Middle Eastern borders represent the divisions of empires past. In developing sites for tourism, today’s Middle Eastern nations, ironically, often display the legacy of those Empires rather than sites representing their own traditions. What does this say about tourism development in these countries in particular and archaeology and development in general?
Generally, the agency of empires can be conceptualized on two levels. One of these is that of collective agency—the move toward bold, aggrandizing and innovative acts that can express the amassed will of a hierarchical and leader-driven society—or, at its most dysfunctional, the overbearing will of one megalomaniacal dictator. The most significant agents at this level are the rulers who leave an indelible mark on the landscape with their visions of monumentality.
Imperialist entities, however, must have subjects who make up the level of the subjugated—those whose agency at its most powerful is expressed only in terms of resistance to domination. The suggestion being made by some agency-oriented archaeologists that people are responsible for their own subordination creates some apprehension about replacing inflexible but, nonetheless, empathetic models for social relations with the “free market” concept of agency. Agency-oriented views of the past run the risk of reproducing the ideologies of individualism and capitalism that have so successfully masked dominance in the United States and other western democracies. At worst, agency theory can become, as Clark wryly assesses, “a gigantic power game as multiplicities of players pursue separate interests, in divergent ways, with unequal powers, and with mixed results” (Clark, 2000: 108).
But is the agency role of empires merely the interplay of dominator and dominated—or is it something more complex and nuanced? In looking at the remnants of imperialism in the Middle East we see, no matter how thoroughly the colonizer fills up the environment, that there is, for every imperial site, a site that has come to represent its historical antithesis.
Thus, Caesarea and Masada, both built by the same king, have come to inhabit different heritage worlds—the one being merely an ancient Roman (Crusader) city while the other is an icon of defiance. The Decapolis, symbols of Greco-Roman domination in the Levant are eclipsed, touristically at least, by Petra, native city of the Nabateans who sloughed off Roman rule for longer than most Levantine cultures. Similarly, Palmyra’s romantic story of rebellion draws tourists to its spectacular ruins while other Greco-Roman cities in Syria, like Apamaea, are far less visited. In archaeology, agency theory can represent a basis for examining the roles of individual players in social change but the grand historical dichotomy of domination and resistance still has a place.
Into the scheme of sites representing dominance, resistance, agency and structure, we have introduced a new concept—sustainable tourism development. This phrase encapsulates so much of what we now want from our sites—protection, popularity and profitability. What does this say about the agency role of our own empire, and that of other western nations, in the Levant?
In one sense the divergence between dominator and dominated, which is what the history of these sites represents, has been replaced by the divergence between heritage professionals and the public. Heritage professionals want to present the comity of nations, tourists want to see ancient confrontation preferably those that have been resolved to their liking. Heritage professionals want to stress the universalism of sites, public officials want to use them to reinforce nationalism. Heritage professionals want to assure that sites are relevant to modern populations, but modern populations do not want to view the wreckage of their own civilizations—rather that of others less close to them in time and culture.
The Romantic poets invested these places with far less “sacredness” (witness Byron’s graffiti at the Temple of Sounion) which, dare I say, may be a more modern approach than our own. To the Romantics these places represented inequality, power, greatness, suffering and, ultimately, irrelevance to their world as Shelley so vividly states in his rumination on a ruined monument to an ancient, and forgotten, ruler of the Ancient Near East:
Generally, the agency of empires can be conceptualized on two levels. One of these is that of collective agency—the move toward bold, aggrandizing and innovative acts that can express the amassed will of a hierarchical and leader-driven society—or, at its most dysfunctional, the overbearing will of one megalomaniacal dictator. The most significant agents at this level are the rulers who leave an indelible mark on the landscape with their visions of monumentality.
Imperialist entities, however, must have subjects who make up the level of the subjugated—those whose agency at its most powerful is expressed only in terms of resistance to domination. The suggestion being made by some agency-oriented archaeologists that people are responsible for their own subordination creates some apprehension about replacing inflexible but, nonetheless, empathetic models for social relations with the “free market” concept of agency. Agency-oriented views of the past run the risk of reproducing the ideologies of individualism and capitalism that have so successfully masked dominance in the United States and other western democracies. At worst, agency theory can become, as Clark wryly assesses, “a gigantic power game as multiplicities of players pursue separate interests, in divergent ways, with unequal powers, and with mixed results” (Clark, 2000: 108).
But is the agency role of empires merely the interplay of dominator and dominated—or is it something more complex and nuanced? In looking at the remnants of imperialism in the Middle East we see, no matter how thoroughly the colonizer fills up the environment, that there is, for every imperial site, a site that has come to represent its historical antithesis.
Thus, Caesarea and Masada, both built by the same king, have come to inhabit different heritage worlds—the one being merely an ancient Roman (Crusader) city while the other is an icon of defiance. The Decapolis, symbols of Greco-Roman domination in the Levant are eclipsed, touristically at least, by Petra, native city of the Nabateans who sloughed off Roman rule for longer than most Levantine cultures. Similarly, Palmyra’s romantic story of rebellion draws tourists to its spectacular ruins while other Greco-Roman cities in Syria, like Apamaea, are far less visited. In archaeology, agency theory can represent a basis for examining the roles of individual players in social change but the grand historical dichotomy of domination and resistance still has a place.
Into the scheme of sites representing dominance, resistance, agency and structure, we have introduced a new concept—sustainable tourism development. This phrase encapsulates so much of what we now want from our sites—protection, popularity and profitability. What does this say about the agency role of our own empire, and that of other western nations, in the Levant?
In one sense the divergence between dominator and dominated, which is what the history of these sites represents, has been replaced by the divergence between heritage professionals and the public. Heritage professionals want to present the comity of nations, tourists want to see ancient confrontation preferably those that have been resolved to their liking. Heritage professionals want to stress the universalism of sites, public officials want to use them to reinforce nationalism. Heritage professionals want to assure that sites are relevant to modern populations, but modern populations do not want to view the wreckage of their own civilizations—rather that of others less close to them in time and culture.
The Romantic poets invested these places with far less “sacredness” (witness Byron’s graffiti at the Temple of Sounion) which, dare I say, may be a more modern approach than our own. To the Romantics these places represented inequality, power, greatness, suffering and, ultimately, irrelevance to their world as Shelley so vividly states in his rumination on a ruined monument to an ancient, and forgotten, ruler of the Ancient Near East:
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
