Now that I’ve been through my current work, I thought it would be relevant to show how I got here- why bioarchaeology? Why do I care about the social implications of research? To answer these questions, I’m going to revisit the study that I undertook at Masters level and admit something that seems to be rare in archaeology- I don’t like my research. I think it was pointless at best and ethically unsound at worst- and that it is important to be honest about that. This is not to discredit the amazing people who supported my research or any of their own outputs which relate to this field. My supervisor was wonderfully intelligent and kind- a combination that you don’t always find in academics- and has produced insightful and valuable work on this topic. But would I do the research again? Absolutely not, and here is why…
The Masters
I became interested in bioarchaeology during my undergraduate and when I found a Masters course that let me specialise in it, I was elated. I knew that I wasn’t done learning about archaeology and I had so much more that I wanted to experience before entering the terrifying world of full time work. My undergraduate dissertation (which I will regale this blog with soon) focused on Romano-British burials and osteological evaluations of sex, and I was keen to expand my horizons within the field and learn more about different time periods, study new archaeological practices, and learn from even more discipline-leading academics. So, I packed up my life and moved to York, which coincidentally has one of the most beautiful medieval backdrops for an archaeology student to mooch about in, to start a Masters in Bioarchaeology.
The course was incredibly interesting and crushingly difficult in equal parts, not helped by working part-time and still struggling to make ends meet. I was fortunate enough to tailor my studies to cover my broad range of interests and was able to learn more about everything from ethnography to community archaeology, heritage film-making to ancient biomolecules. I can genuinely say that I use the skills that I learnt during my year at York in my everyday life, not just my PhD or museum work but in my volunteering and social life too. It was a very valuable experience and one that on the whole I think helped shape my understanding of archaeology, and in some ways my view of the world.
The Study
The typical culmination of any degree programme is for a student to undertake their own independent research project. At York, whilst you could propose your own research it was common for Bioarchaeology students to become involved with a pre-existing project. Lecturers would put together a handful of projects and present students with the options available to them, leaving it up to us to select a project and contact a potential supervisor in order to get involved. There was an element of risk in this, and after a long and tedious story that I will not go into here I was unable to undertake the research that I was most interested in, so was left looking at what was remaining. I knew that I wanted to undertake stable isotope research but that was my only criteria at that time. Looking back, that was my first mistake.
After being delayed with my first choice, I was late to the game and left with one other stable isotope option. Comparing the diets between rural and urban populations in Islamic Portugal as we can view them through stable isotope analysis of rib bones. This gave me the stable isotope lab experience that I needed, so I didn’t mind that the time period was completely alien to me or that I wasn’t hugely passionate about the research aims. I did the project and I was happy with my finished dissertation. I learnt how to take a bone and turn it into collagen, despite terrible preservation conditions. I was able to produce my own results, my own completely original research. I wrote 18,000 words on it all. I got a good mark. But with the advantage of time I have fundamental issues with my project.
Firstly, I am not convinced that I have contributed any understanding to the wider discipline or benefited anyone with my work. As I develop my archaeological career I struggle with the idea of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, something that I see as both a privilege to aim for and something that we cannot justify in modern society. I love archaeology, but sometimes I see a study- for example understanding what a small group of rural Portuguese muslims ate 1,000 years ago- and think:
‘Do we not remember we’re in a climate crisis!’
‘Children are being enslaved!’
‘The world is shit we can’t waste our time on this!’
Archaeology can absolutely make our world a better place and provide meaningful knowledge to improve society. It’s also just very interesting, which is no bad thing. But was my research any of that? Personally, I don’t think so.
Secondly, and maybe more importantly in light of my previous point, I have ethical issues with my research. In order to understand the society of the people I was studying I investigated Islamic funerary beliefs, diets, and social customs. I was happy that I had contextualised my research, but I conveniently omitted the key belief that bodies belong to Allah, not people, and that mutilation of a corpse is strictly prohibited. The dignity of the deceased is prioritised and preservation of the body is seen as highly important to achieve this. I am not aware of the excavation of the remains that I was provided to study, although I have full faith that these followed appropriate legal and ethical protocols. The religious and spiritual beliefs of the people we study are often a consideration, but without a vocal descendent community (like the modern druids in the UK) or strict legal protection (such as NAGPRA in the US) researchers often continue with their work. As I have developed my own understanding of archaeological ethics I now have serious concerns with destructive analysis that goes against the beliefs of the individual. As an atheist it is easy to dismiss this as superstition or irrelevant due to the passing of time, but to dismiss someone’s beliefs and undertake research that would have distressed a person during their life is ethically fraught.
My current thesis speaks of giving a ‘voice for the voiceless’, a phrase that is often used across the discipline. In this case, there was no opposition to the research so it went ahead. If these people had a ‘voice’ - take for example the excavations at Jewbury in which the Chief Rabbi halted any destructive analysis on religious grounds- I do not believe that I would have completed this project. Should we wait for opposition, or are these ethical considerations researchers need to be willing to accept on their own? Is the pursuit of knowledge greater than the tolerance and respect for other cultures?
Science should have its limits, as should archaeology. Robust research aims that go beyond undertaking a study because it can provide knowledge and consider the wider social attributes of archaeological research are necessary to limit the number of regrets that we have. I am grateful for my Masters, but I would not do the same project again. From this experience, I will think more carefully about my own feelings towards a project and consider where it sits with my moral compass.
Accepting this regret is not a failure but a lesson, and I hope that honest public reflections on mistakes become more commonplace amongst our discipline. We all know archaeology is riddled with the mistakes of our past and present, self-reflection is important in changing this for the future.