What is a better world is answered very differently, especially in intellectual circles, but also in society as a whole. At the same time, the existence of a “bad” world is implied. In my observation, the constants have shifted towards a “better” world in the last twenty years: the clear differentiation of society into rulers and ruled is no longer obvious and decisive, for example, within North American and European late capitalist societies or between the global North and the global South. The structural differentiation into ruling and oppressed classes has given way to a constructivist diversification of issues. The shift of financial resources by the rulers of the South to the North also points to the fact that the global differentiation of power structures no longer corresponds to the classical scheme of “imperialist” exploitation. Overall, we can observe not only an atomisation of individuals, but also an individualisation of resistances against a supposed late capitalist system.

Since the 1970s, scholars like Donella Meadows, Dennis Meadows, and Jorgen Randers (Meadows et al. 2022 [2004]: 383–454), have been actively proposing actions to guarantee the sustainability for life outside of the ideological framework imposed within the ‘Capitalocene’ (Moore 2016). In this specific context, activist archaeology certainly has a role to play in answering the questions: “is archaeology useful?” (Dawdy 2009: 131), or “why archaeology?” (Tilley 1989: 105; McGuire 2008: xi). The genesis of these questions likely emerges from the aim of millennial and Gen Z archaeologists to use their archaeological skills meaningfully, or at least in a way that does not harm people or the environment and preferably is somehow beneficial to communities. Thus, an activist archaeology is about reorienting the focus of archaeological research and emphasizing action itself as the heart of future research programs (Stottman 2010: 9) or even as a rescue program that seeks social, economic, political, and ecological justice. This active approach challenges and transgresses the traditional bounds of academic archaeology, rather than conceptualizing activism as a potential by-product of archaeological practice (McGuire 2008: xii).

Diesen Text schreibe ich aus meiner persönlichen Perspektive. Einerseits bin ich Archäologin, andererseits Aktivistin und verorte mich im linken politischen Spektrum. In einem selbstorganisierten Projekt habe ich 2015 auf Lampedusa Fluchtspuren mit archäologischen Methoden aufgespürt, dokumentiert und Objekte zur Anschauung mitgebracht, um im deutschsprachigen Teil Europas über die Grenzsituation aufzuklären, denn „the most violent element in society is ignorance“ (Goldman 1917: 2). Mit archäologischen Methoden möchte ich dieser Form der Gewalt entgegentreten, denn ich sehe den Nutzen archäologischer Methoden für Aktivist*innen. Dabei erfahre ich wiederholt Kritik aus dem Kollegium, welches befürchtet, die Wissenschaftlichkeit gehe durch solche Aktionen verloren. Im Folgenden beschäftigte ich mich daher mit beiden Aspekten. Hierbei werde ich beispielhaft immer wieder auf die Untersuchung der Fluchtspuren zurückgreifen und weitere Formen des Aktivismus aus dem linken Spektrum einbeziehen.

We seem to live in an age of euphemism. A recent article in The Guardian titled “Iraqi discoveries help shed light on British Museum treasures” explains the lack of provenience of some antiquities as “owing to the circumstances of their discovery and retrieval during the buccaneering period of early archaeology.” Neither the word “circumstances” nor “buccaneering” do justice to the colonial legacy of the discipline and the complex and asymmetrical power relationships that led to the exhibition of such “discoveries” in Britain. Even in the well-documented case of the Benin Bronzes, a journalist for the New York Times prefers to put the word “looting” in quotation marks in the article’s title and speaks of the “so-called looted works of art” in the text, despite the fact that the curator who is interviewed in the same article refers to the same sculptures as “indisputably looted.”

A guiding frame for much of my activism is contending with the juxtaposition of how the world is and how I believe the world ought to be (i.e. just). I also think deeply about how our research practice can create the conditions to get there (i.e. to a just world). Within this process I have found that justice flourishes within frameworks of care, generosity, and a heart-centered approach.1 These acts of kindness and care are radical within the (settler) colonial frameworks which inform, code, and maintain archaeological practice in most of the world today: a world in which care is coded as unscientific and biased. It is important to recognize that it is precisely in those spaces of care and kindness that transformative practices emerge.2 These gestures have the capacity to become healing balms for the many bodies of difference who experience the violence of the institution and academy.

Archaeologists have been in contact with Indigenous communities since the origins of the discipline during the 19th century. From the beginning, this relationship was fundamentally structured by the fact that academic archaeology reflects the development of European/Western modernity, nationalism, and imperialism. As a consequence, during archaeology’s long and complex history, the relationship with Indigenous communities has often been characterised by confrontations, disputes, and misunderstandings. The dominant worldview upon which archaeology stands, rooted in Enlightenment philosophies and materialism, is often in contradiction to Indigenous perspectives. This applies, for example, to notions of time and history, the position and roles of humans within the natural world, ancestry and personhood, distinctions between life and death, and the animated and unanimated. These fundamental differences, and the associated unequal power relations between researchers on the one hand and Indigenous communities on the other, have caused innumerable instances of the appropriation and/or destruction of heritage sites and built structures and the removal and theft of artefacts and human remains. Accordingly, archaeological practices have been causing pain and suffering for Indigenous communities. However, these aspects are not restricted to archaeology but are more broadly related to the idea and reality of modern science and research practice itself. The perspective of Indigenous communities is encapsulated in Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s statement that “scientific research remains inextricably linked to European imperialism and colonialism […] The word itself, ‘research’, is probably one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary” (Tuhiwai Smith 2012: 232). This understanding reflects the extensive and continuing experiences of objectification by Indigenous people in their engagements with researchers. It unmasks the position of Western (and other imperially rooted) science as yet another facet of extractive and exploitative practices of European domination. Indigenous communities have criticised that scientific practices can extract and claim ownership of Indigenous ways of knowing and heritage while excluding the people themselves from these processes and the subsequent results (Tuhiwai Smith 2012: 240).

Wer denkt bei „Aktivismus“ nicht zunächst an die Aktionen der Extinction Rebellion, den Aktivisten*innen von „Ende Gelände“ oder auch Fridays-for-Future-Demonstrationen? Diese werden oftmals mit spektakulären Aktionen verbunden, und leider zu oft werden diese nicht nur von einer rechten oder rechtskonservativen Presse mit Begriffen wie „radikal“, „militant“, „extremistisch“ oder gar „terroristisch“ belegt wie die jüngsten Ereignisse zu Lützerath oder die Bewertung der „Letzten Generation“ zeigen. Dabei gerät leicht aus dem Blick, das Aktivismus zunächst einmal ein politisches, soziales, ökologisches oder humanitäres Handeln meint und ein essentieller Bestandteil demokratischer Aushandlungsprozesses sein sollte.

The Indiana Jones memes have spoken: the Nazis are back, and archaeologists need to start punching heads. The current resurgence of the political far-right across many parts of the world presents a distinctive set of challenges and threats. Within archaeology some have responded with outrage, activism, and acts of resistance. Others remain uncertain how to respond: whether as citizens, professionals, intellectuals, or activists? How can we organise to amplify our messages and strengthen our efforts? Where should these efforts be targeted?

Whether because of the lack of funds or personnel, or the flooding, or intensifying hostilities that ultimately resulted in the deaths of several site workers, William Kennett Loftus’s excavations at Susa during the 1850s were far from an absolute success. This is not to say that the undertaking was an utter failure either; Loftus, after all, produced a detailed plan of the site and oversaw the uncovering of the Apadana – the audience hall of the Palace of Darius (Loftus 1857; Curtis 1993). He is also credited with identifying the site as the biblical Shushan. But after Loftus finished digging at Susa, British researcher and diplomat Henry Rawlinson stated that Loftus “had turned the mound of Susa topsy-turvey without finding much” (Curtis 1993: 15). Rawlinson was not the only one to feel this way. When the Dieulafoys arrived at Susa in the 1880s, Jane Dieulafoy politely described Loftus’s work as a series of “awkward attempts to secure an inscription” (J. Dieulafoy 1890: 42). In contrast to this, the Dieulafoys prioritized planning their expedition to be accurate, systematic, and thorough. In Jane’s own words: “it does not enter into my husband’s views to dig any holes whatever and to search, in the dark, for ‘museum-objects;’ excavations executed with method alone can give scientific results” (J. Dieulafoy 1890: 89).

Archaeology is indeed one of the whitest disciplines. In the report American Archaeologist carried out by the Society for American Archaeology (SAA), 89% of respondents identified themselves as having European ancestry, i.e. being white (Zeder 1997: 13). More recently, the 2020 Profiling the Profession report states that 97% of archaeologists in the UK are white (Aitchison et al. 2021). There are no official data for the European Association of Archaeologists (EAA), but I surmise a similar percentage of white people. There are only few initiatives whose work has been crucial to truly diversify ethnicity within the discipline, namely the Society of Black Archaeologists (SBA) and the Indigenous Archaeologist Collective (IAC) in the US and the European Society of Black and Allies Archaeologies (ESBAA).

At the beginning of 2011, thousands of demonstrators filled the streets in the cities and villages of different countries in North Africa and West Asia, demanding the demise of the ruling authoritarian regimes. In Egypt, people forced Egypt’s president Hosni Mubarak to resign after 18 days of mass protests. Shortly after these events, many teams of foreign archaeologists were back in Egypt to continue their work on the distant past (el-Aref 2011). (Archaeological) Business as usual. This was also true for us: PhD students carrying out their research in the eastern Nile delta at that time. As archaeologists, we reflect in this essay on how we could have taken and still could take a stance in the political events that occurred in Egypt from the 2011 revolution onwards.

Die Archäologie erweckt den Anschein, dass sie losgelöst von heutigen Gesellschaften vergangene Gesellschaften erforschen kann und dass sie dabei auch noch unpolitisch ist. Doch das Gegenteil ist der Fall: Vergangenheit und Gegenwart sind unausweichlich miteinander verbunden. Wie auch andere Wissenschaften, egal ob Natur- oder Geisteswissenschaft, findet Archäologie in den heutigen Gesellschaften statt und wird dadurch von denselben gesellschaftlichen und sozialen Aspekten beeinflusst. Da wir in einer kapitalistisch, patriarchal und kolonialistisch geprägten Gesellschaft leben, sind es genau diese Strukturen, die es zu verändern gilt. Daher verstehen wir, ein Kollektiv mit anarchistischen Ansätzen, es als Aufgabe unserer aktivistischen Archäologien, diese Probleme zu analysieren und den Status quo zu verändern. Zwei Fragen gilt es hierbei zu beantworten: Warum ist es notwendig eine aktivistische Archäologie zu betreiben und wie sieht diese aus?

Whether the cake on Mona Lisa’s “face” at the Louvre [1] or a Trojan Horse with oil company BP’s logo in front of the British Museum [2], recent art news consists of climate change, restitution, indigenous rights, transparency, representation, and fair employment protests in museums. But protest in museums is not new: In 1914 the Rokeby Venus painting by Velazquez was sliced as a protest against the arrest of a suffrage leader. In 1974, Picasso’s Guernica was spray painted in an act of protest against the perpetuators of Vietnam War massacres. More recently, “Just Stop Oil” protests have raised awareness of climate change issues, which stirred up new controversies around protests in museums.

Aktivistische Archäologie ist ein hochaktuelles Thema, nicht nur aufgrund eines wachsenden Interesses an der Beziehung zwischen Wissenschaft und Aktivismus im Kontext des Klimaschutzes, sondern auch wegen seiner bisherigen geringen Bedeutung in der deutschsprachigen Archäologie – im Gegensatz zur englischsprachigen Diskussion (siehe u. a. Zimmerman 2014; Little und Zimmerman 2010; Stottman 2010). Ein Definitionsansatz einer aktivistischen Perspektive sieht diese als Praktiken der gesellschaftlichen Intervention zur Verbesserung der Lebensumstände, meint also lösungsorientierte Aktivitäten in politischen, sozialen oder ökonomischen Bereichen. Im Hinblick auf die Archäologie scheinen mir zwei Ebenen im Zentrum zu stehen. Während sozialökonomisch orientierte Ansätze die Beziehungen zwischen Archäolog*innen und Gesellschaft in der Forschungsarbeit fokussieren (z. B. die Unterstützung lokaler Akteur*innen im Umfeld einer Ausgrabung), blicken erkenntnisorientierte Perspektiven auf das Potential archäologischer Forschung für gegenwärtige Debatten.