Artifact Issue 3 by Artifact magazine

ARTIFACT is... EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Eugenia Ellanskaya CO-CREATOR Laurie Hutchence CREATIVE DIRECTOR Dexter Findley EDITORS MaryAnn Kontonicolas Irrum Ali Lewis Glynn Dexter Findley Eugenia Ellanskaya CONTRIBUTORS Paris Loukaides Irrum Ali Lewis Glynn Eugenia Ellanskaya MaryAnn Kontonicolas Rosie Neill Dexter Findley Ashley Kruger

what's inside... 4..........If only all museums were like Dartford... Lewis Glynn names and shames the worst museum in Britain

6.........An anthropological guide to Christmas

Are consumption and commercialism the symbols of a modern Christmas?

8..........Intervew with Elizabeth Graham

Renegade with a motorbike to world-class Mesoamerican archaeologist.

12.........."I met a shaman, once..."

An Ecuadorian shaman in London

14..........An archaeological review of Apocalypto

Another year, another misinformed Hollywood adaption

The Alternative Papers from the Institute of Archaeology The manipulation of archaeology for poliical ends

18..........A brief historical timeline of Christmas

Competely true. Honest...

20.........."'Twas the night before PrimTech..."

An ode to primtech from our resident epic poet. Watch out, Homer...

22..........The Games Page

ARTIFACT is an independent Archaeology and Anthropology magazine made by students, for students. We are based at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL, London If you have any comments or enquiries, or wish to write for us, send an email to: artifact.ucl@hotmail.co.uk This magaize and its contents are ÂŠ 2011 All rights reserved.

If only all museums

There are many examples of bad museums in this world, with issues ranging from conservation, to display and even public interaction. But there is one, one museum that takes the award for the worst that has ever seen the pleasure of my company. I am talking about a museum that redefines the concept of negativity. This is a museum that hurls the perception of both museums and indeed archaeology back into the dark ages. For where is this terrible place you may ask? I talk of a dingy room that calls itself a museum in the heartland of Dartford. Dartford is located in the South East of England, bordering London but actually situated in Kent. If Kent is the garden of England, then Dartford is surely the compost heap with rotting apple cores festering in a grim world of sadness and despair. And I have the complete pleasure to call this place my hometown. To describe this place as terrible would be an insult to the cornucopia of terrible things that exist in this fair and wonderful world. The official description of the museum by Dartford Borough Council is “a free resource for the benefit of both residents of the borough and visitors from further afield”. To describe anything as a resource usually has the implication that it is in some way beneficial and important to a certain topic. The museum of Dartford is far from useful; vague descriptions, incorrect labels and a sad old man that sits inside a little box that seems to be the very antithesis of enthusiasm and social interaction. As the great philosopher Gimli of Lord of Rings fame once stated, “You’d find more cheer in a graveyard.” A museum should be a vibrant place filled with people, ideas and the stimulating scope of our human past. What one is greeted with upon entrance to this place is a spectral silence and a cold chill that shivers down into your soul. On visiting this museum throughout my life, not once has it been busy, or even well, popu4

lated by anyone other than me and the people I have gone with. The aim of the museum is to recall the story of Dartford and to explain more about the ‘archaeology’ that has taken place over the years. Not only are all the historical descriptions vague, but often they can be incorrect. Call it a typo if you will but when you see that the Paleolithic was 5,000 years ago you do start to question the credibility of the information. In terms of archaeology, Dartford is still living in the stone age, the archaeology society still refers to itself as “antiquarian” and excavations are still highly biased and undertaken in no methodological manner; well this is the impression you get from the museum anyway. Good job Dartford, doing your bit for advertising archaeology very well there. What better way to further elucidate on my argument than by recalling a quaint little anecdote that will forever baffle me to the very core of my being. For I am a student of archaeology, and when one holds said title, one must venture out into the ancient world. This journey can follow many paths, and one of these very paths is that of the museum. The museum is not only the beacon of the past, but the vehicle of communication between the archaeological and public world. For any archaeology student, to stand upon the front line of conflict is both a privilege and challenge. And so in the summer of 2011 (and no I am not about to burst into a terrible Bryan Adams cover) I took the decision to become the new volunteer of war. I had made my decision, and so I ventured into the dark depths of Dartford and found myself in front of the museum. With great fear and pride I took my steps into this building of escapism and wonder and enquired thusly, “I was wondering if there was any chance I would be able to volunteer in the Museum of Dartford for a while so I could further my skills within the wide world of archaeology”.

s were like Dartford...”

The state of Dartford archaeology as you may have realised by this point is at an all-time low, and so why would they not jump at the chance? What better way to improve the status of the museum than to hire (FOR FREE) a student of archaeology from one of the greatest archaeological institutes in the world. What follows may just destroy the very fabric of space, time and logic itself. “I am extremely sorry but we are just too busy to take on any volunteers at the moment, there is too much going on for us to be able to handle training a volunteer as well as keep up with the usual running of the museum. I hope you are able to find work somewhere else.” “Ok then well I guess that is fair enou – I’M SORRY BUT WHAT??” Witness now as I take every little part of that response and torturously tear it apart just so I can highlight the downright backward and mind-boggling mind-set of this so called museum for the people. I would very much like to know how you, the museum of Dartford, can claim you are too busy to take on volunteers. It must be cause for celebrations if daily visitors to this shoddy example of archaeological display reach double figures, and yet you can tell me you are too busy. So maybe I am being slightly harsh, I am sure the head of the museum spends a lot of time rearranging collections, cataloguing material and keeping the material as modern and relevant as possible. Wait what was that? It seems I was right first time, you spend your time sitting on your backside in your little box resembling what can only be described as the walking dead both in look and personality doing absolutely nothing from day to day. The museum has been the same for the 17 years I have been a resident of

Dartfordian shores. So I put this question to you, how on this sensible, down-to-earth planet are you busy? But fine, let us assume for one small second that this museum is just bursting at the seams it is so busy. I put this to you, surely hiring a student of archaeology who requires very little training would serve only to relieve this problem. With my help the museum could not only be dragged out of this never ending chasm of labour, but it may even raise the profile of the place. But no, the museum just cannot possibly accept the services of someone who will help you. Oh Dartford, your logic never fails to astound me. And so, if for any apocalyptic reason you find yourself staring upon the town, I urge you to pay the museum a visit. Not only will you annoy an old man, but you will be able to understand just how despicable a place this is. For many of you may think I have been unduly harsh on the museum, but I can promise you, pay this place a visit and clarity and realisation shall shine vigorously upon your person. What better reason to go to a museum than with the intention of annoying an old man in a little box? And so concludes my tale of suffering and anguish, and I hope that through this recollection, I have been able to do justice to the great majesty of the Museum of Dartford.

- Lewis Glynn

AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL GUIDE TO CHRISTMAS or, how Coca-Cola slyly stole the sea son of goodwill - By Irrum Ali

et’s start by stating that I’m a modern day scrooge – I’m no longer a fan of Christmas.This cheery optimism may underlie a large proportion of what you’re about to read so let me clarify why. I don’t have to dig deep to justify what’s not so merry about the festive season: Christmas in the 21st century western world has evolved in to an event that doesn’t seem to correspond with its original purpose anymore, for better or worse. As the years go by it’s not difficult for levels of cynicism to take over any sense of excitement there might have been (yes, I’m a joy to be around in December). So in seeking to explore it from an anthropological viewpoint, it’s easier than you think to blame Americanisation for the overload of nonsensical and expensive customs we’ve now come to associate with it. But wait - is Christmas today just an updated version of an old tradition? (let’s face it, we’re still celebrating the day, it just usually involves a binge of your favourite TV show box set too)Or has it in fact lost all meaning and succumbed to the grip of capitalism? And most importantly, has Santa usurped Jesus’ roleas the new poster boy for the festive period? Christmas tends to follow a similar pattern each year in contemporary Britain. The formula for what the day should include varies wildly with each person you ask, true, but it’s safe to say that there are some basic similarities: turkey, presents, decorationsand more than double your weight in chocolate (ahem, maybe that’s just me) being just a few things you’ll find in the 6

homes of most at this time of year. It’s fair to say that we’re growing ever further from a Christian celebration of love and instead towards the more secular notion of materialistic-based joy which may be the cause for its growing worldwide popularity. The UK may still be a Christian country but is there a place for Christmas in a cosmopolitan society?This is where Anthropology can help in looking past the glittery baubles and gaudy adverts and discovering, if you’ll excuse the Dickensian cliché, the true meaning Christmas… or at least its social significance nowadays. Growing up, Christmas meant one thing if you were a child here in Britain: presents. And not just any kind. It had to be THAT ONE; that one advertised to death on every TV channel, magazine and billboard in the preceding parent-badgering three months before the actual day. Partly because unwrappingit would be the single most anticipated event of the year and mainly because playing and/or bragging about it to your playground friends would bring unrivalled smugness. Now though,ourage means society, family and most notably advertising bigwigs demand that we’re bigger money spenders than ever before. Adverts bombard you from mid-September onwards with promises that your Christmas will only be truly special if you’ve got everythingfrom the latest hi-tech gadget for Grandma to if you’re using that exclusive edition of Fairy Liquid (it seems nothing is off-limits to festive marketing at this time of year) whilstsubtly pointing out that the love and joy you can achieve at this time of year probably corresponds with expenditure levels.

Cynicism aside, there are many aspects of Christmas that have long since cemented their place as essentials for making the day complete – with most sneaking in to daily life earlier and earlier in anticipation of the 25th. Whilst they may not have roots in religion, they’ve successfully earned a place in most of the homes, and consciousness, of Britain. Festive decorations, Christmas trees and the exchange of Hallmark cards all begin to make an appearance by marking the start of the annual countdown to the big day. Many of these have been implemented as recently as the 20th century, and have no actual relevance to the birth of Jesus and yet are clear markers of the season. Whilst Christmas trees may look pretty, their incorporation signals the growing relevance they play in creating a festival that is less about Christianity and more about symbolic activity;decorating the tree is a classic example of a family ritual and bonding time over the festive period. As for the day itself, well it’s a bounty for anthropologists to analyse. No day would be complete without the joyous Christmas dinner – days of preparation culminating in dosing yourself up to the eyeballs with more carbohydrates, sprouts and sugar than is strictly necessary. Whether it’s with your immediate family or what seems to be a small army of relatives, the table probably contains a Turkey (not introduced as the pride of place in the meal until the 16th century), roast potatoes, sprouts, carrots, gravy and stuffing (not forgetting probably a dessert consisting of mince pies and of course Christmas pudding). The act of eating this mammoth meal is one that is quite similar to a Sunday roast – it again follows the theme of family togetherness and unless you’re in an Eastenders Christmas

special, involves delighting in the always enjoyable act of eating, laughing, sharing stories and generally bonding. Where anthropology needs to tread carefully however is generalising what definitively makes Christmas when we’re all aware that it’s different in each home you enter. A typical Christmas for some may include all of the above where as others may not be so lucky and face the period alone – is one more fulfilling than the other? And if so, who’s setting the criteria? What we can only hope to do is study how and why the whole bloody country participates in a frenzied countdown from early November onwards which seeks to build up massive expectations before the day’s even arrived. The excitement in buying gifts, discussing plans and preparing menus is rarely this high and it can probably be put down to factors outside of religion: what with modern life not taking a breath it seems the chance to enjoy good company and fine food only comes round once a year. The festive season, being celebrated increasingly by non-Christians worldwide, is largely becoming an event with less religion and yet more symbolism, with the promotion of the ideals it stands for coming to the fore – love, family, joy and if Tiny Tim’s taught us anything, goodwill. And whilst these aspects arethe main concerns for many on the actual day, we can’t escape the fact that materialism has jumped on the bandwagon and is playing a huge part in its run-up by dictating what we should include. But is this a bad thing and should we really care? Well that’s a matter of opinion, but it’s safe to say it doesn’t look like it’s giving up anytime soon.

Now it's gone global, learn to say 'Merry Christmas' to your foreign friends: SPANISH: Feliz Navidad KOREAN: Sung Tan Chuk Ha ITALIAN: Buone Feste Natalizie URDU: Naya Saal Mubarak Ho AFRIKAANS: Gesëende Kersfees GERMAN: Froehliche Weihnachten THAI: Sawadee Pee Mai PAPUA NEW GUINEA: BikpelahamamasblongdispelaKrismasnaNupelayia i go long yu 7

Artifact talks to Elizabeth Graham

She’s a familiar sight to many of us: she may even be your tutor. But familiarity can be deceptive. Under the veneer of a friendly, approachable member of the Institute staff lies a world-class Mesoamerican archaeologist. She’s worked in Belize for nearly 40 years, in which time she has become the go-to expert on that region. Her ideas are controversial, her books are outstanding. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Liz Graham!

For those who don’t know you, describe yourself in three words. Need more words. Nice one. What made you decide to be an archaeologist? Well, Belize decided for me. That’s the short answer. The long answer is that I had always had an interest in ancient history. After some digging in England in 197172, I tried graduate school in Wisconsin. I dropped out after a term and volunteered for a dig in British Honduras, although I wasn’t quite sure where British Honduras was. I hitched a ride from Madison, Wisconsin to Miami, got on a plane (at a cost of $50.00) and flew to Belize City. The dig was called the Corozal Project so I assumed it was in Corozal. Ha. But that’s another story. Ultimately I located the dig director in Orange Walk and joined the project. I was put to excavating a small ceremonial centre near a village called San Estevan. At the end of the day (literally) I was never picked up on time, so I would start walking along the road back to town--I use the word “road” loosely--past uncleared forests, and the occasional house compound. It was the beginning of the dry season, and the bush flowers had a wonderful scent that was like a mixture of honey and fresh coffee. I would meet the occasional sugar cane truck (unfortunately driving in the opposite direction). One day, white with limestone dust from both digging and walking, I was resting on the shoulder of the road (to avoid the ants), enjoying the scent of honey and coffee, and it came to me: “This place is for me.” Why archaeology then and not some other discipline? Good question, because I also considered anthropology. First, archaeology involved a lot of physical exercise and I like staying in shape on the job (I hate gyms). I also liked the irony of having a Ph.D. that depended on playing in the dirt. In addition, I could maintain a ‘communist’ (small ‘c’) life style on digs, and by this I mean sharing with others, often under tough conditions where we work together and share goals. Finally, I liked working alongside the Maya on digs and was a bit apprehensive about ‘studying’ them, although since those early days I’m much more aware of how problematic archaeology can be in the lesser developed world. 8

Who were your heroes growing up? Dracula and Superman. Now that I am all grown up, my heroes are Pierre Clastres, Wilkie Collins, Michele Yeoh, Julie Walters, Jason Statham and Lee Mack. Good answers! Best we’ve had so far. Now, tell us a bit about your undergraduate experience. I’m a bit embarrassed about this. I learned a lot in secondary school and in graduate school, but I plateaued as an undergraduate. I was a URI Ramette for a couple of years (I’ll let you google that one), but then Women’s Liberation came along. I spent a lot of time in Washington, D.C. or Boston or New Haven participating in antiwar protests, civil rights marches or Black Panther rallies. In fact I have the distinction of having our university president say that if I didn’t like it at URI, why didn’t I leave? I ran for student council president on the platform of abolishing student government. I read history, mainly history of the Middle East. The lecturers used to invite us to have classes in their homes, so instead of the one hour per day, three times a week in a classroom, we’d spend three hours in the evening at a lecturer’s house going over readings, sipping wine, discussing how to save the world. On weekends we’d often go to Providence to meet at my friend Gary’s parents’ house—Gary was the president of the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society. . . or was it Students for Democratic Action??). His mom would play Mah-Jong with her friends until we finished our Life-of-Brian-style tactical discussions (What did the capitalist war mongers ever do for us?)—then she would generously feed us all, although sometimes we numbered a dozen. We were definitely family-oriented socialists! Or we’d talk till late in the morning and then go over to Joe’s sandwich shop. When I graduated, we purchased two houses deep in the woods along a river, and formed the short-lived Woodville Collective. I worked as a waitress in an Italian restaurant about 40 miles away and had a motorcycle, which I would ride home along coastal roads and then through the woods. I remember the beauty of the full moon, especially when it snowed. I still have my motorcycle jacket and it’s prettier than Stuart Laidlaw’s.

Liz up a tree, doing her thang... Tell us which digs you’ve been involved in. In 2013 I will have worked in Belize for 40 years. I’ve dug all around Belize except for the far south in Punta Gorda, although I was responsible for sites there when I worked for the Belize government as the head of the archaeology department in the late 1970s. I love it all but my favourite sites are in mangrove swamps along the coast. Other than Belize, I worked at Skeleton Green in Hoddesdon, Hertfordshire, which was, before a highway ran through it, a Romano-British site. I also worked at Hoxne, a Lower Palaeolithic site in Suffolk. Hoxne is closest to my heart. I had planned in fact to study lithic technology. It was just that Belize got in the way. What is one rule and tool every archaeologist should have? Work hard, play hard. Hydraulic jack. The interview with Liz is continued over the page...

What do you think of your students at UCL? Students were a critical factor in my decision to stay at the Institute. Because of students’ enthusiasm and interest and willingness to learn, I felt that for the first time I could do what I was supposed to do: teach. I loved teaching in Canada but the powers-that-be introduced tuition fees and then kept increasing the fees, and this affected the students and their attitudes towards learning. It is not that they lost interest. It was just that the financial burdens--including the debt that would greet them upon graduation--affected the time they had available for study. It was partly plain worrying that got to them, but they would also take on full-time jobs to lessen their debts. Now. . . England has decided to go the way of North America. You have caused quite a stir by suggesting that the Aztec practice that is popularly believed to be ‘human sacrifice’ is actually warfare. . . with delayed killing. 1) How did you come to this conclusion? 2)Why do you think other academics/members of the public are so reluctant to see it from this perspective? The whole ‘human sacrifice’ shtick never sat right with me. I would never let my husband go off to war repeatedly for no gain, only to provide a priest with hearts. So I asked myself, why do people go to war? And the answer is always economic. Religion is the cover. I figured that capturing people probably had an economic consequence, which makes a whole lot more sense. Capture in war gave the captor rights to his captive’s tribute. This is why so much attention in inscriptions is given to captives. Also, it was not Aztec practice to kill in the heat of fighting. If people were going to die, they were killed later in temples. This was their way of waging war. But I also looked at the idea of human sacrifice more broadly, and Corinna Riva helped me with this. She said that the notion has pretty much been deconstructed in the Mediterranean world. But people like to think of the New World as weird and exotic, and lots of academics have built careers on explaining ‘human sacrifice’.

Excavating. Left, with her husband David; and right, with some human remains.

Tell us about your fieldwork in Lamanai. What’s the nightlife like? When I first worked at Lamanai with my husband and his team (1979 to 1986), we were very isolated. We had our own camp in the bush—our sons were there, too--and we rarely saw visitors. But the crew always got together for drinks at night, and often when visitors came, there were some individuals (a palaeobotanist who shall remain nameless) who would literally hang from the rafters. From 1998 I’ve been staying in an eco-lodge called Lamanai Outpost, built alongside the lagoon, which offers reduced rates for researchers. Nowadays there is also accommodation in nearby Indian Church Village. Lately we have been concentrating on best practice for the collections rather than on excavating more temples or palaces. As for night life, the hotel has a great bar, and we get a researchers’ discount, but often we go to the village and drink Belikin beer or rum and coke in the local restaurant run by the village women’s cooperative, which also has great tamales and rice and beans. The night life on Ambergris Caye is quite different, because there are so many tourists and restaurants and thatch-roofed bars looking out on the Caribbean. But digging conditions are really tough on the caye , so the night life is a fair balance. 10

Your latest book discussed the popularity of Christianity among the conquered Maya. Are your research interests shifting towards later time periods? Yes and no. I’ve been working on aspects of the Spanish colonial period since 1984. Right now my research is shifting to the British colonial period in the Maya area, as well as to resource use and the long-term impact of humans on coastal environments. Is there a particular region or country you haven’t yet been but you’d like to do research in the future? I’ve always been keen to learn more about how urbanism developed in tropical forest regions in general, so I’d love to visit southern India or Sri Lanka, and perhaps southeast Asia. But northern England is also a region I’m considering. Because I’m interested in the long-term effects on the environment of resource use and waste, particularly carbon, I think that studying the effects of slag dumped along the coast by the coal mining industry is critical, and I’ve done some preliminary reconnaissance along the coast of County Durham this past summer.

Hot damn: Liz washing some nappies in the ‘80s. Those crazy ‘80s... Will the current cuts affect your research? They already have done so. I received no funding last year, and granting bodies are becoming more and more restrictive. New or innovative inter-disciplinary projects, especially with an international component, are becoming increasingly harder to fund. What are your hobbies outside archaeology? Well, work is pretty much my hobby. I use cast-iron pans for cooking, so I don’t need to lift weights; our flat is on the third floor, so I don’t need a gym. But when I can, I love jitterbug (also known as swing dancing or lindy hop—from the 1930s and 1940s); there are great dance venues all over London. I also do contemporary dance at The Place. And in Belize I like diving, both scuba and snorkelling, although I rarely get the chance. Will the world really end on December 21st 2012? Does this wacky belief have any actual bases in Maya mythology and calendrics? That day is the end of one of the time cycles that the Maya used. The cycle is called a baktun and it’s 144,000 days (about 400 of our ‘years’). So I suppose the nearest equivalent for us conceptually would be a millennium, which is 1,000 years, and lots of people got antsy when the year 2000 kicked in. It’s human nature to worry about change, even though the calendars we use are arbitrary. This particular baktun ending has drawn attention because it shows up on a monument from a site called Tortuguero in Tabasco, Mexico. My colleague Sven Gronemeyer, who is studying for his Ph.D. at La Trobe University in Australia, has deciphered the inscription. It describes the return or ‘passage’ of a Maya god at the end of the 13th baktun. But there is nothing apocalyptic about it. The end-of-the-world idea has no basis in Maya belief, but millennial movements have always been a big thing in the U.S., and the whole idea of a 2012 apocalypse arose there, not in the Maya region. What should be a quote for your students to live by? ‘Klaatu barada nikto.’ Liz was talking to MaryAnn Kontonicolas and Dexter Findley

I met a shaman, once... Eugenia Ellanskaya recounts her close encounter with a real shaman

s anthropologists we casually dip our minds into discussions of ethnography and some remote enchanting tribes, we are doomed to either romanticise them or develop a somewhat pragmatic scorn for their misery and deprivation. I somehow think that it’s the former that makes you a true anthropologist, who with a sure gait led by Levi-Strauss’ wise rebellion against globalisation can help to keep ethnography alive, rather than merely illustrate its wicked failure to fit in. The lush grass of Ecuador or Ituri is more than on the other side of the fence and is very enviable indeed. It might be my personal idealist fancy but as a firstyear I was utterly enchanted by the life of Pygmies in Jerome Lewis’ personal delivery of insights into their existence, which had beforehand hardly touched me enough to care. Suddenly and strangely my life was becoming complete: the life of Mbendjele and their subtle wordless manipulation of social fabric seemed then, and still does now, to give me the breath of otherness that I for so long was trying to grasp. Somehow, being stuck in the world of needs and wants, there seemed to be a remote and fragile lazaretto of alternative. A controversial statement among anthropological academia, these men are very wealthy indeed, only it is not through the infinite satisfaction of their boosting demands, but, on the contrary, via a state of wantlessness, something that is unfamiliar to us. The remoteness of these people has led me too to romanticise them, making my encounter with Delfin, a shaman from Ecuador, even more bizarre and freak-smile inducing. 12

The idea is still strange to me, as I remember walking to a very normal SOAS room on a hyper-civilised London evening. People of all sorts gathered outside the room as part of the Native Spirit Festival. The shaman is late. Having never travelled beyond his home among Secoya people of Ecuador, passportless, different and confused, this 80ish year old man must have had a hell of a journey. As the room let him in, small and timid, paced and smiling, dressed in a bright tunic, beads and a feathered head-dress, all my overly-idealised fantasies have found solid matter. Delfin Payaguaje is an Elder at his community and has been passing on the wisdom of plant healing for several generations. Capable of identifying several thousand species of plants, he somewhat disappointed the visitors, eager to gain recipes to good health and remedies from radical diseases as he named obscure plants, that only Ecuador ever knew. This is not to discredit his knowledge, which is being recorded and validated, if you like, by the local authorities. But for me that was not the quintessence of our encounter. One of the optimistic discussions on the side of the curious concerned the possibility of recreating the intimacy and beauty of organic Secoya life in nature here, in London – a question I would too naively ask myself with an air of hypocritical hope. Could our human warmth and intimacy (or rather claustrophobic proximity) in the urban world do the trick? The shaman, undoubtedly bewildered by his trip, shakes his head in a slight mute smile. The idea of his perception of us and the accumulation of architecture, the second nature, its people, made me rather comically concerned that his shamanistic sensitivity could all of a sudden be overwhelmed and mutilated by the clamour of our life.

When asked about his methods in detecting potential medicines, the shaman casually outlined the process in a grandmotherly soothing tone of his bird-language: the plants have spirits and the spirits speak and stand out among many others. The plants however are not generally fond of human company, who to them are reminiscent of some noisy and mean monkeys, so that their “séances”, enhanced by self-induced trance or with the aid of special substances (with which as students we are probably too familiar) are kept in remote places of the forest, explains the shaman’s interpreter. Now, before you make your, what you think is, sober judgement of this, look back at his face. Is it a face of a charlatan, or a madman? Or even more trivially: is Delfin high? Looking at the face of that man for two hours or so, I couldn’t stop being amazed at his calm composure, that imperturbable eternity of his being. I, being too a prisoner of my wants, felt simply ashamed even in my then moderately dressed up look next to him. What

baffled me the most was that lack of concern in the shaman, absence of that commercial ambitious twitch and tension of the body, that constant discontent seen in our every movement, as we expect and demand more, be it fashionable things, high-paid jobs or fancy company. The wantlessness of Delfin is his biggest strength, enabled in part by his remoteness from the informational noise of civilisation. Strangely, the more we know, the less we care for the things that were once fundamental to us, so we end up believing nothing and caring for nothing, not listening anymore – the tree of knowledge failure all over again? Yet the intimacy that Delfin shares with nature, as he remains probably unaware of such things as internet and the many other glorious modern miracles we are so eager to know and learn , paradoxically is the source of his unique and un-plagiarised knowledge. This knowledge is of our original first nature, once limitless and untransformed. For me this is the beauty of that man and those other like him – that tranquil unpossessed state of wantlessness.

have to admit when it was decided that I would be reviewing Mel Gibson’s Apocalyptofor Artifact, in all honesty I was a little nervous. You can guess that any historical film,such as this one, will always be heavily scrutinised and analysed by the many archaeologists and enthusiasts who feel obliged to try and attack something other than the man, Binford himself, who gives everyone a headache at one stage or another. Howeverif you are just a dork/lazy individual,like myself, trying to find something to distract you away from your work, although at the same time notto make you feel entirely guilty about it because your distraction is still mildly related to ancient civilisations, then this is a film for you. Indeed as I hit that red “x” button at the top right of my screen closing down an essay I had proudly only written the title for, I was excited and curious to see the “riveting thrill ride” , as Heat magazine enthusiastically described it, that crazy old Mel had come up with. As it stands trying to recreate a film that was to be set during the Mayan period, showing deep, intense jungle settings and an overwhelming Mayan city is no easy feat. Indeed, as I read the blurb on the back of the DVD box, I got more jumpily excited and ridiculously hyper as I put the shiny disc into my laptop. Whether or not that excitement and hyperness I felt stemmed from the fact that I had stopped writing an essay I was doomed to fail anyway or the fact that I had, before writing my essay, downed about three cups of Nescafe Blend 37did not matter. The point is I felt good before watching the film anda staggering 2 hours and 12 minutes later I can quite firmly say I was still on a high. What anyone watching this film has to accept is that it may not be completely historically accurate, but I think they have made a good attempt nonetheless. Obviously, just as with any historical film, most of the time a balance needs to be found between the entertainment value and its historical accuracy anyway. Indeed, as I know very little about the Maya, of course I would not be able to point out all the little flaws of the film with regards to historical accuracy. However it is still clear that a large amount of research went

into creating Apocalypto, especially in the Mayan city. Either way the film did not look as though it had been made by a bunch of clueless people looking to recreate a wacky fictional version of an ancient Central American civilisation Just from the appearance of the many people in the film, with their various facial piercings, large, fairly painful-looking earrings, numerous tattoos and clothes (which was for the most part barely anything), I was already thrown into this other world that I thought did a fairly good job at reflecting a small amount of the stereotypical Mayan civilisation I had got into my head from different stories, books and even TV documentaries that I managed to actually stay awake through. Moreover you are thrown into a jungle setting and this amazing Mayan city that the film makers actually built. The ancient Central American civilisation atmosphere and feel is definitely there, regardless of how accurate the movie may or may not be. Still, I do not intend to spend my time analysing whether or not Apocalypto is accurate, as I do not believe that is what makes a good movie and besides Dr Elizabeth Graham has done that for me. You have to remember, this film is not made specifically for archaeologists but for the entertainment of the general public. What I can say, however, is that if you are one of those people who insist that this film crosses the line of being so inaccurate it becomesrubbish, in all honesty, I think you would have more fun to go and rent the last Indiana Jones film, as you could have a real party condemning the fact that an early South American tribe was in contact with aliens. From the start of Apocalypto I was gripped. Not in the sort of way where it was like watching an accident slowly happening before you that you cannot tear your gaze away from, but more in the sense where it was just fascinatingly intense. I believe Mr Gibson should receive a gold star and a brownie point for creating such a fast-paced, jungle-tribe atmospheric film. I wouldn’t quite go as far as Zoo magazine and say that it was so immense it was “like being tied to a heart defibrillator for two hours”, because let’s be honest you’d be dead from jumping and gasping, but the film did have a great simple action plot that picks up right at the start and continues all the way through.

My only concern about the film is that there is a fair amount of brutal gore, reasonably realistic fight scenes, somewhat explicit sacrificial scenes and lots of tomato ketchup. For anyone out there who is not a fan of these and more a fan of chick flicks, maybe this is not so much your type to go away and see. On the other hand, with a small note especially for you girlies out there, Apocalyptocan closely compete with the Twilight Series. Why see just one or two guys without their shirt on, when you can see a whole group of sweaty, grimy, rained-on, pretty much butt-naked men running through a jungle firing arrows and swinging clubs. If you are also a fan of the type of films where someone eventually takes so much punishment and grief they go Rambo on all the baddies, then again this is the film

A Jaguar Warrior. Someone’s been playing a bit too much Age of Empires...

for you. However although I have implied there is a lot of action and adrenaline pumped into the film, it is not to say that there is no element of romance. As said on the blurb, the main character, Jaguar Paw, “driven by the power of love for his wife and son, makes an adrenaline-soaked, heart racing escape to rescue them”. What a lad. In conclusion it is definitely a film to watch. It is unique in its setting and script, and, believe it or not, I can’t actually complain too much about the acting. Moreover I could watch it again and again. It’s not a film that can only really be watched once and then placed at the back of your DVD collection where the heavy dust settles and all manners of horrible spiders lurk. So my glorious rating to finish: 4 out of 5 trowels. It is a very entertaining film and personally I think it was worth the small amount of money I paid for it.

udge h an extra from Ju-On: The Gr wit f, sel him ite em ti-S An e Th

testines!!!” “Look, ma: no in

- by Paris Loukaides - pics and lulz by DF

Some Mayan guy having a Platoon mo me

A-PIA

The Alternative Papers from the Institute of Archaeology

“Who controls the past controls the future: the manipulation of archaeology for political ends.” - Dexter Findley

f you stand back and think where the majority of people garner their historical knowledge from, the results are rather startling. Education is, of course, a primary channel. As are museums, books and TV programs. But what you soon realise is that all of these sources are secondary – and the conduits through which the information passes are far from infallible. Of course, bias is a given in any information relay. We’re human, after all. But what is really interesting is how certain institutions with the power of knowledge dissemination knowingly and insidiously create histories that are beneficial to them, and how they use archaeology as a tool to achieve this. Even in a basic, non insidious sense, in most schools historical events of international importance are always taught from the host nation’s perspective, and the remaining syllabus is usually made up of the history of that given nation. Essentially, there is nationalistic bias inherent from the start of a person’s education. While this is probably not an example of a conscious attempt on behalf of the host government to indoctrinate the nation’s young, it is an inevitable by-product of most countries’ education systems. At the more severe end there are instances where the teaching of past events is mindfully altered to serve a present-day political motive. For a long time in southern Africa it was “historical truth” that non-African Caucasoid peoples built the site of Great Zimbabwe. This fabrication was longstanding: it began as soon as Europeans encountered the site and in some places continues to this day, despite overwhelming archaeological evidence to suggest otherwise. This is an ex16

ample in which false archaeological data was instrumental in maintaining the charade. It was claimed, for instance, that the typology of soapstone and iron artifacts and other finds at the site were similar to ones found in the middle east. There was even some very dubious linguistic work done that linked the word ‘Zimbabwe’ with the Queen of Sheba. This whole pretence was constructed because it was economically and politically damaging for the European imperialists to admit that the local black people were anything but subhuman. The idea that they could have created such an awe-inspiring monument could have implied they were civilised, and the equals of the Europeans, and thus could have called into question the way the imperialists exploited them. It is not just states, however, that manipulate the past in this way. While their methods of knowledge dissemination are weaker than those of governments, certain organisations create manufactured pasts to suit their own ends. For example, the infamous BNP, as part of their so-called ‘white history month’ endorsed a white-supremacist book called ‘March of the Titans’ which used extensive, and often completely fabricated, archaeological evidence to further its idea of a single, unbroken Nordic ‘race’ that supposedly included everyone from the pharaohs to Adolf Hitler. Even the conclusions of some archaeological academics has been claimed to be the manifestation of underlying political motives. A 1999 paper from Zhang et al. describes how the early human remains they were studying in China were not from African descent, leading them to conclude that the Chinese race evolved as a separate (and thus the implication being ‘superior’) branch of humanity. In this example the manipulation of evidence is much more subtle from the previous examples, especially since a theory similar to this, the ‘multiregional hypothesis’ proposed by Milford Wolpoff et al. in 1988, was once considered fair scientific game.

Enough examples. Let’s take a moment and think about the core ideas these governments, institutions and organisations use to manufacture the past. Now, hopefully some of you will have got the ‘1984’ reference in the title of this paper: this is because, as far as I can see, it is through an extraordinary act of doublethink that these organisations create their own histories. What they do is invoke two mutually exclusive, but very powerful illusions: permanence and progress. On the one hand nations or organisations impose their modern identities on the past, creating the idea of an unchanged normative type, and on the other hand they persuade the general public to believe that the human race (but specifically the nation) has been in a constant state of progress. Examples can be seen everywhere, even in this very city. The statue of Boudicca outside the Houses of Parliament is meant to invoke a sense of national pride in the face of adversity, but Boudicca has no more ties to modern Britain than Frodo Baggins does. But we are meant to see that statue, see her chariot and her raised spear, and at once get a sense of the permanence of the British spirit and of the great progress we have made in the past 2000 years. The fact that none of the countries that make up Britain today existed back then has obviously been overlooked. This is just one example, of course. Equally, the human body found in China mentioned before is in no way Chinese, just as the BNP’s idea of a singular Nordic race is one of pure myth. Ultimately national identities are human constructions that have no basis in objective reality. I’d like to take a moment to discuss the idea of progress. As mentioned before it is a concept that is often invoked in the doublethink of creating a politically useful past. While this may run the risk of becoming too philosophical, it is interesting to think of archaeol-

ogy’s role in the creation of this idea. We usually envision progress as an unceasing torrent, flowing in one direction from the dark recesses of the past towards a brighter, better future. When you think about it, social mechanisms themselves haven’t changed much at all since the advent of agriculture and the subsequent rise of non-egalitarian societies. It is the progression of technology, something that archaeology sometimes becomes very obsessed with, that has come to create an illusion of constant, unstoppable human progress. It is, of course, probable that technological progress is our extrasomatic adaptation to our environment; but the idea of constant social progress, a keystone of most politically manufactured pasts, is almost certainly illusory. Where does all this leave archaeologists? One could probably argue that archaeologists should maintain a professional distance from politics and social organisations and the like, and concentrate on interpreting their data in the most objective way possible. But we all know in reality that’s impossible. Archaeologists are humans, just like everyone else. And whereas the number of archaeologists with ulterior motives is probably far less than the number who generally strive for politically or socially neutral interpretations; they cannot stop other less informed or less scrupulous individuals from using their work as evidence for their own insidious motives. Peoples’ concern about such practices, while not unfounded, is impotent. Whenever a piece of work in any discipline is created, there are going to be some people who wish to manipulate it for their own ends. It just so happens that archaeology’s field – the study of the humans in the past – is a ripe for the plucking for people looking for power. As E.J. Hobsbawm said: “Historians (and I guess archaeologists) are to nationalism what poppy growers are to heroin addicts”.

If you have a (quasi-?) academic paper you’d like published, contact the Artifact team at the following address: artifact.ucl@hotmail.com

A (PARTLY) HISTORICAL TIME-LINE OF CHRISTMAS. Oh dear. It’s got to that stage in the magazine when things start to get rather silly. It’s all downhill from here, guys.

4.54 Billion Years BCE Earth created, heralding the first winter. Weather on Christmas day was sulphurous with a chance of meteors. c.9,000 BCE People enjoyed Christmas so much this year that they petitioned the Earth for a longer winter. They got it: cue the Younger Dryas. 4004 BCE Date when Young Earth Creationists/silly people believe the first winter happened. *generic prehistory* Numerous winter festivals are proposed to have been celebrated by different civilisations worldwide. c.2200 BCE Stonehenge built. Along with the numerous UFO landings and human sacrifices that were conducted there, it is conjectured that the site played a prominent part in winter rites for the good people of Wiltshire. 217 BCE The Roman festival of Saturnalia is introduced, a week-long party starting on December 17th and ending on the 23rd. It involved present-giving and general merriment. 200 CE The first ‘real’ Christmas is celebrated… on the 20th of May. In Egypt. Wtf. 4th century CE The first textual mentions of Yule, or Jul, a prehistoric Germanic/Norse winter festival with more than one uncanny similarity to Christmas… 378 CE Christmas begins to be celebrated on the 25th of December among Christians. 7th century onwards Christian colonialist basterds spread Christianity to Northern Europe over the coming centuries, finally getting a full house with the conversion of the Sámi in the 18th century. However Christmas traditions in Northern Europe remain heavily influenced by Yule and other pre-Christian traditions right up to this day. 800 CE Charlemagne crowned on Christmas day for tax reasons. 1066 William the I of England crowned on Christmas day. See above. c. 1300 A character called Old Father Christmas (or sometimes Sir Christmas or Lord Christmas), more akin to the pagan beliefs of old, begins cropping up in Medieval mystery plays: a large, old, jolly chap with a white beard, covered in holly, ivy and mistletoe… (see front cover for reference) 1377 Christmas is now a big deal. King Richard II of England hosted a Christmas feast where 27 cattle and 300 sheep were eaten. 1517 Protestantism begins, and as a consequence Christmas becomes rather boring for a while. 16th century onwards More Christian colonialist basterds start spreading Christianity (and Christmas) to the Americas and Africa. With guns. c.1620 Some people in Northern Germany begin bringing fir trees inside their houses and decorating them… possibly inspired by Livonian (modern-day Estonian and Latvian) traditions. 18

1638 Thomas Nabbes, in a masque, describes Father Christmas as “an old reverend gentleman in furred gown and cap”. It is worth noting that there are/were Father Christmas equivalents all over Europe, most notably Joulupukki in Finland and Ded Moroz in Eastern Europe. These are all very different from the Christian-derived Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) trend that was developing in the Netherlands at the time. 1647 Oliver Cromwell bans Christmas. Fml. 1809 The good people at the New York Historical Society decide that Saint Nicholas (Sinterklaas) should be the Patron Saint of the Big Apple, since it was originally founded by the Dutch, and since such a move would stick two metaphorical fingers up at the Brits. This sparks American interest in the Dutch Sinterklaas trend, and the subsequent popularization of ‘Santa Claus’. 1841 Queen Victoria’s marriage to the German-born Prince Albert popularises the Christmas Tree tradition in Europe and the States. It is worth noting, however, that many noble families in Europe used Christmas trees long before this. Indeed, a 13 year-old Queen Victoria recounts in her diary the joy of finding presents under her Christmas tree in 1832. 1843 The first Christmas card is published in London. The commercialisation has begun… 1860s-1900s Two American cartoonists, Washington Irving and Thomas Nest, borrow heavily from the Father Christmas tradition and depict Santa Claus as a Father Christmas figure instead of as a bishop, as he had been earlier. 1935 Christmas gets banned again, this time in Russia. Meanwhile in the States, Coca-Cola launches a massive advertising campaign depicting Santa Claus in a red outfit. It stuck. 1953 Coca-Cola attempts to copyright the image of Santa Claus. Congress narrowly blocks the attempt. 1966 Coca-Cola’s second attempt to copyright the image of Santa Claus. 1987 The Christmas Price Index is created. 1988 Coca-Cola’s third attempt. 1999 The Santa Claus Village amusement park opens up in Finland December 25th, 2012 Christmas fails to happen this year, due to the ending of the world 4 days previous. 2013 Coca-Cola’s fourth attempt to copyright Santa Claus. Granted due to lack of opposition.

’Twas the night before PrimTech... T’was the night before PrimTech, when all through our halls All the students were stirring, some on pub crawls. The sleeping bags and tents were all packed away Archaeology freshers were ready to play The SAS were all snug in their beds, While visions of bonfires danced in their heads, Mark Roberts in his Kerchief and Bill in his Cap, Had just settled in for a late summer nap When outside the institute there arose such a clatter We all ran outside to see what was the matter Away from the common room we went to explore Up to the foyer And out through the door And by Gordon square a fleet did approach But it wasn’t a sleigh, instead a large coach And instead of what should be 8 tiny reindeer It was institute Lecturers who did appear With a little old driver, so lively and quick, We knew in a moment it must be st nick! You’ve changed your ride, we did exclaim As he rushed us aboard he called all by name “Now Charlotte, Now Judy, Now Elizabeth Graham, On Lockyear, on Sillar, to all you are welcome! Through Gower street, and onto west dean, drive away, drive away, drive like a fiend!” The first years were hung-over from fabric last night, So we had a quick sleep to make it alright Down country roads we travelled all morning We started to wake because Dongle was snoring

And then with a jolt, the coach came to a stop We finally arrived, without a single raindrop As I opened my eyes and drew up my head I could see our campsite straight up ahead We unloaded our bags and trekked up the hill To the third tier we aimed for, following Bill And with a bit of a struggle we put up our tents Activity choices, oh so much suspense! Church Archaeology And cuneiform writing Of course there’s flint knapping And lots of beer brewing We butchered a deer, and afterwards skinned it Around the bonfire we gathered, our dinners were moonlit, We made a bread oven, completely from scratch The bread was quite dry but not a bad batch! Mystery Objects with Liz Graham was fun Learning about artefacts whilst sat in the sun The evenings were best, and the food was unreal Curries, paella, what a fantastic meal A quiz on the first night and the pub later on Who knows what happened? We were all so far-gone We all enjoyed PrimTech, I could go every year Friendships were made that we’ll always hold dear I hope you’ve enjoyed this little re-write Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!

By Rosie Neill

the games page.

Every magazine seems to have a trashy back-section where all the time-wasting stuff is put. This is ours, but being an arch&anth magazine we try to keep things on-topic...

Horoscopes with Mystic Smeg Aries A wiser person than me once said: “beware the Ides of March”. Thank goodness for that, because it isn’t March. It’s actually December, which is nice. Christmas is coming! Yippee! If you’re Aries, be sure to spend lots of money on Christmas presents this year. The economy is really bad, and it could do with a lift. In fact, I have my very own set of ‘Mystic Smeg’ branded Christmas presents that you can spend an awful lot of money on, and thus make yourself feel validated as a consumer. Email me at mystic.smeg@artifact.ac.uk for prices. Happy consuming! Taurus As we’ve established above, it’s Christmas time. There’s nothing I hate more about Christmas than the wanton consumption that goes on during this ‘special’ time of year. Have you seen the profit figures!?!? It’s obscene. Some companies practically live off Christmas alone. Just goes to show how corporatised our world is becoming. Christmas marks an important event - the birth of Santa Claus - but how many kids nowadays even know that!? They just think its the birthday of Coca-Cola, or something. Was this meant to be a horoscope? Oops, my bad. Right, if you’re Taurus, you will meet a tall dark stranger in a dark, strange place and do strange, dark things to each other all night. Sound good? Right, I’m off for a cuppa.

Things you would never hear at the IOA “I asked Judy something, and she didn’t know the answer...” “I hear Mark has packed in the whole early hominins thing and has gone to work in Chile...” - “How many fieldwork days do you have left?” - “We have to do fieldwork??!?”

(Not another!) List of ten things to buy your little sister this Christmas... 1. Greece (I hear it’s going cheap atm) 2. A DVD of The Human Centipede. 3. A hoodie and a molotov cocktail, for nights out in Tottenham 4. A tent (they seem to be rather popular in the City, esp. in the St. Paul’s area). 5. A copy of Artifact 6. An old-fashioned diving suit (get the reference?) 7. A hunting-knife 8. A holiday to Amsterdam... for three 9. The planet Mars 10. A bottle of Coca-Cola

OVERHEARD AT THE IOA

Yes, this is a shameless rip-off of Pi, but it seemed to work for them... Teacher: So, when babies are born naturally, their skulls become distorted during the birth process. It usually corrects itself, though (chuckles) Female student 1: What if it doesn’t correct itself? Female student 2: That happened to me, apparently... *silence, punctuated by snickers* Male Student: Say, what happened to *Near Eastern Archaeologist who recently left the inistitute and cannot be named for legal reasons*?? Female Student: Last I heard, he got funding for a dig, publically insulted the entire staff, ran off with the money, and went to Warwick. Male Student: Bastard. Female Student: Yeah, bastard. Oh dear. Looks like I’ve completely run out of space to fill with useless stuff that’s attempting to be funny. Maybe I should put it to good use... hmm, a blank bit of page, the possibilities are endless... ah, I think I have an idea... SUPPORT THE STUDENT PROTEST MOVEMENT

Spot the difference.

Which one is an Archaeologist, and which is an Anthropologist? Name all the differences and youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll get a cookie courtesy of Eugenia Ellanskaya.