Journal of Social Archaeology

It is common to view maps as simple reflections of the world. Maps, however, are more complex and dynamic. They are a potent form of spatial imagination and a powerful means of producing space. This article encourages archaeologists to experiment with, and to produce a multiplicity of, maps and other spatial images. As an example, this article juxtaposes two previously unpublished maps of Punta Laguna, Yucatan, Mexico: a site map created using traditional archaeological conventions and a visual cartographic history created using Indigenous Maya spatial ontologies. Because they depict space relationally, Indigenous Maya maps are arguably more congruous with contemporary social theories about space than are traditional Western maps. Further, the juxtaposition of two radically different maps of the same place highlights those mapping conventions that scholars often take for granted; demonstrates how specifically maps are selective and subjective; and emphasizes that Western worldviews are neither natural nor ubiquitous.

In this paper I examine the ‘heritage regime’ instituted at Hampi, Karnataka, India, consequent to its inscription as World Heritage, by analysing everyday material practices of conservation-management at the site through the lens of ‘care’. I argue that the regime is undoubtedly a bureaucracy as popularly imagined – but of care premised on knowledge and not of apathy. I suggest that various ongoing contestations amongst social actors are over the appropriateness of care, based on a particular visual aesthetic, which results in spatio-temporal material alienation of resident communities. Confusing consequence for cause, practice seeks to ‘engage’ with people whose alienation from ‘official’ heritage they are party to inevitably leads to everyday ‘heartbreak’ for experts, disillusionment among residents, and a conflicted position for local heritage agencies, albeit unintentionally.

This paper focuses on a collection of objects deliberately concealed beneath the verandah of a ward for middle-class, female, paying patients at Australia’s longest continuously operating mental health institution, the Royal Derwent Hospital in Tasmania. Cached in small discrete mounds across an area of some 50 square metres, the collection was probably concealed in the mid-20th century and contains over 1000 items of clothing, ephemera and other objects dating from 1880 to the mid-1940s. In achieving a possessional territory of such magnitude, this patient achieved a level of personal self-expression that is rarely encountered archaeologically, particularly within an institutional context. Analysis of this collection as an ‘underlife’ illuminates both functional aspects of the hospital and the hopes and desires of this particular, though still anonymous, patient and her vibrant world of things.

When they introduced cattle into Guatemala in the 16th century, Europeans also brought a whole new industry involving ranches, slaughterhouses, and new forms of labor. On the one hand, cattle producers had to treat the animals as intact living organisms requiring care and nurture to maintain and increase the herds. Those animals were grown by the ranchers for specific purposes. In the first place, colonial Mesoamerican cattle were raised to produce hides and leather for intercontinental trade with Spain. The regularized disassembling of the bovine bodies created these new products, but it also had some unintended consequences, namely the generation of new subject positions among the indigenous workers of these facilities. New forms of butchering techniques aimed at extracting animal parts were unlike the indigenous practices of animal hunting and exploitation, which aimed at preserving the physical integrity of the animals’ bodies. The newly introduced techniques that involved the compartmentalization of animal bodies also involved an increased compartmentalization of labor, accompanied by new body techniques and gestures. As the butchers and the tanners became enskilled, their bodies changed and so did their hexis. To operationalize these ideas, technological approaches combined with zooarchaeological (butchery marks), ethnographic, and historical evidence are used to investigate how humans and cattle mutually grew each other’s matter and subjectivities.

Archaeological evidence has been used to assess pre-contact occupation and use of land since the first modern Aboriginal title claim in Canada. Archaeology’s ability to alternately challenge, support, and add substantive spatial and temporal dimensions to oral histories and documentary histories makes it a crucial tool in the resolution of Aboriginal rights and title. This article assesses how archaeological evidence has been considered in Aboriginal rights and title litigation in Canada, both over time and in different types of cases. The examination indicates that archaeological data have been judged to be sufficient evidence of pre-contact occupation and use. However, some limitations inherent in archaeological data, especially challenges in archaeology’s capacities to demonstrate continuous occupation and exclude possibilities for co-occupation, mean that it is best used in conjunction with ethnographies, oral histories, and historical documents. So long as courts affirm that it is the sole material evidence of pre-contact occupation, archaeological data will continue to be considered in future litigation.