patterson, thomas - the political economy of archaeology in the us

The Political Economy of Archaeology in the United StatesAuthor(s): Thomas C. PattersonReviewed work(s):Source: Annual Review of Anthropology, Vol. 28 (1999), pp. 155-174Published by: Annual ReviewsStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/223391 .Accessed: 16/01/2013 13:51

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Annu. Rev. Anthropol. 1999. 28:155-74 Copyright ? 1999 by Annual Reviews. All rights reserved

THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE UNITED STATES

Thomas C. Patterson Department of Anthropology, Temple University, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19103; e-mail: tomcpat@astro. temple.edu

Key Words: professionalization, higher education, antiquities markets, labor market, economic restructuring

* Abstract The professionalization of archaeology in the late nineteenth century was linked to the growth of antiquities markets and the development of museums as institutions of education and social reproduction. Professional archaeologists moved into the universities in large numbers after World War II and then increasingly into the private sector after the mid-1970s. In the United States, archaeologists currently confront a highly segmented labor market with significant wage and benefits differentials, and increasing numbers face marginal employment. At the same time, descendant communities and government regulations are transforming the ways by which archaeologists have tradition- ally conducted their investigations.

CONTENTS Introduction ................................................... 156 What Is Political Economy? ...................................... 156 The Rise of Capitalism and Archaeology ............................ 157 Archaeology in the United States: Higher Education and Social

Reproduction ................................................ 158 Postwar America: Mass Education and Archaeology After

World War II ................................................ 161 Political-Economic Crises and Archaeology in the Late Twentieth

Century ................................. ................... 164 The Political Economy of Archaeology on the Eve of the New

Millennium .............................................. .... 167 What Is To Be Done? ........................................... 169

0084-6570/99/1015-0155$12.00 155


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INTRODUCTION

This review examines the connections between archaeology and wider politicaleconomic, social, and cultural currents in US capitalist society. It builds on a growing body of studies that explore the historical development of these linkages both in the United States and in other countries (Diaz-Andreu & Champion 1996; Hammond 1980; Kohl & Fawcett 1995; Patterson 1986, 1989, 1995; Schmidt & McIntosh 1996; Schmidt & Patterson 1996; Silberman 1982, 1989, 1994). The article begins with a brief description of political economy and some implications Marxist currents have in its study. There follows a review of (a) the linkages between the development of capitalism, antiquities markets, and archaeology, (b) the connections between education, employment, and the reproduction of capitalist social relations and culture, (c) the effects of mass education after World War II on employment and the composition of the profession, (d) the impact of the political-economic crises of the late twentieth century on archaeology, and (e) the political economy of archaeology on the eve of the new millennium.

WHAT IS POLITICAL ECONOMY?

Scottish writers during the Enlightenment were among the first to conceptualize political economy. They argued that human society had progressed through a suc- cession of stages and linked the development of political authority, morality, property, class structures, and the position of women to changes in the mode of subsistence (Meek 1976). Today's neoliberal writers define political economy as the interaction of political processes and exchange in a free market where eco- nomically rational individuals attempt to maximize goals. Largely ignoring history in their definition, they sever the connections between the political and economic realms in order to subordinate the state to politically defined economic strategies based on the maximization of profit, accounting procedures, and more efficient human resource management. Marxists define political economy as concerned with the crisis-ridden processes of the accumulation of capital and its distribution, including prices, wages, employment, political arrangements, and class structures and struggles. They examine the historical development of capitalism, i.e. how accumulation and distribution shape and are shaped by the class struggle manifested in relations of domination and subordination and in the hierarchies that exist in the workplace, in the market, and in the wider society (Desai 1991, Mohun 1993).

While neoliberals see value as a creation of the market, Marxists understand that surplus and value are created by the workers who produce the commodities sold in the market, and so they focus on the social relations of production and ownership of the means of production. The neoliberals do not consider the effects of wealth and power differentials in the market, but the Marxists pay careful attention to the historical development of class differences and the rules govern- ing the distribution of wealth.


THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Because in capitalist societies the differential capacities of individuals to sat- isfy their needs and aspirations are historically constituted and reduced to the power of money, class position and class struggle have significant cultural, social, and symbolic dimensions. Marx & Engels [1964:38 (1845)] called these dimensions "forms of social consciousness" and referred to them repeatedly in their writings [Engels 1969 (1845), 1972 (1884); Marx 1963:47,124-35 (1852), 1977: 931-40 (1867)]. Bourdieu (1984, 1986, 1987) has explored the connections between class, culture, and power. He acknowledges that economic relations play the dominant role in structuring social hierarchies and then points out that shared culture, social connections, and the capacity to legitimate them in the wider society are resources that individuals and groups deploy to define their position in class hierarchies. Brodkin (1998) has begun to examine the creation and contesta- tion of the cultural, social, and symbolic dimensions of class position and struggle that exist because capitalist employers in the United States consciously construct segmented labor markets that are structured and stratified by class, racial, ethnic, and gender differences.

THE RISE OF CAPITALISM AND ARCHAEOLOGY

Capitalism as an economic system is based on (a) the creation of value by workers who do not own the means of production and are forced to sell their labor power for money in order to survive, and (b) the appropriation of this value and its sale for profit by those who own the means of production and determine how the profits will be used. Modem capitalism had its origins five centuries ago in the class struggles and commercial expansion of various European states (Brenner 1985, Ster 1988). It developed within the context of a network of emerging national states that underwrote the accumulation of capital on a world scale. The states were the contradictory products of ongoing struggles in and against emerging capitalist classes that could not separate themselves from workers and that had to contain labor as a condition of their own existence. They accomplished this by imposing the exchange of money for labor and reconstituting workers as citizens with equal rights before the law. They reproduced "the contradictions of 'capital' in the political form" (Bonefeld 1993:65-66, Goldmann 1973:15-33).

The first rumblings of capitalism in the late fifteenth century occurred at a time when humanist teachers employed by wealthy European merchant and banking families avowed that the Greek and Roman cultures were models of excellence that should be emulated (Rowe 1965). It was also a time when merchants and travelers visited distant lands where they traded for local goods and incidentally acquired exotic souvenirs, which they either sold or placed in private and state collections. Their activities underwrote the creation of antiquities markets and the development of antiquarian studies in Northern Europe (Lack 1970, Sklenar 1983:6-40, Trigger 1989:27-72). These markets further fueled the growth of cot- tage industries involved in the plunder of archaeological sites and forgery of artifacts [Fagan 1992, Jefferson 1955:97-100 (1785), Meyer 1973]. By the end of the

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sixteenth century, writers were already complaining about forgery and about unscrupulous individuals planting and then "discovering" European antiquities in the New World as a way to support their claims for territorial possessions [Castel- lanos 1944:19 (1589), Trahere 1673].

Markets for new kinds of exotic objects sprang up during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as more remote parts of the world-Polynesia, the Northwest Coast of North America, the eastern Mediterranean, and the American southwest-became enmeshed in the capitalist world system, and as the extension of agricultural lands, mining, deforestation, and the construction of railroads and canals in Europe uncovered antiquities buried over time (Cole 1985, Wade 1976, Kristiansen 1981). The extension and development of capitalism also provided new opportunities for looting and forgery (Arango 1924, Edge-Parrington 1910). Archaeology emerged as a set of practices concerned with the acquisition of antiquities through excavation or purchase, with appraisals of their authenticity and value in the market, and with interpretations of their significance that increased their monetary value. Archaeologists provided accounts of the peoples who produced and used the antiquities in question.

ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE UNITED STATES: HIGHER EDUCATION AND SOCIAL REPRODUCTION

Archaeology was never a monolithic discipline because different parts of the world have different meanings in the historical narratives crafted and reproduced by ruling class and state intellectuals in the United States (Patterson 1997). These accounts have never questioned the idea that social or cultural hierarchies are natural. Perhaps the most familiar of these is the claim that civilization arose in the Holy Land, spread to Greece and Rome, reached new levels in northern Europe, and achieved its highest expression in the United States. In this story, the Holy Land was the source of civilization; the Judeo-Christian tradition was the civilizing process; and classical Greece and Rome were the societies in which white European men invented democracy, republican institutions, and statesman- ship. The rest of the world was excluded, because its peoples had not attained the same levels of development.

Archaeology was reconfigured during the period of imperialist expansion in the late nineteenth century to provide material evidence supporting such claims (Patterson 1995:39-68). Classical archaeologists studied the remains of Greece and Rome; however, since the books of the New Testament were written in Greek, Christianity was linked with the European civilizations and with the white race. Because the Old Testament texts were written in Semitic languages, Juda- ism was joined with Egypt and Assyria, with races that were not quite white, and with the less-developed societies of the Orient (Bernal 1987, Brinton 1890, Sil- berman 1982:171-88). As the biblical archaeologists and Assyriologists sought to differentiate their subject matter, the founders of the Archaeological Institute of America, established in 1879, supported investigations in the eastern Mediter- ranean. However, they had little interest in the work of archaeologists studying



the ancestors of the American Indians or the Stone Age peoples in Europe, because they considered them to be uncivilized and as not having contributed materially to human progress (Hinsley 1985, Norton et al 1880). In spite of the Archaeological Institute of America's perspective, various museums and individuals did support archaeological research in the United States, the Andes, the Maya region, Egypt, and the Near East. The diverse geographical and topical interests of archaeologists at that time laid the foundations for a technical division of labor that, with modifications and elaborations, still persists.

Archaeology as a discipline and profession composed mostly of waged workers crystallized in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, when the United States was consolidating its North American territorial claims and overseas empire. This was a time marked by the creation of land-grant universities, the development of the first graduate training programs, the differentiation of the social sciences, and the establishment of museums (DiMaggio 1982; Hinsley 1981, 1985; Meyer 1979; Ross 1991). These were symptomatic results of the restructuring of US society after the collapse of Reconstruction: the emergence of a stratum of mostly native-born male managers and bureaucrats, the creation of an industrial workforce stratified by ethnicity and fueled by immigration, and the relegation of people of color and women to the most degraded, unskilled, and lowest-paying jobs (Brodkin 1998, Braverman 1974).

From the 1890s through the 1930s, archaeologists employed by museums or by the Carnegie Institution of Washington, or whose research was funded by patrons like John D Rockefeller, had to pay attention to the views of their benefac- tors. Museum directors and the presidents of philanthropic foundations used the knowledge they produced to shape cultural understandings (Rainger 1991:169- 81). The information furnished by the archaeologists provided sorely needed con- trasts in a society that was rapidly industrializing and in which concentrated wealth and power coexisted uneasily with widespread poverty and alienation. As the representatives of capital, they clearly saw the potential threat to their control of the economy posed by popular and organized anticapitalist groups that offered alternative ideological interpretations of power arrangements (Slaughter & Silva 1982:75).

What archaeologists working with precapitalist civilizations provided were perspectives that resonated with the views of the powerful. Morley and the other Mayanists employed by the Carnegie Institution of Washington, for example, offered interpretations that transformed exploitative class relations into a technical division of labor. Benevolent, culturally refined ruler-priests residing in lavish ceremonial centers performed necessary religious sacrifices for the illiterate artisan-peasants who fed, clothed, and housed them in order to ensure that har- mony and order were maintained in the universe (Becker 1979, Castafieda 1996:1-152, Schele & Miller 1986:18-24, Thompson 1954:106). In effect, the Mayanists and archaeologists who dealt with other precapitalist civilizations either naturalized distinctions between the powerful and powerless or rooted them in the remote historical past. Their discussions of the creative capacities of native peoples, the path from savagery and barbarism to civilization, and archaeo-

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logical cultures as markers of national identity supported existing power relations and ideas of social hierarchy. They suggested that oppressive social relations were the natural outcome of human history and implied that nothing could or should be done to eliminate such inequalities.

The first generation of archaeologists employed almost entirely by the government or museums were storekeepers, surveyors, naturalists, engineers, or classicists. Subsequently, a college education and an appreciation of cultural sen- sibilities and practices of the upper classes gained in museums and other spaces of learning and enculturation would increasingly become the vehicles for gaining entrance into the archaeological profession and the managerial stratum (Bourdieu & Passeron 1990, Gramsci 1971). That first generation helped to underwrite the reproduction of the new class structure and its distinctive elite cultures in the context of their employment as museum curators, government officials, teachers, and university professors, as well as through their writings (Rydell 1984).

The professionalization of archaeology involved the development of a techni- cally specialized language, methodology, and disciplinary culture that bound the trained professionals together and distinguished them from individuals whose claim to authority derived from their social position rather than their mastery of the specialized knowledge and practices. Professional archaeologists would use this knowledge, methodology, and culture selectively to exclude amateurs from full participation and membership in the discipline and in its professional organizations (Moser 1995, Patterson 1986).

Although higher education had been a minor growth industry in the late nineteenth century because of the formation of land-grant universities and women's colleges, only a small fraction of the total population-about 230,000 men and women out of 100 million-attended college in the year 1900. Some studied archaeology in courses taught by anthropologists, classicists, or biblical scholars, but only a few actually became professional archaeologists. On the eve of World War I, probably no more than 100 individuals in the United States, almost all men, earned their living from the practice of archaeology. Because of the technical division of labor that appeared from the 1880s on, it is difficult to generalize about the development of the discipline as a whole. Nevertheless, the development of archaeology as a subfield of anthropology provides some insights. Between 1894 and 1942, 39 men and 2 women submitted doctoral dissertations on archaeological topics and received PhDs in anthropology from Harvard (20), Chicago (7), Columbia (5), Pennsylvania (4), California (2), Yale (2), and Michigan (1). They constituted 21% of the 191 PhD recipients in anthropology during this period (Thomas 1955:701-52). Of the 29 individuals whose careers are easily traced, 19 were employed by museums or by the Carnegie Institution of Washington's Maya Project, three worked for the federal government, and seven taught.

Employment opportunities for archaeologists and the worldview that guided their activities shifted during the Great Depression. In 1933, the Tennessee Valley Authority initiated archaeological investigations in areas that would be flooded, and the Civil Works Administration asked the Smithsonian Institution to provide archaeologists to direct projects in states with high levels of unemployment. The



sudden demand for trained archaeologists outstripped the supply and the ability of universities to provide them on short notice. With the creation of the Works Pro- gress Administration a year later, archaeological projects became even more deeply embedded in federally funded relief programs (Faguette 1985, Lyon 1996). Archaeological projects were popular with relief agencies for two reasons. Most of the money was spent on labor, and they did not produce a commodity that competed with the private sector. In 1934, 25 men and 6 women signed the consti- tution of a new organization, the Society for American Archaeology, whose goals were to stimulate archaeological research, to promote closer relations between professional archaeologists and others interested in American archaeology, to guide amateurs, and to curb the sale of antiquities. By 1940, the society had 823 members, not all of whom made their living from archaeology.

The Keynesian political policy launched in the 1930s was designed to amelio- rate the unemployment caused by the economic crisis and to ensure continued capital accumulation by regulating the working class. It was a state-sponsored pact in which working-class interests were strengthened. Workers expected full employment and rising standards of living in return for the labor peace that the capitalists wanted in order to maintain profitability. Archaeology was molded to fit the new relationship between the public and private sector that crystallized with the rise of the capitalist welfare state.

In this milieu, the Social Science Research Council and other foundations promoted, through fellowships, grants-in-aid, and conferences, the view that social scientists should focus their energies on resolving the pressing problems of society rather than on developing or drawing boundaries around their discipline (Fisher 1993:232, Linton 1945). For example, several archaeologists played prominent roles in the development of area studies in the 1930s. In 1939, the National Research Council responded to a request from the assistant director of the Works Progress Administration and convened a committee of professional archaeologists to develop standardized criteria for evaluating the data accumu- lated by various relief archaeology programs. The government archaeologists at the Smithsonian were critical of colleagues who paid little attention to the theoretical foundations of their work-a view that was seconded by Harvard critics of the Carnegie's Maya Project (Kluckhohn 1940, Taylor 1948). The criteria recom- mended by the committee were rooted in logical positivism (Guthe 1940).

POSTWAR AMERICA: MASS EDUCATION AND ARCHAEOLOGY AFTER WORLD WAR II

The structure and composition of archaeology as a profession was transformed after World War II. The GI Bill of Rights Act of 1944 underwrote college educa- tions for more than 2.1 million men, almost exclusively white, and 65,000 women who served in the US armed forces during the war (Solomon 1985). They flooded college campuses and many enrolled in anthropology and archaeology courses. This created a steadily increasing demand and a new labor market for professionally certified college teachers, not only at the long-established colleges but also at

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new campuses that were springing up across the country. Between 1945 and 1954, 61 individuals received PhDs in archaeology from Columbia (16), Harvard (15), Chicago (9), California (5), Pennsylvania (5), Yale (5), Michigan (4), and Arizona (2). These represented 22% of the 276 doctorates awarded in anthropology during that period. The majority of recipients joined college and university faculties, which had, by the mid-1960s, probably become the major sources of employment for archaeologists-a condition that would last for about a decade.

Mass education was also responsible for a veritable explosion in the number of archaeologists and a change in the composition of the profession as women and white ethnics appeared in the membership lists of the Society for American Archaeology (SAA). In 1946, 586 men and 75 women belonged to the society. Its membership grew at an annual rate of 3% through 1956 and at an annual rate of 6% through the late 1960s. In 1969, 1531 men and 263 women belonged to the organization. By 1976, its membership stood at 3654 men and 1440 women, and the percentage of women had doubled from 14.7% to 28.3%. The percentage of women crept up to approximately 35% by 1983, and since then it has remained stationary (Patterson 1995:81-82). From a slightly different perspective, between 1956 and 1969 5.3 men joined the society for every woman; between 1969 and 1976 the ratio dropped to 1.8 men to 1 woman; and by 1991, male and female students were joining the SAA in approximately equal numbers. Women born during the postwar baby boom who joined the SAA in the late 1960s and early 1970s and received tenure approximately a decade later were often the daughters of veterans who had benefitted from the GI Bill a generation earlier. These were the first women to raise gender and women's issues within the profession (Conkey & Spector 1984). Even though their absolute numbers are still small (less than 2%), people of color have also begun to join the SAA and other professional archaeological organizations since the late 1970s (Zeder 1997:13-14).

A second factor in the transformation was the 1946 reorganization of the American Anthropological Association (1947:352-57), which stressed developing area studies programs for foreign service personnel, establishing a plan that would benefit anthropology if a National Science Foundation were established, exploring possibilities for introducing anthropology into elementary and secon- dary school curricula, and establishing liaisons with other organizations like the SAA to explore matters of mutual interest. The reorganization reasserted, and in the process redefined, the disciplinary interests of anthropology and archaeology vis-a-vis the other social sciences. Henceforth, the discipline of anthropology was considered to be composed of four fields: ethnology or cultural anthropology, lin- guistics, archaeology, and physical anthropology. The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research provided the mythic charter for this endeavor by sponsoring a conference in 1953 on the current status of anthropology (Kroeber 1953, Tax 1953). A few years later, anthropologists began to examine in more detail how this four-field discipline was actually integrated (Haraway 1989; Tax 1955, 1964).

In the 1950s, and less so in the 1960s, many of the new programs were housed in joint departments, where anthropologists and sociologists shared resources



under circumstances that they themselves did not create. These conditions were the bureaucratic and budgetary constructs of deans and provosts who, in those days, for the most part were academics. Kroeber & Parsons (1958), widely recog- nized as the deans of the two fields in the postwar years, provided a rationale for distinguishing between the activities of anthropologists and sociologists. Many academic bureaucrats were apparently convinced of the distinction, if not by the strength of their arguments, then by the weight of their reputations. As a result, many of the joint departments-e.g. at the University of California at Los Ange- les-were dissolved during the 1960s and replaced by separate degree-granting departments. These newly created, freestanding budgetary units were distorting mirrors reflecting in complex ways the proclaimed autonomy of the two disci- plines.

The postwar expansion of anthropology programs was historically contingent. A common pattern was that cultural anthropologists who received their degrees in the 1940s or early 1950s founded new programs. They hired another ethnologist or two, then an archaeologist, a physical anthropologist, and a linguist to round out the curriculum. The demand for archaeologists increased after 1956 and per- sisted at high levels into the early 1970s. Given this history, fewer archaeologists had experience in joint departments, where the divisions followed disciplinary lines that separated anthropologists from sociologists. Instead, they were hired into academic settings where the separation was either already a fait accompli or imminent. Thus, anthropologists began to draw ever-finer distinctions within the discipline of anthropology itself, and the new anthropology departments increasingly became the loci of subdisciplinary turf wars once their budgetary linkages with sociology were dissolved. This was especially true when the theoretical underpinnings for the connections of the four fields were obscured by empiricist and positivist understandings (Wolf 1980). In this context, interpersonal slights and thoughtless remarks often fueled separatist tendencies between the fields (Binford 1972:10-11, Willey 1984:10).

Although many archaeologists participated in the united front constituted by the reorganized American Anthropological Association, they also pursued inde- pendent relations with the federal government through the Committee for the Recovery of Archaeological Remains that was formed in 1944 (Johnson et al 1945). The committee lobbied successfully for increased federal support for archaeological investigations in the United States. It joined forces with archaeologists employed by the Smithsonian Institution and the National Park Service for the Interagency Archaeological Salvage Program (IASP) which eventually spread some of the costs of archaeological salvage projects from the federal government to state agencies and the private sector. The Interagency Archaeological Salvage Program promoted the creation of state archaeological surveys and also provided both summer training and full-time employment for archaeologists. The National Science Foundation was the other major source of funding after the Social Science Division was created in 1954. That year, it awarded $30,000 to fund two projects. By 1967, it was spending approximately $2 million a year on archaeological research, 60% of which was being carried out in places other than

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the United States. Its current annual expenditures for archaeological research are approximately $3.5 million, which means that, with adjustments for inflation, expenditures have remained steady since the late 1960s (Patterson 1995:79-80).

POLITICAL-ECONOMIC CRISES AND ARCHAEOLOGY IN THE LATE TWENTIETH CENTURY

The Keynesian political policy established in the 1930s began to unravel in the 1960s. By the end of the decade, the state could no longer guarantee that workers would realize their aspirations, or that it could secure for the capitalists the conditions for sustained capital accumulation they desired. As the monetary form of capital was increasingly separated from productive capital, the state had no way of controlling how or where capital was invested. The overaccumulation of capital on a global scale was expressed domestically in a series of financial crises associated with outflows of capital and growing balance-of-trade deficits. The monetarist policies launched in the 1970s and 1980s attempted to resolve these crises by subordinating the state and civil society to the power of money in the market (Clarke 1988:298-305, 341). Domestically, the political minions of the capitalists devalued the currency, precipitated steadily rising levels of structural unemployment, and forced increasing numbers of people to use credit as a way of maintaining acceptable standards of living. At the same time they dismantled earlier gains made by the workers and intensified and exploited divisions within the working class.

The costs of higher education, which since the end of World War II had been shouldered partly by the federal and partly by the state governments, were rapidly shifted onto the students and their parents. This meant that fewer poor students and people of color attended college, which erased the small gains made in the mid- and late 1960s. The students who did attend college after the early 1970s often had incurred enormous debts by the time they graduated. As a result, many of those who might have majored in anthropology a decade earlier now majored in business administration, not because they were fascinated with the material but because they perceived that the availability of well-paying jobs after graduation was more likely to be in the area of business.

At the same time, after adjustments for inflation, many college and university budgets stopped growing or had begun to decline-a condition that persists. Most anthropology departments expected the steady growth they had experienced earlier in their histories to continue indefinitely, but as a result of these no-growth budgets, by the mid- to late 1970s they had stopped growing (d'Andrade et al 1975). No new staff were added to their faculties, and frequently, faculty members who departed, retired, or died, were not replaced. The levels of financial support for graduate students declined, and there were significant shifts in the types of support available. There was steadily increasing reliance on marginally paid part-time teachers, usually graduate students who were either completing or had just finished their dissertations and were unable to find full-time employment in



the academy. This led to the rapid formation of two-tier faculties composed of tenure-track slots and temporary or adjunct positions with fewer benefits, if any.

As the number of tenure-track positions available in higher education declined during the late 1970s, individuals with doctorates increasingly accepted employment outside the academy in Cultural Resource Management (CRM) archaeology. Coincidentally, federal legislation enacted between 1966 and 1974 transformed the labor market for archaeologists. The centerpieces of this legislation-the Historic Sites Preservation Act of 1966, the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969, and the Archaeological and Historical Conservation Act of 1974-laid the foundations for CRM archaeology in the United States. This infra- structure has been buttressed over the years by an increasingly dense network of federal and state laws, amendments, and regulations that provide funds to record, recover, and preserve archaeological information that is threatened by federal, state, county, and even local action (Dworsky et al 1983, Schiffer & Gumerman 1977).

Despite the fact that a number of archaeologists in the private sector may have desired what they considered a superior position in the academy rather than one in the CRM firms, they eventually found employment in CRM. Ultimately, the decision regarding who would employ them was not theirs to make, and it had little to do with the quality of their work or their intellect. The reason for this shift in accessible options was that the "cultural capital" acquired and internalized by graduate school archaeology students, including those in the top-ranked programs, was no longer easily converted in the new labor market into the academic jobs the students had been trained to expect. As the archaeology profession became increasingly stratified, an important indicator of an archaeologist's position and employment was the date when the PhD degree was awarded. Archaeolo- gists trained before the early 1970s were more likely to hold positions in colleges or universities than those who received their degrees after the late 1970s. The internal stratification of the profession is sustained ideologically by both academic and CRM archeologists who give pure research priority over applied research and who choose to ignore the conditions that have underpinned the formation of a hierarchically organized labor market.

By 1980, an estimated 6000 individuals were engaged in CRM archaeology; knowledgeable sources estimate that 15,000 men and women worked on CRM projects in the mid-1990s. Although some were employed by various federal, state, county, and local agencies or by universities with CRM programs, the majority were employees or consultants for private firms that prepared environmental impact statements assessing the significance of the archaeological resources that would be affected by activities of the government, contractors, or land developers. By the mid-1970s, hundreds of CRM companies had emerged. Annual expenditures on CRM investigations reached their current levels of approximately $300 million in the late 1970s. Contract archaeology was big business, and CRM firms dreamed of making even more money when the federal government considered building a railroad network for its Star Wars initiative and

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cleaning up toxic waste at Superfund Sites, because both would require impact statements.

Why a society that has surrendered to the power of money in the market has supported CRM archaeology so lavishly since the 1970s and continues to do so is a question with myriad answers. Let us consider three. First, CRM was created in response to a widening of the antiquities market, marked by a change from an exclusive concern with movable objects to an emerging one with historic buildings and properties. Studies and restorations of buildings and properties on the National Register not only served to enhance their value during the real estate boom of the last 20 years, they also provided their owners with significant tax incentives and exemptions. Second, CRM and National Registry stamps of approval on the recycled historic buildings and properties are immediately visible displays and symbols of a heritage that links the present to an earlier real or invented tradition in a time of crisis (Bodnar 1992, Hewison 1987). Properties and historic districts-like Monticello, Ellis Island, or Independence Hall-underpin major networks of tourist, service, and commercial enterprises that add millions of dollars each year to local and regional economies. Third, in a less direct man- ner, these constructions of heritage not only shape our understandings of the past, they also constrain the kinds of society we can imagine for the future (Williams 1977:121-27). They bring to mind Orwell's [1983:32 (1949)] observation that "[w]ho controls the past...controls the future; who controls the present controls the past."

If the temporarily employed archaeologists who lack benefits represent the lower tier of the internally stratified profession in colleges and universities, then their counterparts in CRM archaeology are the archaeological field technicians. The men and women employed as field technicians usually have BA degrees in anthropology. They typically move from job to job, earn under $10/h, and receive no benefits. Since 1993, organizers from the United Archaeological Field Techni- cians have sought to unionize this segment of the profession. The managers and owners of many CRM firms, who are significantly better paid than the technicians, have fired or black-balled organizers to prevent unionization of this float- ing reserve of army labor. Some firms have also supported a federal regulation that would classify field technicians as unskilled or semi-skilled workers in order to reduce their wages to even lower levels. Managers and owners have provided diverse accounts of worker-owner relations in the industry that range from statements that there is no class structure in CRM because everyone is an archaeologist, to justifying the differences in wages and benefits because they are necessary if the company is to remain profitable, get contracts, and provide employment and training opportunities for the field technicians.

So far, none of the associations representing professional archaeologists in the United States have dealt at all with issues raised by the internal stratification of the profession or by the marginal employment or underemployment of sizable percentages of their members. Twenty percent of the SAA's 5000 members and the Society for Historical Archaeology's 1650 members reportedly earn under $20,000 per year, which is below the poverty level (Wall & Rothschild 1995:28,



Zeder 1997:78-109). It is also clear that most of the 15,000 men and women involved in CRM archaeology do not belong to one of these professional organizations. They have opted to purchase food and other essentials and struggle to keep alive dreams of jobs with salaries above the poverty level, health insurance and the other benefits enjoyed by colleagues who are better placed in the new labor market.

THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ARCHAEOLOGY ON THE EVE OF THE NEW MILLENNIUM

Various states enacted legislation during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, claiming that antiquities were part of the national patrimony and seeking to control both access to and traffic in these goods. In the 1980s, many countries, including the United States, agreed to honor a UNESCO convention stipulating that members would only import legally exported cultural properties. Although archaeologists have brought the effects of looting and smuggling to the attention of authorities and have overwhelmingly supported the legislation enacted to cur- tail these activities, the laws themselves have had only minimal effects. In 1990, the illicit trade in antiquities probably topped $1 billion per year, and the prices of these objects soared after the stock market crash of October 1987 (Acar & Kaylan 1990; Kaiser 1990, 1991). The laws have not stopped the looting. The plunder of Mayan archaeological sites is a growth industry now estimated at $120 million per year, and single objects, like a gold flap looted in 1987 from one of the recently discovered elite tombs at Sipan on the northern coast of Peru, regularly sell for more than $1.5 million (Dorfman 1998:29, Slobodzian 1997). The laws have also not stopped some museums from accepting gifts of illegally exported antiquities or prevented them from purchasing undocumented objects (Robinson & Yemma 1998, Yemma & Robinson 1998). Nor have they slowed the production of forgeries; according to a report, from a knowledgeable source, probably more than half of Sipan gold objects now in private collections were made after 1987. Nor have the laws prevented archaeologists from implicating themselves in the antiquities trade as buyers, appraisers, or unpaid-but-informed onlookers with good stories to tell collectors. However, the laws have succeeded in making the antiquities markets and traffic more specialized, complex, and secretive as the linkages connecting looters, forgers, dealers, museums, archaeologists, government officials, and private collectors have become more intricate (Brent 1996, Coe 1993, McIntosh 1996, Paul 1995, Steiner 1994).

Throughout the twentieth century, archaeologists and their professional associations have generally supported legislation that would protect archaeological sites in the United States from looting and destruction. In general, these laws have sought to limit access to material remains to professionally qualified and certified archaeologists. Even though their goal seems to be a noble one, since the early 1970s it has come under attack from two distinct quarters. One line of attack comes from the owners of plunder-for-profit operations who portray their activi-

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ties as archaeology and from looters who lament the fact that they do not have the same degree of access to archaeological sites as certified professionals (Elia 1991). These looters claim that what they do is no different from what professional archaeologists do (Powell et al 1993:27). Most archaeologists and the government adamantly disagree.

The other line of attack was launched by Native Americans who had long pro- tested the negative images of their people employed by archaeologists and the way archaeologists treated the remains of their ancestors (McGuire 1994; Trigger 1980, 1984, 1985; Zimmerman 1997). This protest came to a head in 1971 when members of the American Indian Movement disrupted an archaeological excavation in Minnesota by filling the trenches, seizing the collections, and destroying field notes. Maria Pierson, a Lakota Sioux woman, passionately described the emotions she felt when the remains of white people from a CRM-excavated site were reburied at a nearby cemetery, whereas the remains of Indians from the same site were placed in cardboard boxes and deposited in a natural history museum. Native American concerns about the treatment of the dead they claim as ancestors gained momentum during the 1970s. These resurfaced in the 1980s when a coali- tion of Native American groups pushed for and won federal legislation that had been resisted by the professional archaeological associations. Their efforts spanned two decades and culminated in the passage of a series of laws, including The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990 (NAG- PRA) (Ferguson 1996, Rose et al 1996). This law "... brought to the fore the issue of the reburial of human remains now in public institutions" (Zimmerman 1997:93).

What is apparent from the events that led to the passage of NAGPRA is the degree to which the professional associations, notably the SAA (but not all of its members), misinterpreted the depth of public sentiment in a milieu where scientists who do not produce microprocessors or computer software are typically portrayed as self-absorbed individuals who are either uninterested in, or unable to, address the pressing issues of the day. In a society where the vast majority of the population still feels sympathy for people oppressed by capital, the state, and their agents, Native American communities and their allies held the upper hand. In the late 1980s, the debate was structured by legislators on the Select Committee on Indian Affairs in a way that pitted Native American communities against archaeologists. It was not a difficult decision for them to sympathize publicly with Native American concerns and to simultaneously enact laws and amendments that have left the issues unresolved.

Federally mandated CRM excavations at the African Burial Ground in New York sparked similar concerns among the city's African-American communities in 1991 (Epperson 1997a,b; LaRoche & Blakey 1997; Perry 1997). As the extent and importance of the burial ground was increasingly understood, the descendant communities were concerned about how the cultural and physical remains would be interpreted and about the assumptions that would underlie those assessments. They specifically asked about the issue of accountability and how the archaeologists involved would address the interests of the descendant communities and



their claims on the cultural property. They pushed for, and got, investigators who heeded their concerns as well as those of the scientific community.

The events that led up to NAGPRA and the African Burial Ground situation are informative. The issues and the positions involved are much more complex than as presented by the media. They have sparked heated discussions, dialogues, compromises, working relationships, and even cooperation between archaeologists and the descendant communities in some states and regions but not in others. Another consequence has been that some descendant communities are becoming involved in the recovery and public presentations of their cultural traditions. The Zuni, Hopi, and Navaho, for instance, have long done the CRM archaeology required on their reservations, and many have their own museums (McGuire 1997:76). In late 1980s, the Mushantuxet Pequot used casino profits to launch extensive archaeological investigations in Connecticut and to establish a research institute concerned with Native American peoples. In 1995, the communities and scholars involved in the African Burial Ground project established an office of public education to provide current information about the burial ground and its interpretation. They are collaborating with trained professionals to challenge much of the archaeological profession for control over their own histories, how and where those histories should be portrayed, and how they should be interpreted.

WHAT IS TO BE DONE?

The archaeological profession must confront two problems in the new millennium. One is the marginal employment and institutionalized poverty of a growing number of its members. The other involves the recognition that other communities and groups have claims to the stewardship of the past that are as legitimate as those of the archaeologists. Resolution of the disagreements that will inevitably emerge requires a clear understanding of the different standpoints, structures of power, and politics involved.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people have shared their insights about the political economy of archaeology and provided constructive criticisms of my work on this subject. I want to thank Wendy Ashmore, Martin Beral, Karen Brodkin, Elizabeth Brumfiel, Carole Crumley, Terrence Epperson, Don Fowler, Christine Gailey, Peter Gran, Theresa Kintz, Mark Leone, Randall McGuire, Sarah Nelson, Robert Paynter, Warren Perry, Paul Rechner, Peter Schmidt, Neil Silberman, Karen Spalding, Bruce Trigger, Gordon Willey, Rita Wright, Alison Wylie, and Larry Zimmer- man for the help and clarification they have generously provided. Needless to say, I am solely responsible for the analysis in this paper.

Visit the Annual Reviews home page at www.AnnualReviews.org.

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Issue Table of ContentsAnnual Review of Anthropology, Vol. 28 (1999), pp. i-xxiii+1-652Front MatterPrefaceWhat is Anthropological Enlightenment? Some Lessons of the Twentieth Century [pp.i-xxiii]Nutrition and Politics in Prehistory [pp.1-25]The Chemical Ecology of Human Ingestive Behaviors [pp.27-50]Islamic Settlement in North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula [pp.51-71]War: Back to the Future [pp.73-108]Evolutionary Perspective on Human Growth [pp.109-153]The Political Economy of Archaeology in the United States [pp.155-174]Discourse and Racism: European Perspectives [pp.175-199]Mirrors and Windows: Sociocultural Studies of Human-Animal Relationships [pp.201-224]The Case for Sound Symbolism [pp.225-252]Environments and Environmentalisms in Anthropological Research: Facing a New Millennium [pp.253-284]Bad Endings: American Apocalypsis [pp.285-310]Whither Primatology? The Place of Primates in Contemporary Anthropology [pp.311-339]Moving Bodies, Acting Selves [pp.341-373]Sociolinguistics and Linguistic Anthropology of US Latinos [pp.375-395]Life History Traits in Humans: Theory and Empirical Studies [pp.397-430]The State of Culture Theory in the Anthropology of Southeast Asia [pp.431-454]Emergent Forms of Life: Anthropologies of Late or Postmodernities [pp.455-478]New Ecology and the Social Sciences: What Prospects for a Fruitful Engagement? [pp.479-507]The Human Adaptation for Culture [pp.509-529]Introducing Optimality Theory [pp.531-552]Evolutionary Psychology [pp.553-575]Africa, Empire, and Anthropology: A Philological Exploration of Anthropology's Heart of Darkness [pp.577-598]Back Matter [pp.599-652]

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