Oh, he was interested in her when he thought he could test his methods on her
data ... Finally, in the 1980s, Historical Archaeology decided she had enough.
Inessential archaeologies: problems of exclusion in Americanist archaeological thought Laurie A. Wilkie
Abstract This paper will present an intellectual history of Americanist historical archaeology as it developed from the 1960s onwards within the context of processual archaeology and the resulting marginalization of studies of the recent past within Americanist archaeology. The paper will explore the intellectual problems and miss-steps caused by the artificial prehistory/history dichotomy prevalent in American archaeology. While many ‘prehistorians’ see historical archaeologies as inessential to their research, I will discuss contributions historical archaeology has made to the discipline, and the potential contributions of the sub-discipline more broadly to archaeological interpretation (or an archaeological historiography).
Keywords Historical archaeology; archaeological history; interpretation; theory.
A disciplinary parable (with tongue planted firmly in cheek) They met in the late 1960s. He was an upstart scientist who had all the answers, she was a young mixed-up kid who wanted to feel important and loved. He was not looking for commitment. She thought theirs was a meaningful partnership; he saw it as a relationship of convenience. Oh, he was interested in her when he thought he could test his methods on her data – but if she wanted to talk to him about her ideas – he pushed her away. He figured he could keep their relationship simple. Eventually, he found that, although she was young, she was more complicated than he had anticipated. He lost interest. Some might say he was not secure enough intellectually World Archaeology Vol. 37(3): 337–351 Historical Archaeology ª 2005 Taylor & Francis ISSN 0043-8243 print/1470-1375 online DOI: 10.1080/00438240500168368
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to confront the contradictions she presented to him. She was devastated. She clung to him. She desperately vied for his affections with blatant attempts to woo and flatter him. She tried to use language he would understand, she denied her true nature to try to win his love. She tried to remake herself in his image. At his best, he ignored her, at his worst, he belittled her, isolated her, and sent her to read her conference papers in faraway buildings at poorly scheduled times. To him, she was an inessential woman. Finally, in the 1980s, Historical Archaeology decided she had enough. She left American Prehistory. She left him alone to his American Antiquities and his Society for American Archaeology. She left him to sort out his subsistence strategies. She left him to struggle with his systems theory and optimal foraging models. Historical Archaeology left to find her own space. She created her own networks and reading material. She worked to isolate herself from anything associated with him. It was not easy. She found herself using his jargon long after they split. She could not help talking about him at parties, and her bitterness was sometimes very apparent to all. She found herself drifting in and out of subdisciplinary counselling. ‘What am I trying to achieve with my life work?’ she would wonder. ‘Why can’t I focus? Why is it so hard to define myself?’ As part of her selfreflections, she began to explore new ways of thinking and interacting with the world. She hung out with an international crowd, especially enjoying the company of Brits, Australians, Latin Americans and Africans. While her self-confidence remained badly damaged, by the end of the 1990s, she realized that she had a strong voice of her own, and, only in her late 20s, she was an increasingly attractive and exciting woman. She did not need him after all. Although he did not realize it himself, American Prehistory did need her. He became stale, stuck in his ways. He engaged in a series of dehumanizing methodological binges. He alienated potential friends and collaborators; his descent into scientism rendered him a pathetic shadow of his younger years. Historical archaeology, with her new-found selfawareness, could save him. Could she bring herself to forgive him? Could she reach out to him? Would he recognize his opportunity for redemption? Parables offer the opportunity to smooth away nuance in favour of stark contrasts. The parable format is also an appropriate form for discussing a discipline’s history. The construction of disciplinary histories is basically a process of agenda-ridden mythologizing, so I might as well be up-front about the route this particular creation story will take. This just-so story is clearly written by someone who self-defines as a ‘historical’, ‘textaided’, ‘documentary’ archaeologist ‘of the recent past’, to list just some of the monikers we have applied to ourselves. ‘Prehistorians’ may be surprised to learn that there is a clear sense on the part of American historical archaeologists that we are a subaltern group within the discipline, and have been systematically excluded from certain publication, funding and employment opportunities in the field. The reader may wonder why I have depicted my discipline as a co-dependent abused woman who gains her independence. In both the title of this work, and the parable, I am playing on Elizabeth Spelman’s (1988) notion of the ‘inessential woman’. In Spelman’s work, she is critiquing feminist approaches that assumed there was a universal ‘woman’s experience’ and an accompanying core of universal feminist ideals. Spelman argued that, by ignoring the experiences of minority (or inessential) women,
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feminism had missed the intellectual boat. Historical archaeology has been pushed to the periphery of disciplinary practice and, as such, has been bracketed as ‘too particularistic’ or ‘unscientific’ by those who do not define their works as historical archaeologies. In a field that often still worships at the altar of scientism, this is a feminization (or at least emasculation) of historical archaeology. I do see historical archaeology as contributing a great deal to the practice and interpretations of archaeologies of the more remote past, and believe that by pushing historical archaeology to the edges of disciplinary consciousness the broader discipline has hurt itself. Historical archaeology is feminized in another way, as well. Historical archaeology is a disciplinary space where women have congregated with great success. It is important to note that as a sub-discipline, as in the parable, whatever inadequacies historical archaeology may have internalized in the past, it is a thriving and independent subdiscipline of archaeology. The point of this essay is not to bemoan historical archaeology’s role in the discipline, but more to offer some thoughts on how our new-found strength could be used to enhance the broader fields of anthropology and archaeology, while continuing to develop dynamically as a sub-discipline. There is another blatant fiction in this narrative that is also part of disciplinary mythology – the myth that we are a younger part of American archaeology. Deetz and Deetz (2000: 49) identify the first archaeological work done in North America as the excavation of an earlier European colonist’s grave by sixteen members of the Plymouth Colony in 1620. Thus, the first archaeological research on this continent was at a historical site. At the heart of the above story is an issue that is relevant to the practice of social and anthropological archaeologies today: what is the nature of the relationship between archaeologies of the documented and the so-called undocumented pasts? Are divisions between ‘history’ and ‘prehistory’ in American archaeology inevitable? If not, how do we avoid replicating these divisions in other parts of the globe that are developing their own archaeological explorations of the recent past? In this article I want to accomplish three things: first, I will illustrate the intellectual disjunctures that led to the current division in Americanist archaeologies; second, I want to discuss the arenas where prehistorians could learn from historical archaeology; and, third, I want to discuss how historical archaeologists contribute to their ‘othering’ in the discipline, and suggest ways we can break out of isolating habits. I want to make it clear that my explicit focus is American historical archaeology. Globally, interest in the archaeology of the recent past is growing and taking many forms. Perhaps the most notable divide is between countries (like those of Europe) that are developing archaeologies of the recent past as part of long-established archaeological traditions exploring their own indigenous heritage and archaeologies of colonized spaces, like the United States, Canada, Australia, Latin America, the Caribbean and Africa. While my focus is slanted towards North American historical archaeology, my comments are relevant to many parts of the globe, where European expansion has disrupted indigenous histories. While Europeans may have a unique set of historical circumstances to contend with, in this regard, noticeably absent from European archaeology has been any focus on the experience of the cultural other in Europe as a result of colonial expansion.
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History of a discipline Americanist historical archaeology organized itself as a discipline and a professional society, the Society for Historical Archaeology (SHA), in 1967. The growth of the cultural resources management (CRM) industry following the passage of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) in 1966, and the National Environmental Protection Act (NEPA) in 1969, increased research at younger archaeological sites. In addition, the rapid approach of the celebrations surrounding the Bicentennial of the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1976 spurred archaeological research at sites related to specific historic figures. Contemporary literature in historical anthropology that explored the processes of colonization led scholars to recognize archaeology’s potential to study peoples of the recent past who had been bypassed in the archival record (e.g. Fairbanks 1972; Deetz 1977; Deagan 1983; Singleton 1985; Schuyler 1980). The earliest intellectual debates within historical archaeology revolved around the field’s disciplinary placement – was it a historical or an anthropological enterprise? The SHA left the question of defining the discipline to its members (Cleland and Fitting 1968). Anthropological archaeologists entering the field had trained on prehistoric sites and brought to historical archaeology a strong sense that historical archaeology needed to be committed to understanding cultural process and should work towards the construction of generalizing laws. Despite these scholars arguing that historical archaeology should share the methods, theories and goals of the broader American archaeological discipline (e.g. Cleland and Fitting 1968; Ferguson 1977; South 1977), there was still a desire to define the field as distinct from other archaeologies. Most definitions have focused on time period, topic of study or distinct methods. Chronology, on the surface, seems a logical means of dividing up the past. In England, ‘post-medieval archaeology’ describes the archaeology of the most recent past. In North America, for many archaeologists, the line between history and prehistory is chronological. In other regions with histories of European colonization of indigenous peoples, such as South Africa, the Caribbean, Latin America, Australia and Polynesia, chronology is often also used as a dividing point between disciplinary spaces, though there are scholars who resist such divisions (e.g. Schmidt 1978; Stahl 2001). While 1492 might be a convenient date separating prehistory and history, Fontana’s (1965) American Antiquity article illustrates that the divide is not cleanly made. His definitions and explanations of the differences between ‘prehistory’, ‘history’, ‘protohistoric’, ‘contact’, ‘post-contact’ and ‘non-aboriginal’ are quite extraordinary in retrospect. Distinctions were made between European-occupied and Native American-occupied sites, and as to what degree Native Americans, if represented, had been sullied by direct or indirect contact with Europeans at a given site. In a 1982 article, Kathleen Deagan suggested that prehistorians’ uneasiness regarding historical archaeology could be tied to anthropology’s traditional focus on non-Western cultures. Because historical archaeology dealt with Europeans, it could be seen as suspect. Gavin Lucas (2004) elaborated on this phenomenon. Prehistory, he reminds us, is a recently coined term, originating in the mid-nineteenth century as an ontological, not chronological category. Prehistory was to be an independent source of information (material culture) on the past that was not bound by tradition-derived histories. To understand this ‘new’ past –
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the material patterns – requires analogies to the present. There is a fundamental contradiction in archaeology: to create a story of the past requires dependence on the present. Lucas argues that archaeology deals with this ambiguity through the creation of a shared universal time that all past cultures are ordered within. ‘The question is whether this concept of time-consciousness does not claim some special and universal status, for its totalizing vision would seem to erase or denigrate other claims to the past’ (Lucas 2004: 113). Lucas reasonably suggests that archaeology (both historic and prehistoric) is part of a scientific colonialism. A problem that has plagued American prehistory has been a history of poor relations with indigenous peoples, as evidenced by passions ignited on both sides over the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA). Indigenous scholars Vine Deloria (1992) and Robert Echo-Hawk (2000) have both critiqued archaeology’s failure to consider indigenous histories. The question arises, then, do North American prehistorians want to maintain intellectual claims to the study of Native Americans because they have devalued indigenous knowledge systems as legitimate sources of history, to the point where they cannot be used to contest archaeological authority? Or, to turn this around, has historical archaeology been pushed to the periphery of the discipline because it deals with alternative histories that are perceived as being legitimate threats to archaeological authority? The notion that historical archaeology is intrinsically distinct from prehistory continues to pervade the discipline, particularly relative to the study of Native American pasts. Following the Fontana-type classification, many archaeologists who study indigenous– European colonial interfaces often prefer to self-identify as doing ‘contact archaeology’ (e.g. Murray 2004). This tendency of prehistorians to attempt to keep Native American sites in their jurisdiction is nicely illustrated in a recent article (Arnold et al. 2004). In this article, entitled ‘The archaeology of California’, the authors write: ‘Our domain is California’s prehistory [emphasis in original], including occasional reference to the early historic archaeology of Native Californians. The early Euro-American period of the Pacific Coast (including the Gold Rush, the Missions, early pueblos) deserves its own article’ (Arnold et al. 2004: 2). Note that the authors have appropriated what they see to be minimally tainted indigenous sites while carefully absolving themselves of responsibility for the rest of the historic period. A similar omission occurred in a recent article on theory in Americanist archaeology by Michelle Hegman (2004). She writes: ‘Focus here is on theory in North American archaeology, specifically the archaeology of Pre-Columbian North America (including northern Mexico but excluding Mesoamerica, primarily as done by North American archaeologists (very few non-North Americans do archaeology in North America, although North Americans do archaeology in many parts of the world)’ (Hegman 2004: 213). In this case, the exclusion of historical archaeology is clear but unacknowledged. The aside about few non-North Americans doing archaeology in North America did lead me to realize that historical archaeology also seems to be a haven for foreign-born archaeologists within the Americas. Both articles clearly illustrate how prehistorians present themselves as the disciplinary flag-bearers. This is not dissimilar to the way that social-cultural anthropology is often generically referred to as ‘anthropology’. Scholars have also attempted to define historical archaeologies topically. The spread of European culture and political-economic systems have been themes used to define
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historical archaeology. Deetz (1977: 5) defined historical archaeology as studying ‘the spread of European cultures throughout the world since the fifteenth century, and its impact on the indigenous people’. Europeans are central to this definition. More recently, Mark Leone (1995; Leone and Potter 1999) has suggested that historical archaeology is the study of the global spread of capitalism, an idea supported by others (e.g. Johnson 1996; Orser 1996). Europeans and their role as bearers of capitalism are central to this definition as well. This particular conceptualization has served neatly to unite archaeologies of the recent past that are taking place in former colonies, be they Canada, the United States, Ireland, Jamaica, Brazil or Australia, to name a few. However, these definitions clearly see indigenous peoples as a focus of historical research. Historical archaeologists do not abdicate the study of indigenous peoples to prehistorians. In England, topical approaches have also been taken to the definition of historical archaeology. In the Archaeology of the Familiar Past (Tarlow and West 1999) contributors explored how a mistaken sense of familiarity threatens our ability to interpret any past, recent or otherwise, in its own terms. In the Archaeology of the Contemporary Past (Buchli and Lucas 2000), authors demonstrate how archaeological techniques illuminate the most recent of history. In both instances, the editors of these volumes found the chronological label, post-medieval archaeology, to be insufficient for their research projects. As archaeologies of the recent past continue to develop, it is unlikely that any topical definition will be sufficient. In contrast to those who have tried to define historical archaeology through chronology or topical focus are those who have defined the field based upon the use of documents and historiographic methods (e.g. Andre´n 1998; Beaudry 1988; Little 1992; Moreland 2001). Beaudry (1988) proposed ‘documentary archaeology’, since a distinguishing feature of historical archaeology was the opportunity to re-excavate the archive from the perspective of materiality. Barbara Little (1992) has proposed that historical archaeology be called ‘text-aided’, also underscoring that the use of textual sources is intrinsic to historical archaeology. Working from a European tradition, Andre´n deals with documents and historiography within established archaeological traditions across broad chronological periods, making his work somewhat unique. These definitions accommodate archaeologists who incorporate textual sources into their research but work in other time periods. Many archaeologists recognize oral traditions as part of the archive (McDonald et al. 1991; Schmidt 1978; Stahl 2001). This has been a more controversial topic in North American prehistory, where archaeologists are still unsure how to evaluate oral traditions (e.g. Mason 2000; Whiteley 2002). Moreland (2001: 110–11) has taken a somewhat different approach to his consideration of texts and archaeology. He critiques historical archaeologies as either too willing to embrace the authority of documents or too quick to dismiss their reliability, missing, in both cases, the role of writing as a tool of oppression and power. Instead, he proposes that archaeologists need to see ‘the Object, the Voice and the Word’ (2001: 119) as the means that past societies used to construct identities and social practice. Even with his disagreements over the current uses of text in the field, Moreland, too, sees texts as an intrinsic component of historical archaeology. While definitions of the field proliferate, with regard to the anthropology/history debate, the compromise that seemed to be reached by most practitioners was acceptance that historical archaeology was an anthropological endeavour that was deeply entwined
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with historical process and method. This compromise made for an uneasy relationship with prehistory during the processual period.
Relations with ‘prehistory’ From an intellectual perspective, historical archaeology developed at an inopportune time. The majority of Americanist archaeology was strongly embracing processualism (e.g. Binford 1968; Flannery 1973; Watson et al. 1971), despite a growing critique (e.g. Hodder 1985). Anthropological archaeology was rejecting its ties to ‘history’, and embracing scientific approaches and the search for universal laws of cultural process. In this intellectual climate, any archaeology that utilized texts, and could be associated with ‘culture history’, was suspect. Some historical archaeologists walked in lockstep with prehistorians. Stanley South (1977) offered a series of methods to be used in a scientifically rigorous historical archaeology. It was South’s opinion that perhaps, with a rigorous enough methodology, historical archaeology could wean itself from its dependence on historical documents (South 1977). South has had an incredible influence on the discipline, and his methods, although rendered mainly obsolete by an increased attention to contextual histories, continue to influence large parts of historical archaeology to the present. Beaudry et al. (1991: 152) probably best summarized the feelings of many practitioners when they stated, ‘far too many historical archaeologists seem to be operating within a paradigm that others have forsaken. Only the most extreme and reductionist of pattern-seekers could find any merit in the bizarre lengths to which South’s pattern analysis and Miller’s economic scaling have been taken.’ While scientism may not have rooted itself as deeply in historical archaeology as in the rest of this discipline, its impacts were extreme, and, while the peak of Southian historical archaeology has passed, it continues methodologically to raise its head in the discipline. Historical archaeologists found themselves in opposition to prehistorians in other ways as well. While prehistorians overwhelmingly looked at humans as components of coherent systems, acting culturally in cooperation, historical archaeologists looked at expressions of difference, particularly ethnicity and power (e.g. McGuire 1982; Schuyler 1980). While prehistorians sought to understand macro-scalar social process over the long expanses of time, historical archaeologists looked at social relations within smaller groups of people during shorter spans of time, depending upon the work of historians and historical anthropologists to situate their analyses on a macro-scalar level. In other words, our archaeologies were quicker to embrace contextual and social analyses. Within historical archaeology, alternative interpretative models, such as Leone’s critical archaeology (Leone 1987, 1995) and Deetz’s use of structuralism and cognitive models (1977), took deeper root much earlier than in the broader discipline. While the newly named ‘historical archaeologists’ debated among themselves about how their practice was and was not related to the disciplines of history and anthropology, these debates had no impact on the discipline of American archaeology as a whole. Historical archaeological research was cited by non-practitioners only in instances where text-aided archaeologies were seen as useful for testing broader archaeological principles or methods
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used in prehistoric contexts. Deetz and Dethlefson’s (1967) work seriating gravestone styles or Binford’s (1961) foray into pipe-stem dating are probably the most commonly cited examples of historical sites providing a laboratory for prehistory. ‘Archaeology’ as a field has become naturalized in the United States to denote ‘prehistory’, while ‘historical archaeology’ represents a subaltern discipline. The knowledge produced in historical archaeology is concentrated in a handful of smaller journals and academic presses, with only a few practitioners publishing in the flagship journals of anthropology and archaeology. Although much of the historical archaeology conducted globally takes place in the Americas, during the last ten years (1995–2004), only six of the 395 articles, reports, forums and commentaries published in American Antiquity, the journal of the Society for American Archaeology, are related to historical sites. Yet, historical archaeology has made important contributions to the theory and practice of archaeology in an international setting.
Contributions of historical archaeology to archaeology The emergence of archaeologies that emphasize the importance of contextual histories and micro-scalar approaches has provided archaeologies of the recent past greater visibility in British archaeology, and, to a lesser degree, in Americanist archaeology. Americanist historical archaeologists have made important contributions to international discourses on the role of activist engagements in archaeological practice and have developed innovative approaches to integrating diverse evidentiary lines in interpretation. Historical archaeology has become a theoretically and topically diverse discipline with an increasingly diverse body of practitioners. American historical archaeologists have been central to disciplinary discourses on public archaeology, debates on the role of community partnering and the role of descendant communities, and multi-vocality in archaeological presentations. While NAGPRA served as a crash-course in community partnering for most American archaeologists, people working in historical archaeology had already been grappling with issues of ethics, responsibility and the role of archaeologists in creating narratives that serve nationalistic agendas (e.g. Leone 1995). The 1990 discovery of the African Burial Ground in New York prompted deeper contemplation and self-reflexivity by practitioners in the field (e.g. McDavid and Babson 1997). Historical archaeologists often work in colonial period sites with the descendants of those who have been colonized; these engagements have been central to showing the politicized nature of archaeological interpretation and the role of archaeology in naturalizing contemporary social inequalities (e.g. LaRoche and Blakey 1997; Epperson 2004; Franklin 1997). In particular, issues of collaboration have been widespread in historical archaeology, decentering archaeological authority in interpretation and presenting public archaeologies as related to the African-American past (e.g. Farnsworth 2000; Franklin 2001). These discussions parallel, complement and expand upon dialogues related to NAGPRA in prehistory. The ways that historical archaeologists are coping with these issues in settings where there are a wide range of stake-holders should be of use to prehistoric archaeologists.
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Through their work, historical archaeologists have demonstrated sophisticated ways to explore gender, sexuality and personhood. Documentary accounts of the competing and multiple subject positions held by past actors make it all too clear that simplistic interpretations of materials as reflective of particular identities are meaningless. Struggling to understand how social identities are constructed and reconstructed at the household level has been a central theme of study within historical archaeology in the past ten years and longer (e.g. Barile and Brandon 2004; Purser 1991; Yentsch 1994). Gender as a socially constructed identity has become more widely entrenched in historical archaeological practice than in prehistory, with a wider number of scholars who would not consider themselves foremost as studying gender, sexuality or feminism incorporating considerations of gender into their research. For those who are explicitly studying gender, historical archaeology has been the site of production of archaeologies exploring a range of sexualities, be they third-gender, queer, or heterosexual, or other engendered subject positions (e.g. Seifert 1991; Voss 2000; Casella 2000; Wall 1994; Whelan 1991). It may be that this greater visibility of issues related to gender and sexuality is a reflection of historical archaeology’s practitioners. As noted by Charles Cleland, ‘Not only have the number of women who are practicing historical archaeology increased, but women have taken a very strong leadership role in the governance of the Society for Historical Archaeology and in the intellectual life of the discipline’ (2000: 2). Douglas Armstrong (2000: 9) has also commented that ‘gender equity’ was one factor that drew him to historical archaeology. This deserves some attention, for the perceived feminization of historical archaeology could be part of the reason the discipline is brushed aside by prehistorians, yet is truly a strength of historical archaeology that the broader discipline should recognize. In 1991, the Society for Historical Archaeology circulated a readers’ survey that sought to explore the nature of women’s experiences in the discipline (Chester et al. 1994). At that time, women were found to represent about 38 per cent of the membership, with a demographic consideration of women demonstrating that they slightly outnumbered men as graduate students at that time. The authors stated: ‘we see a large number of educated young women entering the profession; so many, in fact, that if this trend persists, we would expect the discipline to become feminized with time’ (Chester et al. 1994: 217). Mary Beaudry (1994), in a complementary study of publication practices in SHA, concluded that, while there were certainly women’s issues to be confronted in the discipline, ‘it does appear that historical archaeology has been a somewhat less chilly a climate for women over the years’ (Beaudry 1994: 22). Women have been very important in the leadership of SHA. During the last twenty years, nine, or 45 per cent, of the society presidents have been women; in contrast, during the same period, three of the last ten presidents (each serving two years) for SAA have been women. Two of the three SAA women presidents served in the 1985–1994 period, while only one woman has filled that office in the 1995–2004 period. In contrast, between 1985 and 1994, four of the SHA presidents were women, while from 1995 to 2004 five women were president, representing an increase. Historical archaeologists have also been at the forefront of challenging traditional modes of data presentation, engaging in debates on the role of narrative in their work (e.g. Praetzellis and Praetzellis 1998; Deetz 1977; Wilkie 2003), in some cases predating the use of this form by feminists such as Tringham (1991) and Spector (1991). The use of
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narrative, as discussed by Joyce (2002), is an important means of rendering visible dialogues that shape the process of interpretation as well as clearly illustrating the writer’s active role in the interpretative venture. Narrative, done self-reflexively, is an important means of incorporating multi-vocality into archaeological interpretation, as well as clearly defining the biases of the writer (as was the case with the narrative here) in a way that can be obscured in traditional writing styles. Finally, historical archaeologists have problematized constructions of the past that rely solely on documentary evidence, and have expanded our notion of the ‘archive’ to include architecture, material culture, oral traditions and texts. Historical archaeologists have devoted considerable effort to conceptualizing how to integrate evidentiary lines drawn from a range of material expressions (e.g. Beaudry 1988; Little 1992). Archaeological, oral and documentary accounts of the past can often be in conflict with one another; as a result, historical archaeological interpretations typically entail the construction of new, alternative histories that attempt to mediate between different knowledge claims. Prehistorians do not work without texts. Ethnographies are historical documents, which need to be read as critically as any other text. Oral traditions present their own particular challenges and rewards (Vansina 1985; Whiteley 2002). Ignoring the nature of these lines of evidence weakens archaeological interpretations, no matter what the theoretical or chronological orientation of the scholar making them.
Future directions While I have detailed above reasons why historical archaeology has come to be marginalized, the blame does not lie solely at the feet of prehistory. The parable at the beginning of this work demonstrates how the disciplinary mythologies we construct can also serve to isolate us. While prehistory imposed a label of outsider upon us, we have chosen to embrace it and use it to forge a strong disciplinary identity. Historical archaeologists have been enablers. We have largely focused our publication efforts on a few specialist journals rather than publishing in venues widely read by prehistorians, and, by doing so, we have largely removed our voices from scholarly debate. We continue to define our field in ways that exclude individuals working on deeper pasts. Just as historical archaeologists have refused to surrender the study of indigenous people to prehistorians, I do not think we should abandon ‘archaeology’ writ large to them. Further, I do not think that we should abandon the growing number of archaeology students who are interested in understanding the deeper past in ways that are more socially engaged. In North America, our failure actively to challenge our prehistoric colleagues to think in different ways, to innovate in their practice and thinking, denies future generations of archaeologists our insights. Like the heroine of the parable that opened this piece, we do not intellectually need American prehistorians to continue to have a dynamic and productive disciplinary culture. Quite to the contrary, I do believe that prehistory, in rendering us, in their view, as inessential, have hurt themselves and, in doing so, threaten the scholarly health of our wider discipline. Historical archaeology represents the creative edge in the discipline that can challenge prehistorians’ complacency.
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I would like to suggest that we reinsert ourselves into North American archaeology. There are subtle and blunt ways of doing this. Definitions of historical archaeology that focus upon European peoples and their movements should be avoided, as should definitions that exclusively tie us to particular topics of study that have a chronological dimension. I would suggest that we limit our definition to something like: ‘Historical archaeologies employ the ideas, theories, and/or methods of historiography in the construction of interpretative narratives.’ It may not be a glamorous definition, but it is inclusive, and would allow a broader range of archaeologists comfortably to self-identify as historical archaeologists – those who employ the hermeneutic approach of Collingwood to understand the Neolithic would be as legitimately historical archaeologists as those who conduct documentary archaeology in the British Caribbean. I am basically suggesting that we put out a disciplinary welcome mat. Historical archaeologists must expand our publication habits. We should publish in journals read by prehistorians. We must be aware of their work and present our findings in ways that demonstrate how we are dealing with issues of interest to them. We should make it harder for them to remain ignorant. Historical archaeologists have done an impressive job of convincing the public of our value, now it is time for us to reintroduce ourselves to our colleagues. Theoretically, there has never been a more appropriate time for Americanist historical archaeologists to re-engage in scholarly debate over the nature of their work and practice. Instead of serving as a laboratory for testing the reliability of techniques developed in prehistoric contexts, archaeologists working in documented time periods can demonstrate the powerful potential of social archaeologies that draw upon multiple lines of evidence. The range of scholars engaged in historical archaeologies is increasing worldwide. Although the field is developing in areas that do not share the intellectual baggage and history of Americanist archaeology, there is the danger that we will replicate our structures of division and isolation in new settings. I would argue that the larger discipline is better served when more voices are in dialogue. I am not suggesting that we disband our sub-discipline. Instead, I want to challenge historical archaeologists of all intellectual flavours to reintroduce ourselves and our research to a wider anthropological and archaeological audience. There is a certain segment of scholars who will never see the value of our work; yet, there are others still, grappling with similar interests and problems, who do not find their way to our scholarship due to shortcomings in their sub-discipline’s practices. In a similar vein, I want to encourage continued collaboration between the unique historical archaeologies of Europe and elsewhere. European perceptions of history can enlighten Americanist practice. Similarly, perhaps we can encourage our European counterparts to consider the impacts of the colonial venture in their homelands. For instance, African slavery existed in Europe and waves of immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa have come to settle on the continent, yet, I am unaware of any focus on diasporic archaeology in Europe. Imagine the great potential for understanding the complex enactments of competing ethnic and national identities in the minority populations of Europe (Gerzina 1995; Gilroy 1993). There is a certain security and comfort level that comes from cloistering oneself in a small academic enclave, but this security can also dull our work. It is time for historical archaeologists to assert that their intellectual project is central – not peripheral – to all of
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archaeological practice. It is time to question arbitrary designations of what constitute a ‘historical’ site versus a ‘prehistoric’ one, and to illustrate why the concerns about how to mediate different forms of the archive are relevant to all archaeological interpretative ventures. Department of Anthropology, University of California Berkeley, CA 94720 E-mail:
[email protected]
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Laurie A. Wilkie is an Associate Professor of Anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley. Her research focuses upon the intersections of materiality and identity in the recent past, with a particular attention to the African Diaspora.
