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The Political Economy of Archaeology in the United States
Author(s): Thomas C. Patterson

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

Author(s): Thomas C. Patterson

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