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The Political Economy of Archaeology in the United
StatesAuthor(s): Thomas C. PattersonReviewed work(s):Source: Annual
Review of Anthropology, Vol. 28 (1999), pp. 155-174Published by:
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Annu. Rev. Anthropol. 1999. 28:155-74 Copyright ? 1999 by Annual
Reviews. All rights reserved
THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE UNITED STATES
Thomas C. Patterson Department of Anthropology, Temple
University, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19103; e-mail:
tomcpat@astro. temple.edu
Key Words: professionalization, higher education, antiquities
markets, labor market, economic restructuring
* Abstract The professionalization of archaeology in the late
nineteenth century was linked to the growth of antiquities markets
and the development of museums as institutions of education and
social reproduction. Professional ar- chaeologists moved into the
universities in large numbers after World War II and then
increasingly into the private sector after the mid-1970s. In the
United States, archaeologists currently confront a highly segmented
labor market with significant wage and benefits differentials, and
increasing numbers face mar- ginal employment. At the same time,
descendant communities and government regulations are transforming
the ways by which archaeologists have tradition- ally conducted
their investigations.
CONTENTS Introduction
................................................... 156 What Is
Political Economy? ...................................... 156 The
Rise of Capitalism and Archaeology ............................ 157
Archaeology in the United States: Higher Education and Social
Reproduction ................................................
158 Postwar America: Mass Education and Archaeology After
World War II ................................................
161 Political-Economic Crises and Archaeology in the Late
Twentieth
Century ................................. ...................
164 The Political Economy of Archaeology on the Eve of the New
Millennium .............................................. ....
167 What Is To Be Done? ...........................................
169
0084-6570/99/1015-0155$12.00 155
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156 PATTERSON
INTRODUCTION
This review examines the connections between archaeology and
wider political- economic, social, and cultural currents in US
capitalist society. It builds on a growing body of studies that
explore the historical development of these linkages both in the
United States and in other countries (Diaz-Andreu & Champion
1996; Hammond 1980; Kohl & Fawcett 1995; Patterson 1986, 1989,
1995; Schmidt & McIntosh 1996; Schmidt & Patterson 1996;
Silberman 1982, 1989, 1994). The article begins with a brief
description of political economy and some implications Marxist
currents have in its study. There follows a review of (a) the
linkages between the development of capitalism, antiquities
markets, and archaeology, (b) the connections between education,
employment, and the reproduction of capital- ist social relations
and culture, (c) the effects of mass education after World War II
on employment and the composition of the profession, (d) the impact
of the political-economic crises of the late twentieth century on
archaeology, and (e) the political economy of archaeology on the
eve of the new millennium.
WHAT IS POLITICAL ECONOMY?
Scottish writers during the Enlightenment were among the first
to conceptualize political economy. They argued that human society
had progressed through a suc- cession of stages and linked the
development of political authority, morality, property, class
structures, and the position of women to changes in the mode of
subsistence (Meek 1976). Today's neoliberal writers define
political economy as the interaction of political processes and
exchange in a free market where eco- nomically rational individuals
attempt to maximize goals. Largely ignoring his- tory in their
definition, they sever the connections between the political and
economic realms in order to subordinate the state to politically
defined economic strategies based on the maximization of profit,
accounting procedures, and more efficient human resource
management. Marxists define political economy as con- cerned with
the crisis-ridden processes of the accumulation of capital and its
dis- tribution, including prices, wages, employment, political
arrangements, and class structures and struggles. They examine the
historical development of capitalism, i.e. how accumulation and
distribution shape and are shaped by the class struggle manifested
in relations of domination and subordination and in the hierarchies
that exist in the workplace, in the market, and in the wider
society (Desai 1991, Mohun 1993).
While neoliberals see value as a creation of the market,
Marxists understand that surplus and value are created by the
workers who produce the commodities sold in the market, and so they
focus on the social relations of production and ownership of the
means of production. The neoliberals do not consider the effects of
wealth and power differentials in the market, but the Marxists pay
careful attention to the historical development of class
differences and the rules govern- ing the distribution of
wealth.
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
Because in capitalist societies the differential capacities of
individuals to sat- isfy their needs and aspirations are
historically constituted and reduced to the power of money, class
position and class struggle have significant cultural, social, and
symbolic dimensions. Marx & Engels [1964:38 (1845)] called
these dimen- sions "forms of social consciousness" and referred to
them repeatedly in their writings [Engels 1969 (1845), 1972 (1884);
Marx 1963:47,124-35 (1852), 1977: 931-40 (1867)]. Bourdieu (1984,
1986, 1987) has explored the connections between class, culture,
and power. He acknowledges that economic relations play the
dominant role in structuring social hierarchies and then points out
that shared culture, social connections, and the capacity to
legitimate them in the wider soci- ety are resources that
individuals and groups deploy to define their position in class
hierarchies. Brodkin (1998) has begun to examine the creation and
contesta- tion of the cultural, social, and symbolic dimensions of
class position and struggle that exist because capitalist employers
in the United States consciously construct segmented labor markets
that are structured and stratified by class, racial, ethnic, and
gender differences.
THE RISE OF CAPITALISM AND ARCHAEOLOGY
Capitalism as an economic system is based on (a) the creation of
value by workers who do not own the means of production and are
forced to sell their labor power for money in order to survive, and
(b) the appropriation of this value and its sale for profit by
those who own the means of production and determine how the prof-
its will be used. Modem capitalism had its origins five centuries
ago in the class struggles and commercial expansion of various
European states (Brenner 1985, Ster 1988). It developed within the
context of a network of emerging national states that underwrote
the accumulation of capital on a world scale. The states were the
contradictory products of ongoing struggles in and against emerging
capitalist classes that could not separate themselves from workers
and that had to contain labor as a condition of their own
existence. They accomplished this by imposing the exchange of money
for labor and reconstituting workers as citizens with equal rights
before the law. They reproduced "the contradictions of 'capital' in
the political form" (Bonefeld 1993:65-66, Goldmann 1973:15-33).
The first rumblings of capitalism in the late fifteenth century
occurred at a time when humanist teachers employed by wealthy
European merchant and banking families avowed that the Greek and
Roman cultures were models of excellence that should be emulated
(Rowe 1965). It was also a time when merchants and travelers
visited distant lands where they traded for local goods and
incidentally acquired exotic souvenirs, which they either sold or
placed in private and state collections. Their activities
underwrote the creation of antiquities markets and the development
of antiquarian studies in Northern Europe (Lack 1970, Sklenar
1983:6-40, Trigger 1989:27-72). These markets further fueled the
growth of cot- tage industries involved in the plunder of
archaeological sites and forgery of arti- facts [Fagan 1992,
Jefferson 1955:97-100 (1785), Meyer 1973]. By the end of the
157
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158 PATTERSON
sixteenth century, writers were already complaining about
forgery and about unscrupulous individuals planting and then
"discovering" European antiquities in the New World as a way to
support their claims for territorial possessions [Castel- lanos
1944:19 (1589), Trahere 1673].
Markets for new kinds of exotic objects sprang up during the
late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as more remote parts of
the world-Polynesia, the Northwest Coast of North America, the
eastern Mediterranean, and the American southwest-became enmeshed
in the capitalist world system, and as the exten- sion of
agricultural lands, mining, deforestation, and the construction of
railroads and canals in Europe uncovered antiquities buried over
time (Cole 1985, Wade 1976, Kristiansen 1981). The extension and
development of capitalism also pro- vided new opportunities for
looting and forgery (Arango 1924, Edge-Parrington 1910).
Archaeology emerged as a set of practices concerned with the
acquisition of antiquities through excavation or purchase, with
appraisals of their authenticity and value in the market, and with
interpretations of their significance that increased their monetary
value. Archaeologists provided accounts of the peoples who produced
and used the antiquities in question.
ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE UNITED STATES: HIGHER EDUCATION AND SOCIAL
REPRODUCTION
Archaeology was never a monolithic discipline because different
parts of the world have different meanings in the historical
narratives crafted and reproduced by ruling class and state
intellectuals in the United States (Patterson 1997). These accounts
have never questioned the idea that social or cultural hierarchies
are natural. Perhaps the most familiar of these is the claim that
civilization arose in the Holy Land, spread to Greece and Rome,
reached new levels in northern Europe, and achieved its highest
expression in the United States. In this story, the Holy Land was
the source of civilization; the Judeo-Christian tradition was the
civilizing process; and classical Greece and Rome were the
societies in which white European men invented democracy,
republican institutions, and statesman- ship. The rest of the world
was excluded, because its peoples had not attained the same levels
of development.
Archaeology was reconfigured during the period of imperialist
expansion in the late nineteenth century to provide material
evidence supporting such claims (Patterson 1995:39-68). Classical
archaeologists studied the remains of Greece and Rome; however,
since the books of the New Testament were written in Greek,
Christianity was linked with the European civilizations and with
the white race. Because the Old Testament texts were written in
Semitic languages, Juda- ism was joined with Egypt and Assyria,
with races that were not quite white, and with the less-developed
societies of the Orient (Bernal 1987, Brinton 1890, Sil- berman
1982:171-88). As the biblical archaeologists and Assyriologists
sought to differentiate their subject matter, the founders of the
Archaeological Institute of America, established in 1879, supported
investigations in the eastern Mediter- ranean. However, they had
little interest in the work of archaeologists studying
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
the ancestors of the American Indians or the Stone Age peoples
in Europe, because they considered them to be uncivilized and as
not having contributed materially to human progress (Hinsley 1985,
Norton et al 1880). In spite of the Archaeological Institute of
America's perspective, various museums and indi- viduals did
support archaeological research in the United States, the Andes,
the Maya region, Egypt, and the Near East. The diverse geographical
and topical interests of archaeologists at that time laid the
foundations for a technical division of labor that, with
modifications and elaborations, still persists.
Archaeology as a discipline and profession composed mostly of
waged work- ers crystallized in the last quarter of the nineteenth
century, when the United States was consolidating its North
American territorial claims and overseas empire. This was a time
marked by the creation of land-grant universities, the development
of the first graduate training programs, the differentiation of the
social sciences, and the establishment of museums (DiMaggio 1982;
Hinsley 1981, 1985; Meyer 1979; Ross 1991). These were symptomatic
results of the restructuring of US society after the collapse of
Reconstruction: the emergence of a stratum of mostly native-born
male managers and bureaucrats, the creation of an industrial
workforce stratified by ethnicity and fueled by immigration, and
the relegation of people of color and women to the most degraded,
unskilled, and lowest-paying jobs (Brodkin 1998, Braverman
1974).
From the 1890s through the 1930s, archaeologists employed by
museums or by the Carnegie Institution of Washington, or whose
research was funded by patrons like John D Rockefeller, had to pay
attention to the views of their benefac- tors. Museum directors and
the presidents of philanthropic foundations used the knowledge they
produced to shape cultural understandings (Rainger 1991:169- 81).
The information furnished by the archaeologists provided sorely
needed con- trasts in a society that was rapidly industrializing
and in which concentrated wealth and power coexisted uneasily with
widespread poverty and alienation. As the representatives of
capital, they clearly saw the potential threat to their control of
the economy posed by popular and organized anticapitalist groups
that offered alternative ideological interpretations of power
arrangements (Slaughter & Silva 1982:75).
What archaeologists working with precapitalist civilizations
provided were perspectives that resonated with the views of the
powerful. Morley and the other Mayanists employed by the Carnegie
Institution of Washington, for example, offered interpretations
that transformed exploitative class relations into a techni- cal
division of labor. Benevolent, culturally refined ruler-priests
residing in lavish ceremonial centers performed necessary religious
sacrifices for the illiterate artisan-peasants who fed, clothed,
and housed them in order to ensure that har- mony and order were
maintained in the universe (Becker 1979, Castafieda 1996:1-152,
Schele & Miller 1986:18-24, Thompson 1954:106). In effect, the
Mayanists and archaeologists who dealt with other precapitalist
civilizations either naturalized distinctions between the powerful
and powerless or rooted them in the remote historical past. Their
discussions of the creative capacities of native peoples, the path
from savagery and barbarism to civilization, and archaeo-
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160 PATTERSON
logical cultures as markers of national identity supported
existing power relations and ideas of social hierarchy. They
suggested that oppressive social relations were the natural outcome
of human history and implied that nothing could or should be done
to eliminate such inequalities.
The first generation of archaeologists employed almost entirely
by the gov- ernment or museums were storekeepers, surveyors,
naturalists, engineers, or classicists. Subsequently, a college
education and an appreciation of cultural sen- sibilities and
practices of the upper classes gained in museums and other spaces
of learning and enculturation would increasingly become the
vehicles for gaining entrance into the archaeological profession
and the managerial stratum (Bourdieu & Passeron 1990, Gramsci
1971). That first generation helped to underwrite the reproduction
of the new class structure and its distinctive elite cultures in
the con- text of their employment as museum curators, government
officials, teachers, and university professors, as well as through
their writings (Rydell 1984).
The professionalization of archaeology involved the development
of a techni- cally specialized language, methodology, and
disciplinary culture that bound the trained professionals together
and distinguished them from individuals whose claim to authority
derived from their social position rather than their mastery of the
specialized knowledge and practices. Professional archaeologists
would use this knowledge, methodology, and culture selectively to
exclude amateurs from full participation and membership in the
discipline and in its professional organi- zations (Moser 1995,
Patterson 1986).
Although higher education had been a minor growth industry in
the late nine- teenth century because of the formation of
land-grant universities and women's colleges, only a small fraction
of the total population-about 230,000 men and women out of 100
million-attended college in the year 1900. Some studied archaeology
in courses taught by anthropologists, classicists, or biblical
scholars, but only a few actually became professional
archaeologists. On the eve of World War I, probably no more than
100 individuals in the United States, almost all men, earned their
living from the practice of archaeology. Because of the technical
division of labor that appeared from the 1880s on, it is difficult
to generalize about the development of the discipline as a whole.
Nevertheless, the development of archaeology as a subfield of
anthropology provides some insights. Between 1894 and 1942, 39 men
and 2 women submitted doctoral dissertations on archaeologi- cal
topics and received PhDs in anthropology from Harvard (20), Chicago
(7), Columbia (5), Pennsylvania (4), California (2), Yale (2), and
Michigan (1). They constituted 21% of the 191 PhD recipients in
anthropology during this period (Thomas 1955:701-52). Of the 29
individuals whose careers are easily traced, 19 were employed by
museums or by the Carnegie Institution of Washington's Maya
Project, three worked for the federal government, and seven
taught.
Employment opportunities for archaeologists and the worldview
that guided their activities shifted during the Great Depression.
In 1933, the Tennessee Valley Authority initiated archaeological
investigations in areas that would be flooded, and the Civil Works
Administration asked the Smithsonian Institution to provide
archaeologists to direct projects in states with high levels of
unemployment. The
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
sudden demand for trained archaeologists outstripped the supply
and the ability of universities to provide them on short notice.
With the creation of the Works Pro- gress Administration a year
later, archaeological projects became even more deeply embedded in
federally funded relief programs (Faguette 1985, Lyon 1996).
Archaeological projects were popular with relief agencies for two
reasons. Most of the money was spent on labor, and they did not
produce a commodity that competed with the private sector. In 1934,
25 men and 6 women signed the consti- tution of a new organization,
the Society for American Archaeology, whose goals were to stimulate
archaeological research, to promote closer relations between
professional archaeologists and others interested in American
archaeology, to guide amateurs, and to curb the sale of
antiquities. By 1940, the society had 823 members, not all of whom
made their living from archaeology.
The Keynesian political policy launched in the 1930s was
designed to amelio- rate the unemployment caused by the economic
crisis and to ensure continued capital accumulation by regulating
the working class. It was a state-sponsored pact in which
working-class interests were strengthened. Workers expected full
employment and rising standards of living in return for the labor
peace that the capitalists wanted in order to maintain
profitability. Archaeology was molded to fit the new relationship
between the public and private sector that crystallized with the
rise of the capitalist welfare state.
In this milieu, the Social Science Research Council and other
foundations pro- moted, through fellowships, grants-in-aid, and
conferences, the view that social scientists should focus their
energies on resolving the pressing problems of soci- ety rather
than on developing or drawing boundaries around their discipline
(Fisher 1993:232, Linton 1945). For example, several archaeologists
played prominent roles in the development of area studies in the
1930s. In 1939, the National Research Council responded to a
request from the assistant director of the Works Progress
Administration and convened a committee of professional
archaeologists to develop standardized criteria for evaluating the
data accumu- lated by various relief archaeology programs. The
government archaeologists at the Smithsonian were critical of
colleagues who paid little attention to the theo- retical
foundations of their work-a view that was seconded by Harvard
critics of the Carnegie's Maya Project (Kluckhohn 1940, Taylor
1948). The criteria recom- mended by the committee were rooted in
logical positivism (Guthe 1940).
POSTWAR AMERICA: MASS EDUCATION AND ARCHAEOLOGY AFTER WORLD WAR
II
The structure and composition of archaeology as a profession was
transformed after World War II. The GI Bill of Rights Act of 1944
underwrote college educa- tions for more than 2.1 million men,
almost exclusively white, and 65,000 women who served in the US
armed forces during the war (Solomon 1985). They flooded college
campuses and many enrolled in anthropology and archaeology courses.
This created a steadily increasing demand and a new labor market
for profession- ally certified college teachers, not only at the
long-established colleges but also at
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162 PATTERSON
new campuses that were springing up across the country. Between
1945 and 1954, 61 individuals received PhDs in archaeology from
Columbia (16), Harvard (15), Chicago (9), California (5),
Pennsylvania (5), Yale (5), Michigan (4), and Arizona (2). These
represented 22% of the 276 doctorates awarded in anthropol- ogy
during that period. The majority of recipients joined college and
university faculties, which had, by the mid-1960s, probably become
the major sources of employment for archaeologists-a condition that
would last for about a decade.
Mass education was also responsible for a veritable explosion in
the number of archaeologists and a change in the composition of the
profession as women and white ethnics appeared in the membership
lists of the Society for American Archaeology (SAA). In 1946, 586
men and 75 women belonged to the society. Its membership grew at an
annual rate of 3% through 1956 and at an annual rate of 6% through
the late 1960s. In 1969, 1531 men and 263 women belonged to the
organization. By 1976, its membership stood at 3654 men and 1440
women, and the percentage of women had doubled from 14.7% to 28.3%.
The percentage of women crept up to approximately 35% by 1983, and
since then it has remained stationary (Patterson 1995:81-82). From
a slightly different perspective, between 1956 and 1969 5.3 men
joined the society for every woman; between 1969 and 1976 the ratio
dropped to 1.8 men to 1 woman; and by 1991, male and female stu-
dents were joining the SAA in approximately equal numbers. Women
born during the postwar baby boom who joined the SAA in the late
1960s and early 1970s and received tenure approximately a decade
later were often the daughters of veterans who had benefitted from
the GI Bill a generation earlier. These were the first women to
raise gender and women's issues within the profession (Conkey &
Spector 1984). Even though their absolute numbers are still small
(less than 2%), people of color have also begun to join the SAA and
other professional archaeo- logical organizations since the late
1970s (Zeder 1997:13-14).
A second factor in the transformation was the 1946
reorganization of the American Anthropological Association
(1947:352-57), which stressed develop- ing area studies programs
for foreign service personnel, establishing a plan that would
benefit anthropology if a National Science Foundation were
established, exploring possibilities for introducing anthropology
into elementary and secon- dary school curricula, and establishing
liaisons with other organizations like the SAA to explore matters
of mutual interest. The reorganization reasserted, and in the
process redefined, the disciplinary interests of anthropology and
archaeology vis-a-vis the other social sciences. Henceforth, the
discipline of anthropology was considered to be composed of four
fields: ethnology or cultural anthropology, lin- guistics,
archaeology, and physical anthropology. The Wenner-Gren Foundation
for Anthropological Research provided the mythic charter for this
endeavor by sponsoring a conference in 1953 on the current status
of anthropology (Kroeber 1953, Tax 1953). A few years later,
anthropologists began to examine in more detail how this four-field
discipline was actually integrated (Haraway 1989; Tax 1955,
1964).
In the 1950s, and less so in the 1960s, many of the new programs
were housed in joint departments, where anthropologists and
sociologists shared resources
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
under circumstances that they themselves did not create. These
conditions were the bureaucratic and budgetary constructs of deans
and provosts who, in those days, for the most part were academics.
Kroeber & Parsons (1958), widely recog- nized as the deans of
the two fields in the postwar years, provided a rationale for
distinguishing between the activities of anthropologists and
sociologists. Many academic bureaucrats were apparently convinced
of the distinction, if not by the strength of their arguments, then
by the weight of their reputations. As a result, many of the joint
departments-e.g. at the University of California at Los Ange-
les-were dissolved during the 1960s and replaced by separate
degree-granting departments. These newly created, freestanding
budgetary units were distorting mirrors reflecting in complex ways
the proclaimed autonomy of the two disci- plines.
The postwar expansion of anthropology programs was historically
contingent. A common pattern was that cultural anthropologists who
received their degrees in the 1940s or early 1950s founded new
programs. They hired another ethnologist or two, then an
archaeologist, a physical anthropologist, and a linguist to round
out the curriculum. The demand for archaeologists increased after
1956 and per- sisted at high levels into the early 1970s. Given
this history, fewer archaeologists had experience in joint
departments, where the divisions followed disciplinary lines that
separated anthropologists from sociologists. Instead, they were
hired into academic settings where the separation was either
already a fait accompli or imminent. Thus, anthropologists began to
draw ever-finer distinctions within the discipline of anthropology
itself, and the new anthropology departments increas- ingly became
the loci of subdisciplinary turf wars once their budgetary linkages
with sociology were dissolved. This was especially true when the
theoretical underpinnings for the connections of the four fields
were obscured by empiricist and positivist understandings (Wolf
1980). In this context, interpersonal slights and thoughtless
remarks often fueled separatist tendencies between the fields
(Binford 1972:10-11, Willey 1984:10).
Although many archaeologists participated in the united front
constituted by the reorganized American Anthropological
Association, they also pursued inde- pendent relations with the
federal government through the Committee for the Recovery of
Archaeological Remains that was formed in 1944 (Johnson et al
1945). The committee lobbied successfully for increased federal
support for archaeological investigations in the United States. It
joined forces with archae- ologists employed by the Smithsonian
Institution and the National Park Service for the Interagency
Archaeological Salvage Program (IASP) which eventually spread some
of the costs of archaeological salvage projects from the federal
gov- ernment to state agencies and the private sector. The
Interagency Archaeological Salvage Program promoted the creation of
state archaeological surveys and also provided both summer training
and full-time employment for archaeologists. The National Science
Foundation was the other major source of funding after the Social
Science Division was created in 1954. That year, it awarded $30,000
to fund two projects. By 1967, it was spending approximately $2
million a year on archaeological research, 60% of which was being
carried out in places other than
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164 PATTERSON
the United States. Its current annual expenditures for
archaeological research are approximately $3.5 million, which means
that, with adjustments for inflation, expenditures have remained
steady since the late 1960s (Patterson 1995:79-80).
POLITICAL-ECONOMIC CRISES AND ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE LATE TWENTIETH
CENTURY
The Keynesian political policy established in the 1930s began to
unravel in the 1960s. By the end of the decade, the state could no
longer guarantee that workers would realize their aspirations, or
that it could secure for the capitalists the condi- tions for
sustained capital accumulation they desired. As the monetary form
of capital was increasingly separated from productive capital, the
state had no way of controlling how or where capital was invested.
The overaccumulation of capi- tal on a global scale was expressed
domestically in a series of financial crises associated with
outflows of capital and growing balance-of-trade deficits. The
monetarist policies launched in the 1970s and 1980s attempted to
resolve these crises by subordinating the state and civil society
to the power of money in the market (Clarke 1988:298-305, 341).
Domestically, the political minions of the capitalists devalued the
currency, precipitated steadily rising levels of structural
unemployment, and forced increasing numbers of people to use credit
as a way of maintaining acceptable standards of living. At the same
time they dismantled ear- lier gains made by the workers and
intensified and exploited divisions within the working class.
The costs of higher education, which since the end of World War
II had been shouldered partly by the federal and partly by the
state governments, were rapidly shifted onto the students and their
parents. This meant that fewer poor students and people of color
attended college, which erased the small gains made in the mid- and
late 1960s. The students who did attend college after the early
1970s often had incurred enormous debts by the time they graduated.
As a result, many of those who might have majored in anthropology a
decade earlier now majored in business administration, not because
they were fascinated with the material but because they perceived
that the availability of well-paying jobs after graduation was more
likely to be in the area of business.
At the same time, after adjustments for inflation, many college
and university budgets stopped growing or had begun to decline-a
condition that persists. Most anthropology departments expected the
steady growth they had experienced ear- lier in their histories to
continue indefinitely, but as a result of these no-growth budgets,
by the mid- to late 1970s they had stopped growing (d'Andrade et al
1975). No new staff were added to their faculties, and frequently,
faculty mem- bers who departed, retired, or died, were not
replaced. The levels of financial sup- port for graduate students
declined, and there were significant shifts in the types of support
available. There was steadily increasing reliance on marginally
paid part-time teachers, usually graduate students who were either
completing or had just finished their dissertations and were unable
to find full-time employment in
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
the academy. This led to the rapid formation of two-tier
faculties composed of tenure-track slots and temporary or adjunct
positions with fewer benefits, if any.
As the number of tenure-track positions available in higher
education declined during the late 1970s, individuals with
doctorates increasingly accepted employ- ment outside the academy
in Cultural Resource Management (CRM) archae- ology.
Coincidentally, federal legislation enacted between 1966 and 1974
transformed the labor market for archaeologists. The centerpieces
of this legisla- tion-the Historic Sites Preservation Act of 1966,
the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969, and the
Archaeological and Historical Conservation Act of 1974-laid the
foundations for CRM archaeology in the United States. This infra-
structure has been buttressed over the years by an increasingly
dense network of federal and state laws, amendments, and
regulations that provide funds to record, recover, and preserve
archaeological information that is threatened by federal, state,
county, and even local action (Dworsky et al 1983, Schiffer &
Gumerman 1977).
Despite the fact that a number of archaeologists in the private
sector may have desired what they considered a superior position in
the academy rather than one in the CRM firms, they eventually found
employment in CRM. Ultimately, the deci- sion regarding who would
employ them was not theirs to make, and it had little to do with
the quality of their work or their intellect. The reason for this
shift in accessible options was that the "cultural capital"
acquired and internalized by graduate school archaeology students,
including those in the top-ranked pro- grams, was no longer easily
converted in the new labor market into the academic jobs the
students had been trained to expect. As the archaeology profession
became increasingly stratified, an important indicator of an
archaeologist's posi- tion and employment was the date when the PhD
degree was awarded. Archaeolo- gists trained before the early 1970s
were more likely to hold positions in colleges or universities than
those who received their degrees after the late 1970s. The internal
stratification of the profession is sustained ideologically by both
aca- demic and CRM archeologists who give pure research priority
over applied research and who choose to ignore the conditions that
have underpinned the for- mation of a hierarchically organized
labor market.
By 1980, an estimated 6000 individuals were engaged in CRM
archaeology; knowledgeable sources estimate that 15,000 men and
women worked on CRM projects in the mid-1990s. Although some were
employed by various federal, state, county, and local agencies or
by universities with CRM programs, the majority were employees or
consultants for private firms that prepared environ- mental impact
statements assessing the significance of the archaeological
resources that would be affected by activities of the government,
contractors, or land developers. By the mid-1970s, hundreds of CRM
companies had emerged. Annual expenditures on CRM investigations
reached their current levels of approximately $300 million in the
late 1970s. Contract archaeology was big busi- ness, and CRM firms
dreamed of making even more money when the federal gov- ernment
considered building a railroad network for its Star Wars initiative
and
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166 PATTERSON
cleaning up toxic waste at Superfund Sites, because both would
require impact statements.
Why a society that has surrendered to the power of money in the
market has supported CRM archaeology so lavishly since the 1970s
and continues to do so is a question with myriad answers. Let us
consider three. First, CRM was created in response to a widening of
the antiquities market, marked by a change from an exclusive
concern with movable objects to an emerging one with historic
build- ings and properties. Studies and restorations of buildings
and properties on the National Register not only served to enhance
their value during the real estate boom of the last 20 years, they
also provided their owners with significant tax incentives and
exemptions. Second, CRM and National Registry stamps of approval on
the recycled historic buildings and properties are immediately
visible displays and symbols of a heritage that links the present
to an earlier real or invented tradition in a time of crisis
(Bodnar 1992, Hewison 1987). Properties and historic districts-like
Monticello, Ellis Island, or Independence Hall-underpin major
networks of tourist, service, and commercial enterprises that add
millions of dollars each year to local and regional economies.
Third, in a less direct man- ner, these constructions of heritage
not only shape our understandings of the past, they also constrain
the kinds of society we can imagine for the future (Williams
1977:121-27). They bring to mind Orwell's [1983:32 (1949)]
observation that "[w]ho controls the past...controls the future;
who controls the present controls the past."
If the temporarily employed archaeologists who lack benefits
represent the lower tier of the internally stratified profession in
colleges and universities, then their counterparts in CRM
archaeology are the archaeological field technicians. The men and
women employed as field technicians usually have BA degrees in
anthropology. They typically move from job to job, earn under
$10/h, and receive no benefits. Since 1993, organizers from the
United Archaeological Field Techni- cians have sought to unionize
this segment of the profession. The managers and owners of many CRM
firms, who are significantly better paid than the techni- cians,
have fired or black-balled organizers to prevent unionization of
this float- ing reserve of army labor. Some firms have also
supported a federal regulation that would classify field
technicians as unskilled or semi-skilled workers in order to reduce
their wages to even lower levels. Managers and owners have provided
diverse accounts of worker-owner relations in the industry that
range from state- ments that there is no class structure in CRM
because everyone is an archaeolo- gist, to justifying the
differences in wages and benefits because they are necessary if the
company is to remain profitable, get contracts, and provide
employment and training opportunities for the field
technicians.
So far, none of the associations representing professional
archaeologists in the United States have dealt at all with issues
raised by the internal stratification of the profession or by the
marginal employment or underemployment of sizable percentages of
their members. Twenty percent of the SAA's 5000 members and the
Society for Historical Archaeology's 1650 members reportedly earn
under $20,000 per year, which is below the poverty level (Wall
& Rothschild 1995:28,
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
Zeder 1997:78-109). It is also clear that most of the 15,000 men
and women involved in CRM archaeology do not belong to one of these
professional organi- zations. They have opted to purchase food and
other essentials and struggle to keep alive dreams of jobs with
salaries above the poverty level, health insurance and the other
benefits enjoyed by colleagues who are better placed in the new
labor market.
THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY ON THE EVE OF THE NEW
MILLENNIUM
Various states enacted legislation during the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries, claiming that antiquities were part of the
national patrimony and seeking to con- trol both access to and
traffic in these goods. In the 1980s, many countries, includ- ing
the United States, agreed to honor a UNESCO convention stipulating
that members would only import legally exported cultural
properties. Although archaeologists have brought the effects of
looting and smuggling to the attention of authorities and have
overwhelmingly supported the legislation enacted to cur- tail these
activities, the laws themselves have had only minimal effects. In
1990, the illicit trade in antiquities probably topped $1 billion
per year, and the prices of these objects soared after the stock
market crash of October 1987 (Acar & Kaylan 1990; Kaiser 1990,
1991). The laws have not stopped the looting. The plunder of Mayan
archaeological sites is a growth industry now estimated at $120
million per year, and single objects, like a gold flap looted in
1987 from one of the recently discovered elite tombs at Sipan on
the northern coast of Peru, regularly sell for more than $1.5
million (Dorfman 1998:29, Slobodzian 1997). The laws have also not
stopped some museums from accepting gifts of illegally exported
antiquities or prevented them from purchasing undocumented objects
(Robinson & Yemma 1998, Yemma & Robinson 1998). Nor have
they slowed the produc- tion of forgeries; according to a report,
from a knowledgeable source, probably more than half of Sipan gold
objects now in private collections were made after 1987. Nor have
the laws prevented archaeologists from implicating themselves in
the antiquities trade as buyers, appraisers, or unpaid-but-informed
onlookers with good stories to tell collectors. However, the laws
have succeeded in making the antiquities markets and traffic more
specialized, complex, and secretive as the linkages connecting
looters, forgers, dealers, museums, archaeologists, govern- ment
officials, and private collectors have become more intricate (Brent
1996, Coe 1993, McIntosh 1996, Paul 1995, Steiner 1994).
Throughout the twentieth century, archaeologists and their
professional asso- ciations have generally supported legislation
that would protect archaeological sites in the United States from
looting and destruction. In general, these laws have sought to
limit access to material remains to professionally qualified and
certified archaeologists. Even though their goal seems to be a
noble one, since the early 1970s it has come under attack from two
distinct quarters. One line of attack comes from the owners of
plunder-for-profit operations who portray their activi-
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168 PATTERSON
ties as archaeology and from looters who lament the fact that
they do not have the same degree of access to archaeological sites
as certified professionals (Elia 1991). These looters claim that
what they do is no different from what profes- sional
archaeologists do (Powell et al 1993:27). Most archaeologists and
the gov- ernment adamantly disagree.
The other line of attack was launched by Native Americans who
had long pro- tested the negative images of their people employed
by archaeologists and the way archaeologists treated the remains of
their ancestors (McGuire 1994; Trigger 1980, 1984, 1985; Zimmerman
1997). This protest came to a head in 1971 when members of the
American Indian Movement disrupted an archaeological excava- tion
in Minnesota by filling the trenches, seizing the collections, and
destroying field notes. Maria Pierson, a Lakota Sioux woman,
passionately described the emotions she felt when the remains of
white people from a CRM-excavated site were reburied at a nearby
cemetery, whereas the remains of Indians from the same site were
placed in cardboard boxes and deposited in a natural history
museum. Native American concerns about the treatment of the dead
they claim as ancestors gained momentum during the 1970s. These
resurfaced in the 1980s when a coali- tion of Native American
groups pushed for and won federal legislation that had been
resisted by the professional archaeological associations. Their
efforts spanned two decades and culminated in the passage of a
series of laws, including The Native American Graves Protection and
Repatriation Act of 1990 (NAG- PRA) (Ferguson 1996, Rose et al
1996). This law "... brought to the fore the issue of the reburial
of human remains now in public institutions" (Zimmerman
1997:93).
What is apparent from the events that led to the passage of
NAGPRA is the de- gree to which the professional associations,
notably the SAA (but not all of its members), misinterpreted the
depth of public sentiment in a milieu where scien- tists who do not
produce microprocessors or computer software are typically por-
trayed as self-absorbed individuals who are either uninterested in,
or unable to, address the pressing issues of the day. In a society
where the vast majority of the population still feels sympathy for
people oppressed by capital, the state, and their agents, Native
American communities and their allies held the upper hand. In the
late 1980s, the debate was structured by legislators on the Select
Committee on Indian Affairs in a way that pitted Native American
communities against archae- ologists. It was not a difficult
decision for them to sympathize publicly with Native American
concerns and to simultaneously enact laws and amendments that have
left the issues unresolved.
Federally mandated CRM excavations at the African Burial Ground
in New York sparked similar concerns among the city's
African-American communities in 1991 (Epperson 1997a,b; LaRoche
& Blakey 1997; Perry 1997). As the extent and importance of the
burial ground was increasingly understood, the descendant
communities were concerned about how the cultural and physical
remains would be interpreted and about the assumptions that would
underlie those assessments. They specifically asked about the issue
of accountability and how the archaeolo- gists involved would
address the interests of the descendant communities and
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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY
their claims on the cultural property. They pushed for, and got,
investigators who heeded their concerns as well as those of the
scientific community.
The events that led up to NAGPRA and the African Burial Ground
situation are informative. The issues and the positions involved
are much more complex than as presented by the media. They have
sparked heated discussions, dialogues, compromises, working
relationships, and even cooperation between archaeolo- gists and
the descendant communities in some states and regions but not in
others. Another consequence has been that some descendant
communities are becoming involved in the recovery and public
presentations of their cultural traditions. The Zuni, Hopi, and
Navaho, for instance, have long done the CRM archaeology required
on their reservations, and many have their own museums (McGuire
1997:76). In late 1980s, the Mushantuxet Pequot used casino profits
to launch extensive archaeological investigations in Connecticut
and to establish a research institute concerned with Native
American peoples. In 1995, the communities and scholars involved in
the African Burial Ground project established an office of public
education to provide current information about the burial ground
and its interpretation. They are collaborating with trained
professionals to challenge much of the archaeological profession
for control over their own histories, how and where those histories
should be portrayed, and how they should be inter- preted.
WHAT IS TO BE DONE?
The archaeological profession must confront two problems in the
new millen- nium. One is the marginal employment and
institutionalized poverty of a growing number of its members. The
other involves the recognition that other communi- ties and groups
have claims to the stewardship of the past that are as legitimate
as those of the archaeologists. Resolution of the disagreements
that will inevitably emerge requires a clear understanding of the
different standpoints, structures of power, and politics
involved.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people have shared their insights about the political
economy of archae- ology and provided constructive criticisms of my
work on this subject. I want to thank Wendy Ashmore, Martin Beral,
Karen Brodkin, Elizabeth Brumfiel, Carole Crumley, Terrence
Epperson, Don Fowler, Christine Gailey, Peter Gran, Theresa Kintz,
Mark Leone, Randall McGuire, Sarah Nelson, Robert Paynter, Warren
Perry, Paul Rechner, Peter Schmidt, Neil Silberman, Karen Spalding,
Bruce Trigger, Gordon Willey, Rita Wright, Alison Wylie, and Larry
Zimmer- man for the help and clarification they have generously
provided. Needless to say, I am solely responsible for the analysis
in this paper.
Visit the Annual Reviews home page at www.AnnualReviews.org.
169
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170 PATTERSON
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Contentsp.155p.156p.157p.158p.159p.160p.161p.162p.163p.164p.165p.166p.167p.168p.169p.170p.171p.172p.173p.174
Issue Table of ContentsAnnual Review of Anthropology, Vol. 28
(1999), pp. i-xxiii+1-652Front MatterPrefaceWhat is Anthropological
Enlightenment? Some Lessons of the Twentieth Century
[pp.i-xxiii]Nutrition and Politics in Prehistory [pp.1-25]The
Chemical Ecology of Human Ingestive Behaviors [pp.27-50]Islamic
Settlement in North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula [pp.51-71]War:
Back to the Future [pp.73-108]Evolutionary Perspective on Human
Growth [pp.109-153]The Political Economy of Archaeology in the
United States [pp.155-174]Discourse and Racism: European
Perspectives [pp.175-199]Mirrors and Windows: Sociocultural Studies
of Human-Animal Relationships [pp.201-224]The Case for Sound
Symbolism [pp.225-252]Environments and Environmentalisms in
Anthropological Research: Facing a New Millennium [pp.253-284]Bad
Endings: American Apocalypsis [pp.285-310]Whither Primatology? The
Place of Primates in Contemporary Anthropology [pp.311-339]Moving
Bodies, Acting Selves [pp.341-373]Sociolinguistics and Linguistic
Anthropology of US Latinos [pp.375-395]Life History Traits in
Humans: Theory and Empirical Studies [pp.397-430]The State of
Culture Theory in the Anthropology of Southeast Asia
[pp.431-454]Emergent Forms of Life: Anthropologies of Late or
Postmodernities [pp.455-478]New Ecology and the Social Sciences:
What Prospects for a Fruitful Engagement? [pp.479-507]The Human
Adaptation for Culture [pp.509-529]Introducing Optimality Theory
[pp.531-552]Evolutionary Psychology [pp.553-575]Africa, Empire, and
Anthropology: A Philological Exploration of Anthropology's Heart of
Darkness [pp.577-598]Back Matter [pp.599-652]