1.2: Social Impact- Archaeology Isn't Just About the Past

Christopher L. Hernandez, PhD., Loyola University Chicago

Learning Objectives

• Describe archaeological contributions to knowledge that are relevant to contemporary society.
• Identify how the process of archaeological research affects people today.
• Compare and contrast the role of archaeology in creating ideas of nationhood in the United States and Latin America.
• Assess the role archaeologists have in shaping future U.S. social life.

Is archaeology relevant for contemporary society? Many in the United States many would probably say no. After all, haven’t archaeologists found everything already? Discovering King Tut’s tomb was really cool, but why should governments and private groups contribute money that might be better spent elsewhere? These are just some of the comments about my profession I have heard over the years from friends, acquaintances, and strangers. Unlike countries in many other parts of the world, such as Latin America, in the United States, archaeology is often seen as superfluous or irrelevant. As a subfield of anthropology, archaeology has gained a public image as the study of exotic others. Although many archaeologists investigate pre-Columbian, colonial, and U.S. history, the popular appeal of archaeology tends to lie in the oohs and ahhs of making spectacular finds about foreign and exotic peoples (Schiffer, 2017; Smith et al., 2012). This public profile easily lends the field to critique from people who are unfamiliar with or skeptical about archaeologists. The skeptics include powerful figures, such as members of Congress who can influence the federal distribution of research funds (Mervis, 2014; Smith, 2017). Hence, over the past few decades, many prominent scholars have turned to writing works for popular consumption on how archaeology is important and perhaps even necessary (Fagan & Durrani, 2019; Joyce, 2016; Sabloff, 2008; Schiffer, 2017; see also in this textbook the chapters by Hendrick, Anderson, and Casper-Denman).

In this chapter, I examine how the process of archaeological inquiry contributes to and challenges aspects of contemporary U.S. society. To build my claims, I have divided this chapter into three parts. The first part focuses on the traditional role of archaeologists in society, which is to provide insights about the past and to illuminate the course of the human experience. Part 2 highlights how the process of creating knowledge has important ramifications for contemporary people. The work of archaeologists is an inherently cultural process that has political, economic, and social consequences. I examine how in some cases learning about the past has been oppressive for descendant communities. I also discuss steps that archaeologists are taking to address this downside of their work. Last, to really understand how archaeology is socially relevant, in Part 3, I reflect on U.S. culture and history. I use a comparative perspective to highlight the role of archaeology in the United States and Mexico and demonstrate how the issue of settler colonialism contributes to the trivialization of the field. I argue that archaeology in the United States has not achieved as much prominence as in Mexico because the field is not tied to the creation of a national identity. Instead, studying the human experience beyond the first European settlers of North America threatens to expose a project of elimination that was foundational to the building of a nation. If you are a visual learner or would like to preview of some of the major themes in this chapter, these 15-minute videos will provide good context for you:

One or more interactive elements has been excluded from this version of the text. You can view them online here: https://pb.libretexts.org/tracesarchaeology/?p=46#oembed-1

One or more interactive elements has been excluded from this version of the text. You can view them online here: https://pb.libretexts.org/tracesarchaeology/?p=46#oembed-2

Part 1: Contributions of Archaeological Knowledge to Society

By thinking about stuff, or the material world we live with and leave behind, archaeologists can provide a long-term perspective for understanding the human experience in any part of the world. This unique outlook allows us to ask questions whose answers have a profound impact on how people go about their lives. (For more on how this long-term perspective was established and why it is important, see Special Topics: Establishing Deep Time, below.) Part of this power lies in the use of science. Archaeologists have long used the scientific principles of geology to understand the human experience (see Appendix A). Other examples of archaeology as a science include radiocarbon dating to determine calendar dates for organic materials, chemistry to geographically pinpoint the sources of raw materials, genetics to understand genealogies, and computer modeling of satellite data to understand human movement (Brown & Brown, 2013; Parcak, 2019; Schiffer, 2017). Building from these and many other breakthroughs in the discipline, Michael Smith and colleagues (2012) highlight that archaeology has greatly progressed as a social science. Researchers have compiled a global database of finds that allow for rigorous examination of a range of questions about the human experience (e.g., Fagan & Durrani, 2019; Flannery & Marcus, 2012; Kintigh et al., 2014). Common themes of investigation include the development of urbanism, the origins of socially stratified societies, how institutionalized leadership positions developed, and societal resilience.

Special Topics: Establishing Deep Time

One of the biggest shocks to cultures across the globe, especially those in Europe, was the establishment of deep time, or what is often referred to as prehistory (Gamble & Kruszynski, 2009). This classic tale of archaeological impact involved the application of systematic, scientific methods to refute creationist conceptions of time. An often-recognized example of a creationist timeline is James Ussher’s creation date of October 23, 4004 BCE (before the Common Era). Ussher was an Irish scholar and a member of the clergy who carefully examined Biblical texts and other documentary records to calculate his particular date for the origins of existence. In the 1800s, many people in Europe and the United States accepted Ussher’s timeline for creation. However, in 1859, two works sparked a major shift in Western European and U.S. thought. In that year, Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species and Joseph Prestwich and John Evans documented the presence of human stone tools in the same geologic layers as extinct mammals.

Darwin’s book established the framework for a theory of evolution through natural selection. His argument that species adapt over time to achieve reproductive success in a given environment has been supported by archaeological finds of extinct animal fossils that include human ancestors such as Homo erectus, Homo habilis, and members of the Australopithecine family (Schiffer, 2017; Shook et al., 2019). Paving the way for these major discoveries in human evolution, John Evans and Joseph Prestwich made the important step of establishing that people existed prior to events recorded in the Bible.

In an 1896 American Geologist obituary written for Joseph Prestwich, the author notes that “prejudices, which stood in the way of acceptance of the evidence of man’s geologic antiquity, can scarcely be understood at the present time, though less than forty years have passed since those now forgotten controversies” (W.U., 1896, p. 134). The lack of controversy is a testament to the work of Prestwich, his colleague John Evans, and subsequent archaeologists. Today, few in the United States would argue that humans and the Earth are only 6,000 years old. Most would accept that we once coexisted with the mammoth, the saber-toothed tiger, and other extinct Ice Age (Pleistocene) creatures. Yet, as the quote above highlights, these ideas were far from conventional in 1859. Although many geologists at the time argued that Earth was more than 5,683 years old and that not all human existence was accounted for in the Bible, they still had to develop a case for an alternative perspective to that of Ussher and to other creationist conceptions of time. Perhaps the key lay in the archeological record.

Evans and Prestwich were not the first to claim evidence for the association of human artifacts with extinct mammals. Their key contribution is the application of geological science with systematic documentation to provide convincing evidence that countered creationist timelines. They gathered critical data at Saint-Acheul, near Amiens in the Somme Valley of France. Evans and Prestwich traveled to the Somme in the spring of 1859 in the hope of finding in situ artifacts or objects that had been relatively undisturbed since they were deposited in the soil (Gamble & Kruszynski, 2009). Through careful analysis of geologic layers (i.e., stratigraphic analysis), they had to establish that any artifacts associated with extinct mammals were not placed there by more recent human activity (i.e., fraud) or moved across geologic layers due to disturbances in the soil. In April 1859, construction workers in the Somme made a promising find. With a team of scientists and a photographer, Evans and Prestwich traveled to Saint-Acheul to document a stone hand axe that had been uncovered deep beneath the surface (see https://blog.geolsoc.org.uk/2020/04/27/photographs-from-the-drift/ for more information). The additional scientists bore witness to the discovery and the photographer provided what was then a relatively innovative documentation technique.

In the field, Evans and Prestwich recorded depth measurements and a detailed description of the artifact. They analyzed the soil context that contained the axe and found no disturbances. To support their finds at Saint-Acheul, Prestwich and Evans excavated a similar set of hand axes in Hoxne, England. During a business trip, Evans noticed hand axes in a collector’s case reminiscent of the one found in Saint-Acheul (Gamble & Kruszynski, 2009). He traced the provenancef of the artifacts in the case back to Hoxne. In England, Evans and Prestwich excavated more hand axes that were in the same soil context as extinct mammals. Together, the finds at Hoxne and Saint-Acheul provided the necessary artifacts and geologic evidence to prove that humans had lived in a previous geologic era with animals that are now extinct. This era of human existence, which is not accounted for in written records, provided a major counterclaim to creationist timelines. Today it is known as prehistory or deep time.

To demonstrate how the findings of archaeologists are relevant for contemporary society, I provide three case studies: (a) human-environment relationships, (b) human diseases in archaeological perspective, and (c) scrutinizing histories. The case studies are just a small sample of how archaeologists’ findings are relevant for contemporary society. For further discussion, see the works by Brian Fagan and Nadia Durrani (2019), Kenneth Feder (2017), Barbara J. Little (2016), Jeremy A. Sabloff (2008), and Michael Brian Schiffer (2017) (see also Appendix A for a classic example of archaeological contributions to knowledge).

Human-Environment Relationships

Figure 1. Armando Valenzuela Gómez, a Maya descendant, taking part in the investigation of an ancient Maya site. Photo by the author.

Archaeologists have long thought about human-environment relationships, but today they are increasingly concerned with understanding the conditions that led to the growth, decline, and resilience of societies across the globe (Chase & Scarborough, 2014; Fagan & Durrani, 2019; Kirch, 2005; McAnany & Yoffee, 2009; Rick & Sandweiss, 2020; Tainter, 2006). Work in Mesoamerica has demonstrated that a series of major droughts coincided with an episode commonly referred to as the Maya “collapse.” I say collapse in quotes because contrary to popular belief, the Maya peoples who created the towering temples and vast jungle cities of the Yucatán Peninsula, Guatemala, Belize, and parts of Honduras and El Salvador did not disappear (Figures 1 and 2). Millions of Maya descendants continue to live on the land of their ancestors and other parts of the globe, including the United States. Studies of Maya resilience are often tied to researchers observing a pattern in the archaeological record that dates to over a thousand years ago.

Figure 2. Temple pyramids of Tikal, Guatemala, rising above the rainforest canopy. Photo by the author.

When scholars discuss collapse in the Maya area, they are often referring to a process that occurred at the end of what is termed the Classic period (CE 200–900). That is when the southern lowland rainforests of the Maya area experienced their peak population levels (Figure 3). Divine rulers administered cities, formed alliances, and fought with rivals. However, around 700 CE, the power of Maya rulers and the growth of urban centers in this region of the world began to diminish. The archaeological record, which includes hieroglyphic texts (Figure 4), provides increased evidence of warfare and a general decline in monumental construction. The cities were largely depopulated by 900 CE, and over time they were incorporated back into the rainforest (Figure 1). What happened to the once-thriving Mayas?

Figure 3. Map of Maya area with climate proxy samples and Maya archaeological sites mentioned in this chapter. Climate proxy samples were compiled from Hoggarth et al. (2017) and Ebert et al. (2019).

Sparked in large part by paleo-climatological research conducted in the 1990s (Hodell et al., 1995), today archaeologists are increasingly examining the role of drought in the collapse. Much of this research utilizes lake cores and other sources of ancient rainfall data from the northern part of the Maya lowlands (Figure 3). The most refined source of data is a stalagmite from Yok Balum cave in Belize. Through uranium-thorium dating, Douglas J. Kennett et al. (2012) were able to date sequences of stalagmite growth with an accuracy of plus or minus 17 years. In other words, the researchers were able to narrow down the age of the growth sequences to a window of dates spanning roughly 34 years. During the Terminal Classic (700 to 900 CE), or roughly the period of collapse, their plus or minus window was closer to five years or less. Most archaeologists are accustomed to radiometric dates with ranges in decades or centuries, and it is remarkable Kennett and colleagues were able to arrive at such a narrow time frame. By measuring oxygen isotopes (δ18O) in sequences of stalagmite growth, they were able to estimate annual rainfall. Based on the record of rainfall rates that could be dated with high precision and accuracy, Kennett and colleagues argue that episodes of droughts that lasted multiple decades led to a two-stage collapse. The first episode of multidecadal droughts occurred in the seventh century CE, which was followed by another episode of multiple multidecadal droughts that occurred from 820 to 870 CE. Overall, they found evidence of a drying trend that lasted from 640 to 1020 CE.

Figure 4. Monument with hieroglyphic writing from the site of Copán, Honduras. Photo by the author.

Prolonged droughts would have been destructive for Classic period lowland Maya communities because the large populations living in densely packed areas were dependent on agricultural production (Hoggarth et al., 2017; Iannone, 2014; Kennett et al., 2012). Before the multidecadal droughts, the surplus that farmers generated had allowed for a population boom and the formation of an elite strata that included divine rulers and scribes. Cross-cultural research suggests that a lack of agricultural production and the resulting societal stress may have contributed to higher levels of warfare toward the end of the Classic Period (LeBlanc & Register, 2003; Sabloff, 2008; Zhang et al., 2007). Greater social conflict might have had a cascading effect that led to the destruction and accelerated abandonment of communities, such as the sites of Dos Pilas and Aguateca in Guatemala. As drought was exerting pressure on agriculture and on population levels, Maya communities seem to have increasingly turned to warfare in an attempt to alleviate some of the stress. Others likely migrated out of the southern lowlands in search of a reprieve from the turmoil. Although much of the collapse scenario I outlined in this and previous paragraphs is plausible, further investigation is necessary to provide scientific evidence to support this theory.

If Maya agricultural output was severely affected by low rainfall, then it is up to researchers to provide the archaeological evidence that demonstrates that decreased farming yields coincided with the multidecadal droughts or the extended period of low rainfall or both. People can have a number of responses to drought, including developing new agricultural techniques that mitigate the effects of low rainfall and perhaps increase productivity (e.g., Boserup, 1965; Kirch & Zimmerer, 2011). A better understanding of the conditions that led to the collapse, which includes an analysis of how the Mayas reacted to a shifting climate, will allow archaeologists to utilize their findings to help us think about current conditions. If climate change led to low rainfall that triggered massive depopulation, might our societies be facing similar conditions as the earth’s atmosphere and its oceans continue to warm? Or have we mitigated the major issues the ancient Mayas faced? More importantly, will we respond as a species to global climate change with a resiliency similar to that demonstrated by Maya peoples? If climate change did lead to the collapse, then Maya peoples endured through that turmoil only to face the horrors of colonization centuries later. Despite the challenges, Maya peoples have found ways to persist and in some cases to thrive into the present (e.g., Fischer & Brown, 1996; Menchú, 1984).

Human Infectious Diseases in Archaeological Perspective

The issue of human resilience is at the forefront of my thoughts because I began writing this chapter during a time that government officials were projecting would be the worst for the United States during the COVID-19 pandemic. It is now over a year after I wrote the previous sentence and by then the pandemic had only started to abate. In the face of grim daily disease and mortality numbers, it would have been easy to put archaeology aside and focus on other pursuits. Yet the examination of material remains can contribute important findings for epidemiologists and other health professionals. While biomedical researchers work to find proper treatments for COVID-19 and other illnesses, paleopathologists can provide a deeper understanding of the long-term human experience of infectious diseases.

Invasive, disease-causing organisms often affect soft tissue, such as the lungs or intestines, which preserve poorly over time. Consequently, archaeologists have primarily studied illnesses that cause bone modifications (e.g., Buikstra, 1981). Through skeletal analysis, bioarchaeologists and paleopathologists have provided evidence of past infectious diseases, such as tuberculosis, leprosy, brucellosis, and syphilis (Roberts & Manchester, 2010). Perhaps one of the most significant results from this work is the claim that the switch from a mobile, foraging lifestyle (i.e., hunting and gathering) to a sedentary lifestyle based on domesticated plants and animals (i.e., the Neolithic Revolution, also known as the Agricultural Revolution) about 12,000 years ago resulted in an overall decline in health for human populations (Barrett et al., 1998).

Through the analysis of osteological remains that pertain to the Neolithic Revolution in various parts of the world, researchers have observed increased bone lesions that indicate undernutrition and infectious disease (Barrett et al., 1998; Cohen, 1989; Cohen & Armelagos, 1984). Presumably, as the growth of human populations accelerated with the switch to a subsistence based primarily on domesticated plants and animals, we became increasingly concentrated in clusters of settlements. The formation of increasingly dense communities and living with domesticated animals provided more opportunity for infectious diseases to spread and thrive. It is important to note that a reliance on bone modification, which is a slow process, means that diseases that rapidly cause mortality are underrepresented in the archaeological record. For example, if future archaeologists excavate the graves of people who succumbed to COVID-19, they probably will not find skeletal modifications caused by the disease. Nevertheless, some of the detection issues can be overcome by using documentary and biomolecular analysis (Brown & Brown, 2013).

The Black Death in Europe (1347 to 1349 CE) has received considerable attention from investigators interested in the organism that caused the epidemic and in human reactions to the illness (McKinley, 2020). One of the most prominent case studies of the plague is a cemetery uncovered in East Smithfield, England. Documentary records were used to confirm that the Royal Mint cemetery of East Smithfield was an emergency burial ground for people who succumbed to the Black Death (Antoine, 2008). At the site, archaeologists have uncovered mass burials with the remains of several hundred plague victims. Researchers have utilized DNA sequences collected from the bones of the people interred there to examine whether or not the bacteria Yersinia pestis, which causes bubonic plague, was the organism that caused the illness known as the Black Death (Antoine, 2008; Bos et al., 2011). This genetic research has generated controversy, but ongoing advances in the study of ancient DNA have provided strong evidence that the Black Death was caused by Yersinia pestis. DNA research has also provided data that suggests that this bacterium may have been tied to an earlier epidemic known as the Plague of Justinian that occurred from 541 to 543 CE (Wagner et al., 2014).

Archaeologists may also contribute to the debate surrounding the role of rats in the transmission of the Black Death. Based on her extensive research, Antoine (2008) proposes the following:

“The black rat (Rattus rattus) is regarded by some as the dominant reservoir of Yersinia pestis and this species may have eventually been displaced and succeeded throughout Europe by the bigger brown rat (Rattus norvegicus). As the brown rat is believed to be less likely to transmit the [plague-carrying] fleas to humans[,] . . . [c]hanges in rodent ecology may thus explain the complex patterns of eruption, disappearance and re-emergence of plague that continued in Europe over many centuries.”

As this quote underscores, we cannot assume that humans have overcome past illnesses by developing immunity. Instead, the spread and eventual decline of certain diseases may have been caused by environmental changes that occurred through varying degrees of intentional and unintentional human intervention. Thus, as archaeologists continue to develop new methods of detection, we may be able to contribute a long-term understanding of human relationships with infectious organisms and disease transmitters that can help people address and perhaps even prevent future pandemics (e.g., Bos et al., 2011).

Scrutinizing Histories

The goal of many archaeologists is ultimately to learn about the past and enrich our understanding of humanity. One of our major contributions to this project is revealing hidden aspects of the past. This work is important because any account of the human experience will intentionally and/or unintentionally exclude information or contain biases (Brumfiel, 1993; Trouillot, 1995). For example, ancient written records, which are one among many sources of history (i.e., oral history, archaeology), tend to contain information about rulers and other members of the elite and ignore the everyday people who form the vast majority of a society’s population. In patriarchal groups, the actions of women are often underrepresented or missing. Moreover, rulers can choose to rewrite history in a manner that pleases them. Once the biases and omissions of histories are understood, investigators can look to expand, fill in, or refute narratives about the past. For example, archaeologists have revealed a wealth of evidence about people whose lives were omitted from written records. The silenced voices, among many others, include Indigenous peoples and enslaved Africans (Blakey, 2020; Supernant, 2020). Thanks in part to archaeological finds, we have gained a deeper understanding of how marginalized groups actively shaped the formation of the United States.

The history of the United States is often told as one of expansion by triumphant European settlers. The English landed on the East Coast at Plymouth and Virginia and as part of a colonial project expanded westward until the country was united “from sea to shining sea.” Yet the lands European people were settling were not empty or barren. For thousands of years, Native American ancestors created their own histories and cultures associated with the places Europeans sought to control.

Hindsight tells us that the European-led colonizers eventually displaced most Native American groups, but this process of removal was not simple, universal, or inevitable. Researchers have repeatedly demonstrated that European successes in the Americas would not have been possible without the assistance of Indigenous groups (Dunbar-Ortiz, 2014; Restall & Asselbergs, 2007; Silverman, 2019). The sharing of knowledge and resources between the Wampanoag and the Pilgrims at the “First Thanksgiving” is a familiar, though highly mythologized, example. Examples abound for how Native American groups supported, directed, impeded, and even prevented efforts at domination and exploitation by Europeans. For example, the Anishinaabe peoples, who lived in the Straits of Mackinac region of Michigan, utilized their strategic position along Great Lakes trading routes to exert pressure on Europeans and rival Native American groups (McDonnell, 2015). The inhabitants of the Mackinac area, specifically the Odawa, created an extensive network of kinship alliances that enabled them to wield tremendous political, economic, and military might. With their extensive power, the Odawa were able to direct and even counter colonial efforts by playing on the fears and aspirations of the French and the English.

Working with the archaeological evidence and written records, investigators have sought to give voice back to groups, such as the Miami, who resisted the efforts of the U.S. government to force them to assimilate. The documentary record of the Miami in the early 19th century is biased toward the perspective of U.S. officials, such as President William Henry Harrison, who gave voice to pro-assimilation Native American leaders. Through careful analysis, Mann (1999) demonstrates how reading between the lines reveals clues into the lives and political views of anti-assimilation Miami. In 1803, Harrison, then governor of Indiana, was fully aware of rival factions. He stated, “When Wells [a U.S. Indian agent] speaks of the Miami Nation being of this or that opinion he must be understood as meaning no more than the Turtle [a pro-assimilation Miami leader] and himself” (qtd. in Esarey, 1922, pp. 76–77). Further clues of the intra-Miami dispute can be found at the Ehler site, one of several settlements located at the Maumee-Wabash portage of Indiana (Mann, 1999). Several Europeans traveled through and left accounts of the region, including Harrison, who burned Native homes and fields as part of his campaign in the War of 1812. However, the Ehler site is not mentioned in any known written history. The omission of the settlement from extant records could be due to bias against spreading the views of anti-assimilation groups and/or intentional effort on the part of this Native community to remain hidden. Excavations at the Ehler site have revealed an abundance of British-made gun flints. The presence of the weapon parts suggest that the British were engaging in illicit exchanges with the Miami before and likely in preparation for a war with the recently independent United States. Thus, the omission of the Ehler site from written records may be tied to political efforts on the part of multiple groups to obscure the presence and activities of anti-assimilation Miami. By harnessing the power of material remains and a long-term perspective of the human experience, archaeologists can shape how we think about the past and ourselves.

Part 2: Reflecting on How We Do Archaeology

The impact of archaeology lies in more than results or findings about the past. Although archaeologists have long reflected on how they do research, more recent work has emphasized how the process of learning about the past affects contemporary people. Doing archaeology has political, economic, and other ramifications that can benefit some and oppress others. Thus, careful consideration of how the practice of archaeology relates to various stakeholders is necessary.

The emphasis on self-reflection in U.S. archaeology grew along with similar trends in cultural anthropology. In the 1980s, cultural anthropologists placed greater attention on examining the societal implications of how they create knowledge and write about other groups of people. In tandem with this self-reflection in anMonethropology, archaeologists also began to place greater emphasis on how the researcher and their social context (i.e., cultural assumptions, politics, and economics) affect interpretation. For example, feminist scholars have demonstrated that archaeological interpretations of the past were and often continue to be riddled with gender bias that is tied to present-day cultural assumptions and ideologies (Brumfiel, 1993; Conkey & Spector, 1984; Moen, 2019). Models that present men as hunters and women as gatherers seemed to support the premise that men provided meat that was the primary source of food for the family. In this model, women, in addition to gathering some plant-based sustenance, supposedly stayed at home to process what the men acquired. The model neatly supported conservative U.S. gender ideals in which the man provides for the family by going to work and the wife tends the home. However, the claims of past gender roles were based primarily on ethnographic analogy with little support from the archaeological record. Distinguishing gendered activity in the deep human past requires careful analysis because stones rarely contain imprints of the gender that used them and never say “I was used by X gender(s).” Instead, researchers often rely on materials recovered from burials to determine how activities were patterned in the past.

Mortuary analysis, like most other fields of archaeological research, is subject to bias against women and other genders, such as in cases of researchers assuming that skeletal remains buried with weapons were men (Moen, 2019). Moreover, it cannot be assumed that sex and gender were equivalent categories in the past or in other cultures. Decades of anthropological and archaeological research have revealed that gender in the past was dynamic, fluid, and varied across cultures (Mukhopadhyay et al., 2020). For example, if skeletal analysis reveals that an individual was male, we cannot assume that the person self-identified or was identified by others as a man in their society. With these issues in mind, it is important to note that over the last few decades, the sexing of skeletons via bioarchaeological and DNA analysis has revealed that males are not the only sex buried with swords and other weapons. Not all warriors are male! The push by feminists and other scholars for greater self-reflection and engagement with the contemporary power dynamics of doing research opened spaces for archaeologists to challenge existing scientific practices.

Since the 1980s, many new approaches to archaeology have arisen. For example, community and collaborative archaeologies have brought a radically new approach to the field (McAnany & Rowe, 2015; Wylie, 2015). Growing out of multiple strands of thought that were heavily influenced by Indigenous scholarship and efforts to engage the general public, community and collaborative archaeologists have stressed doing research in partnership with a variety of stakeholders. The stakeholders who have received the greatest attention are those who live near fieldwork sites and/or claim descent from the people who created the record studied by archaeologists.

In the United States, Native American scholars such as Vine Deloria Jr. (1988) have challenged researchers by demonstrating that archaeological investigation was generally conducted without the consent of descendants and that archaeologists desecrated sacred sites by disturbing the landscape and human remains and stripped Indigenous peoples of their heritage. The critiques of Native American scholars found reception among anthropologists and archaeologists who were reflecting on how their work perpetuated oppression. For example, Bruce G. Trigger (1984) demonstrates how archaeology has predominantly been practiced as part of imperialist, colonialist, and nationalist projects. The processes Trigger discussed can be seen throughout the history of Mexican heritage work.

Figure 5. Pyramid of the Sun, Teotihuacan, Mexico. Photo by Kristin Landau, used with permission for this book.

Similar to elites (i.e., politicians, intellectuals) in other Latin American nations, elites in Mexico City during the 1800s made a concerted effort to distance a recently independent Mexico from Spain by promoting a national identity with a claim to Indigenous roots. An important part of this project was the collection and display of Indigenous material remains (Bueno, 2016). For example, the consolidation of Teotihuacan’s Pyramid of the Sun (Figure 5) was a centerpiece for Mexico’s 100th anniversary celebration in 1921. As part of this nation-building effort, Porfirio Díaz, former long-term president of Mexico, proudly posed next to the Aztec Calendar Stone for a picture intended to display the glory of Mexico’s ancient past and proclaim that the country had established itself as a modern nation because it could protect its own heritage (Figure 6).

Figure 6. Porfirio Días with the Aztec Calendar Stone (A. Carrillo, public domain via Wikimedia Commons).

Yet this process of nation-building generally oppressed Indigenous descendants. Contemporary Indigenous descendants, such as the Mayas, have often had little say in what the Mexican or other federal governments did with their heritage. Ancient Maya sites, such as Chichén Itzá and Tulúm, were transformed by foreign investors, politicians, and archaeologists into tourism hot spots (Breglia, 2006; Castañeda, 1996). As tourist attractions, archaeological sites in Mexico generate billions in income, but very little of that money reaches the hands of the Mayas and other descendant communities, who generally live in poverty. To address the oppressive nationalist and colonialist legacies of archaeology, recent movements toward collaborative research with descendant communities have begun to fundamentally transform the archaeological process. The core goal of this reshaping is to develop projects that are conducted with, by, and for Indigenous and descendant groups.

Figure 7. Puerto Bello Metzabok, Chiapas, Mexico. Photo by the author.

I recently participated in one such initiative. As part of the Mensäbäk Archaeological Project, I work with the community of Puerto Bello Metzabok in Chiapas, Mexico. The town is home to about 150 Lacandón and Tzeltal Mayas and is within the Nahá-Metzabok Biosphere Reserve (Figure 7), part of the UNESCO World Network of Biosphere Reserves. All archaeological investigation in the biosphere is conducted with the permission of the Puerto Bello Metzabok community government. Locals fulfill various roles on the project, including as supervisors, excavators, mappers, and laboratory personnel. Through a collaborative research program, the Mensäbäk Archaeological Project provides a temporary stream of income and builds local capacity in technical skills and archaeological science, such as digital mapping, sampling methods, stratigraphy, and radiocarbon dating. In the process, we fulfill requests from the people of Metzabok to share our knowledge and assist their impoverished community financially.

Figure 8. Images of fortification consolidation from the Ecoturismo-Metzabok Facebook page.

Building from our collaborative partnership, in the summer of 2018, I worked with Metzabok community members and a Mexican colleague from the National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) to consolidate a small ancient fortification (Figure 8). Over the course of several weeks, we systematically excavated and dismantled the remains of a stone wall to understand what it would have looked like in the past. Next, we began the task of reconstructing the fortification to resemble its appearance from over 500 years ago. This process can be strenuous, but we livened the atmosphere through open conservation. Our discussion topics ranged from the latest gossip to the identification of artifacts. For example, we often debated whether finds of stone fragments were the remains of stone tool production (i.e., flakes). Locals found it hilarious when a fragment I thought was a stone tool turned out to be a naturally broken rock. The final say in these conversations often rested with local elders who in the past had engaged in lithiclithic production. Their experience gave them some authority to settle debates, but many Metzabok community members were not afraid to challenge authoritative arguments. Overall, via collaborative archaeology that includes open conversation, we prepared a tourist attraction that is managed by and for the benefit of locals.

When archaeologists partner with Indigenous communities to actively confront the legacies of nationalist, colonialist, and imperialist oppression, they are working to promote social justice. We did this in Metzabok by developing an archaeological project that was done with, by, and for an Indigenous descendant community. Our work in Metzabok is just one example of many projects that are striving to address legacies of oppression (e.g., Atalay et al., 2016; Battle-Baptiste, 2011; Landau, 2019; McAnany, 2016; McGuire, 2008; Silliman, 2008). To their credit, some Latin American governments have implemented initiatives to support Indigenous groups, such as the National Institute of Indigenous Peoples (INPI) in Mexico. Yet the legacies of imperialist, nationalist, and colonialist projects continue to affect Indigenous communities all over the world.

Part 3: Why Is the Issue of Relevance So Prominent in the United States?

After reading about the many forms of impact archaeologists have had and are having on contemporary life, you may be wondering why archaeology is so underappreciated in the United States. To address core aspects of this question, I will use the classic anthropological technique of comparison. By critically reflecting on United States and Mexican cultures, I aim to highlight key differences and deeply ingrained assumptions about the role of archaeology in the United States.

Above I discussed how archaeology plays a fundamental role in many Latin American countries in building a national identity and economies based on tourism. The center of the Mexican flag is inspired by the Aztec symbol for the pre-Columbian city of Tenochtitlan, and the national soccer stadium is called the Estadio Azteca, or Aztec Stadium. The country even derives its name from the word “Mexica,” which is the name of the Aztec group that controlled Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City); they are the group the pre-Columbian empire the Spaniards encountered. A symbolic past anchored in archaeological remains is also important for attracting tourists. Foreign and domestic visitors flock to Mexico City to see the remains of the Templo Mayor and the Aztec Calendar Stone. Millions of travelers to archaeological sites, such as Teotihuacan and Chichen Itza, lead to the influx and circulation of billions of pesos in the Mexican economy. In fact, tourism accounted for 8.7% of Mexico’s gross domestic product in 2018 (INEGI, 2019). Because Mexico’s tourism economy experienced severe declines during the COVID-19 pandemic, the federal government has invested the equivalent of billions in U.S. dollars to create Tren Maya, or Maya Train. The train project is designed to increase access to archaeological sites and other sites of cultural tourism in southern Mexico and thereby promote economic development for the nation.

The United States, in contrast, places much less emphasis on archaeological tourism or the pre-Columbian past. Although tourism did account for 2.9% of the gross domestic product of the United States in 2018, archaeology tends to take a back seat in this aspect of the economy (Franks & Osborne, 2019). Collectively, archaeological sites such as Chaco Canyon (NPS Stats, 2024), Cahokia (Winkeler, 2021), Plymouth Rock (See Plymouth Massachusetts, 2021), and Colonial Williamsburg (Yes Williamsburg, 2021) receive millions of visitors every year, but those visitor figures pale in comparison to those for Disney World (Jordan, 2019), Yellowstone National Park (National Park Service, 2019), or the National Mall and other national parks in Washington, D.C. (National Park Service, 2023). Although Yellowstone does contain archaeological sites, a quick Google search will reveal that they are generally not the main attraction. The low visitor figures for archaeological tourism in the United States are due in large part to marketing and to national conceptions of the past.

Figure 9. Monks Mound, Cahokia, Illinois. For scale, note the people standing at the top of the stairs

For some reason, Native American earthen mounds tend to not have the same ooh and ahh factor as the pyramids in Egypt or Stonehenge in England. Monks Mound at the Mississippian site of Cahokia, Illinois, is massive on a scale that is comparable to the Egyptian pyramids and the Roman Colosseum (Kehoe, 2002, p. 250) (Figure 9). Native American effigy mounds are large-scale creative efforts that are testament to the history of Indigenous peoples who had been creating monumental earthworks for more than 5,000 years (e.g., Milner, 2021; Sassaman, 2005). But perhaps in the eyes of many tourists, they are not appealing because they are not built of stone. Perhaps earthworks are not grandiose in a manner that fits cultural ideas of what monuments are derived from Old World cultures. The Cahokia mounds and other earthen mounds in the U.S. South and Midwest are not like as the Great Wall of China, the Taj Mahal in India, or the Gothic cathedrals of Europe. Yet differing cultural ideas about what a monument is address only part of the problem. The stone walls of Pueblo Bonito and other settlements in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, are massive on a scale that would rival many heavily visited Old World archaeological sites, such as Stonehenge or Masada in Israel (Figure 10). And still those constructions are not appreciated in the United States as a significant accomplishment and as significant part of our cultural history. Thus, the prevalence of earthen constructions and preferences for European-based ideas about what constitutes a significant construction are only a few pieces in the puzzle of why archaeology is so undervalued in U.S. national culture.

Another issue with many archaeological sites in the United States is that they highlight tragedies and contradictions in the national past. Though the issue is little discussed in school textbooks, the history of the United States is defined by settler colonialism, a mindset in which Native Americans posed a crucial problem: they lived on the land craved first by British and later by U.S. settlers. When Old World settlers, primarily Europeans and their descendants, arrived in the Americas, they had to take land from Native Americans.

A logic of elimination accompanied this process of dispossession. The elimination of Native Americans took many forms, including removal, assimilation (i.e., ethnocide), and efforts at outright genocide (Wolfe, 1999; Sturm, 2017). Removal could entail the physical movement of people, which infamously occurred during the Trail of Tears of 1830–1850, when thousands of Native Americans died as they were forced to relocate from the southeastern United States to lands west of the Mississippi River. This forced migration was just one of many that resulted from the Indian Removal Act that was signed into federal law in 1830. Elimination also included removing signs of Native American presence on the landscape. Settlers removed thousands of mounds, which formed the archaeological record of Indigenous peoples, so they could create fields, homes, businesses, and many other types of constructions.

Figure 10. Pueblo Bonito, New Mexico (James Q. Jacobs, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

People of European descent often explained away Monks Mound at Cahokia and other monumental earthworks as natural phenomena. Others created myths about the Mound Builders that denied Native Americans their history and heritage (e.g., that the mounds were so old that they predated Indigenous Indian people, that Indians were too primitive to have constructed the mounds, or false claims that artifacts or tablets were found in the mounds that pointed to other groups as the builders) (Feder, 2017). (See the Introduction chapter and Anderson’s Pseudoarchaeology chapter in this text for more information about how pseudoarchaeology is often based in racism and settler colonialism.)

In addition to being removed, many Native Americans were placed into assimilation programs. The most infamous attempts at assimilation were Indian boarding schools, which were educational institutions designed to remove Native American children from their reservations in order to “kill the Indian in him, and save the man” (Pratt, 1892, p. 46). In this mindset, salvation meant adopting US settler culture. When assimilation and removal were not sufficient, some people turned to genocide. General William Tecumseh Sherman, famous for his “march to the sea” during the US Civil War, wrote in an 1866 telegram to General Ulysses S. Grant, “We must act with vindictive earnestness against the Sioux, even to their extermination, men, women, and children” (qtd. in Yimon, 1988, p. 422). In the settler colonialism mindset, no Native Americans means no original inhabitants to make land claims that might undermine the project of building a nation and its myths.

Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz (2014, p. 12) argues that “according to the origin narrative, the United States was born of rebellion against oppression—against empire—and thus is the product of the first anticolonial revolution for national liberation.” People use this official origin story as a springboard for telling the history of the country as one of “broadening and deepening democracy” to bring world order (p. 12). The United States is argued to be exceptional in part because it promotes the progress of humanity by advancing freedom. But what is often missing in this narrative of freedom and progress is a big contradiction: as people of European descent occupied land, most sought to eliminate the Indigenous population.

However, some efforts have been made to integrate Native American culture and history into the official national narrative. Similar to Latin American stories of nationhood that reach back to the history of Maya and Aztec peoples, the most common method of incorporating Indigenous people into the official U.S. national narrative is to treat them as the first Americans (e.g., Pringle, 2012; Struever and Holton, 1979). However, these efforts at integration have found a somewhat limited reception. Groups such as the Anishnaabe, the Pueblo, and many others have fought hard to maintain their sovereignty and cultural identity. Reservations are a testament to the bitter struggles for land and autonomy Indigenous peoples faced (Treur, 2012). Consequently, many Native Americans reject being incorporated into the official U.S. national narrative because it represents another attempt at assimilation that seeks to undermine their sovereignty.

For U.S. archaeologists, the issue of relevance is complex. Their lack of relevance in the national narrative is the result of multiple factors that include nationalism, settler colonialism, economics, and tastes based on Old World cultural preferences. In the United States, the official story of the nation perpetuates a logic of elimination that sought to facilitate invading land Native Americans occupied and taking it from them. Although many Native American peoples have been forced to relocate to new lands, Indigenous material remains provide an enduring, tangible reminder of this history of dispossession. Thus, archaeological investigation of the land now called the United States can threaten the status quo by shedding new light on a history the national project has sought to erase.

Settler colonialism, which requires a logic of elimination, factors into the devaluing of archaeology in the United States. Native American history and cultures do not form foundational aspects of how the official story of the nation is told. There are no broadly accepted claims that Cahokia or Pueblo Bonito are places of origin for the United States. Instead, when a Native American past is mentioned in school textbooks and other media, it is typically done with subtle hints or short discussions about the peoples who lived on the land before the settlers. The official history of the United States begins on the East Coast and spreads westward. Consequently, most of the archaeological record in North America is treated as foreign or exotic. As something that relates to the other, archaeology can be interesting, but it is not treated as fundamental to promoting the national interest. In contrast, in Latin American countries such as Mexico, governments tend to devote resources and labor to promoting archaeological finds and heritage. Doing so heightens the national narrative and bolsters the tourism sector of the economy. Prior to the pandemic, income from tourism formed a larger proportion of the GDP for many Latin American countries than in the United States. Tourism numbers only rebounded to pre-pandemic levels as of 2023 according to the World Bank (2024). In addition to economics and nationalism, towering stone temples in the jungle and mountain cities seem to fit the tastes of tourists that are generally molded from Old World preferences.

So does archeology matter? It does. However, claims to relevance in the United States face opposition that requires further analysis. At the top of the list for future discussion are gender, race, religion, class, sexuality, and how other important aspects of identity factor into settler colonialism.

Conclusion

In a three-part scheme, I have sought to establish a case for the contemporary relevance of archaeology. First, I examined how the findings of archaeologists have reshaped how people think about the past and themselves. In Part 1, I also provided insights that may help us plan for the future. By examining human-environment relationships across cultures and time, we can better evaluate and address the contemporary issue of global climate change. The same applies to studying infectious diseases in long-term perspectives. People learn by critically reflecting on experience. However, epidemics and societal collapse cannot be replicated in real-world experiments. Thus, it is necessary to investigate the past via the archaeological record and learn from the experiences of our ancestors to gain insights on how to deal with some of today’s most pressing issues.

In Part 2, I examined how the process of learning about the past can benefit some and oppress others. The practice of archaeology has political, economic, and many other types of consequences for contemporary people that must be addressed if the field is to remain vital and continue growing. Archaeologists have already taken steps to promote greater inclusion of women and Indigenous peoples. However, more work remains to be done. For example, the #MeToo movement has demonstrated that the archaeological process is far from equitable (Heath-Stout, 2020; Voss, 2021a, 2021b).

In Part 3, I compared the role of archaeology in Mexico and the United States. My analysis revealed how nation-building, settler colonialism, economics, and taste contribute to the trivialization of the field. The past is relevant for who we are and what we do today. However, in the United States, deep interrogations of the past threaten to reveal the logic of elimination that supported the process of settler colonialism. My third-grade teacher once said in class, “There is no history here [i.e., in the Americas], it’s all in Europe.” Her statement bothers me to this day, and after years of reflection, I finally have the tools to confidently state that there is a long history in the Americas. However, this history is obscured and trivialized in large part due to settler colonialism. I hope I have convinced you that archaeology isn’t just about the past. The work of archaeologists matters, both for today and for planning a better tomorrow.

Discussion Questions

1. Pretend you are talking to a relative about classes you are taking. When they hear you are studying archaeology, they laugh and call it a waste of time. How might you convince your relative that archaeology can contribute knowledge that is relevant for contemporary society?
2. Drawing on one or more examples from this chapter, explain how the process of archaeological research may affect people today.
3. In this chapter, Dr. Hernandez outlines a stark difference in the way archaeology is viewed in the United States and Latin America. What is the difference and what are some possible reasons for it? Can you think of examples of archaeological research from Africa, Asia, Europe, and/or the Pacific Islands? Is the perception of archaeology in the region you are thinking of more like that in Latin America or the United States? Why might this be?
4. How might archaeology help shape future social life in the United States and in other countries?

About the Author

Dr. Christopher Hernandez (Twitter: @profclh) is an anthropological archaeologist whose research focuses on warfare, social conflict, ethics, praxis, and inequality. He is an assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology at Loyola University Chicago. To address questions about the past, Hernandez collaborates in the archaeological process with a diversity of stakeholders, including local and descendant communities in Chiapas, Mexico. In addition to publishing in academic venues, he engages in public-facing scholarship, such as hosting a podcast titled Decolonizing Discovery, participating in Skype a Scientist, and creating YouTube content.​

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