At the time of writing this, it is 10am in the United Kingdom on the 6th November 2024. As an American migrant over here, I’ve unsurprisingly been watching with dread as the results begin to trickle in and despite my deep criticisms of electoral politics, its hard not to feel very depressed and worried about the future.
So, I want to talk about archaeology as a vector for hope.
No, not the archaeology sector – unfortunately, there is so much work that needs to be done to make the discipline more inclusive, equitable, and frankly radical as I’ve written about in the past (although I want to recognise my colleagues who do give me glimpses of hope through their transformative work in pushing for tangible change despite all odds).
No, I want to talk about archaeology itself as a tangible representation of hope to hold onto at the moment.
Despite everything, there is a part of me that still sees working with archaeology as an immense privilege. There is something incredibly powerful about holding remains from the past – too often I fear that the past is often viewed as something so foreign and imaginary that truly understanding it as a reality can be difficult. Being able to work as closely as I have with objects, animals, and even human beings from the distant past has really changed something within me when it comes to thinking about our ancestors and predecessors; they are no longer theoretical actors in history, but real people who lived real lives and confronted real struggles to survive.
The archaeological record doesn’t give you the whole story, of course. Often times we are only able to see the parts of past societies that had the power and privilege to leave behind things for us to uncover, whether that’s those with political power or immense wealth. But this isn’t to say that we are completely shut out from learning more about others – there is plenty of archaeological remains available that tell us about the lives of everyday people trying to survive and exist within environments that were often incredibly hostile to them. And through these remains, we can even see how they may have done this as well – and I think this is where we can find hope.
That we are able to see how deeply people cared about others (both human and non-human) against all odds in the ancient past, that people have always found ways of fighting back against their oppressors – it gives me hope that we’re not necessarily re-inventing the wheel. The ways in which we continue to care for each other and fight for each other are part of a much longer tradition of survival. And in these spaces of the archaeological record where even the smallest glimpses of survival exist – this is where I find the hope that we will eventually win. That even the greatest oppressors of the past were unable to completely destroy the fragments of those who they sought to destroy – that even in death, they survive in these archaeologies of dissent and resistance against a hostile world. Perhaps it is strange, but I find hope that we are continuing these stories through our contemporary work, whether that’s organising local antifascist groups or coordinating new forms of mutual aid networks.
The title of this blog post is Finding Hope in Archaeology at the End of the World and I recognise that it sounds very ‘doom and gloom’. And while I don’t blame anyone in feeling that way at the moment, I want to clarify that when I speak of the ‘end of the world’, I am speaking of the end of this world that we currently live in – a world built on white supremacy, cishetero-patriarchy, ableism, capitalism, classism, and other forms of extractive violence, a world that is becoming increasingly more fascist and hostile to already oppressed and marginalised people – and the hope for a radically new world born from its ashes. Hold tight to the archaeologies that exist at this precipice – and may it bring you the hope and strength to organise with your community and face the challenges of the end of this world together and build a new world tomorrow.
Here are some places you can donate to if you’re feeling helpless and want to do something tangible to help out right now.
National Network of Abortion Funds
Animal Archaeology 
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[…] Animal Archaeology At the time of writing this, it is 10am in the United Kingdom on the 6th November 2024. As an American migrant over here, I’ve unsurprisingly been watching with dread as the results begin to trickle in and despite my deep criticisms of electoral politics, its hard not to feel very depressed and worried about… […]
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