Artifact Issue 5

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ARTIFACT is...

Editor-in-ChiefEugenia Ellanskaya

Creative DirectorDexter Findley

Co-CreatorLaurie Hutchence

EditorsMaryAnn Kontonicolas

Eugenia EllanskayaDexter Findley

ContributorsManisha Pandey

Lewis GlynnEthan Doyle-White

MaryAnn KontonicolasElisabeth SawerthalEugenia Ellanskaya

Dexter FindleyHolly Brentnall

anks ToSusanne KuechlerJudy MedringtonStephen Shennan om Rynsaard

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Interview with Stephen Shennan 04 MARYANN KONTONICOLAS

Review of the 75th Anniversary Debates 06 DEXTER FINDLEY AND MARYANN KONTONICOLAS

An Anthropoligcal perspective on Crowdsourcing 08 MANISHA PANDEY

AutosacriĴ ce 10 EUGENIA ELLANSKAYA

The Paradox of the Past 12 LEWIS GLYNN

Archaeology and Neopaganism 14 ETHAN DOYLE-WHITE

The People on Pause 19 HOLLY BRENTNALL

The City of David 22 ELISABETH SAWERTHAL

Artifact is an Archaeology and Anthropology magazine basedin the Institute of Archaeology, UCL, London.

If you have any queries, comments, or would like to write for us, email the address below:[email protected]

Copyright Artifact 2012. All rights reserved.

ARTIFACT SUMMER 2012INSTITUTE OF ARCHAEOLOGY 75TH ANNIVERSARY ISSUE

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For our 75th anniversary-themed issue, we asked our director, Prof. Stephen Shennan, a few questions concerning the milestone for the department and how he hopes it will progress in the future. Although he hardly needs an introduction, Steve is now in his seventh year as director

of the Institute a er serving the post of Professor of eoretical Archaeology in the University of Southampton and UCL. Steve is also a Fellow of the British Academy, a Trustee for the Institute

for Archaeo-Metallurgical Studies, and is involved in EUROEVOL, a research project aiming to use cultural evolutional theory and method together in studying the cultural evolution of

Neolithic Europe.

75TH ANNIVERSARY INTERVIEW:PROFESSOR STEPHEN SHENNAN

-What are, in your opinion, the most infl uential contributions the Institute has made to world archaeology?

This is a pretty diffi cult question to answer! A major contribution, I think the most important one, is all the students, from all over the world, who have been taught at the Institute, in keeping with

Wheeler’s initial aims. The Institute’s pioneering development of both environmental archaeology and conservation studies should also be mentioned, as well as archaeometallurgy, and more recently public archaeology. It’s also been a major contributor to the archaeology of the Middle East, including the origins of agriculture. Then there is the infl uence of the writings of famous individuals, such as Childe.

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-When you were a student, how was the Institute perceived by the wider archaeological community? How do you think it perceives the Institute nowadays?

When I was a student, at the end of the 1960s and early 1970s, my main interest was, as now, in the development of archaeological theory. In this respect the Institute was perceived by me and my colleagues as rather an old-fashioned and ‘stick-in-the-mud’ sort of place, especially in comparison with Cambridge, which was the place where things were really going on, and at that point, produced most of the PhDs in the fi eld. I think this view has gradually changed. I don’t think we’re second to anyone in any respect these days, but how the Institute is perceived depends on who you ask. I think many British archaeologists have felt that the Institute, with its global agenda and specialists who work all over the world, has grown away from British archaeology. One of the reasons we recently created a Chair in British Later Prehistory was to change this, both in terms of impressions and in reality.

-To your knowledge, did the merger with UCL change the character of the Institute, if at all?

I wasn’t here then so I can’t really say, but my impression is that the Institute is still infl uenced by its more independent past, both in its attitudes and in its practices.

-What do you think is one of the most exciting developments currently happening in archaeology? Do you feel the Institute is playing an active role in this, whatever it is?

Another very diffi cult question! I think there are two different directions. One is certainly public archaeology and the related fi eld of cultural heritage, and we’re heavily involved in both. In fact, as I’ve suggested above, we have been pioneers in these, thanks to the work of Peter Ucko. The other key development is the great advance of archaeological science, where again we have been pioneers and continue to be a major centre of activity and new developments. I think we missed out slightly on some of the exciting recent developments in isotope studies and I hope that the creation of an ancient DNA preparation lab in the Institute will lead to new collaborations with our geneticist colleagues in this exciting fi eld. My own particular interest has been in the development of evolutionary approaches more

generally, and the work of colleagues here, especially through our AHRC Research Centre, has made the Institute a major international centre in this developing area.

-How would you describe the social atmosphere at the IoA?

I think it has a very positive, friendly and informal atmosphere, and that seems to be refl ected in the responses people make in their end of degree questionnaires, though on the staff side everyone is so busy as a result of the ever-increasing bureaucratic and other demands that social interaction tends to get squeezed out a bit. But it’s certainly a tribute to all members of the Institute, staff and students, that such an atmosphere can be maintained in such a large and diverse institution.

-Which 75th anniversary event have you enjoyed the most so far?

I think it’s the Inaugural Lectures that I’ve enjoyed the most. It’s been great not just to fi nd out more about the important and exciting work of my colleagues, but to see it presented in such an engaging way.

-Many students greatly enjoyed the 75th anniversary debates and discussions. Is there a chance of making these an annual event, with an element of student participation?

These things take a great deal of organising but what I would like to suggest is that students take on doing this in the future (perhaps as a component of, or parallel to, the SAS student conference) on topics that interest them, and with the involvement of staff and students at all levels, as they think fi t.

-In what place do you hope the Institute will be by its 100th anniversary

We’re heading into very diffi cult times fi nancially for both students and academic institutions so it’s very hard to predict how things will turn out. At the moment we’re second to none in the world in my view and my hope is that the Institute will continue to be at the forefront of archaeology and heritage studies (meant in the widest sense) and able to maintain its global range and its comprehensive coverage of its disciplines.

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In celebrating our Institute’s milestone of 75 years, a series of events and activities have been organised, bringing together staff , students, and researchers of the IoA, in addition to a broader community. is has included the 75th Inaugural Lectures Series, two days of frolicking and various activities in Gordon Square, and the anniversary debate series. e latter derived their general structure from BBC’s Question Time, with four panellists questioned by the chairperson and audience members, sparking debate and discussion between panellists and the audience. Unlike the BBC’s version, the atmosphere was generally a rather friendly one: antagonism was kept to a minimum and the chairpersons never got to hand down full-bore Dimbleby-style criticism (to some people’s secret disappointment).

e program kicked off on a strong note, with a debate on ‘Archaeology and the Media’. Unfortunately this soon ended up as a debate on Archaeology’s Place within the Media, but since the panellists were two staff journalists (Mave Kennedy from e Guardian and David Keys from e Independent) and three TV producers, this was probably inevitable. Still, the two journalists aptly displayed their understanding of archaeology and its issues; a nice counterbalance to TV exec Charles Furneaux, who seemed to actively zone out when the more intricate aspects of archaeology were mentioned. He argued that archaeology’s multiple narratives and theoretical perspectives complicate the storyline, and simply wouldn’t ‘sell’

either to TV executives or to the public. e two other members of the panel involved in television, IoA alumnus Alex Langlands of Edwardian Farm fame and Horrible Histories co-creator and producer Caroline Norris, were very engaging, making germane, if not somewhat pragmatic statements on archaeology’s commercial viability (or lack thereof). As an audience member pointed out, this stands in contrast to the past, when archaeologists such as our founder Mortimer Wheeler used print, œ lm, and news media to increase awareness and appreciation for archaeology, and in some cases raise money for research from corporate sources. All in all the debate was very interesting, especially the way it gave an insight into the media’s collective mind, although it occasionally came across like a bunch of TV executives lamenting how archaeology doesn’t sell. Still, as Caroline Norris pointed out, TV programmers are constantly seeking new content for the ‘next big thing’, which archaeologists could take advantage of by highlighting their research, thereby becoming more engaged with the media and telling the story from their own point of view to the public.

It is worth commenting that TV and newspapers are not the only media outlets, and both of them are rather limited in scope compared with the unmentioned behemoth in the room: the internet. Now, it is diffi cult to get someone ‘from the internet’ to sit on the panel, but this all-pervasive and increasingly relevant outlet was massively overlooked in the debate.

REVIEW OF THE 75TH ANNIVERSARY DEBATES

Maryann Kontonicolas and Dexter Findley

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77It is true that newspapers have an online presence, ditto TV production companies, but user-generated content is becoming more and more important as a media source. ink reddit, blogs, Twitter, YouTube and the like. Most archaeologically-related content from such sites is actually made by real archaeologists and enthusiasts (e.g. Çatalhöyük’s blog and excavation videos) as opposed to employees of dollar-eyed media companies, although it is true that there is also a substantial lunatic fringe of archaeology conspiracy theorists (Aliens!). One could very well have had an entire debate on archaeology and the online community. As it stands, the internet was only mentioned once, and only then by an audience member, a er which the conversation moved on pretty quickly.

Next up was ‘Archaeology and Politics’. is debate had another great panel: e Green London Mayoral candidate Jenny Jones; Lib Dem Bridget Fox; Journalist extraordinaire Neil Ascherton; BBC Parliamentary correspondent Mark D’Arcy, and our very own Tim Schadla-Hall. e debate was lively, as would be expected with such a high-calibre panel. e present-day economic crisis was the centre of the discussion, particularly as funding and resources have become particularly limited for all forms of archaeology. Speciœ c discussions included local community engagement and education, international relations, the salvage of naval heritage, and heritage management in the U.K. e real stars were Tim and Jenny Jones, the latter of which shocked some of the more idealist members of the audience by saying that archaeology may well have to form strong corporate ties to continue its existence. is was perhaps best exempliœ ed in the debate series itself: sponsored and funded by CgMs Consulting. Indeed, another constant throughout the debate was a perceived lack of ‘value’ in archaeology within politics, especially when other services such as health care and transportation were at stake during funding allocation. Still, in this debate, a few members of the panel, namely Tim and Jenny, were positive in their outlook, saying that it was always possible for archaeology to cope and prosper even when funding is less forthcoming, particularly with public support.

e last two debates somehow lacked the energy and spark of the others. e ‘Archaeology and Contemporary Society’ panel included the Arts Program Director from the Institute of Ideas, Tiff any Jenkins; the Assistant Director of the National Trust, Ben Cowell; Neill Faulkner from the University of Bristol; Nathan Schlanger from INRAP; and chair Sara Selwood from City University and UCL. Perhaps it was the relatively vague topic, in addition to the panellists’ very diverse backgrounds and set of viewpoints, but the debate never seemed to fully take off . Some interesting points were brought up by individual panellists: Jenkins, for example, off ered a critical perspective on archaeology post-secondary education, and Faulkner constantly repeated his Marxist critique

of the economic crisis in archaeology. Unfortunately, this debate became side-tracked when some of the panellists (especially Neill Faulkner) ignorantly bad-mouthed a University of Bristol archaeological project involving the excavation of a transit van, which put a bit of a downer on the rest of the evening. Perhaps they would do well to remember that when we stop challenging our preconceptions, meaningful scientiœ c inquiry ends.

e last debate, titled ‘Archaeology into the ird Millennium’, failed to live up to its scope. We feel this would have been a perfect point to introduce a student into the panel mix. Instead, the panel comprised entirely of established archaeology heavy-weights: chair Kristian Kristiansen, Professor of Archaeology at the University of Gothenburg; prehistorian professor John Barrett; Emeritus Professor Marilyn Palmer; Emeritus Professor and Antiquity editor Martin Carver; and IoA Director Stephen Shennan. Perhaps this wasn’t the time or place for starry-eyed futurist speculation, but just a little would have been nice, as the conversation seemed to revolve around the present and past more than it did the future, and when it did on the latter, the focus was almost entirely on theory. ere was a paucity of discussion on emergent archaeological technological innovation. Martin Carver did off er his perspective on commercial archaeology’s future, and suggested that commercial archaeologists should empower themselves by raising fees for their work; our director highlighted the expansion and potential of archaeological DNA research among other developments to look forward to in the future. Still, the internet was barely mentioned, along with a host of other forces which will become dominant in our near-future world, such as climate change, population increase, power shi to the East and widening poverty gaps, all of which will have impacts on archaeology in years to come.

No matter what our opinions are of the individual debates, as we le the G6 lecture theatre and enjoyed the wine and nibbles provided, the Leventis Gallery hosted a lively buzz of audience members and panellists alike arguing and further discussing various points raised in the course of each debate. In this light, it is a sure indication that each discussion raised some vital and signiœ cant issues, creating an intellectually stimulating event both in the debates themselves and in the reception that followed. Although the Debate Series were organised for commemorating the 75th anniversary of the Institute, perhaps it would prove worthwhile to continue these debates: this time, though, involving students, commercial archaeologists, and other members of the archaeological community le out of the panel.

N.B. e authors unfortunately couldn’t make the ‘Presenting the Past’ debate. e IOA online review was very positive, however, and is available on the IoA website.

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In an age where an estimated 2.2 billion people engage with the World Wide Web, it should come as no surprise that ethnographic studies on the internet o en describe the creation of online or virtual communities. e phenomenon of crowd funding is fast establishing itself in the world of the internet but so far it has, to the best of my knowledge, escaped anthropological analysis. e proliferation of crowd funding seems to intensify online relations that strangers have over the internet – but not only are people within the crowd connecting more frequently, they are also connecting more meaningfully. Positive online communities are emerging at a rapid rate. And crowd funding is calling out to be considered anthropologically!

In February, when Stephen Fry tweeted ‘fund a community centre for the price of a cucumber sandwich’ , hundreds of his Twitter followers donated a few pennies to Spacehive.com to help fund the construction of a new (offl ine!) community centre in a deprived Welsh village. As well as testifying Fry’s god-like control over his fan base, the success of this crowd funding project publically demonstrates the agency and inŖ uence individual members of the crowd can have. is is wonderfully refreshing in light of the post-modernist mourning of the individual, especially online where it is easy to feel like we merge into the very “furniture” of the internet and where we can (thankfully for some of us) hide our faces behind

a screen. Despite being one of millions of people in the world’s online crowd – I am going to have to be shamelessly clichéd here- YOUR individual donation or contribution can really make a diff erence in people’s lives.

e Welsh community centre on Spacehive.com is not just a one-off . Every day thousands of people are donating to projects on platforms like the hugely popular Kickstarter.com, and by doing so they help individuals fulœ l their dreams and ambitions of making their œ lms or publishing their books. From the weird to the wonderful and genius, crowd funding platforms are home to a huge variety of projects. e world’s œ rst crowd-funded baby was even born recently to overwhelmed parents expressing gratitude to strangers all over the world who had supported their IVF treatment. Recently, a young man struggling to buy comfortable shoes to œ t his extremely large feet turned to Kickstarter.com to upload his campaign; for six years he’d worn shapeless clogs on his feet which off ered no grip and caused a great deal of pain. He had tried to contact tens of custom shoe-making professionals; he had written to Oprah, Nike, National Geographic and even President Obama for help. His story was only met with sympathy however when he shared it with the crowd on Kickstarter.com, who donated almost $25,000 more than he’d asked for, which allowed him to buy professionally designed shoes.

FINDING THE PERSONIN THE CROWD

an anthropological perspective on crowdsourcingMANISHA PANDEY

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What is consistent in many of such cases is that, engaging with the crowd is actually helping us to better relate peer-to-peer, despite ironically being separated by our computers and the physical distance between us. A relatively new platform, TenPages.com says it all; it provides a space where readers can talk to authors and vote for stories they would like to see funded and published, essentially cutting out the need for publishers who otherwise determine what we can buy with our Waterstones gi cards! On some small scale, by engaging with crowd funding we are regularly cutting out the institutions which stand in the way of our relations. On some small scale, crowd funding cuts out the need for some individuals to consult banks for loans when they do not have the œ nances to fund a project close to their hearts. Of course these institutions: publishers, banks, record companies are made up of people themselves but the bureaucracy and institutionalism they represent are physical and mental obstacles in our landscapes. Without the sometimes unnecessary and heavy involvement of these elements of capitalist society that we have created, crowd funding is proving we can really speak to each other, help and support each other. (Of course, Kickstarter and other platforms also act as intermediaries in individuals’ relations but they do so to a much lesser extent).

If we take this notion of obstacles to its basics, what crowd funding is succeeding in doing, on some small scale, is changing our perceptions of money. Money has the agency in terms of controlling individuals and dictating what is relatively possible for them to do or acquire. Under an anthropological lens, the journey of a ten pound note may shed a lot of light on the social relationships of the people who come into contact with it. But in reality, the exchange of money and goods in which we are involved can be a very passive activity; we do not regularly conceptualise how our ten pound charity donation is manifested into something positive and good. By making us better realise the social life of money, crowd funding is beginning to turn the passive Ŗ ow of money between people, institutions, products and projects into a Ŗ ow of support and positive interest in one another’s’ lives.

Anthropologically, the crowd funding and related practices on the internet demand our attention in terms of space, communities and our social relationships with money, institutions and one another. What really resonates anthropologically is the view many egalitarian societies have taught ethnographers: the forest is truly abundant with resources which may simply need to be better re-distributed.

Kickstarter.com 2011 Stats:

Launched Projects: 27,086Successful Projects: 11,836

Dollars Pledged: $99,344,382

Total Visitors: 30,590,342

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Blood: the Ŗ uid that penetrates our bodies so intimately; the substance that causes a ranging horror when out of place - abandoning the body, signalling vitality and accident with its eff ective colour and critical life threatening implications. Cities are large accumulations of “blood-carriers”. e advertising companies are competing for our attention as they restlessly pollute the surfaces of our metropolis with clamorous messages, be it everyday trash or an opportunity to save a life. One of such messages is indeed blood-related, appealing to the vast accumulation of blood owners of all kinds.

Blood has since ancient Greece been seen as a soul-container - something that is never really veriœ able. However could that explain our concern and anxiety over blood, along with the trivial survival trigger? Its vitality among bodily Ŗ uids and association with birth and death are sound excuses for concern. Indeed it’s likely that these things provoke the mild heroic feel of altruism that some blood donors experience, for what can be more sacriœ cing than giving away, literally, a bit of yourself?

It is diffi cult to imagine not being aware of blood, with the social practice of bloodletting going on for over 3,000 years, rolling on from ancient Egypt to modern days. Making its way from magic to pseudo-surgical debauchery of the Medieval barbers, from Mesoamerican ritual to Gladiator blood medicine...

Some of the œ rst images of blood-shedding can be found as long ago as 1250 - 500 BC in Olmec and Classical Maya iconography. A larger pan-Mesoamerican tradition has deemed bloodshedding, or autosacriœ ce, as one of the

crucial practices of social life, ensuring that the world goes on: an ascetic act of reciprocity, if you like. e autosacriœ ce motive varies within many myths of the Mesoamerican traditions, with the gods as the œ rst initiates into the bizarre practice. Bloodletting by the œ rst practitioners, gods, is seen as an act of permission to create, the sincere act of letting out of a valuable substance, which can enliven the dead matter. Such is for instance the myth of the ancestral Tollen at the end of the Sun era. e story told sheds light onto this blissful land of plenty, where all cra s Ŗ ourished and its people thrived in merriment so long as the king, an autosacriœ ce inventor known as the mythical Quetzalcoatl, continuously maintained their well-being by shedding blood. Once the ritual has been neglected, the whole city experienced a rapid and very unfortunate transgression: it was the end of the Toltecs’ paradise, the end of the entire blissful era. Here blood declares itself as a source of power, hierarchy and political control, and yet it is bizarre in the readiness of the ruler to endure the practice – sure to make it a very eff ective and reassuring sign of his commitment to the people.

e theme indeed does not seem novel to the Mesoamerican setting, where it ranges from the sacred to the more standard social practices, entangled with initiations of the youth, punishment and communal festivities. e pan-Mesoamerican myths are only too reminiscent of the familiar Eden exile, as one god or another violates the divine order, but in this case is lucky to gain his way back via autosacriœ ce. In the known variations on the theme of autosacriœ ce, the message is clear: the ritual grants permission to create once again, and to maintain the world order, be it the celestial paradise or the down to earth Mesoamerican setting.

1111Either way, the idea of reciprocity and humbling through autosacriœ ce seems evident. e purpose of humility and hierarchy of the gods, the nobles and the people, all of which see the vitality of the practice, is compelling enough if one looks at the other similar ascetic tendencies: the rather untrendy wearing of nettle-woven clothes, fasting or, for want of more acute experiences, you can go for obsidian chewing along with other mortiœ cation rituals and tortures. Insane as it seems, the act of autosacriœ ce would have been the more successful, had the pain been prolonged by passing through the wound with thick straw, ropes or sticks. e thorns o en attached to these to enhance the interesting experience, were later displayed in temples and public places to exhibit the pain. Pain here is o en interpreted as a sign of nobility, œ erceness and power. Indeed, though the practice of autosacriœ ce was something to anticipate with mixed emotions for the “common” people, the nobles and the priests ensured that it remained their frequent practice. Autosacriœ ce, the act of losing the blood, and granting it to divine effi gies or what not, was something to be proud of, a rather posh practice in fact. A form of payment to the gods, thanking them for making an eff ort back in the creation eras, it was a pending debt for the œ nal tribute of death.

So, what’s all this, you say? Well, coming back to

blood donors, who queue up today in sometimes symbolic and bizarre places to commit their share of autosacriœ ce, what we see is the very echo of the Mesoamerican practice. You can be sent to a hospital or a church: you never know if you’ll end up lying alongside the other “gods” of autosacriœ ce with the stained glass windows, with their “effi gies” of saints and Christ, passing on the light of approval to your act. e feeling of altruism and the hint of competition, when you queue up and make small talk about your blood, your previous donations and your success is only an echo of the Mesoamerican pride in giving blood exhibited in temples. It is no easy task in fact, and not everyone can be a blood donor, with certain restrictions on weight, personal history and overall health, and then you can also fail, by simply stopping to bleed too early - you can fail at autosacriœ ce! e attitude to blood persists today, in a very diff erent setting, with very diff erent people, taking humble (or not so humble) pride in their experience and their part in creating hope and life for other people, who need this blood. It is the same understandable pride, with only maybe less pain and tortures going on, as it takes place in the modern arena of health and safety. Yet the attitude and the implications remain, as your life fuel is pumped away from you, away to the known recipient. It is yet another variation on the theme...the theme of creation through autosacriœ ce.

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Archaeology is timeless not just as a discipline, but as a tradition. e eternal dream of every archaeologist is to unravel the complex mysteries of our past. For inside the beating heart of every human in this world, in some construction and strength lays the passion for the past; a raw desire to understand the intricacies involved with the creation of ‘modern’ society. For as Chairman Mao once stated, “ e past exists to serve the present”. is very quote resonates throughout society, through both the conscious and the subconscious mind. e past stretches from the very beginning of our universe up until that of living memory. We use our past experiences to further the present, whether on a personal or societal scale. erefore, to understand the past is the vital element in the successful implementation of society. Archaeology exists to reveal ancient times, but the question remains: how much do we actually know about our past?

Archaeology œ nds itself in the middle of a war; a war for supremacy in the quest for knowledge of the human past. On one side there is Ancient History, translating the ancient texts and other documentary sources, and on the other there is Anthropology, the study of the people themselves and the material culture they le behind. And there, writhing within the violence of no-man’s land is archaeology. Some would argue that archaeology is a discipline with no merit of its own, stealing elements from geography, anthropology and history and subsequently has no place within the conquest of our mysterious history. Whereas, others may argue that archaeology creates the perfect blend of a discipline, using all the fundamental elements required to successfully tackle the past. I would personally œ nd myself believing the latter; archaeology realises that to understand the past the approach is imperatively interdisciplinary. However, I am here to propose a Ŗ aw that shakes the very foundations and questions the credibility of the discipline as a whole.

My criticism can be explained on a few levels. e œ rst of these harks back to the very confrontation I have aforementioned. e state of archaeology is within a constant Ŗ ux of change and development. With every new idea comes a bombardment of debates and arguments. eoretical archaeology

has dominated the discipline ever since the rise of the New Archaeology in the 1960s. Whether the questions lie in the use of science versus a simple historical approach or indeed whether science can really prove anything about the colourful cultures of antiquity, the main issue is that there is always debate. e basic principles of falsiœ cation and the introduction of new theories is vital to the continued development of archaeology, but I would also suggest that it has created such a complex stratigraphy that not even a Harris Matrix would begin to help the problem. By placing the importance so heavily on a strict theoretical model, the focus has shi ed from the physical archaeology itself and more importantly, the search for knowledge about our past. Many are so intent on understand how we approach the past that they have forgotten the true purpose of the past. Context is everything, and when emphasis falls within the wrong region, the œ nal result suff ers.

Developing this idea further, I would like to tackle in the simplest way possible, the perpetual notion of science vs. culture. e problem that I can see with science, whatever the philosophy behind it may state, falls within its absolute nature. Scientiœ c research in any sense creates conclusions that many see to be deœ nitive and unquestionable. In fact, science has undergone a deiœ cation process. It has assumed a God-like position that I believe is a terrible mistake. Science is just another path down the long journey to knowledge. And when forging a path, there will inevitably be problems and barriers that must be faced. Ignoring a problem will only increase the danger. Science is Ŗ awed; it is not a deœ nitive unquestionable entity and the assumption of it as such is damaging the truth in the past itself.

On the other end of the scale there is the question of culture and anthropology. Unlike science, the study of material culture and people can reveal the highly Ŗ uid nature of past and present societies; the dynamic relationships that science cannot understand. However, in understanding the mechanics of a society through the human perspective, the process of the past is o en overlooked, an area which science can be useful. It is the marriage of the two disciplines that has the capability of providing the best arsenal for attack.

THE PARADOXOF OUR PASTLEWIS GLYNN DISCUSSES THE ULTIMATE IRONY

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e combination of science with culture has already begun in archaeology through the area of landscape archaeology for example. Environments can be assessed scientiœ cally through their sustainability, productivity and natural history, but also culturally through approaches such as phenomenology which tests the individual experience of the landscape through the diff erent senses. Even with the cornucopia of modern technology and vast data sets, are we really on the right lines?

To elucidate this point, I would like to use the example of art. Art is merely one example but the conceptual approach I am using can be applied to all aspects of the past, whether physical, sensual or mythological. I shall take the example here of modern art; modern art to many is nothing but a collection of junk that some self-important student has assigned a vague meaning to get fame and fortune due to an inherent lack of talent for œ ne art. Maybe this is true, maybe this is not, and that is not the point. I have seen examples of a single black square on a canvas gaining importance and fame through its meaning to those who gaze upon it. But I put this to you, if we found this during an excavation; would we recognise that this single black square was in fact a signiœ cant piece of art? Would we recognise if we found a junk pile that it was not in fact a junk pile but the metaphorical representation of the scum of the human race? I would hedge my bets and say no. is example, as I stated, can be applied outside the realm of art. How do we know that the conclusions we are making are the right ones? Much more importantly how can we know? Is it possible we are over-complicating a multitude of issues? Maybe the apparent simple interpretations that are initially dismissed in favour of a more ground-breaking theory of human development are in fact the correct ones? We can indeed make impressive interpretations based upon the data provided, but considering many of these past civilisations are dead, how would we ever know for sure?

Finally, I would like to turn to the inherent destructive nature of archaeology itself. In order to gain access to the past, we must essentially devastate the physical remains that do exist. ere are amazing conservation methods in place to look a er the remains that we œ nd, and substantial archives to document the

excavations that take place. But not everything can be preserved. e excavation is inherently biased. e excavator is the sole œ lter in what is kept and what is discarded. And therefore the excavation process is œ lled with many questions of ‘what if ’. What if the excavator does not have a comprehensive knowledge of approaches to œ eldwork? What if through the bias of the excavator, the single most important element of a site, civilisation or landscape is lost forever, and the knowledge with it? Archaeology is not absolute in any form, it is subject to bias on all levels, and this Ŗ uidity may have clouded both its success and public image and damage it for the future.

And so the end of this journey may be near, but the overall mission is still at its beginning. Archaeology seeks to explain the great mysteries of the past, but I believe the past is now harder to understand than ever. Archaeology has moved on a great deal since its beginnings, but the vision has been blurred. Understanding the past has been replaced by arguments over meaningless philosophies and theories. Archaeology mixes science, history, geography and anthropology, and instead of a war for supremacy, I propose the construction of a united front. Put an end to the œ ghting and replace it with community strength. Culture requires science, science requires culture. Culture requires people. People require in-depth understanding both physically, mentally and symbolically. rough the example of art I have attempted to highlight the need to understand the true complexity of humanity. Rites of gi giving and social hierarchy may be one element, but the spiritual understanding of human with landscapes, animals, objects or even the climate is where the true knowledge lies. To understand art in the past maybe we must understand art in the present? e complexities of the present are essential in the knowledge of the past. Archaeology is Ŗ awed, it contradicts itself on a fundamental level, but to accept this and to address these issues is to take the œ rst steps into a whole new world of meaning and realisation.

Maybe Mao’s quote can be re-imagined to form a cyclicality that once understood and woven into the minds of humanity, can begin to reveal true knowledge of humanity: “the past exists to serve the present, just as the present exists to serve the past”.

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ARCHAEOLOGY AND NEOPAGANISM:

Few us would be here today if it were not for the pioneering works of the eighteenth century British antiquarians, whose approach to understanding the past through excavation and the study of prehistoric monuments and artefacts, as opposed to simply historical records, provided the soil from which the modern discipline of archaeology could grow.

One of the most important œ gures in this antiquarian movement was William Stukeley, an unorthodox Anglican clergyman born in 1687 who earned his name studying the great megalithic monuments of Stonehenge and Avebury. His ideas were far from recognisable to the contemporary archaeologist, and his understanding of prehistoric chronology was, from our perspective, appalling. He for instance believed that Stonehenge, which we know to have been constructed in stages throughout the Late Neolithic and Bronze Ages, had actually been built several millennia later, in what we would recognise as the Iron Age, by the magico-religious specialists that Classical sources referred to as the druids. Nonetheless, his pioneering œ rst steps in understanding these monuments as the constructs of prehistoric peoples, rather than as the creations of supernatural forces or mythical œ gures, have earned him the title of the ‘Father of British Archaeology’, for which he has gone down in history.

But Stukeley was not only known for being a grandfather to archaeology, for he has also gone down in history as a founding father of a religious phenomenon, that of contemporary Druidry. Fascinated by accounts of the ancient druids, the œ gures described as having religious and magical responsibilities in Iron Age Gaul and Britain by Greco-Roman writers like Caesar and Tacitus, Stukeley was the œ rst recorded person to openly proclaim himself to be a modern day Druid. e fact that his new Druidry looked very little like its ancient namesake is not surprising. e Iron Age druids were to Stukeley, and still to us today, enigmatic œ gures, featuring in Classical accounts but arguably not even traceable in the archaeological record. As such, he interpreted them in a manner that was pleasing to him.

Being a Christian cleric, he saw the ancient druids as monotheists, worshipping a singular Father deity, despite the fact that we are now well aware that the Iron Age peoples of Western Europe were polytheists, worshipping a myriad of divinities. He also believed that they were responsible for the building of Stonehenge, Avebury, and the other great megalithic stone circles, which they used as their temples in the worship of their own proto-Christian Trinity.

It is ironic that in contemporary Britain today, there is such animosity between the two tribes of Stukeley’s off spring: the archaeologists and the NeoDruids. Both groups cling œ rmly to their connection to the past, in particular the prehistoric past, albeit for very diff erent reasons. For us archaeologists, it is our job description to decipher the mysteries of long dead societies, to understand how they lived and how they died. For NeoDruids, and members of other NeoPagan faiths, the prehistoric societies of Europe are seen as spiritual antecedents, peoples who worshipped polytheisticly, understood divinity as coming in both male and female forms, and lived in communities that were typically far less urbanised, and therefore, one could argue, ‘in touch with nature’.

Whilst Stukeley himself was a Christian not a NeoPagan, in the same way that he was an antiquarian not an archaeologist, his founding of the modern Druidic movement, a religious phenomenon that was actively associating itself with a pre-Christian, and therefore ‘pagan’, religious sect, would have ramiœ cations that would lead to the foundation of NeoPaganism in the centuries following his death. Following Stukeley’s example, others across Britain began to declare themselves to be Druids, most notably the two Welsh nationalists, Iolo Morganwg and William Price, in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. ese œ gures, although accepting modern Druidry, or NeoDruidry, to be a monotheistic tradition, associated it with a strong veneration and even deiœ cation of the natural world, thereby introducing ideas of pantheism into the faith.

A STEAMY RELATIONSHIP IN CONTEMPORARY BRITAINETHAN DOYLE-WHITE

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What is NeoPaganism ?

Although most of the components had been brewing in the late nineteenth century, it would only be in the early twentieth that the emergence of the NeoPagan movement really began. Here it must be stressed that NeoPaganism is not a singular religion, it is instead a term used to encompass a wide range of new religious movements, all of which share a set of commonalities, in a similar manner to how monotheistic, Middle Eastern religions like Judaism, Christianity and Islam are all collected together under the banner of ‘the Abrahamic faiths’.

Most of these NeoPagan religions emerged in the early twentieth century. In 1904, the infamous occultist and ceremonial magician Aleister Crowley proclaimed that he had been contacted by the ancient Egyptian god Horus whilst staying in Cairo, and that Horus had given him a new holy text for humanity, e Book of the Law, which declared that the world was entering a new Aeon, and that a new ethical code was to be implemented, one that simply stated “Do What ou Wilt”. is code, and its accompanying ancient Egyptian symbolism, were fashioned into a new religion that Crowley called elema. From these pictures (point to PowerPoint) you can see that Egyptology had a clear inŖ uence upon this burgeoning faith.

e following year, members of the modern Druidic movement œ rst assembled at Stonehenge on the summer solstice, where they performed a mass initiation ceremony into the Ancient Order of Druids. In ensuing decades, modern Druids would come to increasingly leave behind the monotheistic ideas of Stukeley and instead embrace a polytheistic system of those ancient deities perceived as ‘Celtic’, with a particular reverence going to concepts of either many goddesses or a singular Goddess.

e 1940s then saw the emergence of Wicca, a form of NeoPagan witchcra that revolved around the veneration of a Great Goddess and a Horned God, and which was most prominently propagated by Gerald Gardner, a retired civil servant who was a noted amateur anthropologist and archaeologist, having worked on Flinders Petrie’s excavations near to Gaza and J.L. Starkey’s excavations at Lachish in Palestine.

At the same time, groups emerged that aimed to reinterpret the pagan religions of the Iron Age Germanic speakers such as the Norse and the Anglo-Saxons, and these are today collectively known as Heathenry. Although never comprising a majority of the modern Heathen population, this particular faith has been adopted by Nazi, Neo-

Nazi and white supremacist groups since the 1930s up until the present day, who see it as in some way the continuation of the religion of the ancient ‘Aryan’ race. Whilst such racialist interpretations are rejected by the majority of modern Heathens, it is important in showing how diverse Neopagans can be.

In the 1960s and 70s, with the rise of the Second Wave Feminist movement in the West, a NeoPagan faith known simply as Goddess Spirituality also emerged, espousing a form of female monotheism, in many cases strongly accompanied by environmentalism. With the increasingly eclectic nature of the NeoPagan movement in these decades, you began to see many individuals describing themselves simply as “Pagans” rather than as Druids, Wiccans, Heathens etc, and adopting a generic polytheistic, nature based worldview.

What I hope I have illustrated is that there is no way that we can talk of a single or uniœ ed Neopagan movement, because whilst there are deœ nitely core commonalities between these groups, such as..

- the belief in the sacredness of the natural world- the acceptance of ideas of polytheism and - Goddess-worship not found in other mainstream western religions- the sense of affi liation with the prehistoric, pre-Christian religions of Europe,

...there is also a huge number of diff erences. As archaeologists, we must recognise that when we come into contact with NeoPagans, we are by no means dealing with a homogenous religious entity, but rather a wide variety that encompasses everything from radical socialist lesbian groups, to far right white supremacist organisations. Now, these are both extreme examples, and most o en we simply encounter an eclectic mix of Druids and Wiccans, whose political and social affi liations are far more mainstream.

Moving on, I believe it important to note that in contemporary Britain, members of the NeoPagan and archaeological communities come into contact over what I can consider three core issues:- e usage of ‘sacred sites’ or prehistoric monuments for contemporary NeoPagan rites.- e excavation, examination and reburial of ancient human remains.- e appropriation of ancient iconography and religious concepts into NeoPaganism.

1616It is the œ rst two of these points that have raised the ire of large swathes of the archaeological community in Britain, largely to the detriment of the third, which I believe many archaeologists simply feel doesn’t concern them.

Sacred Sites

Virtually all religious groups congregate at speciœ c places to worship, whether it be at a church, a mosque, a gurdwara or somebody’s home. However, most NeoPagan groups do not organise into established churches or congregations and don’t have the funding to build permanent places of worship. Instead they perform their rites and ceremonies outdoors, in woodland or heath land, or in public parks - all places that have an abundance of trees and plants and which in this respect are ‘natural’. However, in some cases, prehistoric archaeological sites are instead chosen as a place of worship, and there are multiple reasons for this. Such sites have a connection to the ancient ‘pagan’, pre-Christian peoples of the past, who are therefore perceived of as ancestors to contemporary NeoPagans. It is also sometimes believed that, o en being situated within non-urbanised environments, such monuments are connected to the natural world, and to animistic spirits that dwell there.

Such sites have been used for rituals since the dawn of the NeoPagan movement. As I previously mentioned, Stonehenge was the centre of a Druidic ritual performed in August 1905, and has been used by other Druidic groups ever since. Although Druids and other NeoPagans make up only a part of the celebrants at the Summer Solstice, with travellers and other curious visitors also making up a signiœ cant percentage of those who assemble at the megalith for the event they are the group that is most associated with it. is recent cultural phenomenon has not always pleased English Heritage, the organisation responsible for maintaining the site, and who prevented open access for many years. From 1974 through to 1984, a Stonehenge Free Festival had been held there, however increasing antagonism with the authorities, who had always been uneasy about the event, led to the Battle of the Beanœ eld in 1985 when police attacked New Age travellers with what could only truly be described as thuggish brutality. To avoid further confrontations in the future, English Heritage put an end to the festival in ensuing years. However, in 1999, with increasing pressure to reopen the site to NeoPagan celebration at the solstices, English Heritage agreed to begin what they described as ‘managed open access’ events, which would allow NeoPagans and other revellers to celebrate such important solar events at the sacred site.

Stonehenge is not the only megalithic site in Britain that is currently used as a place of ritual by contemporary NeoPagans. Avebury is a site of where multiple Druid groups regularly assemble, and the Rollright Stones on the Warwickshire-Oxfordshire border have been used as a ceremonial site for the nocturnal workings of NeoPagan Witches since at least the 1950s.

Some archaeologists and heritage managers have expressed disapproval at the NeoPagan usage of such sites. ey fear that ritual activities, which range from meditation to partying, can damage the monuments, and this is certainly true to some extent. I and others will have noticed the spilled wax and stone cracking caused by tea lamps in the interior of the Early Neolithic tomb West Kennet Long Barrow. However, elements within the NeoPagan community itself have recognised the need to help prevent such destruction, and have set up organisations for that very purpose. One of the most notable of these was the Guardianship scheme at Avebury, instituted as a cooperative venture between NeoPagans, locals and the National Trust that involved volunteers cleaning the site and ensuring any litter, whether le for ritual purposes or otherwise, was removed.

e Human Reburial Issue

e second area in which archaeologists and NeoPagans o en come into conŖ ict in Britain today is over the issue of human remains. Most readers would be familiar with the issue concerning the repatriation and reburial of human remains and their associated grave goods amongst indigenous communities in places like North America and Australia. Whilst the archaeological community has debated and squabbled over the issue for several decades now, sections of the NeoPagan community have meanwhile begun to argue that pre-Christian European human remains should also be reburied.

In 2004, the prominent British Druid Emma Restall Orr founded an organisation known as Honouring the Ancient Dead, or HAD, through which all those supporting the reburial of prehistoric human remains, a signiœ cant number of whom were NeoPagans, could unite and campaign for this cause. HAD have not called for the wholesale reburial of all such remains, but have instead aimed to improve dialogue between archaeologists, heritage and museum managers, and all those interested in the issue.

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Although it is largely NeoPagan groups who have spearheaded the human reburials, it is by no means simply NeoPagans involved in the movement, with a great number of other people, including Christians, Hindus and Muslims, have voiced their concerns that it is inappropriate to publicly display the human remains of prehistoric Britons.

In contrast however, some NeoPagans have been supportive of archaeological excavation and study of human remains, arguing that it gives contemporary scholars a better understanding of the ancient pre-Christian peoples of the British Isles, from whom contemporary NeoPagans can gain inspiration and ideas. e most notable group to do this is Pagans for Archaeology, a British-based organisation founded in the early years of the 21st century by Yvonne Aburrow. ey have attempted to explain archaeological methods and theories to the mainstream NeoPagan community, and have taken a very vocal stance against the reburial of all prehistoric remains. e group organised a conference in 2009 at Bristol University entitled ‘Pagans and Archaeology’ that had a number of academics participate.

Adopting Prehistoric Motifs

e third manner in which the world of the NeoPagan and the archaeologist cross is through the NeoPagan use of prehistoric and ancient iconography. It is a relatively common site to see contemporary NeoPagans adorning themselves with symbols like the Ancient Egyptian Ankh or or’s Hammer, as well as more recent images with magical or amuletic signiœ cance, such as the pentagram.

However, it is the prehistoric images of the female form that have perhaps been most pervasive amongst NeoPagans. In a 2003 paper, Cynthia Eller, a scholar of religious studies and specialist in Goddess Spirituality, examined the use of the Palaeolithic ‘Venus Figurines’ amongst NeoPagan iconography. Although there are many diff erent theories as to what these Venus Figurines actually represent - ranging from objects that symbolise the subordination of women to children’s toys, most Goddess Worshippers and other NeoPagans choose to believe that they depict some form of ancient mother goddess, an idea prominently purported by controversial Lithuanian-American archaeologist Marija Giumbutas. Eller argued that whilst such an interpretation might be erroneous, there was nothing morally wrong in NeoPagans interpreting them for their own spiritual fulœ lment, and that it would be archaeologists who would be in the morally dubious position for trying to force them to think otherwise.

Conclusion

Despite the conŖ ict that occurs between the two communities, there are many archaeologists who openly practice NeoPagan religious beliefs today. Most prominent amongst these are perhaps the Heathens Robert J. Wallis and Jenny Blain, who have studied particular areas of contention and published academic studies on the subject, which are well worth a read for those interested in learning more about this topic. But these are not two solitary isolated individuals who are bridging the gap between NeoPaganism and archaeology. I have worked on an archaeological site where a signiœ cant number of excavators, including the site’s œ eldwork manager, were practicing NeoPagans. At no point did I ever see the work being undertaken compromised by their faith, in the same way as the work was not compromised by the fact that Christians and atheists were also working there. ey had however erected a totem aff ectionately referred to as “the wicker man”, at the entrance to their site, in order to in some way off er protection for the diggers from any potential health and safety issues and also to bestow a bountiful harvest of œ nds from the site. Sure it’s eccentric and I don’t think I’ll œ nd one of these at the Boxgrove or Silchester excavations this summer, but nonetheless, it’s a sure sign of positive interaction between NeoPagans and archaeology.

ese examples are of course only those of archaeologists who are willing to stand up as NeoPagans within an archaeological community which can at times be very hostile to them. I would suspect that there are others - perhaps even working as lecturers in the Institute - who share NeoPagan beliefs but who keep them rather quiet, not mentioning to their colleagues that they spent the last full moon dancing naked around a hilltop campœ re!

In contrast to this, the academic archaeological attitude to NeoPagans is, dare I say it, all too o en simple snobbery. Like most people, NeoPagans don’t like being talked down to, particularly by academics whom they perceive as sitting on their high horses in their cosy university positions, laughing mockingly at “un-educated, smelly hippies”. Indeed, there are uneducated, smelly hippies within the NeoPagan movement, as I’ve met my fair share of them, but deœ ning an entire religious group by a rather un-likeable stereotype is downright unfair, and would not be tolerated were it applied to most other religious groups.

I appreciate that for most archaeologists it’s hard not to laugh at some of the more abnormal aspects of the contemporary Pagan movement, particularly when you see images of Druids wearing fake beards

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that make them look like a shopping mall Santa. But it is of the utmost importance that light hearted amusement at these eccentric characters doesn’t evolve into outright bigotry. If there’s one thing that I hope people will go away with a er reading this article, it’s a call for tolerance and understanding, that archaeologists and NeoPagans can and do work together successfully, and long may this continue.

Further Reading:Eller, C. 2003. e religious use of prehistoric imagery in contemporary goddess spirituality. Public Archaeology 3; pp. 77-87.

Hutton, R. 2009. Blood and Mistletoe: e History of the Druids in Britain. Yale University Press.

Wallis, R.J. 2003. Shamans/ Neo-Shamans: Ecstasy, alternative archaeologies and contemporary Pagans. Routledge.

Blain, J. and Wallis, R. 2007. Sacred Sites, Contested Rites/Rights: Pagan Engagements with Archaeological Monuments. Sussex Academic Press.

Neopaganism Statistics

Although Neopaganism itself is a simplistic lump term for many diff erent beliefs, it is es-timated that 40,000 people in the UK can be described as such, although this data is from the 2001 census so this œ gure may be outdated. Of this number, 7,000 class themselves as

Wiccan.

A study by Ronald Hutton, based on magazine subscriptions and Neopagan group attend-ance, estimates the far larger œ gure of 250,000. e discrepancy between the census œ gure

and this estimate could be attributed to the existence of a periphery of people with mild interest or casual interaction with the core community.

By contrast, people who subscribed to the Jedi religion in the UK 2001 census numbered 390,127.

Worldwide the number of Neopagans is estimated to be c. 1 million, with adherents mostly hailing from Europe and the US. Australia also has a signiœ cant Neopagan community.

For people interested in this topic, head over to http://ethandoylewhite.blogspot.co.uk/

for more information and insight.

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In polished hospital corridors, under the hazy glare of strip lighting, here can be found an unmatchable solidarity between patients within the effi cient but aloof bureaucracy of the NHS under the pressures of today’s œ nancial crisis. Drawing upon direct experience, Ali Astle recounts conversations and encounters that uncover how, whilst staff responsibilities are governed by systems, the human side of engagement with caring revolves more around the relationships between the inmates themselves.

e anthropologist Robert Desjarlais once wrote that “to try to write about humans without reference to experience is like trying to write the unthinkable.” In order to better understand the mental health system and the lives of those caught within it, I off er up part of my own experience as a mental health patient. But because human experience has endless signiœ cances I

can only hope to provide a window of thought into a small, single room in the home of actuality. Yet I hope to have picked an important room, where the existence of its inhabitants is at its most raw and perturbing. e people in the following depiction are real and, like us all, incalculably inŖ uenced by physical and temporal surroundings. e National Health System, in a period of economic recovery provides a modern-day stage for the enactment of Ellen Raskin’s suggestion that “the poor are crazy, the rich just eccentric,” for as the following will show, the majority of in-patients come from working-class or lower-middle class backgrounds. e worries and stresses of those diagnosed as mentally ill are routinely avoided through the fervent pursuit of highly personalised and idiosyncratic forms of religion besides various other distractions. It is through these that they cling to the abstract remnants of the outside world, the loose threads of the fraying seam between themselves and society.

THE

PEOPLEON

PAUSE

Holly Brentnall

2020

In Desjarlais’ study of homeless shelters in Boston, the staff have a distinct philosophy. With the wage cuts and redundancies of today, there’s no time for philosophising at the NHS. Both patients and staff are short-changed in forbearance, the employees almost as much in need of care as the patients. ey are exhausted, underpaid and hard-pushed not to let it show. “ e œ rst thing that goes is your ability to empathise,” surmises Jenny, a bright trainee worker at Drayton Park, a home prioritised for women in recovery. Here the day passes without the feeling that every moment is a time slot in which an event will or won’t take place according to the binary options of yes or no. In contrast, at Highgate hospital, or ‘Wandsworth prison’ as one inmate corrects me, time is regulated by decision processes. Forms and questioning deœ ne daily routine. Eating is translated into a medical process of examination. A sheet of tick boxes is œ lled out and stored away as a record that contributes to an overall report and in the dining room patients are encouraged by reels of small type on laminated posters, to participate in the social experience of consuming food. 

One day I sit with Anthony. He is suicidal and once tried to run under a bus. Earlier that morning he had been doing art therapy and from his pocket he pulls out the card of another inmate-turned professional artist. Irene listens from across the table. She used to work in management in Belgium and now barely speaks. Her exchanges are either in dispute over the limited facilities, or in complaint about the laziness of the staff . e ladies’ television is broken and she hasn’t been given any shampoo. It is true that the staff rarely communicate directly with the patients. Instead their time is ruled by forms and schedules. ere are dinner times and courtyard breaks. Patients are rounded up by the call of a weary nurse to be brought out into the sun, onto a patch of four by four meter tarmac where they pace round and round, again and again, thinking and hoping to soon be elsewhere, in a place where walking can be done in straight lines instead of in circles.  e seat of power in Opal ward at Highgate mental health hospital, is the reception. e staff desk acts as a barrier behind which the staff adhere to a systemised work process that keeps them moving through the set framework of each day. Before their glances over the front desk, the inmates wander corridors and empty space, with simply their own minds and each other for occupation, waiting until they’re ready to go back to a place in society that they either hope or fear still awaits them. ose who fear lose all motivation and slouch in front of the television until they reach an alternative career path. ose who hope pace the corridors, chanting, singing, and calling to others, waiting, œ lling the time and looking for every possible exit.

Emmanuel is one who feared. During the whole of my time there, I barely heard him utter a word. Before he

had devoted his life to music production and it was only once he decided to start up his own business that he began talking again. “I don’t believe I’m mad,” he says slowly and carefully. “ is is the second time I’ve been back here but I’m not mad. I just have to pretend to think I am and go along with their strategies. en they’ll let me out.”Julie is one who hopes. She approaches everyone to ask how she can get better and how she can get out. en there’s Michelle who sings along to music on her cell phone, watching people with knowing eyes. e only indication of her fear is a nervous throaty laugh that she erupts into without any show or hint at the reason why. Neither Emmanuel nor Michelle, nor Julie are noticeably ill. e fact that these people lack any place in society is as much a reŖ ection of our society as of these individuals. 

On the role of psychology as the embodiment of political power, Nikolas Rose talks of psychology as the guidance of political forms, allowing individuals to be edged gently back into their allotted place of self-governance in neoliberal society. Here in mental hospital is where people are helped to reintegrate, “to lose their demons,” as one psychologist explains to me. But “demons” is not what people lose here. Rather, I think, they understand and readjust them till they take on a new, more favourable form like that of a religion. According to many analyses, these demons are o en the manifestations of traumatic or stressful experiences. Because memories are intrinsic to identity, these have to be placed upon some other entity, object or person in order for them not to dilate and wreak havoc in the mind. Whilst some patients use diaries, Lin, at Drayton Park used witches. ese consisted of several strikingly realistic porcelain œ gurines of women condemned and executed by anti-witchcra movements of the 1600s. Once the scapegoats of misfortunate events, their replicas hung in Lin’s window and talked to her about her misgivings. “Her gals,” she called them.

Apart from the witches her life was full of housework, cleaning under the feet of men who demanded care and attention, washing and food. A er her œ rst trial return home I come across her in the dining room of Drayton Park and ask how it went. “Well..” she almost growls, “they think everything can just go back to normal, like nothing’s happened, and I’m telling them it can’t.” Before the witches would have listened but then her husband threw them away, unable to bear their presence any longer and she was able to substitute them for real people. Here at Drayton Park, a residential home for distressed women, Lin is provided with a pause for thought and comprehension. “It’s good just to let out what’s on your mind, you know,” she explains, “just so you can say it and others can nod.”Similarly, Jamal couldn’t crack it on the outside any longer. Crack being the operative word.

2121During one courtyard break I am sitting on a wooden bench with a memorial plaque when he approaches to sit beside me and ask directly, “Are you middle class? You see, I’m the bottom class.” He turns his head to drop it forward, eyes staring blankly.

He continues, telling me how it is only until now, with the insight of his brother that he has recognised that he’s been living amongst people who’ve mucked him up. His school helped him redo his GCSEs because the last time he sat them he was off his face on crack. “Everybody has crack,” he explains, “they put it in your tea and in your cigarettes. In Somalia they call it the Devil’s dandruff .” en he holds out one œ nger and says, “look, I would sell just this much for £10. e smart ones, they’d put all their contacts in a little black book but I’ve got all mine on this.” He puts a beaten up cell phone down on the bench between us. “ e guy who owns this found out, then he got me up against the wall like this,” he’s holding his hands in the air, shoulders hunched up to his ears with a look of stark fear. “And I was like hey, hey, hey what are you doing? – I ain’t got no children, see. And they slapped me.” He twists his head to one side in animated re-enactment. “And they know this here, they know what happened.” en he changes his tone and tells me, “In Somalia they wouldn’t make me pay for a meal. If I went into a restaurant they’d say, “Here, here my boy, you don’t have to pay, we will give you this for free.”” When he drops his impression he turns to look back at me, cold, stony cold, a childhood of brutal realities and injustices playing in his eyes. en he arises with a single nod and goes off to pray.

Late a ernoon and Yaba is in mid-recital of theological texts. She bellows like a steam engine giving all it can as it chugs its way out of a station. “Jesus and his disciples came to me, in time,” she booms. Yet there is something very sane and grounded about Yaba. Her philosophy of life is “Allah, who is life and life has many forms.” In here these many forms of life are starkly evident. Quite simply, Yaba’s reason for being here is because she has nowhere else to go. e only explanation she gives is that she is in the process of moving house and can’t wait on the streets. And while she’s here she makes it her duty to care for Eileen, who cries and cries about missing her daughter. “Stop crying for Keiley,” Yaba will sooth, “stop crying for Keiley.” e care the inmates give to one another plays a large part in the healing process. Advice is shared about how to change behavioural patterns so that when it comes to the weekly ward round, when exhausted Dr. Anwar passes through, assessing people through his hooded eyes, they will be considered normal and safe to leave.

On our way to our rooms Jamal points to Matthew, asleep on the plastic covered sofa. “Look at Matthew,

he sleeps with one eye open. at’s real suspicion. He’s real wise, Matthew is.” All the inmates have a strong mutual respect for one another. It is expressed in silent smiles, cigarette breaks and under the table exchanges of pots of ice-cream which some patients are denied. ey have a faith in one another that strengthens the faith they have in themselves, their own personal religions. Elvis is from South Africa. She channels her faith and enthusiasm through passionate support of Chelsea football team. April, a human rights worker for Palestine believes that the soul is composed of one’s knowledge. A student of Ghanaian theology, Yaba is planning to write a book which she will call ‘ e little book of eternity.’ Her engrossment in the topic is remarkable. Basing it upon the work of Ferdinand de Saussure, she explains how she intends to use semiotics in order to provide a framework for interpreting fashion journals, describing a person through their demeanour, dress sense and pose. 

While the staff attend to bureaucratic processes and necessary arrangements one senses that it is the slow accumulation of self-knowledge, of diff erence and self-worth, gleaned from talking to others that œ nally allows people to readdress their traumatic backgrounds. eir ‘souls’ are rekindled, their demons transformed, and whether it be through theology, football, witchcra or religion, their escapes are given new space amidst the endless routines of everyday life. Later, in the windowless, airless computer lounge, Yaba, Jamal and I are slowly re-enchanted by the slurring but buoyant tones of the ‘I’m Singing in the rain’ remix on Youtube. In this one small room of experience, Gene Kelly leaps and clicks his heels together, the semiotic interpretation of which Yaba says is rejuvenation, exaltation and freedom. In a moment of shared appreciation, our unique beliefs are reinforced by knowledge that at least in this one small room there are others who, like us all, are diff erent.

Images: cross section of the ward and Highgate hospital in earlier, bleaker times.

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e City of David is Jerusalem’s massive archaeo-logical park and a major tourist attraction, which I explored on the last weekend of my one-month-stay in Israel, in 2011. is visit made a deep impression on me and has particularly aff ected my conception of the way society views archaeology. So here is a brief saga of the public archaeology is-sues which dazzled me during my visit.

e City of David is beautifully situated in Pales-tinian East Jerusalem around the Gihon Spring: to the west of the Kidron Valley, on a ridge running down the southeastern hill of the Old City of Jeru-salem, from the famously known Temple Mount or Haram ash-Sharif, as it is known by the Arab world. e area had previously been known under its Arabic name Wadi Hilwa, a neighbourhood of the village Silwan which is inhabited by a large Pal-estinian community as well as a growing amount of Jewish settlers. Now, due to this major discovery a large amount of the area has been transformed into an archaeological park. For this reason, the name has been changed to the catchier Hebrew Ir David, or the English - City of David. e site is assumed to be the oldest settled district of Jerusalem and therefore, according to the story told in the Hebrew Bible, must be the setting for one of the most strik-ing “events” in Judaism: the conquest and following inhabitation of Jerusalem by King David consum-mated by the construction of a great palace.

e archaeological site itself is run by El-Ad, the

City of David Foundation, which is a Jewish right-wing settler organisation who have fought and succeeded for this biblically based interpretation to be widely accepted by archaeological scholars as well as the public. It is strongly assumed that in making heritage claims and, relatedly, attempting to increase tourism, their goal is to improve the infrastructure of Jewish settlements in East Jerusa-lem in such a way that they become superior to the Palestinians, if not even threatening to take over the area.

e past years have given way to alternative inter-pretations, gaining popularity amongst archaeolo-gists, with Israel Finkelstein as a pioneer, question-ing the strictly biblical approach chosen by many scholars of past and present. Not only do they emphasise the point that the archaeological record is a more reliable source for accessing the human past than ancient texts, but they have also found vast discrepancies made by biblical archaeologists such as Eilat Mazar. Of these, the discovery of basic dating mistakes has been especially important in disproving the connection of the site to David’s biblical palace. In this light, here is what my own visit to Wadi Hilwa, Ir David, the infamous City of David exposed me to.

e City of David is a huge and therefore also very impressive archaeological park. Already at the en-trance a Hebrew as well as an English version of its name is visible in huge golden metal letters.

CITY OF DAVID:Theme Park or Archaeological Site?ELISABETH SAWERTHAL

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As at many other archaeological sites that enjoy public fame, what immediately awaits you when entering the site are a cafe and a gi shop where you can buy a large variety of objects advertising the site and its Jewish history such as books and illustrations of the biblical King David, jewellery or pictures of site-related artefacts such as a coin with Hebrew writing saying “Freedom of Zion” printed onto t-shirts. At this point you are also informed that an ancient tunnel, Hezekiah’s Aqueduct, has been discovered which is accessible for tourists - however the extra purchase of a torch and sandals is strongly recom-mended as there is about knee-high running wa-ter going through the tunnel. Assuming this was merely a touristic money-trap, I resisted. However, the tunnel expedition was more of an adventure than expected: twenty minutes of walking barefoot through ice-cold water (that sometimes reaches up to your thighs) in a barely shoulder-wide and pitch dark corridor which is in most parts too low to stand in upright. When leaving the tunnel - soak-ing wet - one forgets about the archaeology in this area, but simply looks for the next theme ride. In general, the entire setup of the park leads the visi-tor from one apparently distinct area to the next, systematically telling them one story. is structure is so overwhelming that it makes it very diffi cult for visitors to either gain a good overall understanding of the site or think about it in any great detail for themselves.

Although the City of David is in the centre of atten-tion of Israel’s archaeological world, when walking through, the park appears to be surprisingly badly organised, as if the whole project of bringing fame to the City of David was executed exceptionally quickly - which was, thanks to El-Ad, the case.

Having also visited other sites in Jerusalem, political links were not unexpected.

e situation at the City of David is deeply worry-ing from an archaeological, scientiœ c as well as a po-litical perspective. Archaeological material should guide the interpretation of our past. e questions we ask about it should not embody any substantial assumptions we are yet to conœ rm; they should help us discover the facts rather than presuppose what we already take to be the “fact”. In the case of the archaeological park of the City of David it seems that these basic principles have been fully ignored in a way reminiscent of early archaeological inter-pretations based on imperial concepts of thought. It appears that objective and analytical thinking have been replaced by commitment to a story, the story of the Hebrew Bible, taken enthusiastically on board by scholars like Mazar. Such “archaeologi-cal” results do nothing more than conœ rm and breathe new life into that which had already been declared “fact”. Looking for King David’s palace in just one area (an area, moreover, dictated by the Bible) can hardly be viewed as a modern approach to the exploration of Jerusalem’s past. Archaeology is a science and the City of David project has failed in a scientiœ c manner. We have a right to expect sci-ence to be objective and not subservient to external factors, be it social or political. Unfortunately, the interpretation so thoroughly supported and adver-tised by El-Ad has clearly been politically and reli-giously motivated in a way which not only under-mines its scientiœ c credibility but also causes direct harm to the Palestinian residents of Wadi Hilwa and to our appreciation of the past.

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Cover photos by Lewis Glynn