constructed within the established discourses of power/knowledge of the discipline of archaeology, argues that it is simply the technical processes concerned with the management and use of material culture perceived by sectors of the community as significant (e.g. McGimsey 1972; Cleere 1984c, 1989; Hunter and Ralston 1993; Pearson and Sullivan 1995; Hall and McArthur 1996; King 1998). These processes of management are regulated by codes of professional ethics, legislation and government policy (King 2000). Discussion has also focused on describing the legislative and government policy base of CRM (e.g. McGimsey and Davis 1977; Fowler 1982; Darvill 1987; Cleere 1984a, 1984b, 1993a; Flood 1987; Hunter and Ralston 1993; Hall and McArthur 1996; King 2000). Other debates or definitions of CRM have been focused on particular issues, such as ‘who owns the past’, or issues raised by community proposals to rebury human remains, repatriation, and tourism issues, to name but a few (e.g. McKinlay and Jones 1979; Green 1984; McBryde 1985; Cleere 1989; Shanks and Tilley 1987a, 1987b; Davison and McConville 1991; McManamon and Hatton 2000; Skeates 2000; Layton et al. 2001).

However, as some have begun to argue, CRM is (or at least can be) more than this (Byrne 1991, 1993; Carman 1991, 1993, 2002; Smith 1994; Graham et al 2000; Meskell 2002a). CRM’s association with archaeology is a significant one, as it both influences and is influenced by the ideologies and politics of archaeology (Byrne 1991, 1993; Carman 1993). Heritage is also used to symbolize perceptions of social, cultural and historical identity at individual, community and national levels as a growing literature on this phenomenon testifies (e.g. Lowenthal and Binney 1981; Lowenthal 1990; Friedman 1992; Johnston 1992; Dicks 2000; Graham et al. 2000; Emerick 2001). The management and use of heritage must impact upon the meanings individuals and communities give to the past. Heritage, for instance, is used by Indigenous peoples and other community groups to challenge received and normative perceptions of their pasts and identities (see for example Wylie 1992a; Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996; Graham et al. 2000; Watkins 2001a). Heritage can also be used, as Hewison (1987) notes, to support conservative versions of social development, in which class exploitation is rendered invisible by the preservation of sanitized industrial sites without the retention of associated cramped housing and squalid urban areas. In addition, the traditional subaltern roles and positions of women, working-class communities and migrant and ethnic communities in the present can be reinforced or challenged by providing uncritical or radical interpretations of the historical continuity of these roles (for instance, Bickford 1981, 1985, 1993; S. Watson 1992; Reekie 1992; Johnston 1993; Leone et al. 1995; Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996; Ruppel et al. 2003). These and other uses of heritage mean that archaeologists employed in CRM become involved, whether they wish to or not, with debates over the meanings given to the past and heritage, and with notions and perceptions of cultural, historical, social and national identities. In the process of doing CRM they also engage with these issues in the context of government policy and legislation.

Definitions and analyses of CRM or archaeology which consider the interaction of ‘heritage’ as the physical and symbolic embodiment of ‘identity’, archaeological ideology, discourse and practice, and government policy, agencies and legislation, are rare in the literature. Current definitions of CRM, which stress the technical aspects of CRM practice, have two important effects on debate. First, the defining of issues that engage archaeologists (e.g. issues surrounding the definitions of cultural and other identities, access to sites, reburial and repatriation) as being primarily ‘heritage’ issues causes them to cease to be archaeological issues. They become issues that archaeological theoreticians can comment on and discuss in abstract terms, but they are not ...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Acknowledgements
• Abbreviations
• 1: Introduction
• 2: The Cultural Politics of identity
• 3: Archaeological theory and the ‘Politics’ of the past
• 4: Archaeology and the Context of Governance
• 5: Archaeological stewardship
• 6: Significance concepts and the embedding of processual discourse in cultural resource management
• 7: The role of legislation in the governance of material culture in America and Australia
• 8: NAGPRA and kennewick
• 9: The ‘death of archaeology’
• 10: Conclusion
• Notes
• Bibliography