The practice of archaeology can have profound and far-reaching effects, both negative and positive, on a wide-variety of people outside of academia. Community archaeology, an emerging sub-field of archaeology which aims to involve local communities in archaeological excavation and interpretation, has the potential to address many of the negative effects of archaeological fieldwork and to enhance and diversify its benefits. This article explores what community archaeology is and why it is necessary, and looks at two case studies of community archaeology in practice.
For years, archaeologists and politicians have been talking about “World Heritage” – a past that, in both its glorious and impressive monuments and its smaller more mundane particulars, belongs to everyone as a part of our collective history: the Heritage of Humankind. This discourse has caught the public imagination, helped gain funding and permits for research, and promoted the preservation of certain material remains of the human past all over the world. It is only recently, however, that archaeologists have begun to realize the wider implications of this line of thought and to truly take them to heart.
As a discipline, archaeology has developed highly specialized, highly technical ways of learning about and reconstructing the past, but somewhere along the way archaeologists have forgotton that theirs is not the only way to view history and that they are not the only people affected by the work that they do. It is easy to get caught up in the purely academic aspects of the field, in the sometimes esoteric, jargon-filled debates over the minutiae of ancient cultures, or in the rush to publish for peers instead of for the wider public because it is more occupationally advantageous. When this happens, the public benefits of archaeology turn into something to which we merely pay lip-service. What is happening now, and what is needed more than ever, is a commitment to doing more than simply going through the motions. Archaeologists need to commit to practicing archaeology in a way that benefits the communities that are directly affected by their research and truly take into account the fact that World Heritage encompasses many publics and many perspectives on the past that are just as valid as those created by the archaeological community. The best way to do this, and the next step in taking responsibility for the impact that archaeological research has on the world, is through ‘community archaeology.’ I will attempt to explore what community archaeology is and why we need it. In addition, I will consider two particular case studies where community archaeology is practiced.
What is community archaeology?
The most basic, widely applicable definition of community archaeology is that given by archaeologist Stephanie Moser of the University of Southampton in England: it is the practice of archaeological research in which “at every step in a project at least partial control remains with the community.” Packed within this definition are many implications and variations from project to project. This is to be expected in a technique that has emerged more or less independently in projects all over the world and which, by nature, must be highly reflexive and responsive to each particular archaeological site and its associated communities. There are, however, some factors common to all community archaeology projects: an emphasis on multivocality and genuine, two-way dialogue between archaeologists and the affected public, and an investment in empowering involved communities in political, social, and/or material ways.
On the face of it, relinquishing total control over a project in this way may seem like a risky proposition that goes above and beyond an archaeologist’s call of duty and endangers scientific objectivity in the process. Yet current archaeological practice is riddled with problems and it is clear from several case studies that community archaeology is not only necessary but actually beneficial to all involved – including the archaeologists and their research.
Why do we need community archaeology?
Whether archaeologists acknowledge it or not, their work has implications far beyond the academic world. At Copan, Honduras a classical Mayan site which draws many tourists and has made it onto UNESCO’s World Heritage Site list, Lena Mortensen has identified at least nine different groups that are invested in what happens at the site and associate a diverse array of meanings and interests with it. These include the state government agency (IHAH) that cares for and regulates Copan, the Honduran Ministry of Tourism, foreign researchers and archaeologists, archaeological research funding institutions, local technical specialists that work on site, other employees of the archaeological park, tour guides, local tourism industry employees, the local public, and the Chorti Maya, a group descended from the builders of Copan. Many people and many different publics are invested in the research and work done at the archaeological site of Copan for a number of varying reasons. Among their interests in using Copan may be to promote nationalism and the national economy; to fill in holes in understanding of about the ancient Maya and provide experience and research opportunities; to directly or indirectly provide long and short term employment; to help gain civil rights, social and possibly financial empowerment; or simply to satisfy a point of curiosity and to foster a sense of pride,. This same situation of material remains becoming a focal point for multiple interests is true at sites all over the world, whether big or small, monumental or modest, beautiful or plain. Too often archaeologists assume their own research project goals will be sufficient to satisfy the pertinent interested parties without actually consulting, or even acknowledging, any but a few of these parties.
Local damages
If the need to acknowledge the sheer number and diversity of those with a stake in the material remains of the past is not a convincing enough reason to undertake community archaeology, perhaps the negative and harmful effects that archaeological projects have often had on local communities and, by extension, the archaeological record itself, will make the difference. First, archaeological projects can sometimes damage communities in a directly material way, as archaeologist Arthur Demarest of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee describes from his own experience:
"Researchers often excavated a site with the help of local workers, only to abandon them when the project ended. Those who lost their income often resorted to looting and slash-and-burn agriculture to survive. ‘In the wake of every archaeological project is an economic and social disaster,’ says Demarest. He offers one of his own projects as an example of what not to do. After employing about 300 people in the early 1990s at several sites in the Peten, the forest in northern Guatemala, Demarest left the government with a continuing development plan for the region, much of it federal land. But the federal government brought in outsiders to implement it. Desperate at having lost their jobs, the local people plundered the sites." (Bawaya 2005)
It is somewhat ironic that so many archaeologists point to poverty and desperation as significant causes of looting and of other destruction of the archaeological record that we try so hard to preserve and learn from, yet they frequently fail to acknowledge the role that they themselves sometimes play in exacerbating these situations and the role that they might play in ameliorating them.
Many pasts: wider implications
Often, the negative effects of archaeological projects are not so direct or immediately apparent as the ones in the example above. Archaeology has been championed, and rightfully so, for granting access to a history other than that of elite, powerful individuals whose deeds were recorded in writing, and for telling us more about the everyday life of people in ancient cultures than has ever been known before. Here we see a different way of looking at history, a different perception of the past and what important lessons it can teach. Yet these two examples are far from the only ways of looking at the past and different aspects of human history are far more relevant to different people. Archaeologists have a very specific way of reconstructing the past which holds legitimacy in the public eye largely because of the scientific nature of the research. Because of this the information they generate and the way it is used can have a great impact on people’s lives: “Archaeologists create borders and cultural areas that get incorporated and internalized in social lexicons of areas they describe, with very real effects for people today.” (Mortensen 2007) In other words, the accounts of history that archaeologists generate through their research, including the way they categorize artifacts and cultures, are often used by governments and businesses to promote nationalism, civic pride and tourism. Unfortunately, this means that what is ultimately championed is usually a highly simplified, selective account of the past which, intentionally or not, is therefore an exclusive account that can have real consequences on people today.
These simplifications, in turn, can have an effect on what archaeologists choose to study, or on what they are able to study. As one particular culture’s artifacts and stories become more widely known and more fervently promoted by governments and businesses, resources tend to pool around generating new finds and new information about that culture or time period. It becomes easier to get funding for projects that focus on that culture and to find other experts and research to consult. In short, it becomes easier to get work done as an archaeologist if that particular culture is the culture you choose to study. The ultimate result is a continual narrowing of the field of the past. It means that all too often, money and attention are funneled away from local causes and concerns and into national or international projects, with little benefit trickling down to the population at large.
Lena Mortensen again provides an excellent example of these processes at work in her research on the archaeological park at Copan: “Over many decades, the ancient Maya have been transformed through archaeology and tourism into a valuable worldwide commodity. The synthetic, stylized image of 'Maya' now functions like a brand—easily recognized, indexing a suite of images and associations.” As beneficial as this is to tourism on a national level, however:
"...it simultaneously cancels out the emergence of other histories, which matter greatly to the viability of marginalized groups in the present . . . the commercial and economic power of the tourism infrastructure, which markets a commercialized Maya identity, and through which the silence of other groups becomes even more profound." (Mortensen 2007)
The commercialization of Mayan history, of one period of Mayan history in particular, has created in Honduras a separation of the past into only two categories: Maya and non-Maya. Yet the borders of Honduras contain archaeological evidence from more than just this one period, and the cultural and material distinctions between the Maya and other cultures living nearby are nowhere near as clear-cut as these false categories suggest.
Despite this, the process of oversimplifying descriptions of the past continues, and “the persistent negative construction of historical cultural regions to the west of Honduras’ Maya area (i.e. “non-Maya”) transposes directly into relative (lack of) value for tourism promotion.” (Mortensen 2007) Essentially, the conception of the Mayan past researched and developed by archaeologists and then used by the Honduran national government and international commercial enterprises to bring in tourist dollars, has directly contributed to the continued neglect of any Hondurans not geographically or cultural included in the realm of the ancient Maya. It would benefit archaeologists to be aware of the possibility of such wider repercussions of their research: archaeologists do not work in a vacuum, and the sooner they realize this the sooner the practice of archaeology can be undertaken more responsibly.
Community archaeology in practice: two case studies
But how exactly can archaeologists practice archaeology more responsibly? Many different archaeologists have sought to address this question in their own projects with the idea of community archaeology in mind, and every project has turned out a little differently. Despite these differences, there are some basic ideas that can be carried through into any archaeological research project. Looking at both the Community Archaeology Project from the excavations at Quseir, Egypt and at community archaeology work undertaken at Cancuén, a Maya site in central Guatemala, we can see both the commonalities and the variations in these two projects.
Community archaeology at Quseir, Egypt
In 1999, excavations began at modern Quseir al-Qadim — the site of Myos Hormos, a vital port in the ancient Roman Empire and again in the 13th and 14th centuries under Mamluk rule. Planning for the Community Archaeology Project began at the same time as planning for the excavations, with extra staff brought on to run the community focused aspects of the project. The Community Archaeology Project has two major goals: (1) to “involve the local community in all aspects of the archaeological enterprise, culminating in the creation of a heritage centre that presents the findings from the excavations to the people of Quseir and tourists visiting the area” and (2) to change the way archaeology is conducted by avoiding earlier systematic exclusion of local communities from the process of discovery and construction of knowledge about heritage (Moser 2002). As Quseir’s Head of Research Stephanie Moser put it: “it is no longer acceptable for archaeologists to reap the material and intellectual benefits of another society’s heritage without that society being involved and able to benefit equally from the endeavour.” The archaeologists at Quseir therefore see themselves as facilitators who work with the community to set research questions and goals, present the local community with their findings in as many ways and as many forms as possible, and place the decision about what to say and how to display the results of the excavations firmly into the hands of the community.
Moser outlines seven major components of their collaborative strategy and suggests that their example might be useful for others attempting similar projects: communication and collaboration, employment and training, public presentation, interviews and oral history, educational resources, photographic and video archives, and community-controlled merchandising. The first component, communication and collaboration, is the most important one, and Moser emphasizes this aspect of their work in the remaining six components listed. At Quseir, this means that the archaeologists must work to define research questions together with the community and surrender some of their authority and control over the project. They thereby encourage a genuine, continuous two-way dialogue where community feedback is encouraged and has a real effect on the continuing excavation.
To create and encourage this dialogue, the Quseir team fosters partnerships with local councils and heritage organizations, regularly distributes reports on excavation results and fieldwork strategy proposals, and puts out plain language reports that are easily accessible to non-archaeologists. They also try to encourage a sense of openness about the excavations by including community members in field work and other work for the excavation, committing to answering all questions frankly and honestly even if the answers are unfavorable to the community, and making sure that news and decisions about the project are shared between archaeologists and the community even between field seasons when most of the archaeologists are out of the country. Finally, it means ensuring that the community truly has an opportunity for authorship and ownership of their heritage by keeping a regularly updated image database of important finds from the site, so that that the community remains informed and can decide for themselves what to focus on for study and display. Such practices should create close ties between the community and archaeologists, with people on both sides personally invested in the well-being of the community and of the archaeological record.
The other components of the Community Archaeology Project at Quseir are more or less included in the description of openness and collaboration above, so they will each be touched upon only briefly here. Employing and training local individuals in the skills necessary for excavation, conservation, and museum display allows local people to play a central role in the research of their heritage. Such involvement ensures continuity in project work when foreign researchers are absent from Quseir, opens up further employment options and formal educational opportunities for those that are trained, and enables the local community to have direct involvement in coordinating public presentation of the site and running the visitor center. Public presentation must focus on keeping as much of the community constantly informed, involved and enabled to provide feedback and input as possible.
Interviews and oral histories furthermore bring in a multidisciplinary aspect of the Community Archaeology Project, and
"...should be a central component of any community archaeology project. Not only do they provide us with insights into how people respond to archaeological discoveries and how they experience and negotiate archaeology in the present, they also provide valuable opportunities to analyze how this information relates to established ideas about the heritage of the site being investigated." (Moser 2002)
Interviews about local history and perceptions of the past provide a more diverse and comprehensive picture of Quseir al-Qadim’s long history. Such interviews provide yet another venue for communicating the aims of the project and the progress made so far directly to members of the community. This in turn provides an opportunity for members of the project to receive immediate feedback from the community. Investing in educational resources for the site provides another similar opportunity by bringing school children to the site to learn about Myos Hormos and about archaeology. Two children’s books about the site created for children of primary school age accomplish a similar goal and seem to “foster pride in the unknown antiquity of Quseir and imaginative thinking about life in the past.” (Moser 2002) Also, the visual artifact database mentioned previously provides public education opportunities for an older audience. All of these components are complemented and completed by the inclusion of a photograph and video archive of both formal and informal occasions in the Quseir excavations, providing documentation of the research process and potential material for display once the visitor center is up and running. Finally, the project attempts to put resources and planning for the city’s financial future into the hands of the local community by establishing local control of merchandising and of the visitor center.
In the years since the excavations at Quseir began, this plan has been put into practice with very positive results so far. Despite the fact that changing archaeological practice and juggling the opinions and concerns of so many different groups are difficult tasks rife with frustrations and complications, Moser has found that running an excavation in this way is not just more ethically responsible but that it also improves the archaeology itself. For example: “Two members of the excavation team were taken by two local excavators on a tour of a local mosque to examine the spatial layout of Islamic buildings, a trip that led them to question their initial interpretation of a trench.” (Moser 2002) These and other similar insights would probably not have occurred without community interaction in the investigation. By being responsive to community concerns and community feedback, the team at Quseir has incorporated alternative perceptions of the past into their analysis and found a more comprehensive picture of the area’s long and varied history.
“Turn to the Living to Help Save the Dead”: Archaeology at Cancuén, Guatemala
Arthur Demarest’s excavations of part of the great trade route that ran through Mayan territory in Guatemala are based on a slightly different model of community archaeology. This model emphasizes the material and financial contributions that an archaeological project can make to the communities around the excavation sites. Splitting his time between excavation and community outreach, Demarest works at several sites in a project he believes is:
"successful because it operates ‘bottom up—we’re working through the village.’ Using ethnographic studies of the Maya people and working with leaders from several villages, Demarest designed a research and community development plan that enables the local people, rather than outsiders, to serve as custodians of their own heritage. The communities choose projects—archaeology, restoration, ecotourism, etc.— and run them with the guidance of experts, earning more than they would by farming." (Bawaya 2005)
As opposed to the project in Quseir, there is not such an emphasis on continuous communication and feedback, although clearly communication and consideration of local concerns is a major priority. In accordance with the plan described above, Demarest and his team have helped establish a visitor center, an inn, a guide service, and a campground at a park’s entrance, all of which are collaboratively managed by three nearby villages. The proceeds have paid for water systems, school expansions, and medical supplies. Instead of creating job loss and other economic and social disasters, a bottom-up approach produces almost immediate, positive changes in the local community.
In this case, there a greater emphasis on community archaeology not just as a good in and of itself that can lead to better archaeology, but rather on the ways that giving back to the community can help with site preservation: if a local residents are earning enough money in a constructive way and have an appreciation for the research being conducted about their heritage, they will not turn to looting the nearest archaeological site in order to make a living or supplement their income. While this seems to be a self-interested reason for conducting archaeological research in such a way, there is no reason to deny its validity.
Concluding thoughts
The work that archaeologists do has the potential to either greatly improve our knowledge of the past and the lives of people in the present, or to cause further damage to both if not done responsibly. The sooner archaeologists acknowledge this fact and change their practices in order to address the effects that excavation can have on interested communities, the better off the discipline will be. While sacrificing total control over the course of a project or diverting attention away from the already time consuming task of practicing academically rigorous archaeology may seem like an inordinately large risk at first, the results are worth it. If archaeological excavation cannot be undertaken without causing harm to the very people we say we are trying to help by uncovering the past, it should not be done at all. Community archaeology offers a way to do both: to help people and to continue investigation of the past in a way that enriches the present.
References
Bawaya, Michael, 2005. Maya Archaeologists Turn to the Living to Help Save the Dead, Science, 26: 1317-1318.
Mortensen, Lena, 2005. The Local Meanings of International Heritage at Copan, Honduras, The SAA Archaeological Record, 5,(2): 28-30, 44.
Moser, Stephanie, Darren Glazier, James E. Phillips, Lamya Nasser el Nemr Mohammed Saleh Mousa, Rascha Nasr Aiesh, Susan Richardson, Andrew Conner, and Michael Seymour, 2002. Transforming archaeology through practice: strategies for collaborative archaeology and the Community Archaeology Project at Quseir, Egypt, World Archaeology, 23,(2): 220-248.
Marshall, Yvonne, 2002. What is community archaeology?, World Archaeology, 34,(2): 211-219.
Mortensen, Lena, 2007. Working Borders; The Contexts of Copan Archaeology, Archaeologies; Journal of the World Archaeological Congress, 3,(2): 132-152.
Biography
