Working in cultural resource management is all about managing expectations. Practitioners expect a specific outcome or way of doing things without knowing how to gauge any level of success. We measure one another by subjective, undisclosed parameters and determine whether an archaeologist is bad or good. This archaeologist gets it, and this one does not. But we never can vocalize, nor have we tried to define what differentiates the two unilaterally. This is a dangerous system because you never know when your head might end up on a pike.
Some practitioners call it a gut instinct. Others create their subjective parameters that are attainable only to the Gods. The Register of Professional Archaeologists now has a detailed list of qualifications for what they think an archaeologist should or should not be. Still, some say having an RPA at the end of your name is more of a red flag than anything. Conversely, the RPA criticizes the Secretary of Interior standards for being too broad and lacking in enforcement. The State of Oregon SHPO has its standards that promote digging as the standard above all else. Of course, they have made the scattered exceptions for those they see fit to work in Oregon and shuffled off those not worthy of such an honor.
With some of the most powerful archaeologists in the Pacific Northwest enforcing completely inconsistent criteria, we are left with a tiny pond of new professionals left to the will of a mighty few to determine who makes the cut and who does not. These privileged professionals are in the position to decide who is good and who is not. This has set the tone within this field since before I worked in it. It is a workplace based on fear.
Throughout my career, I’ve heard many messages of dread. Students and colleagues have conveyed deep fears of presenting at conferences in front of certain professionals. I’ve seen stomach-churning anxiety over speaking in front of peers and mentors. Paranoia about saying, doing, or deciding a certain thing for fear of losing a job or ending one’s career over one mistake is too common.
All the while, I’ve seen a small set of archaeologists make continuous, habitual decisions that have cost tribes their sacred sites and their ancestry. They’ve misinterpreted laws to a desired outcome at the expense of tribal resources, ignoring or discounting tribal perspectives. They’ve abused their positions of power and taken advantage of their platforms to advance themselves and their friends at the expense of others. But there’s no accountability for those individuals. They and those who surround them benefit from a system that pedestals their voices at the cost of tribal cultural resources and subjects anyone who questions them to a higher level of scrutiny and ridicule.
I used to think that defining good and bad meant the difference between protecting and destroying tribal resources, but in its current state, it has very little to do with how one manages these resources. Others and I have fought hard to change the parameters of success in archaeology, at least in the PNW anyway. Mainly, we believed that managing tribal resources according to tribal standards was the epitome of CRM. To manage resources according to ancestral teachings was the highest honor. It’s been made quite clear that this is not a priority of CRM in the PNW. Professionals, some of whom are in positions of power, treat this approach as a futile effort on behalf of tribes to maintain what’s left of their physical representation on the land.
It’s been a harsh wake-up call. The lack of clear parameters for success creates chaos amongst its practitioners, where only select privileged individuals within specific power structures make the call of what constitutes a good or bad archaeologist. It is the ultimate, professionally, legally, and academically sanctioned goal-posting mechanism I’ve witnessed. I can see now why a tribal system isn’t a 100% fix because Indigenous knowledge isn’t accessible to most of its practitioners. Still, something other than the current system is worthy of consideration.
It is deflating to see young professionals and colleagues attempt to function in a system that so quickly discards its workforce over the most minor mistakes while rewarding those who seek to exploit the resources tribes fight to protect. Even more, it incentivizes exploitation.
This system will either change or not, and people will be held accountable or not. At the beginning of my career, I was incredibly optimistic about my role in making change and had high expectations. My only hope is that some part of our ancestry will still be out on the landscape when all is said and done. Because if there is, at least my descendants will know we did our best to fight for them.