## Heritage Conservation and Social Engagement

# Heritage Conservation and Social Engagement

Edited by Renata F. Peters, Iris L. F. den Boer, Jessica S. Johnson and Susanna Pancaldo

First published in 2020 by UCL Press University College London Gower Street London WC1E 6BT

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Peters, R. F., den Boer, I. L. F., Johnson, J. S. and Pancaldo, S. 2020. *Heritage Conservation and Social Engagement*. London: UCL Press. https://doi.org/10.14324/<PHONE_NUMBER>359208

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ISBN: 978-1-78735-922-2 (Hbk.) ISBN: 978-1-78735-921-5 (Pbk.) ISBN: 978-1-78735-920-8 (PDF) ISBN: 978-1-78735-923-9 (epub) ISBN: 978-1-78735-924-6 (mobi) DOI: https://doi.org/10.14324/111.9781787359208

#### Contents

### List of figures

### List of tables

Table 3.1 Other institutions that have used Iraqi Institute facilities for research and education programmes. Source: the authors. 59

#### Notes on contributors

**Nancy Bell** is currently acting as a preservation consultant for The National Archives, USA. Formerly she was Head of Collection Care, The National Archives, UK (2008−17). She also headed The National Archives Research and Development team that delivered an integrated research programme for The National Archives which included conservation science research. She was awarded the Plowden Medal in 2015 for her work on developing revised environmental standards for museums, libraries and archives.

**Iris L. F. den Boer** has an MA in Classical Archaeology from Leiden University and an MA in Principles of Conservation from UCL. She currently lives and works in the Netherlands. She is a board member of a regional department of the AWN, a national archaeological society for volunteers in the Netherlands. She also works as a co-editor of the department's archaeological magazine, *Grondig Bekeken*.

**Miriam Clavir**, Conservator Emerita at the UBC Museum of Anthropology, Canada, has won awards for her work focusing on conservators' relationship with Indigenous material heritage and the need to understand that conservation preserves cultural belongings with which the originators have ongoing relationships, and so hold key roles in conservation decisions.

**Kim Cullen Cobb** is a conservator in private practice in the Washington, DC area and Research Associate with the Smithsonian's Museum Conservation Institute. She holds a Master's in Art Conservation from Queen's University, Canada. Prior to entering the field of conservation she was a practising goldsmith, artist and teacher. Cullen Cobb began working as a visiting teacher at the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage in the spring of 2011.

**Dinah Eastop** PhD, FIIC, ACR has 40 years' experience in conservation. She has worked at the Textile Conservation Centre (UK), The National Archives (UK), the University of Melbourne and with ICCROM, notably for CollAsia. She holds honorary posts at three UK universities: Glasgow, UCL and Southampton. Publications include *Chemical Principles of Textile Conservation*, co-authored with Ágnes Tímár-Balázsy (1998); *Upholstery Conservation*, co-edited with Kathryn Gill (2001); *Changing Views of Textile Conservation* (2011) and *Refashioning and Redress* (2016), co-edited with Mary Brooks.

**Jessica S. Johnson** is Head of Conservation at the Smithsonian's Museum Conservation Institute. Previously she worked with the University of Delaware and helped to establish the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage. She was Senior Conservator at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC and Conservator for the Museum Management Program of the National Park Service. She has worked for many years with the Penn Museum's Gordion Archaeological Project in Turkey.

**Brian Michael Lione** is the International Cultural Heritage Protection Program Manager for the Smithsonian's Museum Conservation Institute, the lead for MCI projects in Erbil (Iraq) and an instructor at the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage (IICAH). Before joining the Smithsonian he helped to establish the IICAH, serving as Director and Executive Director from 2009 until 2017. His work at the Smithsonian focuses on capacity building and sustainability for the IICAH.

**Susanna Pancaldo** is an objects conservator, specialising in archaeological materials. She received an MA in Art History and Diploma in Conservation from New York University and has worked on numerous short-term contracts and excavations, the latter mainly in Italy. She was Conservation Manager for the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology and Senior Conservator for UCL Museums and Collections before taking up her current post as Conservator of Objects (Metals) at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

**Renata F. Peters** is Associate Professor in Conservation at the UCL Institute of Archaeology. She is also Chair of the Conservation Higher Education Institutions Network of the Institute of Conservation (ICON CHEIN), Conservation Lead of the Olduvai Geochronology Archaeology Project in Tanzania and Principal Investigator of the research project 'Fibres of Resistance: Tikuna barkcloth and identity in the Amazon'.

**Elizabeth Pye** is Emeritus Professor of Archaeological and Museum Conservation at the UCL Institute of Archaeology, where she taught both theoretical and practical aspects of heritage conservation. Her current interests focus on access to museum and heritage objects. She is author of *Caring for the Past: Issues in conservation for archaeology and museums* and editor of *The Power of Touch: Handling objects in museum and heritage contexts*.

**Flavia Ravaioli** is an objects conservator and research associate at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. She previously worked as a researcher at University College London Qatar from 2015 to 2017, where she focused on the preservation of religious heritage in Islamic contexts and data analysis in conservation. She has fieldwork experience as an archaeological conservator in Egypt, Turkey, Iraqi Kurdistan and Italy.

**Anna Teresa Ronchi** is an architect and has a PhD in Technology and Design for the Built Environment from the Polytechnic of Milan, Italy. From 2009 to 2015 she worked at the Polytechnic of Milan, developing research projects in the field of built heritage conservation. She is currently responsible for R&D and EU projects at the Center for Cultural Heritage of the University of Milan. She also collaborates as a consultant in rehabilitation and regeneration projects of the historical built heritage.

**Craig Spence** FSA, FRHistS, MCIfA is Senior Lecturer at Bishop Grosseteste University, Lincoln. He initially worked as a field archaeologist in the UK and abroad, during which time he directed a number of excavations. At the Museum of London he led the revisions to the internationally renowned MoLAS Site Manual, including the pioneering use of multi-sheet single context recording. More recently he has undertaken historical research at several universities and published monographs on the social and cultural history of early modern London. He has interests in community archaeology and heritage management.

**Gilbert Kituyi Wafula** is a Lecturer in the Department of History and Archaeology, University of Nairobi, Kenya. He teaches Archaeology and Tourism. His interests and research work are in the areas of ceramic technology, ethnoarchaeology, Swahili Coastal Archaeology and natural and cultural heritage conservation.

### Preface

This publication explores different kinds of social engagement motivated by the practice of heritage conservation, especially in areas of the world where heritage and museum collections show potential for use as tools for social empowerment. The topics and ideas discussed here were introduced in the conference 'The Social Impact of Cross-disciplinary Conservation' in 2014. It was organised by the UCL Conservation and Development Research Network (CDRN) in collaboration with the Heritage Conservation and Human Rights Network (University of Nairobi) and the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage (University of Delaware).

The nine chapters of this book explore different aspects of cross-disciplinary conservation work. They offer ethical and practical perspectives from which to approach cultural heritage projects and preservation, with a focus on engagement, participation, access and the creative use of resources. As such, *Heritage Conservation and Social Engagement* is relevant to a broad range of heritage practitioners, local governments and heritage management authorities, as well as to graduate and postgraduate students interested in cross-disciplinary conservation perspectives.

### Acknowledgements

newgenprepdf

We are grateful to the UCL Grand Challenges Small Grant (Intercultural Interaction) and the UCL Institute of Archaeology for generously funding the event that inspired this publication. We would like to extend our gratitude to the authors of this volume for their valuable contributions and to Anne-Marie Deisser for contributing to 'The Social Impact of Cross-disciplinary Conservation' conference and the first stages of the publication. Thanks are also due to William J. Mastandrea for editorial management assistance; to Eleni Asderaki for logistical support; and to the following UCL conservation graduates for their help during different stages of this project: Irene Capasso, Jan Cutajar, Abigail Duckor, Harald Fredheim, Anna Funke, Sarah Giffin, Kathleen King, Jamie McGuire, Megan Narvey, Eri Ohara-Anderson, Letty Steer, Seiko Tokuda, Karin Walda and Qifan Wang.

### Introduction

Renata F. Peters

Professionals working with cultural heritage preservation have had to respond to difficult challenges in the last few decades, mainly brought about by globalisation, armed conflicts, natural disasters and the use of heritage as an ultimate resource to redress injustices of the past. The topics and experiences discussed in this book demonstrate that conservators may play important roles in facilitating and enhancing understanding between different cultural groups or groups with different interests. Though commonly associated with the sciences through interventive and preventive practices, we here discuss other possible perspectives for conservation-related activities. As will be seen, conservation practice may bring opportunities for redressing past and present injustices, healing, reconciliation, social cohesion and the strengthening of sociocultural identities, as well as facilitating new ways of interaction between individuals and communities.

Conservation was already crossing boundaries between science and craft by the second half of the twentieth century – a time when the dominant structure of knowledge was based on division and disciplinary specialisation. Around the 1980s heritage and museum professionals started reviewing the objectives of their disciplines and the policies of access to collections or sites. Increasingly they became more open to sharing decision-making processes with groups related to originators, or descendants of originators, of material culture. Although such reviews did provoke shifts in the way in which museums and heritage institutions operate, real changes have been slow and are still in motion (see chapters 1 and 2 for further discussion). Nonetheless, the roles of conservators have started to become consistently more cross-disciplinary, dynamic and flexible. As a consequence, the discpline's boundaries have become more complex and new challenges and variables have arisen.

Collaboration is a strong aspect of cross-disciplinary work. In fact, such work cannot exist without collaboration. As will be seen in the following chapters, collaborative processes in conservation are not uncommon. That being said, there is no definitive evidence as to how far or how often they occur in conservation practice. The 2013 survey 'Participatory Processes and Conservation Practice' (Peters 2019) was disseminated in international conservation discussion lists and blogs in an attempt to bridge this gap. The results revealed that 76.2 per cent of the 168 respondents had participated in such projects at least once in their careers. The survey also indicated that a large majority of these professionals worked for museums or educational institutions completely or partially funded by public money. This predominance may suggest, among other things, that these projects may have been motivated by governmental policies of social inclusion or by ethical issues flagged up by educational institutions. The survey also revealed that most respondents worked in collaborative projects in North America and Europe (58 in the USA, 15 in Canada, 3 in Mexico, 14 in the UK and 27 in other European countries, 6 in Australia and 1 in New Zealand).1

Today museum professionals, and conservation staff in particular, increasingly endeavour to develop collaborative and inclusive approaches to all aspects of the material under their care. These collaborations are complex and often influenced by the colonial legacy of museums. Moreover, despite the high number of projects that may have attempted engagement and representation of different interest groups in decision-making, the effectiveness of the engagement varies according to the context, objectives, methods and resources available. Given the non-quantifiable – and often uncontrollable – nature of the variables involved in cross-disciplinary efforts, providing evidence for their beneficial impacts is not always very straightforward. In fact, neither the benefits nor the challenges encountered can always be tackled within well-established structures of knowledge and methodologies. In order to form a strong body of evidence, it is essential that conservators continue to create spaces in which to debate methods that may open new frontiers – the main objective of this book.

Efforts to promote inclusion and engagement in museums are likely to become even more socially relevant in the near future, as in recent years we have observed a rise in intolerance towards minority groups in traditionally democratic societies. This is illustrated, for example, by the election of divisive or authoritarian political representatives in different parts of the world. Some of these seem specifically to target human rights or attempt to normalise prejudices, segregation and further marginalisation of ethnic or religious minorities, Indigenous nations, the LGBTQ+ community, refugees and women. With dismay, we notice an increasing number of people expressing backward sentiments in relation to inclusion, diversity and the most basic human rights. These sentiments, often stimulated by biased opinion-makers or even fake news, are frequently underpinned by socio-economic problems provoked by austerity. The heritage sector is responding strongly, however, as it has the tools and ability to help fight prejudices invariably based on ignorance, misinformation or manipulation of facts. This book enthusiastically joins these efforts, in the knowledge that nothing can be done without dialogue and engagement.

*Heritage Conservation and Social Engagement* is structured around the themes of engagement and participation, as well as the significance of working collaboratively across disciplines. The contributors offer original analyses and present international perspectives that may be relevant and adaptable to different contexts. They also provide socio-cultural perspectives on conservation practices and explore development, engagement, wellbeing, recovery and reconciliation. Their underlying commonality is the emphasis on the value of cross-disciplinary collaborations and the adoption of more encompassing approaches to decision-making.

In chapter 1 Renata F. Peters introduces the topic of conservation and engagement by examining how museums and heritage institutions have responded to challenges posed by a postcolonial world. Ultimately it means decision-making about material held by these institutions has become more democratic and inclusive, and that conservation has incorporated a more social orientation rather than remaining purely technical and scientific. The main premise is that because conservation decision-making is central to how collections can be accessed, interpreted and used, conservators are in ideal places to facilitate or even to trigger these engagements. The chapter uses Paulo Freire's dialogical method to explore reasons for and challenges involved in using collaborative and engaged models, and to elaborate the need for constant evaluation of, and reflection upon, what is being thought and done.

In chapter 2 Miriam Clavir reviews changes over the last 30 years that have prompted conservation's material-based field to incorporate values related to the intangible attributes of objects in museum collections. In addition, these changes extend to an understanding that conservation practice brings together people with people, not just people with objects. Is collaboration considered a necessary competency in the field, however, and is it recognised as such – both by the conservation profession as a whole and by workplace colleagues and administrators? Do conservation training programmes adequately address the concerns voiced by Indigenous people in relation to the preservation of their belongings? The author suggests that the goals of conservation practice include recognition of the larger context of 'human wellbeing'.

This is followed in chapter 3 by Jessica S. Johnson, Brian M. Lione and Kim Cullen Cobb's elaboration on the role of conservation education in reconciliation. Drawing upon Iraq and the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage in Erbil as a case study, the authors discuss the use of cultural heritage education in support of reconciliation and redevelopment. Collaboration among teachers and trainers, and a recursive approach to curriculum review, is central to the evolution of the Institute's educational programme, conceived to support a renewed community of heritage professionals in Iraq.

In chapter 4 Anna Teresa Ronchi explores the topic of community involvement in built heritage conservation. Her aim is to identify the main weaknesses and success factors that can restrict or emphasise mutual potentialities between conservation processes and local sustainable development. The rehabilitation of the old town of Birzeit, Palestinian Authority is explored, especially in relation to the role played by the local community in various strategies of engagement.

In chapter 5 Flavia Ravaioli discusses the use of locally accessible materials for use in preventive conservation, especially in contexts where resources are very limited and specialised materials unavailable. In such circumstances the attempt to apply Western standards of best practice may not be sustainable and can in fact disempower practitioners. Ravaioli considers the causes for some of the major challenges found in these contexts and suggests measures to overcome them.

In chapter 6 Craig Spence discusses the 'Open Lab Project' – a programme of practical support, skills training and awareness raising among local community archaeology groups developed by a team of academics and archaeologists at Bishop Grosseteste University, Lincoln. The programme successfully engaged with five local groups from across Lincolnshire, a geographically extensive and primarily rural county, supporting them in archiving their archaeological finds assemblages. The aim was to provide participating volunteers with the knowledge, skills and resources to do such work in an independent manner. Equally important outcomes were an increased sense of self-worth and physical and mental wellbeing among a number of the participants.

In chapter 7 Gilbert Kituyi Wafula considers the African context and persistent social and economic challenges, including poverty, illiteracy and disease. He argues that despite these Africa possesses resources of different natures that could positively impact people's livelihoods, archaeological heritage being one of them. In a changing world where people are increasingly recognising their democratic and human rights, the moral and legitimate rights of ordinary citizens in exploiting heritage cannot be taken for granted. The main focus of Wafula's discussion is who archaeological heritage benefits in Kenya and how effective the country's legal, administrative and policy frameworks are in addressing public interests and needs in the exploitation of archaeological heritage.

In chapter 8 Nancy Bell and Dinah Eastop present the interdisciplinary approach to conservation (understood as investigation, preservation and presentation) adopted at The National Archives (UK) and link it to the democratic mandate of the institution. The essay highlights the underpinning conceptual and practical approaches used to make conservation sustainable by integrating strategies for preservation and access. It demonstrates the engagement of local groups in the development of archival records, the democratic ethos of The National Archives and the ways in which this ethos is manifested in practice.

Chapter 9 presents Elizabeth Pye's personal views and experiences with objects, and investigates the many ways in which people may value and enjoy them. Pye also explores stories that objects may prompt and reflects on how these stories may affect conservation processes. She argues that artefacts should not be frozen into inactivity, but rather be enabled to continue providing enjoyment to people on many different levels.

#### Note

<sup>1.</sup> For more details see: Peters, R. 2019. 'Participatory Processes and Conservation Practice: a 2013 survey', *Conversations on Conservation of Cultural Heritage.* Accessed 18 August 2020. https://uclconversationsonconservation.blogspot.com/p/the-survey-participatoryprocessesand\_30.html.

## 1 Conservation and engagement: transforming and being transformed

Renata F. Peters

#### Introduction

It is widely known that Western museums have both validated and profited from structures of colonial domination and imperialism for at least the last two hundred years (Haas 1996; Ames 1992; Clifford 2004). Besides playing important roles in the structures of ideas, concepts and interpretations that reinforced the hegemony of the Western world1 (for example Fanon 1963 [1961], 210–11; Said 2003 [1978], 6; Chakrabarty 1998; Spivak 2011 [1995]), many of these institutions also benefited from colonial structures to form their formidable collections. Even after such structures had been dismantled, many Western museums continued colonial strategies by retaining all the power to decide how to interpret and use these collections, without attempting to include the views or voices of the people they were trying to interpret and/or represent (Haas 1996, S1; Clifford, 2004; Howe 2005; Sillar 2005; Atalay 2006, 280–5). These practices have come under increasing scrutiny in the last few decades.

Towards the end of the 1970s the impact of political activism and the different narratives aimed at revising the norms and practices of colonial domination started to be felt in the world of museums. Groups previously considered marginal to central societies then started to find channels to voice their opinions about a range of subjects, including the stewardship of the collections originated by them or their ancestors (Clifford 1999; Haas 1996; Howe 2005; Atalay 2006). This process has been slow and is far from completion, as demonstrated by Felwine Sarr and Bénédicte Savoy's report (2018). This questions the legitimacy of holding collections with disputed provenance, such as African heritage looted during the colonial era. Although the report focuses on sub-Saharan material heritage, it finally brought the topic to the forefront of museums' agendas and to public attention.

This chapter discusses the development of conservation in relation to the changes that museums have experienced in the last 30 years. It considers how these have affected the discipline and explores reasons for more democratic and engaged practices, as well as some of the challenges involved. The main premise is that because conservation decisionmaking is cross-disciplinary and central to defining how objects2 can be accessed, interpreted and used, conservators are able to facilitate or even trigger these engagements. Processes of empowerment and their potential impacts are explored through the lenses of Paulo Freire's dialogical method (1996 [1970]); 1972 [1970]) and, to a lesser extent, the work of Participatory Action Research (PAR) advocates and postcolonial theorists in order to show how structures of power are formed and maintained, and how to attempt to deconstruct them.

Despite the different terminologies and elaborations, Freire, PAR advocates and some postcolonial theorists show similarities and complement one another. For example, all aim to bring more equality and justice to the different peoples of the world and advocate that this can only be achieved through a bottom-up, participatory approach. They focus on the production of knowledge and the fact that practice may generate theory through critical reflection. Finally, they all emphasise the benefits of cross-disciplinary work and collaboration.

#### Contemporary conservation

Conservation started to be organised as a discipline when, as Muñoz Viñas (2005, 2) observes, 'it became clear that the views, approaches and skills required to treat a painting were different from those required to treat the walls of a common peasant house' (Muñoz Viñas 2005, 2). Clavir (2002, 4–5) underlines the differences by highlighting the nonutilitarian reasons for these interventions – which may include changes in social context or the desire to return the object to what is believed to have been its original appearance. For most of the twentieth century the conservation discipline was associated with arts and crafts traditions; it was supported by scientific methods and scientific knowledge of materials and deterioration mechanisms, and by certain aspects of their materiality (Brandi 2005 [1963]; Conti 2007 [1988]; Caple 2000, 46–58; Pye 2001, 51; Jokilehto 2009). Within that context conservators used to be mostly concerned about longevity or aesthetic aspects of the material fabric of objects.

The theoretical basis of Western conservation started to be problematised more strongly with Brandi's *Teoria del Restauro* (1963; 2005 [1963]). In this work conservation was articulated as a critical process based on academic knowledge and through which subjectivity should be minimised. Later in the twentieth century the conservation process also incorporated the need to integrate other aspects of objects such as intangible meanings, objects' biographies (Kopytoff 1986; Gosden and Marshall 1999; Seip 1999) and the values of people associated with them (Bernstein 1992; Heald 1997; Clavir 1998; Avrami et al. 2000; Peters et al. 2008; Avrami 2009).

Today the conservation process entails a continuous, non-linear, recursive and cross-disciplinary process. It includes tangible and intangible features, all of which have to be understood in relation to one another and never separated; separating tangible from intangible invariably limits the understanding of material heritage (Fig. 1.1). The process is documented using traditional and innovative methods and includes a broad range of recursive stages. These usually start with an understanding of the raw materials and manufacturing techniques used in objects, then considers the changes of these materials related to where the objects have been and how they have been used, which also includes current contexts. It also entails several activities related to preventive conservation, such as monitoring or managing the environment or material changes of objects, risk assessments and disaster preparedness – as well as a variety of interventive measures that could be applied to their material fabric.

All these stages need to be related to the provenance of the objects, their history and biographies and the different uses that have been given to them in different periods of the past and present. These will inevitably be associated with the interest groups surrounding these objects throughout their histories and uses (past, present and possibly future), which will define their values and significance to different groups of people. It should also be highlighted that the conservation process never ends. The variables defining conservation actions are dynamic; they never cease to evolve and may be influenced by a range of factors such as the mission of holding institutions or the art/antiquity markets, among others.

Thus understanding layers of history and values, the ways in which they are shaped, their contexts, motivations and impact combine to form the fundamental basis for effective decision-making processes in conservation today (Avrami et al. 2000; Mason 2002; de la

**Fig. 1.1** Some of the recursive stages that may be involved in contemporary decision-making processes in conservation. © the author.

Torre 2002; Peters 2008; Avrami 2009; Russell and Winkworth 2009; Owczarek et al. 2017). Further complexity may be added when, for example, the same object reveals different or conflicting layers of significance and values, depending on who it is associated with and who is interpreting it, as well as where, when and why (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, 3–5; Eastop and Brooks 2011; Shih 2019). In practice this means that contemporary conservation is inherently cross-disciplinary, context-dependent and value-driven. As a consequence, decisions need to be based on robust reasoning, as different courses of action could be taken. These are some of the reasons why conservators, especially those dealing with Indigenous or ethnographic collections, have endeavoured to engage in reflective practices and open up decisionmaking to participation of more interest groups that are traditionally related to conservation objects.

#### Conservation and participation

Incorporating knowledge exchange and the interests of different groups into conservation decision-making processes, however, has the potential to suggest unpredictable paths of actions or even clashes with hitherto established conservation principles. Despite the challenges, the literature shows that conservators have been promoting collaboration and participation for a few decades now. For example, the Museum of New Mexico (Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA) had already established by 1991 that conservation treatments should not be performed on culturally sensitive materials without prior consultations with 'concerned parties'. The Museum defined culturally sensitive materials as 'religious objects, human remains, funerary objects, photographs and other depictions of sensitive materials, and documents about sensitive material' (Bernstein 1992, 25). One of the reasons given for this policy was a concern that because conservation was traditionally focused on the long-term preservation of material, it was not always sympathetic to the values of people associated with such objects (Bernstein 1992, 25–6).

In 2002 Clavir published *Preserving What Is Valued: Museums, conservation, and First Nations*, a work based on her life-long commitment to carry out collaborations between conservators and representatives from Indigenous groups. Clavir's most notable contribution relates to the elaboration of how the values entrenched in the conservation discipline and the views of non-professional groups may conflict due to the prioritisation of Western perspectives in decision-making processes. Her thinking undermines old conservation assumptions related to preservation of heritage materials by bringing human relationships to the fore of the discussion.

The Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) should have prominence here, as it has been working in collaboration with Indigenous nations from the Americas since the 1990s (Atalay 2006; Johnson et al. 2005; Kaminitz et al. 2008; 2009; McHugh and Gunnison 2016). After so many years of experience and strong focus on the voices and views of Indigenous peoples of the American continent, NMAI's policies have become examples of best practice. Many conservators have championed similar views in other parts of the world. While a comprehensive list of participatory conservation projects would be too long to include here, the projects below illustrate the geographic spread of these practices.

In Sri Lanka, Wijesuriya (2000) coordinated the conservation of the *Temple of the Tooth Relic*, badly damaged by terrorist bombing in 1998. The project engaged various sectors of society, including politicians, religious leaders, users of the temple, the media and the general public. Deisser (2007; 2008) conducted a conservation project in Ankober, Ethiopia in which values and uses of artefacts were highlighted by integrating traditional local practices of preservation with the preventive conservation approaches mostly used in Western museums. Gordon and Silva (2005) were engaged with representatives from the Xikrin-Kayapó in Brazil to curate and conserve a collection housed at the *Museu de Arqueologia e Etnologia*, *Universidade de São Paulo* (Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, University of São Paulo) in São Paulo, Brazil. This has been followed by other projects that included Indigenous participation in various aspects of museum work (Delgado Vieira et al. 2017). For over ten years Sully (2007) has promoted the conservation of *Hinemihi*, *a Maori Meeting House* in London, working in collaboration with Maori living in the UK and New Zealand. Peters (Peters et al. 2008; Salomon and Peters 2009) has conducted a cross-disciplinary participatory project in San Cristobal de Rapaz, in the high Andes of Peru, in which conservation played an important role in the materialisation of the expectations of the local community. In Australia conservators have likewise been working in close collaboration with Aboriginal Australians to conserve Aboriginal art (Thorn 2006; 2008; Agnew et al. 2015).

Because of the intricacies and the range of values and interests involved, discussions on why and how to conduct collaborative projects and partnerships continue to be highlighted on the agenda of various conservation specialisms (Chitty 2017; Owczarek et al. 2017; Hornbeck and Moffett 2016; McHugh and Gunnison 2016; Peters 2016). Some of the practicalities of these processes will be explored later in this chapter. First, however, it is necessary to consider some concepts commonly embedded in conservation discourse and practice.

#### Implicit ideas of truth and neutrality

Despite all the developments seen in the last 30 years, the material and scientific focus that dominated conservation practice in the twentieth century is still the basis of the discipline. Thus it is perhaps more accurate to say that the conservation mandate has become more intricate and crossdisciplinary. Conservators today use the scientific process as a springboard to find strategies to conserve material fabric while ensuring that the process and the resulting conserved material respect the object's history and its layers of significance in the past, present and possible future (Clavir 1998; Avrami et al. 2000; Mason 2002, 5–8; de la Torre 2002). Such processes are further complicated by the fact that even though notions of 'neutrality' associated with the discipline have been deconstructed in the last two decades, they still emerge as justifications for conservation approaches in informal conservation discourse. I discuss a few of them below.

#### Artist's intention

'Artist's intention' (which could be understood here as the more generic 'maker's intention' in order to avoid value added by the word 'art') is often informally evoked in conservation decision-making to justify conservation approaches – in particular those that disregard later additions or ways in which the history of objects and the corresponding values associated with different events may have affected their material fabric. However, a short investigation into the concept reveals its inherent intricacy. It was already provoking a lot of discussion in the mid-twentieth century, following the publication of Wimsatt and Beardsley's 'The Intentional Fallacy' (1946). Here Dykstra (1996) summarises the ideas raised by the work:

Mistaken justification occurs when readers or beholders attribute scientific, critical, or historical interpretations to the mentality of the author or artist. This justification appears mistaken because these interpretations have sources that are several steps removed from the artist's thought. Only the work was directly created by the artist, not the interpretations derived from it by beholders. The intentional fallacy applies when critics, historians, or conservators associate their analyses and interpretations with the artist's work and equate their conclusions with the artist's aims. Simply stated, the intentional fallacy insists that our interpretations are our own and we are mistaken if we identify them with the artist instead of ourselves. (Dykstra 1996, 204)

Moreover, intention is not the same as having a plan. Artists may do things without intending them or they may achieve things that were not intended. They may be unaware of exactly what they want to achieve – or even change their mind during and after the creative process (Bass 1989; Dykstra 1996; Livingston 2007 [2005], 3; Gordon and Hermens 2013; Wharton 2015). In addition, it is impossible for artists to predict how their work will be perceived, or even whether any kind of value will be associated with it. As seen in the quotation below, 'interpretation' is a concept that is often related, contrasted or compared to 'intention'. Works of art may trigger unforeseen meanings to different groups of people in different times and places, as both intention and interpretation are context-dependent and interdependent (Mele and Livingston 1992, 933–5).

Different conditions of the artist, the perceiver, and variations in historical precedents and cultural milieu as well as variations among a work's potential for affording various kinds of experiences may all figure in determining what in that particular case will determine the applicability of a given interpretation. (Feagin 1982, 73)

Furthermore, in contexts where the views and values of different groups are taken into account, artist's intention – or even interpretations made by professional experts – may not take priority unless they correspond to the reason why the material is valued or considered significant by key interest groups. In some contexts the events that take place *after* the creation of the material, their 'life histories' or 'biographies', may be at least as important (Smith 1989; Kopytoff 1986, 64–91; Gosden and Marshall 1999; Seip 1999).

#### Reversibility

The principle of 'reversibility' developed from ideas introduced by the Murray Pease Report (Murray Pease Committee 1964) – a set of influential standards of practice elaborated to prevent damage and promote professional standards among the profession. In that context reversibility was understood as the ability to bring the conserved object back to the state it was in before conservation took place. That is, the conservator would work in such a manner that all the actions implemented during the conservation process could be reversed, if so wished, and the object would go back to the state it was in before conservation (Oddy and Carroll 1999). In ideal terms, such a process would measure '… the capability of a conservator to remove any residue or effect introduced or caused in or on an object by a conservation treatment, either at the time of treatment or subsequently' (Smith 1999, 99).

The power to 'undo' is obviously desirable, as it implies unique skills and knowledge. As such it contributed to the development of the discipline during the 1970s and 1980s, becoming entrenched in conservation practice. However, in the late 1990s its feasibility came under scrutiny until the concept was finally deemed unattainable (Oddy 1999; Oddy and Carroll 1999; Smith 1999; Caple 2000, 64). Reversibility today is still considered useful as a parameter or reference to which to compare interventions – but not as an objective itself. The focus today is upon the ability of re-treating objects (re-treatability) (Appelbaum 2007, 353–9; Smith 1999; Muñoz Viñas 2005, 183–8).

Minimum intervention

The concept of minimum intervention started to be used more frequently at the same time as 'reversibility' declined (Caple 2000, 65). Acting 'minimally' means that only strictly necessary conservation interventions should be carried out, so as to achieve the objectives of the conservation treatment (Pye 2001, 32–3).

Objectives of conservation treatments, however, are always contextdependent. They will vary, for example, according to who is involved in the decision-making process, what the material is going to be used for, how and for how long it is required, why it is valued and what the resources available may be. Thus deciding what is strictly 'necessary' or the 'minimum' required to achieve a particular objective is essentially a relative process that is calibrated by the context. Moreover, Appelbaum (2007, 305) warns about using this concept as a blanket approach that ignores the uniqueness of the material fabric and values related to each object:

Using minimal intervention as a guide in all cases disregards the individual needs of the object and its custodians, its interpretation, and its longevity. It would seem to rely at least partially on the unwarranted assumption that all objects live in sheltered environments where they can survive happily in whatever state they are in already. Given an object's physical state, its use, its context, and its likely future, an optimal treatment may be anything *but* minimal. (Appelbaum 2007, 305, original emphasis)

The concept, however, is extremely important as it acknowledges the potential destructive power of conservation and, as Muñoz Viñas (2005, 188–90) put it, introduces a sense of 'relativity' to conservation.

#### Condition

Even the apparently straightforward 'condition' of material fabric reveals complexity when looked at more closely. All material things will go through changes during their existence, but deciding what kind of change constitutes damage (or undesirable change) may become subjective unless the values attached to this judgement are thoroughly clarified (Ashley-Smith 2009; Clavir 2009, 140–4). For example, while some may look at signs of use as poor condition, others may interpret them as added value: they may provide information about the past or give the material the aged aspect of antiquities. In a similar way to minimum conservation, the conclusions will depend on who is conducting the assessments, how they are being calibrated, why and where they are taking place and for what the material will be used.

All the concepts discussed above, and some others too, are to some degree related to expectations of 'truth' or 'neutrality'. These expectations may stem from Viollet-le-Duc's attempts to reveal what material was meant to be (its 'true form') (Viollet-le-Duc 1996 [1854], 314), even if this form had never existed. But they may also arise from Ruskin's contrasting willingness to allow material to age and decay (Ruskin 1996 [1849]). They may have even been intensified by Brandi's understanding of the aim of conservation as being 'to re-establish the potential oneness of the work of art, as long as this is possible without committing artistic or historical forgery, and without erasing every trace of the passage through time of the work of art' (Brandi 2005 [1963], 50).

More crucially, these concepts and principles may also stem from the belief that conservation, because it is based on scientific methods, should always achieve truth (Muñoz Viñas 2005, 89–90). It is illogical, however, to believe that the conservation process may reveal, recover or enhance truth embodied in the materiality of objects, yet not interfere with it. As Avrami et al. (2000, 8) elaborate below, the mere fact that something has been considered worthy of becoming part of a collection already affects how it is valued.

Conservation (narrowly defined) has commonly been viewed as that which follows the act of heritage designation – that is, a technical response after a place or object has already been recognized as having value. The underlying belief has been that preservation treatment should not, and would not, change the meaning of the heritage object, yet the traditional practice of conserving – of preserving the physical fabric of a heritage object – does in fact actively interpret and valorize the object. Every conservation decision – how to clean an object, how to reinforce a structure, what materials to use, and so on – affects how that object or place will be perceived, understood and used, and thus transmitted to the future. Despite such postulated principles as minimum intervention, reversibility, and authenticity, a decision to undertake a certain conservation intervention gives priority to a certain meaning or set of values. (Avrami et al. 2000, 8)

Conservation actions (or the deliberate absence thereof) may help to put forward preferences, opinions or even political statements. That is, conservation actions have the power to *materialise* and communicate choices, and may be influenced by socio-political contexts that go far beyond those of the museum.

#### Visibility and neutrality

In general terms, conservators did not always have channels to voice their opinions and reach decision makers until the end of the twentieth century. Despite their long and demanding training, and the important roles they played within the cultural heritage sector, it was common until then for conservators to operate in relative professional invisibility (Pye 2001, 155; Brooks 2008; Jones and Holden 2008; Koutromanou 2017).

It takes a lot of orchestrated effort to break out of old hierarchical patterns, especially for professionals who carry out actions that need to be *imperceptible* in order to be considered effective (Brooks 2008). Even if unwittingly, some might by association confuse 'imperceptible actions' with 'lack of agency'. Moreover, not very long ago, it was mainly up to other professionals – curators, anthropologists, archaeologists, historians, scientists or even politicians – to make final decisions on how the material fabric of objects should look, what values they should highlight and how these artefacts should be used. Although this relative distance from final decisions did not redeem conservators from responsibility, it may well be one of the reasons they started to acquire, and at times even to believe in, an 'aura of neutrality'. Some might also argue that the need to be perceived as 'professionally impartial' may have added to this.

Other factors to be considered include the relatively low esteem associated with the artistic and craftsmanship roots of conservation, as opposed to disciplines perceived as being more intellectual or scientific. As well as the relatively lowly positions which conservators have traditionally enjoyed in museum hierarchies, they have suffered from insufficient professional mobility, low salaries (Keene 1996, 113; Brooks 2008, 1137; Aitchison 2013, 8) and a perceived need to communicate more effectively (Henderson 2001; Schadla-Hall 2001; Jones 2002; Brooks 2008, 1136; Frame 2008, 1149; Jones and Holden 2008, 16; Koutromanou 2017).

Notions of neutrality, however, are widely contested – especially in political realms. The political philosopher Noriaki Iwasa (2010), for example, uses established philosophical work to demonstrate that it is almost impossible to achieve political neutrality; to be truly neutral one would need neutral grounds to operate on (Iwasa 2010, 155). Following Iwasa's (2010, 150–1) elaboration, whenever a conflict occurs one is confronted with the options of engaging or not engaging with different aspects of this conflict, and with different needs of the parties involved in the conflict, directly or indirectly. Failing to engage with either party may entail a kind of neutrality, but is likely to benefit the stronger. Intervening equally with both parties usually has the same effect: that is, the stronger will probably profit more from the help than the weaker. Being 'neutral' in relation to cultural material is an equally frustrating struggle. In addition, as Sloggett points out:

It is impossible for a conservator to be 'detached' or 'impartial' when dealing with cultural material. Detachment may be possible with the 'material' part of the descriptor, but the 'cultural' prefix requires very clear identification of prejudices, frameworks, allegiances and preferred outcomes. (Sloggett 2009, 178)

In short, by displaying a particular object, by preserving, revealing, enhancing, recovering, interpreting or even ignoring a given aspect of this object, museum professionals make choices that carry messages from the context of these decisions. More crucially, these decisions may not only affect and politically charge the way in which the past is perceived, but also influence what people do, feel and think in the present.

Conservation might perhaps be neutral if conservators were able to operate in neutral frameworks. But this is hardly the case in a context where the removal of specimens from less powerful countries or cultures continued to be acceptable, especially in Western countries, until not very long ago. As already mentioned, the restitution debate is only recently coming higher up on the museum agenda, forcing museum directors, for example, to discuss it more openly (Hunt et al. 2018; Hunt 2019). Claiming neutrality could perhaps be acceptable if conservation decision-making processes were not informed by sociopolitical contexts, or if these decisions did not affect socio-political contexts in which objects and the people associated with them circulate. For here it suffices to say that acknowledging the potential impact of conservation, and consequently its lack of neutrality, makes it even more crucial to ensure conservation decision-making processes are open, democratic, well informed and engaged with different interest groups.

#### Transforming and being transformed

I have already acknowledged the complexity of collaborative processes and indicated their geographic spread among the conservation discipline – especially the sub-disciplines that deal directly with collections formed as a consequence of colonial power, such as those originating from Indigenous nations of various parts of the world. Regardless of some underlying and unspoken reasons for setting up participatory projects (no one wishes to be labelled as old-fashioned, for example, nor to be associated with colonial or non-democratic practices) and of the fact that Indigenous involvement does not necessarily entail collaboration (McMullen 2008, 55; Boast 2011), consultations, collaborations and partnerships with originators of artefacts and/or their descendants have been conducted extensively during the last 30 years. These processes need careful preparation, however. Not only may it be difficult to deal with the views and interests of many different groups and still come up with a consensus that satisfies everyone: it may also be challenging to make sure that the voices of everyone with an interest in the conservation of a particular object are represented. More crucially, it may be difficult to make sure that these voices and opinions are truly considered before decisions are taken. Below we explore Paulo Freire's dialogical method to discuss how to approach these processes, as well as their possible impacts.

Since it was published, Freire's *Pedagogy of the Oppressed* (1996 [1970]) has been used as a platform to implement more engaging and democratic practices in a range of education sub-disciplines. However, the work has also impacted other disciplines. It provided, for example, the foundations for Participatory Action Research (PAR) theories which have been applied to a diversity of contexts (Gustavsen 2001; Brydon-Miller et al. 2003). Freire's text focuses on the concept of *conscientização*, translated as *conscientisation* (also known as 'dialogical method') – an elaboration on how critical reflection can play essential roles in individual and social changes (McIntyre 2008, 3). Freire argued for an ethical responsibility to provide people with tools to reveal and understand situations of oppression, in order to enable them to create the means to act towards change. The method does not simply strive to provide the means to ask people what they think, however. It also seeks to empower them to formulate their own opinions through reflection and dialogue, and to transform all who are involved in the process. 'Dialogue', in short, is seen as an essential tool for empowerment.

Although not always explicitly, Freire's thinking has influenced museum anthropology and theoretical articulations around the possible beneficial impacts of museum practices on less privileged sectors of societies (Ames 2006), heritage language education (Gounari 2014), visual and digital participatory research (Gubrium et al. 2015) and critical heritage studies (Harrison 2010; Harrison and Hughes 2010), among others. His thinking also shows synergies with conservation collaborative projects (Johnson et al. 2005; Wharton 2008; 2012; Pouliot et al. 2017; Williams 2017), as well as established conservation-teaching methodologies (Henderson 2016; Pearlstein 2016).

Freire's work is devoted to those in society who have no power or cannot effectively influence decision-making processes – groups that work for the benefit of others and as defined by others (Freire 1996 [1970], 55). This is entrenched in a system of domination, in which education is a powerful instrument. Instead of preparing people to transform the reality of oppression, Freire believes that this system stimulates groups to adapt to the world around them (Freire 1996 [1970], 59). In education terms it consists of teachers *educating* and students passively *being educated* – the former are the thinkers and the latter the object of such 'thinking'. Educators choose the content with which the educated are *filled* (Freire 2001 [1998], 45). Educators are the *subject* and the educated the *object*, creating what Freire named 'banking education' (Freire 1996 [1970], 52–9) – a process in which one end deposits knowledge and the other end receives it, leaving no space for critical or creative thinking. Similar relationships have often been seen in museums, for example, in relation to how collections have been interpreted and controlled (Haas 1996; Ames 1992; 1994; Clifford 2004; Atalay 2006).

One of the effects of this 'banking system' is that the educated will often tend to internalise the ideas of others, notably of those in power or closer to decision-making (Freire 1996 [1970], 29). The lack of dialogue and critical thinking generates what Freire calls a 'culture of silence'. This tends to repeat itself ad infinitum, as those who internalise the perceptions and interests of others become fearful of thinking differently. In the contemporary context we could also draw a link to the damaging role that 'fake news' may play in this picture; the lack of training in critical thinking generates apathetic acceptance of information, even when this is obviously manipulated. Edward Said (2003 [1978]) famously showed that domination does not always have to rely on explicitly violent methods to succeed. For example, he explains the roles that 'knowledge' plays in the success of British imperial dominance, emphasising that 'knowing' defines dominance:

Knowledge means rising above immediacy, beyond self, into the foreign and distant. The object of such knowledge is inherently vulnerable to scrutiny; this object is a 'fact' which, if it develops, changes, or otherwise transforms itself in the way that civilizations frequently do, nevertheless is fundamentally, even ontologically stable. To have such knowledge of such a thing is to dominate it, to have authority over it. (Said 2003 [1978], 32)

It is also pertinent to note that the European museum model implemented in the nineteenth century was conceived to play a public role on behalf of the state and dominant systems of knowledge. Through the organisation, interpretation and presentation of their collections, these institutions validated and disseminated views from the dominant groups (Hooper-Greenhill 2000, 151). This model is still prevalent in many institutions today. Freire's (1972 [1970], 16–29) elaborations on cultures of silence are pertinent here, especially in relation to how 'silence' is generated and perpetuated by lack of dialogue and reflection. For example, perhaps the lack of representation of conservators in higher instances of decisionmaking in museums and heritage institutions has persisted because of a work culture based for a long time on invisibility and relative silence. Among many other effects, this has allowed conservation concerns to be used to justify or legitimise a number of actions that may have had little to do with conservation. Such concerns include access to objects, restrictions on how they can be used, loans or even repatriation disputes.

#### Action and reflection

The dialogical method proposed by Freire (1996 [1970], 76) is grounded in respect for people's knowledge and for their perceptions of the world. The process starts by an examination of the present context and its concrete situations, and should reflect the aspirations of all groups involved. There is little point in carrying out collaborative projects if they are not grounded in willingness to reassess established positions and opinions. This may apply to requests revealed during collaborations, but also to the way in which the projects themselves are conducted. Regardless of the topic under discussion, all the participants in a collaboration that aims to be a democratic partnership should carefully consider their own motivations for participation. In practice, however, these processes may not always be straightforward, as not all involved may be prepared for it, or even committed to share a common goal. In order to prevent conflicts from undermining engagement and knowledge exchange, it would therefore be advisable to start partnerships by discussing what each group expects to get out of the process. This would allow participants to adjust their expectations (or make them more realistic) according to the expectations of other participants.

Another challenge entails the creation of an environment in which people are able to think critically and creatively, and in which all participants act as both *subject* and *object* of inquiries (Brydon-Miller et al. 2003, 14). The de-hierarchisation of 'knowledge' or 'expertise' allows space for further reflection on everyone's ability to understand and address the issues under discussion. Nevertheless, the process starts with the identification and inclusion of representatives from different groups of knowledge holders. Besides affecting the outcome of the dialogues, these choices may also reflect back on the represented groups themselves. McMullen (2008, 70), a curator at the NMAI, has discussed the impact of individuals chosen by a museum to participate in such processes and highlighted difficulties that may be brought about when the choices happen in contexts where friction already exists – or where, as in the examples she uses, tribes may seek some kind of governmental acknowledgement.

Additionally, individuals chosen by the museum – and potentially the lineages or tribal factions that they represent – may gain significant validation as cultural authorities based on their selection. Where intra- and intertribal frictions exist, as in situations in southeastern New England where groups lacking federal acknowledgment as 'tribes' vie with those who have achieved that status to be heard and involved, being asked to the museum table is a significant validation. (McMullen 2008, 70)

Freire (1996 [1970], 77) warns against the danger of presenting preconceived views during collaborations. This may happen when, for example, conservators (or other museum professionals) participate in international projects and impose guidelines from their own countries or institutions. It may also occur when these professionals expect all project partners to have the same priorities, follow the same procedures or use the same material resources that they would. A more productive alternative here would be to discuss different perceptions, objectives and resources available until all points defining the collaboration are carefully considered. Clearly, in order to do that, one has to be able to communicate effectively. A lot of progress has been made in that respect in the last decade, as a result of orchestrated efforts to improve conservators' communication skills and conservation public outreach (Jones 2002; Calver 2006; Frame 2008; Ternisien 2009; Drago 2011; McClure 2013; Watts et al. 2013; Williams 2013; Hykin et al. 2019).

Effective communication includes finely tuned listening. Naturally, this is even more fundamental for communication between groups from different cultural backgrounds – in such circumstances understanding what things really mean may not be entirely straightforward. This corresponds to Kaminitz's observations (Kaminitz et al*.* 2009), based on her extensive experience at the NMAI:

Most Western cultures have very different styles of approaching the handing down of cultural knowledge when compared to those of indigenous communities where particular knowledge is often restricted to specific individuals. Learning methods are also different. Asking questions directly and outright is often considered impolite; rather, students learn by watching and listening carefully. (Kaminitz et al*.* 2009, 202)

Clavir elaborates on how the use of vocabulary, for example, is not always definitive, as the assumed meanings of words may be misleading and need to be related to their contexts (Clavir 2002, 211). She quotes Howard Grant (from the Musqueam First Nation of Canada) to show that effective communication does not end in what is being said, but is rather a process that needs to be nurtured.

Stronger communication. I would say to any museum or to any institute that as part of the curriculum they should visit First Nations communities, to talk, as you are doing right now … and to maintain posts, linkages, in respect to communicating with the public that someone owns the art pieces. Because too often we make academic decisions that are very logical and very real and albeit the right one, but people get offended. Almost all the right decisions are so debatable and so controversial, you know? And my thoughts are, this should have been done twenty years ago and not for a thesis paper but just general care of the object. (Howard Grant, quoted in Clavir 2002, 212)

Freire talks of human beings as creatures of action and reflection, and of animals as creatures of pure activity. Action unaccompanied by reflection would probably effect what he calls 'activism'. That is, by acting without reflecting conservators would probably merely follow models that have been perceived as desirable, without really examining their meanings or implications. On the other hand, if there is an excess of discussion but no action, the process could fall into the category of 'verbalism' (1996 [1970], 68). An example of verbalism in the contemporary museum could be illustrated by a project that claims to engage with different interest groups, but does not allow appropriate time or conditions for dialogue to develop and for its effects to be felt. In these instances participation only happens 'in theory' or 'on paper'. The basic premise here is that for a process of inquiry to become truly collaborative all participants must be encouraged to inquire into the nature of the problems in question, and be given opportunities to understand causes and implications for different contexts.

As per McIntyre (2008, 1–6), this may be achieved through a recursive and continuous process of exploration, knowledge construction, reflection and action. Here it is worth repeating that the conservation process also never ends, deterioration agents never cease to change and values associated with cultural material never cease to evolve. As in the model suggested by McIntyre, the conservation process of inquiry includes questioning particular issues, reflecting upon and investigating them, developing action plans and implementing, refining and reassessing these plans. The cycle can be resumed at any of these stages, whenever necessary. But all of these stages depend on the relationships between practice and theory, and may generate new knowledge through reflection.

This collaborative and engaged model emphasises the need for constant evaluation of, and reflection upon, what is being thought and done. It also emphasises that *all* different groups involved in the inquiry engage in *all* stages of the process, not only 'experts' and not only in the stages that the 'experts' have defined. Discrepancies may occur even between groups from the same discipline or institution. But people build trust through dialogue, action and reflection – and the more trust they build, the more productive the discussions will become.

Finally, reflective processes focus on transformation. When people transform the world with their work or the theory and policies generated by their work, they are also transformed themselves (Freire 1996 [1970], 106). This is especially significant for conservation, as conservators act in the crossroads of many disciplines and may find themselves in strategic positions to trigger dialogues affecting not only conservation actions but also relationships of power inside and outside the museum. The aim should always be to work *with* others, not only *for* others.

#### Conclusions

The rise of the postcolonial world challenges the authority that museums and heritage institutions hold to represent the past of others. Ultimately it means decision-making about material held by these institutions ought to be shared with larger and more diverse groups of people. Accordingly, the discipline of conservation has incorporated a more social orientation, rather than remaining purely technical and scientific. The conservation process is becoming increasingly more inclusive and focused on the people related to the material under conservation, rather than solely on the material itself. This could not be more appropriate, as conservation has the power to materialise, consolidate and communicate specific views of history, tastes and opinions. Conservation actions may vary according to the groups involved in decision-making, the character of the input, the political context in which they operate and the overall agenda of the professional and non-professional groups involved. Working in these contexts requires innovative methods of engagement. It is no longer enough to assume neutrality when confronted with a changing global landscape – particularly in terms of social identities, political and cultural values in contemporary circumstances.

As proposed by Freire, in order to transform something one has to be transformed as well. This means that when conservators engage with other knowledge holders, they should be ready to go through a process of reflective transformation. Not only does this affect the conservation process and the conserved object. It may also influence conservation theory and how people related to the process or the object perceive themselves: by acting and reflecting, conservators can generate new theory through practice. The consistent problematisation of knowledge exchange, practical skills and their impacts helps the effective creation of independent knowledge. It also strengthens knowledge that can be applied to specific problems or contexts and that can, in turn, reflect back on the discipline, its practitioners and all other groups involved.

#### Notes

#### References

Appelbaum, Barbara. 2007. *Conservation Treatment Methodology*. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann.

## 2 Conservation and collaboration: a discussion

Miriam Clavir

#### Introduction

The conservation of historic and artistic works focuses on the preservation of material culture. Equally, though, examining questions such as 'what is being preserved?', 'for whom?' and 'how?' brings the importance of cultural values, and of people themselves, into any conservation discussion. This chapter will highlight a continuing evolution in the field: the recognition that conservation brings together people with *people*, not just people with objects.

To examine this evolution, I will begin by discussing conservation practice in museums beginning in the 1980s that is related to the material culture of Indigenous peoples, using examples primarily from Canada. The conservation codes of ethics, and their inclusion of intangible as well as tangible heritage, will form part of the discussion. In addition, conservation values and practices will be examined in the context of changing museum values during the later twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. After this review of museum conservation history, the discussion will broaden to consider the conservation profession as a whole, asking all conservation subfields 'how the practice of conservation can promote human wellbeing' (the subject, albeit condensed in my own words, of the conference at which this text was first presented). The conclusion of this chapter will centre on three Canadian examples of collaborative preservation projects where the process, not just the outcome, was intended to promote respect and wellbeing.

#### A brief history of conservation and Indigenous concerns

In this overview I make particular reference to Canada and the question of using museum collections. In Canada the context of Aboriginal peoples' concerns began radically to affect the conservation field in the 1980s. In 1986 the Canadian Conservation Institute (CCI) organised a seminal conference on 'the care and handling of ethnological materials' (Organising Committee 1988, 1). CCI's goal was both innovative and reflective of the increasingly politicised museum environment of the period. The organisers in 1986 had in fact stated that 'Conferences related specifically to this class of materials had been infrequent' (Organising Committee 1988, 1).

One Indigenous curator presented at the conference. She is Gloria Cranmer Webster, a member of a chiefly 'Namgis (Kwakwaka'wakw) family in British Columbia, the first director of the U'mista Cultural Centre and responsible for many repatriations. Cranmer Webster has later commented, 'Of particular interest to me were the papers which dealt with the conservation of cultural property in association with the original owners. This kind of dialogue is to be increasingly encouraged in the future' (Cranmer Webster 1988, 78). In her own presentation she had affirmed to the audience, composed mainly of conservators, that, 'The objects themselves are not important; what matters is what the objects represent' (Cranmer Webster 1988, 77). The audience had clapped politely.

Two curators from Vancouver's University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology (MOA) and myself, MOA's conservator, gave a joint paper on the pros and cons of MOA's policy of loaning back contemporary pieces from our collection to their makers for ceremonial use. In the early 1980s MOA occasionally received one but not more than three requests per year for use of collections related to the objects' meaning, although the number of requests doubled to six during Vancouver's World's Fair in 1986. After listening to our talk at the CCI conference, one audience member responded:

I'm so upset about this whole thing. … I'm a generalist conservator in a fine art museum and I fought a similar battle with a decorative arts curator. … A lot of decorative arts pieces are made for utilitarian uses and they were being constantly pressed into utilitarian uses in the museum. … [I]t is [the curator's] decision what kind of legacy they want to pass on as a professional curator. Now if they want to pass on a bunch of altered, mutilated, damaged objects, they're fooling themselves if they think that the museum is going to let them have those choices. (Clavir et al. 1988, 87–8)

#### Codes of ethics

Let me open a parenthesis here and say that even today conservation codes of ethics, such as the American Institute for Conservation's (AIC), succinctly state 'The field of conservation deals with the physical aspect of cultural property' (AIC 1994a). The Canadian (CCI) and the International Institute for Conservation's (IIC) codes are similar.1,2 The early history of professional conservation emphasised, among other stipulations, that conservators treat objects so that their physical fabric is stabilised and practitioners are not adding to deterioration or loss. As early as 1959, in fact, the IIC stated that its members should 'take any action necessary to further the understanding and controlling of the causes of deterioration of Historic and Artistic Works'.3

In the United States the Murray Pease Report and the Code of Ethics formulated and published in the years 1960 to 1968 not only adopted the IIC's objectives but also declared, for instance, 'It must be axiomatic that all professional actions of a conservator be governed by unswerving respect for the integrity of works of art' (IIC 1968).4 At this time, and in the 1960s in North American conservation, the integrity of contemporary and historic materials was formally defined using the words 'physical, historic and aesthetic'. Phrases such as 'conceptual integrity' or 'unique character and significance' were not codified until the mid-1980s or even later.

Concerning the question of use of museum collections, in 1986 the Canadian code did begin by stating that conservators must 'strive constantly to maintain a balance between the need of society to use a cultural property and the preservation of that cultural property' (CAC and CAPC 2000, 1). This clause has remained unchanged.

In summary, it is certainly true, especially today, that the conservation profession acknowledges that attributes or dimensions other than the physical are important in preserving the significance of an object's meaning. Equally, however, conservation has long defined itself as being focused on those expressions of meaning that can be found in the physical materials. And with good reason: the conservation profession has a necessary, highly specialised, applied focus. The AIC code states:

While recognizing the right of society to make appropriate and respectful use of cultural property, the conservation professional shall serve as an advocate for the preservation of cultural property. (AIC 1994b)

Readers may understand why, in 1983, three years before the CCI symposium mentioned earlier, I felt very conflicted when MOA's director asked me to approve the loan of an *older* piece – one from the permanent MOA collection – for use at a potlatch by a First Nations family that had the traditional rights and privileges to it. Apart from MOA in Vancouver and the Royal British Columbia Museum (then the British Columbia Provincial Museum) in Victoria, which had commissioned a dedicated collection of contemporary Northwest Coast regalia, virtually no museum at that time considered that loaning out objects for use was professional practice.

How was I expected to balance out the values of my conservation profession and the values of my museum? As Gloria Cranmer Webster (1988, 72) said in 1986:

We know what conservators do or try to do; that is, preserve objects for as long as possible. But, diametrically opposed to this is the general Indian view as I know it, which is that objects are created to be used and when those objects are damaged or worn out, they are thrown away and new ones are made.

Cranmer Webster also understood very well what art galleries and museums did. The traditional gallery perspective privileged its concept of the aesthetics of the works and, as well, 'the masterpiece'. In museums curators had most often written their labels in an anonymous, timeless style. In both instances the museum voice was the omniscient narrator, the author and authority. Now this was beginning to be challenged and to change.

Changing priorities in conservation and museums in response to stakeholders

Some of the most significant museum changes in the last few decades have come about because of the activism of Indigenous communities. Even in the 1970s and earlier, a few communities such as Zuni had called for repatriation of their sacred belongings. In the 1980s, in North America at least, the traditional museum functions of collecting and classifying began to be firmly challenged by more requests for repatriation and for Indigenous cultural values to be respected.

In Canada the first joint meeting between the national museum organisation, the Canadian Museums Association, and the national Aboriginal organisation, the Assembly of First Nations, was held in 1988 – in response to an effective First Nations and partial international boycott of a major museum exhibit over the actions of its sponsor.5 Whether a particular museum might be considered conventional or progressive, all members of both national organisations had now become involved in the dialogue and the relationship between Canadian museums and Canada's Indigenous peoples. Museum rules evolved into museum questions. For instance, whether loaning Indigenous heritage objects out of a museum's permanent collection for use or in the example given by the deeply worried conservator at the CCI symposium mentioned above, the process became in many ways a question of resolving whether the use was necessary or unnecessary and according to whom – and of whether it was possible to mitigate deterioration of the museum object's physical fabric during the use.

Let me mention here another changing context at the time. In the museum world, 'stakeholders' became a word widely used for people with a particular interest in the museum enterprise. As readers know, Indigenous or other originators of museum collections are not the only museum stakeholders. What is interesting to note is that relationships, not just collections, were already being emphasised in certain places. For instance, both the 'new museology' that began in the 1960s and the 'ecomuseum' involved 'community participation in all aspects of museum operations' (Kreps 2008, 28).6

As a second example of stakeholders, in the 1980s, museums had begun to see themselves as being not just about art or about stories, but also about entertainment. Entertainment in one sense was also about relationships – and not just those between the museum and its visitors. Exhibition designers created spaces and ways not only for enjoyment, but also for interaction between people, encouraging people to bring their family and friends and to interact with them while in the museum**.**

The end result of acknowledging the importance for the museum of promoting relationships for or with all 'stakeholders' was that museums listened in new ways to voices beyond those of the museum professional. And the museum's voice and authority began to be shared, including with the originating communities of their collections. Many areas of museum practice felt the effects of this reconceptualisation of power and authority – although, notably, this was implemented to greater or lesser extents in various museums. Indigenous people became not merely informants for exhibit content, but partners in the whole exhibit development process from the start – including the use of agreed-upon direct quotations as the exhibit labels and the negotiated rights to copyright of information coming from Indigenous participation. Many curators no longer did their research to accumulate knowledge in specialist subject areas so they could curate 'their exhibit'; instead they worked as facilitators to present first-hand perspectives and voices from the communities whose cultural history or contemporary realities were being shown. A curator's specialist knowledge certainly is important, but often now it is shared knowledge: an exhibit reflects and acknowledges extensive collaboration. A project may well have begun with a negotiated mutual protocol agreement between equal exhibit partners. Museums have now come to see themselves as having a primary responsibility to people and their values rather than to the value of objects.

In the 1990s one American museum specialist observed 'The increasing presence of Native American[s] … in mainstream museums is challenging … western, scientifically based museological paradigms' (Kreps 1998, 3). Readers will appreciate that conservation is one of these scientific paradigms. This evolution in museums has meant that conservation's stated primary interest in preserving the physical object has not only been displaced as a priority in many museums, but has in some places been seen as fundamentally incompatible with their major commitments.

At the same time, these changing priorities have helped museum staff to see certain assumptions and values embedded in their own practices more clearly. The same museum specialist also acknowledged '[W]e … see how professional … practices, regarded as "natural" and "logical," are cultural constructs and products of our own museum culture' (Kreps 1998, 3). In addition, certain subfields of conservation, such as the conservation of material belongings from Indigenous and world cultures, have evolved new paradigms that fit well with the contemporary contexts that have developed – and, additionally, with the new technologies that increase access to information.

For instance, by the mid-1990s and certainly in the twenty-first century, conservation professionals in various countries – and especially but by no means exclusively in countries with Indigenous populations – have worked more and more often with Indigenous and minority communities on preservation projects. Knowledge gained from these projects has then been shared more broadly in conservation: at various conferences, workshops and in articles and books published in the conservation and museum literature. In addition, museums and their organisations have provided an expanding context for this work. The Collections Council of Australia (CCA), for example, published guidelines for assessing the significance of collections (Russell and Winkworth 2009), and the much smaller Museums Association of Saskatchewan (Canada) investigated standards for the care of First Nations and Metis collections (Fiori 1999). The legal profession has also written increasingly on repatriation for both legal and general audiences.

Throughout all of the work in these areas, projects have directly involved First Nations; they were done in collaboration with them and responding to their requests. Much of this varied work on preservation is now available on the internet, allowing access for anyone – students, Indigenous communities, museums outside the originating country, etc. Conservators have been fundamental initiators and resource people for many of these developments. More and more, conservation professionals have good access to information on many aspects of the preservation of world and Indigenous heritage including, importantly, from the websites of Indigenous organisations and individuals.

#### Relationships between the conservation field as a whole and community stakeholders

This discussion will now focus on conservation's sub-disciplines – because even though conservators have increasingly participated in collaborative projects conserving Indigenous heritage, what meaning has this had for the profession as a whole? Is the contemporary context of 'preserving conceptual integrity' and collaboration with originating communities relevant to the practice of conservators of European oil paintings or decorative arts, for example? Certainly conservation's subfields have different concerns and contexts, and focus on different materials. But we work under essentially similar professional ethics.

Do we ask whether a student in a conservation programme's paintings' stream could be arguing why an art museum will not lend an icon or an altarpiece for use? Do conservators of Euro-American pieces discuss whether the term 'source community' should be used for the West? Or the fact that many copyright laws may protect artists, but offer less security if you happen to be defined as a craftsperson?

I believe that the conservation profession as a whole does not engage enough in these debates. I have the impression that questions can be sidestepped by the fact that different compromises are made all the time in conservation, a situation that is considered allowable in different subfields. But what I am addressing here is not compromise. Not, at least, in the negative sense that means one has settled for less. Instead, it can mean a goal of maximising the benefits for all concerned, even though no single party achieves one hundred per cent. I would like to make sure that the conservation profession as a whole appreciates that words such as 'standards' and 'codes of ethics' encompass both the ideal in relation to the object and the real, daily world of context, and thus strive to maximise the ideal for the individual object in relation to the whole context. So-called compromises from ethical standards can allow a 'win–win' situation, for example maximising physical preservation during use that is a necessary part of the object's significance. Yet does this bring us back to the conservator of decorative arts quoted earlier? In his field, what is 'necessary'?

In any case, do questions pertaining to use of museum collections or relationships with originating cultures concern the conservation profession as a whole? Conservators have more than enough to do in their own focus on physical materials, especially in today's world of cutbacks, and the profession as a whole is concerned with other contemporary issues, such as sustainability. Is it not enough that at least the sub-specialty of conserving objects from world cultures is active in, and publishes on, museum–community relationships?

There *are* substantive concerns, though. In saying this, I acknowledge that my reasons may be personal: I may merely be trying to defend my own areas of interest. But to give one example: conservators in private practice can overprotect the physical object – they have to protect their businesses as well. As more museums hire private conservators rather than maintain in-house departments, the stringent conditions that these private conservators stipulate for a loan, for instance, may leave little flexibility for the receiving museum to let the originating people be comfortably close to their heritage belongings without breaking the loan conditions.

A second illustration is the Hindu bronze statue at MOA being celebrated by its Vancouver community in 2010 (Figs 2.2 and 2.3). An article in the *New Yorker* on repatriation had stated:

For religious Hindus, images of the gods are not merely representational; they can be inhabited by the deity they depict. The faithful anoint the statues with oils, camphor, and sandalwood, garland them with flowers, and make offerings of food, incense, and music. …. When, in 1986, the Indian government sued for the return of a twelfth-century bronze Shiva that had been looted from a village in Pathur, it did so on behalf of the offended god himself. Shiva was named as a plaintiff in the case. 'In the south, people still don't tell lies in Shiva's temple,' Ashok Shekhar, a former state arts and culture official in Rajasthan, told me. 'These are very hotheaded deities.' (Keefe 2007, 60)7

In a non-anthropology museum, the MOA-owned bronze statue of Vishnu might be in a department that sees it chiefly as an art object. What would be the relationship between the museum and the community?

**Fig. 2.1** Bronze representation of Vishnu in 'visible storage' at the UBC Museum of Anthropology. Photographer Heidi Swierenga. Courtesy of UBC Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver, Canada.

**Fig. 2.2**

(*continued*)

**Figs 2.2 and 2.3** A Hindu bronze statue at MOA is celebrated by its Vancouver community in 2010. Photographer Heidi Swierenga. Courtesy of UBC Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver, Canada.

#### The preservation of heritage

This discussion could include an examination of fundamental definitions surrounding heritage preservation, a topic that concerns all conservators. For example, the word 'preservation' applies to skills as well as to materials. Anupam Sah, Head of Art Conservation at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (CSMVS) in Mumbai, has discussed the conservation of heritage wall paintings in the state of Orissa (Stoner 2009). In this project conservation meant preserving the traditional skills of the local artists by having them reconstruct wall paintings that had deteriorated and in places disappeared. The old paintings were not necessarily saved; preservation meant new images on new walls. These paintings sustain local economic wellbeing.

Conservators have often been compared to doctors – not just because of their white lab coats, but because they are seen as specialists in diagnosing and healing the 'diseases' of heritage materials. I was particularly interested to hear a medical doctor declare that he no longer wanted to be a specialist. He acknowledged that 'It's something I wanted to do since the beginning of meds school, to be a specialist and have all the information…' But as he practised this physician decided to become an Emergency Room doctor, realising that he 'wanted to be the one discovering what the issues were' (Knowledge Network 2014). As I understand his words, the doctor preferred the challenge not only of continual new cases that needed quick resolution, but also of what this situation involved: the need to analyse a whole complexity of factors to help his patients most successfully, as opposed to repeating treatments in his one, particular specialty. Does this have any resonance in conservation practice?

#### Collaboration in heritage preservation: three examples

This chapter concludes with three Canadian examples of collaboration related to heritage preservation. What interested me especially about these examples was how, by recognising and working with the underlying issues, the people involved promoted more respect within the preservation projects. The projects recognised the context of 'human wellbeing' as a goal of the process.

The first example is the process that the Canadian Conservation Institute used with its Indigenous Advisory Board for their landmark 2007 conference, 'Preserving Aboriginal Heritage: Technical and Traditional Approaches'. The conference proceedings have been published, with CCI's Tom Stone contributing a further analysis (Dignard et al. 2008; Stone 2009). This chapter will summarise just one aspect, the Advisory Board meetings themselves.

The Indigenous Board members used a modified Aboriginal circle process in the meetings. CCI, as proposers of the conservation conference, drafted the meeting agenda, but only the Board discussed its items. CCI people sat and listened. My understanding is that the discussion might go around the table more than once, until consensus was reached. Then CCI summarised what they had heard. They might also present their side and listen to more round-table discussions or, more usually, wait until the next meeting to give themselves the time to discuss the topics raised internally. The point I want to emphasise here is that the CCI people spent a lot of time truly listening.

Listening in an open-minded way to grasp someone else's emphasis is hard. Consciously or not, our professional, cultural or other mindsets filter what we hear. To quote from a very different context, from an aid agency that works internationally 'The difference between hearing and listening is paying attention, finding and living that elusive element of real connection' (Messinger 2014).

The second example is about a collaboration that grew from a firm base in *mistrust*. It concerns a tract of land in Ontario whose location had made it, for millennia, a water and land transportation gateway. The land and its portage had played a huge role historically as a place of both meeting and conflict for peoples and cultures.

This land had come under the ownership of a pulp and paper company that in recent years had shut down its mill. Kenora, the small city next to the land, wanted to make new use of the area; so did other levels of government. However, the city and the land are both located in the traditional and treaty territory of three Anishnaabe First Nations. Add pollution, clear cutting (razing a large area of forest) and other issues, and the result was a huge legacy of mistrust on all sides – including an earlier (1970s) First Nations armed occupation of municipal land in Kenora, as well as court battles over Aboriginal rights.

All the local leadership, then, was aware that a dispute could create serious conflict. The issue became the best way in which 'to settle the future of this historic piece of land'. The leaders on all sides decided:

I won't own the land, but neither will you. In recognition of our contentious past, let's move forward with a common purpose of respect for the land and mutual benefit, and give everyone access to the land as a park called 'Common Ground'. (Cuyler Cotton, Dovetail Resources, pers. comm., 2011)8

The land was then donated by the pulp and paper company. It has since been managed by a stewardship group with representatives from the municipality, the Grand Council of Treaty 3 and the three local First Nations. Success was not described as being measured by a utopian end at the project's finish, but by the on-going process – by the health, the wellbeing, of both the land and the relationship. Success in these terms has now existed for over a decade. Several academics commented about the expectations raised by the phrase 'Common Ground', however, saying:

[W]hile the 'Common Ground' land management initiative requires them to negotiate diverse and sometimes conflicting objectives in their pursuit of a potentially unifying goal, tensions still exist between people's views, interests and values. (Robson et al. 2013, 18)

The third example illustrates collaboration using social media. I have had a small part in a university-funded project where my role was to offer conservation advice for people in two First Nations villages who had heirlooms or contemporary pieces at home that they wished to preserve.9 The project was concerned primarily with repatriation. Preservation was thus configured rather metaphorically here, as an extension of repatriation, in the sense that it was helping to ensure objects were at home.

The project's leaders envisioned, as a first step, two pilot videos on conservation, about 4 to 5 minutes in length, to go up on the project's website – for example, discussions with a family about a piece they wanted to preserve. But then Duncan McCue, a First Nations journalist working in Canadian television news, advised against this idea. He explained to me that 'People in the villages might look at that once. The site would be static'. Instead he recommended a page on Facebook, a platform that people in the First Nations communities were already using. McCue said that Facebook's importance is that it hands control over to people, to a community of engaged sharers, not just to a project or author.

And people enjoy it, so they'll use it over and over again, sharing information, both their own, and preservation information, and opinions. It's a two-way street. … Think of your project as not just linking people and collections, or people and information, but linking people and people. (Duncan McCue, pers. comm., 22 November 2011)10

Let me open a brief parenthesis here with information about a different Canadian First Peoples' context.

A northerner has pointed out that low internet bandwidth in parts of Nunavut in the far north of Canada has forced those living in remote Inuit communities to communicate through text. This has meant that even fluent speakers of Inuktitut often use English and a Roman alphabet keyboard. He described the potential consequence:

Languages that have survived 4,000 years, through whalers, traders, priests, government, residential schools and cable TV, will not survive 20 years of a literary internet forcing everybody to communicate in their second language. … We're trying to build an internet that people can use in their own oral languages, and to do that it has to work *audio-visually*. (Everett-Green 2014)

It is time to return to Duncan McCue and his advice that the project adopt the internet platform that people in the two Quebec villages – Kitigan Zibi and Mashteuiatsh, First Nations communities with reasonably good internet access – are already enjoying.

From the project's perspective, one big negative in having an interactive site is that it needs to be monitored continually for nasty or otherwise undesirable postings. In addition, the project's goal should ideally ensure that someone can get an answer to a conservation question months or years from now. This particular project is grant funded and therefore time-limited. At the end of the project, then, can there be anything other than a static site? In my opinion, one resolution might come through the conservation interaction being part of an on-going relationship between one of the First Nations cultural centre museums and a conservation training programme with its continual new influx of students. I am grateful to Dr Joyce Helmer (Anishinaabe) for supplying medical information which provided a catalyst for this conservation analogy (pers. comm., 30 May 2016).11

Duncan McCue, with his expertise as a professional journalist, advised other changes to the project's media plans. He suggested, for example, that a video of 4 or 5 minutes' duration is too long, instead recommending short segments, just 1 or 2 minutes in length, on different but pertinent aspects of the subject matter. Both Kitigan Zibi and Mashteuiatsh have cultural centres. Staff there knew that these subject segments could include traditional language use, for example, or cultural or archival information related to the family's heritage piece, not only discussions on preservation. Each segment, McCue recommended, should highlight no more than two points; it should also be possible to access the segments separately so that people can choose which one(s) they want to look at. This not only suits the media platform and how people use it, but it also gives the users, not the project, control. This design would help to ensure that the segments are useful for the communities, rather than simply looking good for the project's mandate and to its funders.

#### Conclusion

The points raised in these discussions lead back to the importance, in my opinion, for the conservation field to have an interest in the whole, larger picture, and to foreground the building of good, respectful, relationships as a goal. By adopting such strategies conservation *can* link people to people, as well as helping to preserve their material biographies.

#### Notes

#### References

AIC (American Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works). 1994a. 'Commentaries to the Guidelines for Practice: Commentary 18; Interpretation', *Code of Ethics*. Accessed 31 July 2019. https://www.culturalheritage.org/about-conservation/code-of-ethics.

### 3 The role of conservation education in reconciliation: the example of the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage

Jessica S. Johnson, Kim Cullen Cobb and Brian Michael Lione

#### Introduction

World-class cultural property, including museum collections and archaeological and historic sites, is dispersed through every province in Iraq, but the knowledge necessary to preserve and administer these resources safely and effectively – particularly in times of armed conflict – is not. Cultural heritage is part of what defines a people's identity (Bouchenaki 2003). In times of uncertainty, people with the skills and desire needed to preserve cultural heritage are vital to ensure that a community's history and culture are safe for all to share, study and enjoy.

As part of 'soft diplomacy' and 'peace-building' activities after conflict, some Western governments and transnational entities are funding more cultural heritage projects that support educational programmes and practical projects across the Middle East (e.g. World Bank 2001; Odegaard et al. 2014; JICA 2017; Stein 2016; British Museum 2017). This chapter describes the development of one of these projects, the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation of Antiquities and Heritage (abbreviated as the Iraqi Institute, IICAH or simply the Institute).1 It explores some of the ways in which conservators and other foreign cultural heritage experts supporting the effort have evolved and adapted their approaches, through collaboration with Iraqi cultural heritage professionals participating in the endeavour.

#### The Iraqi Institute in context

Conservation and other cultural heritage-based academic and professional communities (such as archaeology, historic preservation and architecture) have been examining the role of collaboration and working with others who have an interest in material culture for some time. Whether obliged to collaborate through new legal requirements, such as the United States' Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (McManamon 2000, or through a desire to do their work 'differently' (e.g. Johnson et al. 2005; Little and Shackel 2014; Court and Wijesuriya 2015; Onciul et al. 2017; Chitty 2017), individuals and institutions have been changing attitudes and practices to work more collaboratively with stakeholders outside the traditional cultural heritage fields. At this point, however, while the responsibility of cultural heritage professionals to consider other stakeholders in a project is generally accepted, in practice the application of these ideas to a real-life project is widely variable in success and application (McManamon et al. 2008; Waterton and Watson 2013; Emerick 2017).

In post-conflict countries, there is even more need for foreign practitioners in heritage conservation to consider critically how their attitudes and methodologies may or may not work. Some examination of how this can best be done has taken place (Stanley-Price 2007), but there is a need for more research and reflection on what constitutes a successful project for heritage and for the community in the long term. Barakat (2007) clearly delineates deficiencies in international policy and practice that limit the effectiveness of postwar reconstruction programmes and illustrates how these gaps limit recovery of cultural heritage.

There is also need for the cultural heritage community in general, and for those who desire to work in these situations in particular, to explore academic and practitioners' knowledge in the relief and development community. In so doing they can draw on their longer and deeper experience with capacity-building, redevelopment and reconciliation after conflict. The approaches, experiences and successes and failures of this community have yet to be clearly examined by much of the cultural heritage community.

This chapter illustrates some of the difficulties and pitfalls of working in a post-conflict situation that is politicised, insecure and rapidly changing. This project has required constant adaptation of programmes to ensure that real change and improvement, both for individuals and for the professional heritage community, could occur. This chapter, based on a paper originally presented in 2014, has been updated to incorporate information on programmes that have taken place since the conference. Attempts to give sustainability to the project continue.

#### The Iraqi Institute

Since 2009 the Iraqi Institute has been helping to rebuild the community of heritage professionals tasked with caring for and protecting the ancient heritage of Iraq (Cassman et al. 2011). The Iraqi Institute is located in the city of Erbil, Iraq, in the northern Kurdistan Autonomous Region. It was conceived as a partnership between communities speaking three different languages – English, Arabic and Kurdish – who understand and value ancient and historic heritage. Funded primarily by the US Government, the Iraqi Federal Government and the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG), along with foundations and private donors, the people involved in building the Iraqi Institute are working to overcome the impact of decades of war, genocide, economic sanctions, terrorism and political turmoil. The Iraqi Institute brings together those who believe that the preservation of heritage helps people to come together in the present time. In so doing it demonstrates how preservation of cultural heritage such as museum artefacts, archaeological sites and historic buildings, combined with safe access and clear interpretation, can promote reconciliation and inclusiveness within and between communities.2

The importance of the Iraqi Institute is immeasurable. The graduates of its programmes, who come from all 18 provinces of Iraq, are an expanding core of heritage professionals; they work in governmental and academic institutions specifically responsible for preservation of the country's cultural heritage. The need for such skilled people is acute. In June 2014 the invasion of Mosul and the Nineveh Province in Iraq by the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS; also called the 'Islamic State') caused hundreds of thousands of Iraqis – including cultural heritage professionals from the Mosul Museum and the provincial offices of the State Board of Antiquities and Heritage (SBAH; the government entity with legal responsibility for ancient heritage in Iraq) – to flee. Between 2014 and 2017 ISIS activities destroyed much of Iraq's ancient and irreplaceable cultural heritage in occupied areas. Social media – together with local and international press reports and numerous projects using satellite imagery over those years – documented that in Iraq ISIS continued its tradition (clearly documented in Syria) of systematically destroying monuments, sites and objects deemed 'idolatrous'; they also sold artefacts from museum collections and archeological sites to fund their activities (see, for example, Danti et al. 2015; Drennan 2014; Kohn 2014; Barnard 2015). Alumni and future students of the Iraqi Institute will be at the forefront of documenting this damage and helping the country to recover in the future.

#### The ideas behind the Iraqi Institute

In 2008, when the US Government provided seed money for the Iraqi Institute, the city of Erbil, in the centre north of Iraq inside the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, was chosen as a safe location; here people could come from throughout the country to learn about heritage preservation. Kurdistan is often referred to in the media and in tourist literature as 'the other Iraq' because of its comparative safety and security. Most of the Kurdistan region is located in the Zagros Mountains, with foothills and plains lying just below. The city of Erbil is built around an ancient citadel, first mentioned in cuneiform sources in 2300 bc (MacGinnis 2014; Lawler 2014). It is touted as being up to '8,000' years old, and excavations are now taking place on the citadel that may eventually define its true age. The Erbil Citadel was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list in June 2014.

The Iraqi Institute building has been renovated with funds provided by the KRG. It includes classrooms, laboratories, dormitories, a dining hall, library and all the facilities needed to support heritage professionals from throughout Iraq who work and live together as they study heritage preservation. The building is located close to the Erbil Citadel and surrounding historic neighbourhoods, including a market dating from the Ottoman period. Appointed in 2010, a Board of five Iraqis manages the Institute. Three of them work for the Iraqi Ministry of Culture's State Board of Antiquities and Heritage (SBAH) and the other two, including the Director, Dr Abdullah Khorsheed, work for the KRG at Salahaddin University. An Advisory Council of leading Iraqi and international cultural heritage professionals assist the Board; they bring decades of experience from careers with the Federal Government of Iraq and the KRG and from the academic, management and education sectors of the international heritage conservation field. Charged with overseeing development of the academic programmes, these advisors, interested colleagues and Iraqi Institute staff designed courses to address three basic areas of conservation education. These courses have been taught at the Institute since 2009 (Johnson et al. 2014).3

Students in Iraqi Institute classes all have a BA or higher qualification and a position in the heritage preservation field. Many work for the central SBAH in Baghdad, the KRG's Directorate-General of Antiquities or regional offices in one of Iraq's 18 provinces. Other students work for university departments of archaeology and engineering or for other government ministries. Almost 45 per cent of the students have been female. The ethnic and religious diversity of the students reflect that of Iraq: Kurd, Arab, Turkman, Christian, Muslim (Sunna and Shia) and others. They range in age from students in their mid-20s at the beginning of their careers to older professionals in their 50s, with decades of experience. After completing course work at the Institute, most students return to their original jobs. They need to adapt and apply their new skills immediately to improve preservation and access to the cultural resources in their care.

#### Educational programmes 2009–14

Visiting instructors who are experts in their fields teach all courses. They have been recruited from countries across the world including the US, Australia, Czech Republic, India, Iraq, Italy, Jordan, Sweden, Turkey and the UK. Cumulatively they have decades of experience working in other countries and providing education in the modern, internationally defined profession of heritage conservation. Because English is the language of international heritage preservation, daily English language instruction forms part of most programmes. All courses are taught in English, accompanied by both Arabic and Kurdish translation. Generally visiting instructors teach blocks of one to four weeks in length, with each 'module' of a longer course lasting eight to 10 weeks.

The Collections Care and Conservation Program (CCC) focuses on the care of artefacts in museums. The 30-week course consists of both introductory and advanced levels, so students may benefit from up to 60 weeks of education. The course has a focus on preventive conservation for the materials and collections found in museums in Iraq, concentrating particularly on archaeological collections.

#### Year 1 (Introductory): Preventive Conservation for Archaeology and Museums

The first-year course in conservation of moveable heritage provides a basic introduction to the theoretical and practical aspects of preservation of artefacts and collections. The 30-week course is divided into three modules, each requiring eight weeks for classroom instruction at the Iraqi Institute and two weeks for a practical project that individual students undertake at home.

At the end of the Year 1 Conservation Course, students are expected to have the skills to:

#### Year 2 (Advanced): Laboratory Conservation for Archaeology and Museums

The second-year course in conservation of moveable heritage continues education in the theoretical and practical aspects of conservation of artefacts and collections. Students of the advanced level must be nominated from the Year 1 course. The programme is designed to build and reinforce technical skills set within a broader understanding of the academic field of conservation and its international community. The 30-week course is divided into three modules, each involving eight weeks of classroom instruction at the Iraqi Institute and two weeks for a practicum that individual students carry out at home. Work is carried out on objects from local museums, excavations and private individuals.

At the end of the Year 2 (Advanced) Conservation Course, students are expected to have the skills to:

The Architectural Site Conservation Course (ASC) provides a basic introduction to the theoretical and practical aspects of preserving built heritage. The 20-week course is delivered in two modules, each involving eight weeks of classroom instruction at the Iraqi Institute and four weeks for a practicum that individual students undertake at home. Students also practise technical skills on historic buildings in and around Erbil as part of the course.

At the end of the ASC Course, students are expected to have the skills to:

The Archaeological Site Preservation Program (ASP) began in 2013 as a 10-week, single module course; it was taught three times throughout 2013 and 2014. The course has classroom and field components to ensure an equal balance of theoretical and practical elements. Fieldwork took place at archaeological sites around Erbil.

At the end of the ASP, students are expected to have the skills to:

#### Didactic method

The mission of the Iraqi Institute is 'to preserve the legacy of humanity contained in the unique cultural heritage of Iraq. It accomplishes this through educating people in conservation and preservation and by inviting professionals from around the world to share expertise'.

The most important word in its mission statement is EDUCATING – chosen very specifically in contrast to TRAINING. The authors' experiences in Iraq, since 2009, have shown that training (defined as short courses in the country or abroad) often fails to give people from crisis and conflict areas the skills, information and experience they need to effect meaningful change and improvement.

Since the beginning, programmes at the Iraqi Institute have utilised a reflective, recursive, educational approach to ensure that courses continuously evolve to meet students' needs. As conservators work more and more as educators in countries recovering from conflict or disaster, it is important to consider carefully what is taught and how this is undertaken, as well as to reflect on successes and failures to share with colleagues (e.g. Hamdan et al. 2008; Roby et al. 2008; Kurin 2011; Tandon 2011). The methodologies used to teach in traditional conservation university programmes, and the techniques of interaction that conservators are comfortable using, may not be the best way to share ideas in countries with different educational traditions and a recent history of trauma and crises. Developing an appropriate approach to education takes time and constant re-evaluation.

From the first classes in 2009 onwards, all visiting instructors were asked to provide a final report using a simple standard format (Fig. 3.1). This enabled comparable information to be collected from all teachers. These reports have been useful in several ways. First, they provide subsequent teachers in each course with real information on what the students had just been taught and issues that they might have to address further. The reports also make it easier to evaluate individual student improvement – particularly important when there is not a single teacher in the classroom at all times. As individual students respond differently

**Fig. 3.1** Outline for the Final Report for Visiting Instructors in the University of Delaware Conservation Programs at the Iraqi Institute for the Conservation and Preservation of Antiquities and Heritage. Courtesy of Iraqi Institute for the Conservation and Preservation of Antiquities and Heritage.

to different teaching styles, a student who appeared weaker in one class might shine in another. The teachers' reports provide valuable help in tracking such variation.

Visiting instructors' suggestions for improving the programme have also helped to evolve the design of programmes in later versions. For example, an instructor might note a gap in knowledge that most international instructors would assume were basic shared skills (for example measurement, public presentation or an understanding of atoms and molecules). These reports ensure that multiple instructors work on these same skills multiple times later in the courses.

Students also evaluate visiting instructors using a standard teacher evaluation form at the end of each teaching block. Translated, scanned and sent to teachers, these reviews allow instructors to adjust their subsequent teaching based on the students' input.

#### Formal curriculum review

In December 2011, following the completion of four courses of the Collections Care and Conservation programme, the academic director held a meeting/conference call with all of the 2011 instructors at the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore, Maryland. Most of the teachers had taught two or more times at the Institute. This meeting was an opportunity to identify challenges in teaching the Iraqi Institute students, share ideas on successful techniques and brainstorm about the broad teaching concepts and content needed to further the programme.

Instructors expressed a general lack of clarity about the teaching goals of the programme and concern whether it was really making a difference. They observed that students lacked understanding of how the knowledge and skills introduced by the curriculum were relevant to their individual institutions. Instructors discussed methods to provide students with a broader perspective on the roles a museum can play and the ways in which ideas can be conveyed through curatorial context and display content. Many of their concerns served time and again to highlight some of the basic educational voids apparent across the student population. Prominent among these were the inability to think critically about the material presented, the seeming reluctance to become independent learners and the lack of basic manual skills.

This initial review developed the following guidelines and suggestions for instructors in the 2012 and 2013 teaching blocks:

Two years later, at the end of 2013, a second curriculum review was compiled by author Kim Cullen Cobb. This review included input from the final reports of visiting instructors from the Architecture and Archaeology programmes as well as the Conservation programme – enabling us to look at issues across the three programmes and to share successful teaching techniques (Cobb 2013).

The review revealed that the Iraqis' inconsistent background education in science and computer skills and in critical thinking abilities, combined with their limited practical experience in conservation and preservation, is the main challenge encountered by instructors across all three programmes. The necessary remediation slows down the teaching process. This issue underlies other concerns, such as the often-repeated recommendation to extend the length of the teaching modules in order to teach the course topics coherently. In addition the lack of available translated teaching material and professional literature (in Arabic or Kurdish) to augment instruction seriously undermines a student's ability to start thinking critically about the information provided.

Terry Drayman-Weisser (visiting instructor for ivory conservation and Advisory Board member) has proposed a possible solution to the problems encountered by Iraqi Institute instructors.

Being able to require pre-requisites, such as chemistry, archaeology, etc. would allow teaching to be more directed at meeting our goals [expressed as skills listed in the course description] and would create more space in the teaching schedule. Right now, so much is remedial teaching.

During the 2013 review Paul Hepworth (visiting instructor for textile conservation) contributed one important suggestion. He noted that instructors must help students to identify the key concepts that they are expected to understand, as well as what details they need to record but do not need to memorise. The overarching approach is to encourage critical thinking by separating taught information into three levels of importance:

As part of this 2013 review, past students from the programmes received a brief questionnaire asking for input on how their education at the Institute had affected their work. The questionnaire was an attempt to understand whether the courses were in fact changing the practice of heritage preservation in Iraq. Students were asked to respond to the following questions:

Eighteen students responded out of a possible 93 who had attended one or more courses between 2009 and 2013 – a response rate of 19 per cent. Flaws in translation and the poor response rate limit the usefulness of the information. However, this questionnaire and other contact in the future will help to follow the graduates as their careers develop. In the future these deficiencies will be addressed by conducting interviews, encouraging students to provide anecdotal responses to augment comments.

However, the following information was distilled from the information collected through the questionnaire:

• Of those who had English classes, many noted that a better understanding of English made continuing their education and reading 'foreign' sources possible

Almost all students said they are still in contact with the Iraqi Institute, indicating a growing network of alumni. Information about the Iraqi Institute is shared with this network through the Institute Facebook page, through contact with members of the Board of Directors and informally through the students' contacts with one another.

#### Developing the heritage preservation community in Iraq

A total of 162 students attended US-sponsored classes at the Iraqi Institute between 2011–14. These students have come from all 18 Iraqi provinces, with many coming from Baghdad as employees of the central SBAH. Erbil has the largest contingent since these students are able to live at home and attend classes. Often the dormitory space in the Institute building is the limiting factor in determining the size and number of programmes that can be held.

Beyond learning about heritage preservation and archaeology, students at the Iraqi Institute develop a network of personal and professional relationships with colleagues from diverse geographic, cultural and religious backgrounds. Friendships, teamwork and a sense of community develop through shared experiences and interests. Through a wide variety of activities, students learn more about their country's heritage and build strong bonds with others, who will then return to positions throughout Iraq. This alumni network is helping to rebuild the strong national community of archaeologists and preservation professionals that Iraq needs to research and preserve the country's heritage.

As part of the overall strategy of long-term education and sustainability of the Iraq Institute, a number of Iraqis – designated master trainers – serve as teaching assistants or entry-level instructors. Asked to return and assist with teaching and classroom support, these top graduates work for both the SBAH and the KRG, but are assigned to the Institute. They assist visiting instructors with laboratory and classroom preparation and instruction, and work with the students on a one-to-one basis. Over time they will take over the management of the programmes and some of the teaching. International expertise will remain a major part of the Institute's educational programmes for the foreseeable future, however, as this idea is built into the Institute's mission.

The facilities of the Iraqi Institute have also been used by other teaching and research programmes from a number of different countries (see Table 3.1). Through these programmes about 150 more students have taken courses at the Institute, with a basic fee charged to outside programmes for the use of classrooms, laboratories and dormitories. These programmes bring more people to the Institute, expanding the experiences and interactions of all students and master trainers.

Meetings at the Institute have invited the provincial directors-general of antiquities and university professors – the supervisors and educators of heritage preservation professionals – to ensure they have a complete understanding of the education that Institute students receive. These meetings have been critical in ensuring supervisors and other managers are knowledgeable about the Institute and in helping students to effect change after returning to their home institutions. It also helps to ensure that appropriate students are recommended to participate in the programmes.

In addition to the community of students, teachers and managers, a broader support network has been established and expanded through regular Advisory Council/Directory Board meetings, in Erbil.

**Table 3.1** Other institutions that have used Iraqi Institute facilities for research and education programmes. Source: the authors.

Such encounters bring international advisors into the country to witness the real constraints and the real possibilities of teaching heritage preservation in Iraq. The meetings have been instrumental in keeping all stakeholders engaged with the process of developing the teaching methodology and the curriculum.

#### Education and reconciliation