with Rhodes University (Anthropology Department), expecting that my .... South African government officials, including Cecil John Rhodes and Jan Smuts, ...
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e l e v e n Decolonizing the Mind-set South African Archaeology in a Postcolonial, Post-Apartheid Era
Ndukuyakhe Ndlovu
Archaeology and politics have existed together since the beginning of the discipline. This is evident in the analysis of earlier archaeological interpretations, which were both gendered and politicized. The interpretations of the origins of Great Zimbabwe, Mapungubwe, and southern African rock art are classic examples. The interpretations were later critiqued to correct earlier academic shortcomings. Especially in post-apartheid South Africa, however, researchers must guard against being over apologetic about the discipline’s history and must not offer interpretations that are too politically correct. Our study of the past in South Africa must rely not only on the democratization of knowledge production but also on the fair representation of professionals from different groups coming into the discipline. There is clearly a need for archaeology to be transformed into a field that is representative of the demography of the country, which would ensure that knowledge production is depoliticized to the extent that it would open possibilities for other voices that have been previously kept quiet. As future professionals, young African archaeologists coming into the discipline must be properly nurtured, not discouraged by their experiences.1 Besides these challenges in transforming archaeology, the deeply entrenched legacy of colonial leadership (Oliver and Atmore 2004; Painter 1999; Pakenham 1997; Reader 1988) has led many Africans in South Africa to lose the sense of pride in their culture that forms their root identity. Urbanization is not helping. It encourages people to use Western standards as their benchmarks to determine well-being. Cultural principles, arising from Western principles that are also used as the benchmarks for democratic principles, are challenged daily. This situation is manifested in clothing, music, and general day-to-day lifestyle preferences, among other things. Especially the depoliticized youth have been mentally programmed to believe that what is Western is superior. 177
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Becoming an Archaeologist in South Africa A career in archaeology is still not an option for many Africans; I am one of a few. Considering the slowly increasing number of African archaeologists in South Africa, it is not sufficient to encourage other aspiring archaeologists to consider a career in archaeology. Chami (this volume) writes, “I have argued more trenchantly with African scholars about the existence of ancient African civilizations than I have with Western scholars.… In the eyes of many people, nothing good has come out of Africa.” This idea illustrates the point I am making here: this attitude infects the thinking of many Africans. In addition, the archaeology fraternity is accountable for the lack of transformation in the discipline. South Africa is at an important point in its history. The upheavals of many decades that characterized the country and dictated our focus and efforts as Africans were not about our cultural pride but about regaining political freedom. That time is over. Although I live in a free South Africa, enjoying the democracy last enjoyed by my ancestors centuries ago, growing up in the socalled postcolonial/post-apartheid South Africa is both sad and joyful. The first democratically elected government in South African has replaced the settlers and the nationalist government, who were the architects of apartheid. However, the majority of South Africans are still economically disadvantaged. Urbanization in search of a better life is significantly and increasingly Western and very materialistic (see Segobye, this volume; Nyamnjoh 2004). A major challenge is the growing mentality among the urbanized, especially youth, that what is African is ancient and undemocratic and needs to be challenged (Chami, this volume). I have come to realize that democracy is not enough. Although it is usually accompanied by political and economic independence, it rarely addresses issues of cultural freedom. Cultural freedom is a basic human right dependent on political, economic, and environmental justice. According to the United Nations Development Program, cultural freedom must allow different groups to freely maintain both their own identities and a sense of belonging as a whole (FukudaParr 2004). I strongly believe that cultural identity can be achieved only by seeking self-realization from widely varying knowledge about the past. However, my attempts to follow this path revealed experiences that were not encouraging. In the hope of moving away from traditional careers such as law enforcement, nursing (see Andrews 1999), and teaching, I went into the second year of archaeology with high hopes.2 I soon learned that I had to be very determined to achieve anything significant in this very “unfriendly” field. Archaeology has become classified as a white discipline, and rightly so, and it discourages greater participation by Africans.3 To the African public, archaeology is a white subject, and they cannot identify with it. This chapter focuses on the discipline of archaeology, using personal reflections about my early formative years, my early and tertiary education, and my subsequent involvement with archaeology. I want to provide readers with insights into the challenges of being an African professional archaeologist in South Africa. I conclude by reflecting on the various challenges faced by archaeology, and I give my thoughts about the necessary transformation of a Eurocentric archaeology in South Africa.
The Beginnings I am not black, I am not green, I am not white, I am not yellow. I am brown and I am an African. I am the child of the previously colonized continent and now economically disabled. I am the son of the “dark continent,” still suffering the effects of colonialism long after the scramble for its beautiful land and its eventual political independence, which began with Ghana in 1957. I am from a continent divided along ethnic, language, and religious lines. I unapologetically blame 178
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the “racially superior” colonizers for bringing about these divisions. In this century, I still witness bloody conflicts in Burundi, Somalia, Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of Congo, just to name a few. Yes, the cold war might be over, but not its effects. I am an African who was once subjected to the segregation policies of the nationalist government, the architects of apartheid who came into power in 1948 and were peacefully ousted in 1994. These policies facilitated racial discrimination meant to undermine African humanity. I grew up in KwaZulu, a “homeland” or Bantustan that had been granted its “independence” from South Africa. While South Africa does not have homelands anymore, the post-apartheid era is characterized, among other things, by “previously disadvantaged individuals” working toward uplifting and bettering their standard of living, with the results of apartheid still evident in their daily lives. I was born at Osizweni, Newcastle, in South Africa. I grew up on the dusty streets of Osizweni, playing football like any young boy growing up in South Africa. I played various other male and mixed-sex games. While growing up, I felt I could carry the whole world on my shoulders. Township life was the only life I knew. I never went to town until I was in high school, when I had to go and apply for my identity document. When I saw airplanes flying over our township, I wanted to fly one day. When I heard friends saying that they had visited their families in Johannesburg, I wanted to see the big city everyone was talking about. When I eventually went to Johannesburg, my expectations were not met. I did not see the glamorous Johannesburg that had been built in my mind over many years of hearing about it. I enjoyed Christmas and New Year’s clothing like every other child in the township. These two days included visiting neighbors’ houses and asking for anything they might offer as gifts. It was also a time for feasting until one could not eat anymore. There were no worries about a possible stomachache the following day. I had fun while it lasted. I had three main dreams. These were shaped by my experiences with the political dominance by the white minority of South Africa. First, while still at primary school, I wanted to be white. This desire may seem like a comic story. But since being white appeared to equal supremacy, I wanted to share in such freedom and status. Those of my same background will understand the deep roots of colonialism and apartheid and the effect these two policies had on our thoughts and imaginations. Second, I wanted to be a policeman. I can clearly recall the great confidence I had in 1989 in informing Mr. Nkosi, my isiZulu teacher, and my classmates that I wanted to be a police officer when I was old enough. When asked why I wanted such a career, I said that police officers were protectors of our people, the fragile, and the victims of various forms of crime. I also saw the respect that police officers got from the public, and I wanted to be like them one day.4 However, growing up and eventually going to a high school, my views of the world changed. I was more exposed to the politics of the country and began to realize the political impact police officers had in perpetuating the policies of racial segregation. Thus I did not want to associate myself with such a career any longer. Most significantly, the release of Nelson Mandela from jail in February 1990, which I read about in Bona magazine the month he was released, was a highlight. I started to understand apartheid policies like never before. I understood why I hardly ever saw white men. I understood why people were not openly reciting songs or speaking about political leaders, the apartheid regime, and the need for political freedom.5 I understood what the African National Congress (ANC), Pan African Congress, and United Democratic Front, among others, were about. Before, I had learned only about the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP; then Inkatha Yenkululeko Yesizwe) as part of the school curriculum. I studied history for the first two years in high school. I started to hate the subject. My feelings arose from a history curriculum that was irrelevant to my daily struggle for a better South Africa. There can be no denial that apartheid shaped the writing of South African history Decolonizing the Mind-set
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(Saunders 1999:41). African people were made to look as if they had no history. This idea was reflected heavily in the school curriculum. Mashamba (2004) wrote: To them [architects of apartheid in general and those of Bantu education in particular], it was of prime importance for an African child to learn about “great warriors” such as G. J. Strydom, Hendrick Verwoed, Hertzog, [Jan Smuts], etc. To them, it was important for an African child to know that Jan van Riebeck arrived in South Africa on the 6th April 1652. However, they considered it less important to tell an African child of the gluttonous intentions of Jan van Riebeck’s coming to South Africa.
This statement sums up the experience of any history learner during my days at high school. However, because it was considered easier than studying scientific subjects (a problem the National Department of Education is still grappling with), most students preferred the history route. My dislike of history had been fostered earlier by the African history (ubuntu/botho) we were taught at primary school—a perspective with which I could not identify.6 We learned about the history of the Inkatha cultural movement (Inkatha Yenkululeko Yesizwe), which became the IFP in 1990 (see www.ifp.org.za). I realized that the intentions of the homeland government were to entrench its political ideology in all our minds and for us to grow up supporting such ideology. It was very disturbing to be taught a history of IFP when the South African government banned other political parties, which we were never supposed to talk about. If one did not support the philosophy of the party, one was labeled as belonging to Khongolose (ANC) and was thus an enemy. I remember that my father had to pay a family membership fee, as did others. When I chose a career three years into my high school education, I chose a scientifically orientated profession. Becoming white and being a police officer no longer featured in my thoughts. Instead I chose a scientific career that could not be identified with the politics of the country. A scientific theory was just that—no politics. At least that is what I thought at the time, an idea that changed over the following years. My original intention at the University of the Witwatersrand was to complete a bachelor of science degree in mechanical engineering. I hoped that achieving this goal would challenge the stereotypes that existed among many Africans: that we can work only as nurses, police officers, teachers, social workers, and the like (Molteno 1984:55). I did not realize my academic dream because I did not achieve enough credits in mathematics and science to meet the program entry requirements. Instead of improving my grades or studying at a technical school, I opted for my second career choice: climatology. It was by coincidence that I was introduced to archaeology while already studying at the university.
My Initiation into Archaeology Although people with a Western background taught the subject, I regarded archaeology as highly significant. For the first time, I felt I was studying about myself, in the sense that I was studying about the rich cultural heritage of Africa’s precolonial history. This was different from the history I studied in primary, secondary, and even high school, which was either politically motivated or the biased history of the settlers. I was yet to be exposed to the historical and active links between archaeology and politics, and I had yet to experience what it was like being one of the few African archaeologists in the country. It was difficult studying the subject for a number of reasons. During the first year, there were few African faces in our class. None of them had any serious interest in archaeology. In fact, every informal discussion we had on the topic was characterized by their unhappiness with the “white subject” and with the lack of employment opportunities in the field. Being the only African stu180
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dent going into the second year meant that I associated a lot more with white students, which led to name calling by my African brothers and sisters. I had to contend with being called a “coconut”: one color outside but a different color inside. This label was from the very people who should have been giving me the comfort I do not get from people of other races. Traveling on field trips was a nightmare. To the white people we met along our way and whose farms we stayed at, I was just another assistant. I was supposed to be a porter or a domestic assistant. African people were amazed to see someone of my skin color among so many white people. I felt them staring at me, which made me feel very uncomfortable. Some were brave enough to ask me what I was doing among white people. This was after the successful and peaceful transition from the apartheid government to democratic South Africa, yet the “Rainbow Nation” was not what it was said to be, and the supposedly democratic country was not so democratic. Nobody said that the transition would take only a few months or years, however. South Africans had to be optimistic. I was. Of the experiences I had, two incidents stand out. While at a rock art field school in Northern Cape in 1998, we visited a local nightclub to relax one evening. One of the barmen, who was Xhosa, asked what I was doing with white people.7 The manner in which he expressed himself made me angry and uncomfortable. This was just when I was starting to feel comfortable with my skin color in our class. The second incident happened during a two-week excavation trip to KwaZulu-Natal. Again we visited a nightclub to relax and have a good time. I was allowed to come in when I was with my white friends. But after a short absence to make a phone call, I was not allowed to reenter. After much discussion, I was escorted to my friends—following an agreement that if I were found to be lying, I would be thrown out. I must mention that my classmates went out of their way to make me feel welcomed, and I had a healthy relationship with all eight of them. Besides racial discrimination, my friends at home and at the university provided another challenge. They continuously discouraged me from pursuing archaeology because of the lack of employment opportunities, and it is very likely that their lack of archaeological understanding contributed to this attitude. Against such pressure, I soldiered on. My parents, mainly because of their level of education, did not bother with my studies. However, they did provide financial assistance when they could afford to. To them it was significant that I was attending university to better my life. If I was happy with what I was doing, they were satisfied. When I finished my degree, I wanted to further my studies in paleoenvironmental studies. I finished my qualification in geography and decided, based on interest and a funding opportunity from the Rock Art Research Institute (RARI), to return to archaeology, finishing a diploma in science (rock art studies). Having an honors degree in geography is currently proving useful, as I have the understanding of environmental management principles to complement my current heritage management responsibilities. After I managed to secure employment in my field with Amafa aKwaZulu-Natali at the end of my postgraduate training, I still had other challenges. The foremost of these arose from my ideology and approach, which differed from those of the organization.
Life as an African Archaeologist in South Africa My involvement with archaeology has been turbulent. After successfully overcoming the challenges I faced at the University of the Witwatersrand, I encountered far greater challenges in the workplace (Ndlovu 2005). However, I did not want this experience to dishearten me. I persevered against all challenges because I was motivated by something my father taught me—that I should never allow anything that cannot speak back to triumph against me. Decolonizing the Mind-set
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About this time, in 2000, I received a letter from our newly elected state president, Thabo Mbeki. This event was very encouraging to me, as I did not expect it to happen, especially when it did.8 Mbeki was responding to a letter I had written to him about my challenges in archaeology (described earlier in this chapter). I felt that succumbing to the political and social pressure associated with archaeology would be detrimental—that for years to come, archaeology would not be transformed, continuing to be perceived as a white subject. When I left tertiary education, I joined Amafa aKwaZulu-Natali as a rock art manager for the KwaZulu-Natal province. Initially, it was smooth sailing. The job was significant because it launched my professional career in archaeology. However, the archaeological world was not ready for me. I was not treated with respect. The management not only disapproved of my ideological approach but also told me on various occasions that my training lacked credibility. I openly questioned the fact that rock art management in the province was very Eurocentric and physical in nature. I was told that an African spiritual approach had no role in our management approach. This idea is typical of the racist argument that heritage management was first brought into the continent by Europeans (Ndoro 2001, 2005). Using a rock art site as an example, a spiritual approach places emphasis on the site’s spiritual power. This form of management may include restricting access and performance of ritual practices at the sacred sites. In contrast, physical management does not complement this approach. It instead emphasizes the aesthetic value of the paintings and focuses on fighting natural (weathering, exfoliation) and human (vandalism, rock art removal) threats to rock art sites. In this way, rock art sites are managed as museums in the shelters of the mountains. The current heritage legislation in South Africa promotes the former approach, even though it includes living heritage (Ndlovu 2005). I expressed an interest in furthering my studies on the subject of our differences. I registered with Rhodes University (Anthropology Department), expecting that my employer (Amafa aKwaZulu-Natali) would formally approve collection of research data while I was away on official site visits. I was fully funded for my studies and needed no financial support. To my surprise, I was informed that I could not register for my studies, as this would have a negative effect on my professional responsibilities in the organization. I refused to put my career on hold while others “ate the young” (McIntosh, this volume; Schmidt, this volume, chapter 1). When I strongly resisted, we reached a compromise: I would study at the University of the Witwatersrand (Archaeology Department), where I had studied earlier. I have no idea why this particular university was selected, but lines of communication between Amafa and RARI were very active. I was opposed to the idea, as I wanted a new and challenging environment to expose me to the new ideas of an anthropology department. A move from archaeology to anthropology would have been ideal, as anthropologists would better understand my socially inscribed approach to rock art. Rumors were also spread about my alleged inefficiency, and this did not augur well for the professional career I was attempting to build. As the wedge created by our ideological differences grew, I felt it was time to resign. I had no other job to fall back on, but my frustration was too much and employment security did not mean much to me at that time. I profitably used the time of my unemployment to collect research data for my master’s thesis. As my research started taking shape, and when I was not involved with my studies, I volunteered with the Rock Art Research and Recording Group. Its objectives, following the Lotto funding, were to record rock art sites in KwaZulu-Natal and Eastern Cape. My training, as well as my professional experience at Amafa, proved useful in this important research. I was warmly welcomed and had no problem being an African among other races. Going onto privately owned farms, however, was not always easy. 182
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During one of our trips, we went to a farm in the southern uKhahlamba Drakensberg Park. I had discussions with various employees on the farm and will never forget the interaction I had with one maid. She was surprised at the warm hospitality I received from my colleagues, who she thought were my employers. She then asked me to put in a good word for her young daughter to ensure that she, like myself, obtained a domestic job with my colleagues. To her, I was a porter as well as a general assistant. This situation was a clear indication of the effect that apartheid had on the minds of the people—considering ourselves only good enough to be assistants to our “superiors.” At the end of six months, Ezemvelo KwaZulu-Natal Wildlife offered me a job managing the newly constructed Didima Rock Art Centre in the northern uKhahlamba Drakensberg Park. I wanted to work in the province again and improve my professional reputation. I wanted to prove that I was capable. As the center’s first manager, I would be able to establish the center’s direction. Immediately after starting my new job, I had to fight challenges from people who wanted to plant failures in my path so that I would not last long. After two years, I had achieved my objectives with the center, especially with regard to reclaiming respect and achieving a sound professional image. It was time to move on, and the next project was to focus on building my career in archaeology rather than working on the periphery. It was at this juncture that I moved to Cape Town to join the Heritage Western Cape (HWC), which was under the Department of Cultural Affairs and Sport. HWC is a provincial heritage resources authority (PHRA) formed under the country’s national heritage legislation. When I first joined HWC, most of my fellow professionals asked for my academic qualifications. I had no problems with such discussions, but as time went on, I realized that such individuals started respecting me only after learning about my academic qualifications. This form of treatment continues—socially pushing people to justify their credentials. In contrast to my earlier days at HWC, I now refuse to discuss my qualifications outside of a relaxed social context. I want to be respected for who I am, not the university where I received my degree. Creating an image as a legitimately qualified archaeologist has not been easy. I always feel that to others I look like another employment equity candidate. Some professionals even comment on how shocked they are when they encounter a brown South African archaeologist. For someone as sensitive to racial issues as I am, this is not a minor issue. It makes me both angry and sad to be an archaeologist.
The World of Archaeology and Its Brief History in South Africa Archaeology has been central to the production of the history about our past (see McIntosh 1999). According to Prah (1999:5), those who produce knowledge tend to formulate it to suit the interest of their audiences (see Sheriff 2000:317). Archaeology has not been immune to such practices (Znaniecki 1968). Archaeological practice has been fraught with theories acceptable to the Eurocentric audience that has been the recipient of the final products (Clark 2005; Hodder 2003b; Johnson 2005). The beginnings of archaeology in the subregion have very close ties to colonialism. The interest in collecting archaeological objects dates back to about the fifteenth century (Henry 2007; Loubser 1990, 1991; MacDonald 1998). These relics were presumed to have no historical contact with the African continent. The belief that Great Zimbabwe was not African in origin but rather that it had been made by lost Phoenicians, Sabaean Arabs, or the queen of Sheba (Randall-MacIver 1906; see Caton-Thompson 1971; Garlake 1973; Hall 1995, 1999a:55; Robertshaw 1990) became a widespread ideology. Ideas about the origins of southern African rock art (Lewis-Williams 1981) and Mapungubwe echoed those about Great Zimbabwe.9 Decolonizing the Mind-set
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Attempts to identify the origins of Great Zimbabwe and Mapungubwe enjoyed support from South African government officials, including Cecil John Rhodes and Jan Smuts, because of presumptions made by the professional world served the interest of the colonialist government (Rudner 1989; van Riet Lowe 1952). General Smuts once wrote: “Natives have the simplest minds, understand only simple ideas or ideals and are almost animal-like in the simplicity of their minds and ways.… They are different not only in colour but in minds and in political capacity and their political institutions should be different, while always proceeding on the basis of self-government” (quoted in Mbeki 2007:6). This was the kind of person associated with initial archaeological inquiry. The politicization of the production of knowledge and ideological differences were clearly evident during the 1983 conference of the Southern African Association of Archaeologists (SA3) held in Gaborone.10 The conference was thrown into turmoil after Mozambican and Zimbabwean professionals broke away from their South African colleagues when the latter failed to support a motion condemning their government and its racist policies (Hall 1999a). The response from the South African archaeologists was not surprising; they were dependent on the government for their livelihood, whether in terms of salaries or research grants, and condemning the government would have harmed their professional futures. They might also have felt comfortable in their suburbs and had no knowledge of how it feels to be discriminated against. South African archaeology has been associated with white male figures and with the legacy of apartheid (Deacon 1990:42). Its apartheid relationship is defined by analysis of the knowledge produced, the pigment of both amateur and professional archaeologists, and the lack of criticism of the apartheid government by those active in the field—with some exceptions, of course. The apartheid government used the knowledge produced to support its version of the historical record that African people arrived at the same time as their European counterparts (Hall 1990; Prah 1999:9). Delivering a memorial lecture on the thirtieth anniversary of the “gigantic death” of Steven Bantu Biko, President Mbeki wrote (quoting Biko): The colonists were not satisfied merely with holding a people in their grip and emptying the Native’s brain of all form and content, they turned to the past of the oppressed people and distorted, disfigured and destroyed it.… Religious practises and customs were referred to as superstitions. The history of African society was reduced to tribal battles and internecine wars…no wonder the African child learns to hate his or her heritage at school. (Mbeki 2007:8)
Mbeki argues in the same paper that a people without a positive history are like a vehicle without an engine. African people were to be treated, following a decision by Cecil John Rhodes (then premier of the Cape Colony), in a different way from their oppressors, who were to be lords over them. Africans were to be treated as children and denied the franchise and were not to have equal footing as citizens (Magubane 2007). With these ideas planted in the minds of the white people who supported archaeology, some South African archaeologists believed that there was no association between politics and the study of any past. They accepted government funding and employment while their end product served the political interest of the government in power. South African archaeology has been about Africans in their absence. The archaeological discipline in South Africa is still very much a white discipline, even though we have been living in the “new South Africa” (see Hall 1997) for more than a decade. Hall (1999a:60) describes South African archaeology as having spent years inside a fenced enclosure of the white group area (archaeology was mainly taught at the pre184
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viously white universities and mostly to white students), which limits its support beyond such boundaries.11 He thinks this is why even the black-conscious intelligentsia never used the knowledge generated by archaeology, as if they were not aware of it, even though they knew of Great Zimbabwe (Hall 1990:73). Two previously black universities in South Africa, Fort Hare and the University of Venda, taught archaeology, and the University of Venda still offers the subject to interested students. Discussions with students who have studied archaeology at Fort Hare have revealed that the challenges are the same as before, if not worse. The lack of a concerted effort to attract African students has always manifested itself in archaeology, even though Africans from other countries were invited to South Africa (Lewis Matiyela, personal communication, 2008). Archaeology in South Africa is described as the “most colonialist” archaeology in Africa, based on the small number of black (African) archaeologists working in the country and perceived implications of South African archaeology in the social and political contexts of colonialism and apartheid (Trigger 1990:316; see also Blundell 1997). South Africa continues to provide a training ground for many professionals. The overwhelming dominance of Europeans in South African archaeology has led to the interpretation of archaeology through the lens of Western ideology. Even when theories are based on ethnographic records, such records are highly questionable (Ndlovu 2001), having originated in the colonial era (for example, the Bleek and Lloyd Collection), and issues around linguistic, cultural, and social differences between “artificial subjects” and ethnographers are never sufficiently critiqued. Yet South African archaeological interpretations are imbued with such ethnographies and with an academic history that prevents new approaches into the study of the past (Hall 1999a:60). The increase in the number of Africans in archaeology may present the discipline with an opportunity to be tolerant of new theoretical approaches, sometimes challenging mainstream thinking. According to Jagusah (2001), “When an African scholar attempts a different approach it attracts attacks from entrenched colonial and neo-colonial scholarship.” Although “doing archaeology at home” may have its disadvantages (Munthali 2002; Ndlovu 2005), the advantages of being an insider in any research cannot be emphasized sufficiently. It gives Africans who have been excluded, not only from professional participation in the subject but also from the management of their own cultural heritage, an opportunity to express their viewpoints. It allows challenges, for example, to the misinformed argument that archaeological sites first enjoyed protection during the colonial era (Ndoro 2001, 2005), a position used to validate the exclusion of Africans and to underwrite the idea that they must first be educated about their own heritage. Although some professional archaeologists may accept this perspective on education, it continues the negative image of archaeology as a white playing field. South African archaeology, like any segment of our newly democratized country, lives under the expectation of transformation. But it has not realized this expectation. In the new political dispensation, South African archaeology remains untransformed. The hosting of the World Archaeological Congress in Cape Town was done with the view that social and political transformations were occurring and would inevitably have an effect on archaeology (Gero 1999; Hall 1997; Ucko 1990). Sadly, this has not been so. Even though both men and women of European descent have played recognized and important roles in South African archaeology, the academic participation of Africans has been minimal. This exclusion has not involved formal qualifications only (Shepherd 2005) but extends to restricting or preventing access to archaeological sites for ritual purposes (Loubser and Dowson 1987; Ndlovu 2003, 2004, 2005; Ouzman 1999; Rudner and Rudner 1970; Taruvinga 1995). There has also been significant lack of acknowledgment in any official accounts of roles Decolonizing the Mind-set
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played by African people, such as excavators, domestic servants, and interpreters (Shepherd 2003b). Yet these are the men and women “who dug, sieved, sorted, located sites and finds, fetched and carried, pitched camp, cooked and served food, negotiated with local chiefs and suppliers, and assisted in the interpretation of artefacts and events, yet who remain unacknowledged in official accounts of the discipline” (Hodder 2003b; see Langford 1983; Shepherd 2003b:334). Challenges were not only about receiving acknowledgments but also about salaries paid to local laborers (Hall 2001). Against this norm, as recently as 1998 two technical assistants received international acclaim for their excavation of the nearly complete skeleton of one of the oldest apelike ancestors of humans at the Sterkfontein caves (Duke 1998). It is often argued, “Despite vigorous campaigns and bursary schemes, we are finding it difficult to attract Black [African] students to the discipline, or even a representative cross-section of South Africans to our public lectures and open courses” (Hall 1997:5–6), an opinion also expressed by Benjamin Smith (personal communication, 2008). Some also argue that although the winds of change have been blowing in the country since 1994, the slow increase in the number of students from traditionally disadvantaged backgrounds enrolling in archaeology is principally due to inadequate schooling (Durheim and Mokeki 1997; Esterhuysen and Smith 1997; Schoeman, Sales, and Behrens 1997). I differ with both arguments and believe they deserve further examination. Having been a scholar of archaeology for the last decade, I believe that attempts to transform archaeology, driven by “exclusive” archaeologists, have to be revisited. It appears that if the subject matter and lectures do not appeal to black South Africans, then there is a deeply rooted and entrenched perspective that appeals mostly to the European community. The inadequate schooling argument is even less persuasive. Many students from underprivileged backgrounds have gone on to excel in fields such as engineering, medicine, and accounting. Although I was not the best student in my archaeology class, I succeeded through hard work. Success is more about determination than about one’s academic background. I did not attend well-known schools. I was a student at a township school that had far fewer resources than schools in urban areas. South Africa is known as the Rainbow Nation (Habib 1996). However, when one looks at a rainbow and its band of seven colors, one gets the feeling that they are all equally represented in one of the “most spectacular light shows observed on earth” (Ahrens 2003). Unfortunately, we cannot say the same of archaeology. It is absolutely not representative of the demography of our country. What is more disturbing is that a willingness to change is not aggressive but rather mostly rhetorical. Speaking openly about the lack of transformation in archaeology in South Africa is often quietly considered troublesome and politically motivated. Anyone disagreeing with the notion of keeping quiet risks the possibility of suffering at the hands of the barons (McIntosh, this volume) and seeing his or her career stagnate. A newspaper article by S. Memela, in response to criticism of his article “Picasso Stole the Work from African Artists,” sums up the experiences of some of us: “We are seen as posing a threat to racial integration” (Sunday Times [Johannesburg], March 26, 2006). Archaeology needs an African face of both male and female. It cannot continue to be seen as an extension of Europe into Africa. This change will bring comfort to those of us who feel very isolated at times and will help break the fenced enclosure of the white group that makes it difficult for a brown face to break into a circle of close-knit friends and colleagues (Hall 1999a:60). I have been a member of the South African Archaeological Society (SAAS) for many years. I have never felt encouraged to attend talks organized by the society and have never been to even one field excursion because I am an outsider. I do not feel I belong. Everyone has someone to talk 186
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to, but in most cases I do not. In addition to the fenced enclosure of the white group, my shy personality and uneasiness about race issues might have something to do with this scenario. Some may differ with my views, yet the main question that must be answered by anyone considering a contrary representation is: How many successful African archaeologists has the archaeology fraternity produced since 1994? I believe that too few have been produced, and this is unacceptable.12 It is significant to highlight that these scholars have not been provided with opportunities to make it in the academy. We are part of the statistics but not part of a meaningful transformation. Why is this so, fourteen years into our democracy? I argue that this is so because people in relevant positions—the barons—have not done enough to remedy the disproportionate representation of those of European descent in South African archaeology. One can only posit whether this condition arises from potential threats posed by highly trained African archaeologists and thus a desire to limit competition. This attitude does not augur well for archaeology. In fact, such slow progress in training Africans is detrimental, for it leads to increased vandalism at archaeological and excavation sites because of anger or lack of information (Ndlovu 2005; Pwiti and Mvenge 1996). The success of those practicing archaeology relies on general support from the South African community. Archaeologists are generally exclusionary toward professionals from other fields and members of local communities. This is apparent when they excavate sites within local communities. Sometimes, no one attempts to explain to the community why the land of their ancestors is being dug up. One sometimes hears the excuse, “If they find out what we’re doing, they might vandalize the site, thinking we are digging for treasure.” I once challenged an archaeologist to be more inclusive of and approachable to communities near a site we were excavating. There was local interest in what we were doing. The archaeologist promised to comply with my request but then did not. This exclusionary thinking is based on the idea that for archaeological sites to be well protected, they have to be kept secret, well away from the knowledge of the people. This outdated thinking in archaeological management is still fashionable and well supported. As heritage managers, the main question we should ask is: Who are we managing heritage for (Ndlovu 2003; see Mapunda and Lane 2004)? As Ndoro (2001, 2005) laments, heritage sites were not first managed with the arrival of settlers in Africa. Schmidt’s work (this volume, chapter 6) on the archaeology of Eritrea is a classic example of conflicts between professionals and those in power who may feel that archaeologists do not have their interest at heart. Challenges to transformation in South Africa are not restricted to archaeology but are found in a range of other professional fields. Historical divisions are so deep that some fields have bodies formed along ethnic lines to represent the interests of their stakeholders. Among these politically charged bodies are the Black Management Forum, the Black Lawyers Association, the Association of Black Accountants of South Africa, the National African Federated Chamber of Commerce, and the National African Farmer’s Union. I feel that this scenario should not be encouraged in the spirit of reconciliation as we continue building a democratic South Africa formed on the principles of a Rainbow Nation. Although the possibility of such dichotomies arising in archaeology is currently negligible, the scenario is not impossible in the future. If such division did occur, it would be a significant setback to the challenges facing the discipline. This brief history of archaeology provides a sense of the political archaeological world that I was born into. I have seen fewer significant changes in archaeology than in any other sector of society. Thus we continue to practice under the same political clouds. I will discuss how we might act together to take archaeology to where it has never been in South Africa. Decolonizing the Mind-set
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Discussion In an era when Africans continue to search for fitting postcolonial identities, increasingly founded on sound governance and economic principles, archaeologists have a large role to play. Although we may have succeeded in planting democratic governance—elusive in Africa for so many years—and improving our economic situation, these accomplishments are meaningless without knowing and appreciating our heritage. Privileging economic development over heritage means that we will lose our African identity, or our identity will be defined by Western principles that are compatible with a development agenda. Now that apartheid is out of the way and we are enjoying the product of our struggle, my wish is to see Africans increasing their interest in archaeology. While advocating for an African nation with an interest in its cultural heritage, I also caution against an appreciation of cultural heritage only when it involves tourism. Financial benefits do not necessarily include the mental enrichment of knowing and appreciating our culture. However, a growing phenomenon in the recent past of South Africa has been to ask questions about tourism feasibility before we think about proactively protecting heritage. This dangerous trend, the privileging of cultural heritage tourism, is out of balance with longer-term cultural and historical needs. When Africans do get involved in studying archaeology, they should not be paraded as carrots to attract support from funding agencies, as has been the case all along. The barons have a choice: to use their academic, financial, and other powers to prevent young African archaeologists from reaching their potential, or to actively and cooperatively ensure that there are meaningful transformations—not window-dressing changes—in South African archaeology. The ideas of an African renaissance need to be implemented at a practical level. According to Mbeki (1998), this process would be the “revival for the African continent and an opportunity for Africans to free and empower themselves against the legacy of colonialism and neo-colonialism.” Archaeology has a key role to play in this revival. In addition to the challenges I have faced, I have acquired an appreciation of the significance of the past and started appreciating my own personal heritage. My new culturally orientated identity has encouraged me to think that no nation is a nation without roots, which are represented at multiple levels—family, clan, country, and continent.13 I am honored to be one of the scholars studying the rich cultural past of the African continent. My involvement with archaeology has encouraged me to research my clan history and that of my ethnic group. In this Westernized Africa, it hurts deeply to see Africans who have no interest in or knowledge about South Africa’s past beyond the political past. Instead, their priorities are focused on material acquisitions, an identity crisis promoted by the media. I believe that archaeology should not be for archaeologists alone. Whether one is an engineer, accountant, or medical practitioner, archaeology is a significant part of a basic education. Neither African elites nor the general public should be strangers to their own people and identities. The SAAS promotes this idea with a membership of people from different professional backgrounds joined together by one general interest. The only outstanding agenda for the SAAS is for its membership to be transformed to represent the full spectrum of all groups in South Africa. A transformed archaeology would clearly be relevant to all South Africans. All levels of the discipline, whether academic, governmental, or parastatal, must be representative to be relevant to all walks of life. For changes to be imminent in South Africa, African scholars within archaeology, in Africa, or in the diaspora must be proactive and do something to change the status quo. The role that scholars can play cannot be underestimated. For those who respond to this call, the warning by Howit and Owusu-Bempah (1994:181) is germane: “Any programme to challenge established 188
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ways will be resisted tooth and nail, by some, especially those with a vested interest in the status quo.” The trip may not be a smooth one. Our new political independence is not similar to what characterized the continent prior to colonialism. Some scholars see recent independence as neocolonialism; others refer to it as postcolonial. Those who see neocolonialism argue, mostly on economic grounds, that the only difference between this era and the colonial era is that African governments have replaced colonial governments. Production of knowledge, however, is still very biased, in the hands of a few, and consumed by very few. Postcolonial South African archaeology is fraught with prejudice inherited from the colonial era and will continue to be so until it is inclusive of all South Africans. A postcolonial archaeology in South Africa with power over production of knowledge reorganized and with questioning of past theoretical positions is still a pipedream. The transformation I suggest would not only be about representation of the broader nation but would also help transform the ideological framework of archaeology. When that is achieved, we can talk of a postcolonial archaeology that moves away from the same old sheep with new wool. The “new” sheep represents the new South Africa. It would not be reactionary, defined by what went before. The foundation for a future postcolonial approach is to be found in the nurturing of young talent. Training young archaeologists of all backgrounds, especially African, to replace the older generation is an important priority. Active and retired professionals, or the barons, can and should play a significant role in developing young African archaeologists. They have access to funding and the power to promote younger professionals. Only interest and desire are missing. Those coming up through the ranks should not be negatively labeled if they do not toe the line. Chami (this volume) refers to pejorative labels such as “nationalist,” and “unscientific producer of knowledge,” applied when new information challenges interpretations constructed in the colonial era (Chami 1994; Sheriff 2000:317–18; Sutton 1994–95:229, 2002). As discussed earlier, because I had a different ideological approach to heritage management at Amafa, I was officially told that my training was insufficient and that I should not have received my first job. I was advised to consult my supervisors. Is there not a similarity here? At the moment, one may be forgiven for thinking that the training of the few African archaeologists is a strategic move by the barons to meet the administrative requirements of our current heritage legislation. The barons need permits to undertake their research. Having a few of us within the heritage authorities as administration slaves is sufficient for them to continue their production of knowledge. Instead, I want to see young African archaeologists producing intellectually relevant knowledge, whether within the heritage landscape or universities, to be consumed within the field and relevant to those outside it. I have often asked myself why South African universities welcome African students from other African countries, especially those working for heritage authorities. My interpretation of the scenario pertaining to the production of administrative functionaries for heritage institutions is that it limits competition within the country, as international students have to go back to their countries of origin after the completion of their studies. It further ensures that when the barons go into Africa for their research, they have allies in such countries. It is a silent, extremely wellcrafted strategic move. The current government has strong policies to redress the challenges of the past and to limit competition. According to affirmative action principles, if we African archaeologists from South Africa are trained to the best possible standards, we would directly compete with the majority of those within the archaeology discipline. It is easy to fill training opportunities with international students, who return to the countries of their birth. What training programs were implemented in neighboring African countries to create an interest in archaeology among Africans? Most Decolonizing the Mind-set
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barons did not initiate these programs.14 Often authorities mandated that to work in a particular country, the barons had to train locals. Has the time not arrived in South Africa for the barons to have training contingencies attached to their research programs? I think it has. We obviously cannot wait for generosity and interest from within the archaeological community to bring this about. If South African archaeology were to get an African face, I strongly believe that a greater part of our community would support the objectives of archaeology. This support would also rub off on the heritage management sector. In contrast to nature conservation (Adams and Hulme 1998; Barrow and Murphree 1998:23; Hill 1996; Nepal 2000; Pimbert and Pretty 1997), where the role of local communities was considered insignificant until the interventions of such programs as Campfire Project in Zimbabwe and similar programs in eastern and southern Africa, heritage management (especially archaeology) cannot operate without support from local communities. The perception that people are a threat to heritage resources because of their lack of professional training raises questions about the assumption that people are incapable of protecting their own heritage—the same heritage they have protected for generations. This top-down approach does not provide an environment conducive to archaeology becoming decolonized. Emerging and alternative voices, either in the form of local indigenous communities or young African researchers, must be given an opportunity to speak openly if archaeology is to arrive at a truly postcolonial practice (see Nicholas 2008).
The Future? Even if many of the current personalities in the South African archaeological fraternity had no direct hand in creating these problems, we have failed to deal with them effectively—which makes all of us guilty of complicity in the reproduction of racism in the discipline. I call on all archaeologists in South Africa to join hands and find a solution to these challenges. We should move away from verbal promises and act decisively. It is time for implementation of an inclusive, good, and practical transformation plan, which must be formulated with the inclusion of all relevant stakeholders, especially people affected by the lack of transformation in the last fourteen years. It is also apparent that transformation should ensure that young African archaeologists, both male and female, begin to publish their work. The number of contributions by various South African authors to the South African Archaeological Bulletin (SAAB) indicates the uneven relations of power in academia (Sadr 2007). The composition of the SAAB editorial board and that of other publications is not demographically representative of the South African landscape. It is chilling to think that such boards directly or indirectly perpetuate a racialized conspiracy by ignoring the obvious and not acting (see Cooper et al. 1990; Durheim and Mokeki 1997:207). It is time to act and put the brakes on this unhealthy environment. If we do not, archaeology will continue to be isolated and will eventually be rendered irrelevant by the actions or inactions of its leaders. I strongly believe that although its jurisdiction is limited, the Association of Southern African Professional Archaeologists (ASAPA) has the primary responsibility to address any challenges within the discipline. The ASAPA membership represents a number of academic institutions in South Africa, and the organization is well positioned to influence a serious agenda that addresses transformation. Reform efforts within ASAPA so far have focused on bringing added professionalism to the membership, and although such attempts seem to be bearing fruit, it is imperative that the issues I raise in this paper are further discussed openly, as the process has already been initiated.15 190
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Conclusion The history of South Africa, coupled with the history of archaeology, has had a significant impact on how the nation’s Africans view archaeology. When fighting for freedom, we were interested in securing a better life for the majority. I believe that this perspective, coupled with the new African society we have in post-apartheid South Africa, might be responsible for a lack of interest in archaeology. The fact that archaeology is rightly viewed as a “white subject” has only exacerbated public disinterest in archaeology. Africans have not been attracted to archaeology because they do not see it representing them. The need for transformation should not be negotiated. It is not a luxury. It is necessary and has to happen. Such transformation must be guided by a clear and explicit plan, championed by ASAPA. Like the business and government sectors, we need an affirmative action program in archaeology. Such a program will encourage African archaeologists by providing various opportunities to help them hone their skills. They should also be given first priority in employment. The increasing numbers of undergraduate students (Benjamin Smith, personal communication, 2008) must be encouraged, not verbally but by clear changes in the discipline. Archaeologists have a big role to play in shaping the identity of South Africans. I came to archaeology by accident, and I do not want to leave archaeology because of fear of being unwelcome. Archaeology has provided me with not only a career but also an identity as an African. I now appreciate aspects of life that I did not accord much value to in the past. Through all the difficulties, I have stayed on in the field for the great interest that I have and because I want to be part of the transformation. I do not want to stand on the other side of the fence and complain about various challenges faced by African archaeologists. Rather I want to participate in changing the face of archaeology. I want to see egalitarianism in this field. Notes I gratefully acknowledge financial support provided by the University of Florida that enabled me to attend the Postcolonial Archaeologies in Africa symposium. I am also grateful to Nelisiwe Khoza, Nomusa Moloi, and Lebohang Ndlovu for proofreading this paper. Benjamin Smith, Ntolwane Motloung, and Dipuo Mokokwe also provided valuable input through the many discussions we have had over the years. 1. The word Africans in this chapter refers to Bantu-speaking people who are South African citizens. I do not support the use of apartheid terminology because it gives undeserved status to the word black. 2. For most people, these were the only careers with which they could identify, thanks to the Bantu education. They were seen as providing opportunities to live a reasonably better lifestyle. When I grew up in Osizweni Township, all the people I looked up to were teachers, and I was encouraged to be one as well—an option I never considered. 3. I had never heard of a subject called archaeology prior to my university education. The status quo has not changed. 4. It later transpired that people feared the police more than they respected them. Today’s police officers do not command the same respect enjoyed by the Zulu Police, whom we called Zulu Popayi (Poppy) because of their ZP license plate numbers. 5. Radio Freedom, a procommunist station serving as the voice of the African National Congress and Umkhonto Wesizwe during the 1970s, broadcast underground from outside the country using facilities belonging to different African radio stations. Songs and films about the liberation struggle and political leaders were banned from the airwaves. 6. In primary school we learned about the personalities behind IFP, their policies, and their political songs. Decolonizing the Mind-set
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7. The approach of the apartheid architects was based on the divide and rule principle. We were made to feel different from one another. 8. I saw myself as a commoner writing to the president of the nation, a man with a lot of major national and international responsibilities. I felt my letter was never going to reach him. 9. The Mapungubwe Cultural Landscape is one of seven South African sites on the World Heritage List. 10. SAAA has since been renamed the Association of Southern African Professional Archaeologists (ASAPA). 11. South African archaeologists had no or limited access to “Bantu education.” Their access to African-designated universities was very limited (Hall 1999a). Hall goes further and argues that previously all archaeologists were white and lived in segregated residential areas. Therefore, African students did not see any African role models to emulate. 12. South Africa has only seven African archaeologists. Of the seven, three are graduates of the University of the Witwatersrand, and they all work in heritage management as heritage administrators. No African archaeologists are represented in the academic world, clearly indicative of the problems inherent in the field. 13. Prior to that, I did not appreciate heritage to any significant extent. Now I strongly believe that heritage gives one an identity as a person. Such an identity must be based on the heritage of the particular individual. 14. I hasten to add that some training programs have come at the initiative of archaeologists working in foreign countries. Examples include programs at the University of Dar es Salaam and the former University of Asmara. 15. The ASAPA membership has unanimously approved a Transformation Charter and has appointed a transformation officer (TO) to its council. The TO, together with the ASAPA Transformation Action Committee (ATAC), is responsible for drafting and implementing the transformation program. The transformation process was initiated by two women and one man—a representation that ensures that archaeology will not continue to be known as a male discipline.
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