15

The New Heritage and

re-shapings of the past
Cornelius Holtorf and Graham Fairclough

Introduction: archaeology and heritage as legacies of modernity

By the early twenty-first century, many citizens, including politicians and professional heritage
experts, had for some time taken for granted that remains of the past are inherently valuable
and therefore deserve to be preserved for the benefit of future generations. This sort of heritage
discourse should not be seen as timeless, however, but rather as a fashion situated in the specific
historical and cultural context of European, and by extension ‘global’, civilization of the past
few centuries (e.g. Choay 2001; Murtagh 2006).
It has been argued (by Julian Thomas in Archaeology and Modernity 2004, see also Lynn
Meskell this volume) that the practice and idea of archaeology rely on some of the most central
ideas of modernity. The equivalent can be said of heritage: that it is a fundamentally modern
concept and practice. Both archaeology and heritage turn out to be legacies not of an eternal
human experience, but of a certain type of European modernity. The modernist ideas on which
archaeology and heritage (as we know them) are based – and most of which are naturally dis-
cussed and examined in other chapters in the present volume – include the tropes of:

∑∑ the world as a reservoir of material resources, property and cultural assets;

∑∑ the need to protect and preserve cultural goods in collections, archives and the landscape;
∑∑ a unidirectional linear conception of time dividing past and present;
∑∑ the inevitability of technological progress over time;
∑∑ the origins and histories of nation-states;
∑∑ the body/mind and nature/culture divisions;
∑∑ the possibility of revealing profound truths below the surface; and not least
∑∑ the idea of human individuals (and humanity at large) as historical agents.

Thomas also warned, however (2004: 541), that if ‘archaeology has been made possible by
modernity, and … has contributed to the formation of the modern world’, ‘the failings of the
modern outlook, and the possibility that the modern era is coming to an end, should be of
concern to archaeologists’.
Cultural heritage no longer has the ability to provide territorially defined nations with dis-
tinctive collective identities, narratives or national heritage. National heritage is under pressure
through cultural processes of internationalization and indeed globalization; the European Com-
mission and UNESCO promote perspectives that extend the notion of heritage far beyond the

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nation (Graham et al. 2000: chs 10 and 11, and Meskell this volume). But more importantly,
contemporary society has been changing so drastically over the past few decades that in many
parts of Europe and elsewhere it no longer possesses the degree of cultural homogeneity that a
unifying and distinctive collective identity requires. Among the most significant factors that led
to the demise of the old identity politics are continuous migrations of people, both within and
between nation-states, in connection with the free labour market and educational exchanges
within the European Union, but also due to the integration of refugees and their families
(Graham et al. 2000; Holtorf 2009). Many European nation-states now need to adapt to an
ever-changing diversity of languages, religions and cultures within their own borders, some
newly arrived or gradually developing, others re-emerging from older, pre-national identities.
According to recent statistics (Albertinelli et al. 2011: 121–123), on average 83 per cent of
the population aged 25 to 54 in the twenty-seven member states of the European Union have
a native background – 12 per cent were born abroad, and 5 per cent have one or both parents
born abroad. Whilst in some countries such as Denmark, Malta and some Eastern European
states, the size of the native population remains higher than 90 per cent, in others such as Esto-
nia and Luxemburg it is less than 70 per cent, and it hovers around the mid-70-per-cent range
in large and highly urbanized countries such as France, Germany and the UK. In many coun-
tries therefore there is no single plausible national origin or history for the entire population.
A state’s citizens are increasingly descended from ancestors who may have lived anywhere on
this planet and they share with their fellow citizens (but not necessarily with their neighbours)
little more than the colour of their passports. In contemporary multicultural societies, celebrat-
ing exclusive collective identities based on the notion of a shared past might actually exacerbate
existing gulfs between various social groups (Fojut 2009: 18).
The logical implication of studies on the emergence and genealogy of archaeology and
cultural heritage (e.g. Choay 2001; Thomas 2004; Murtagh 2006), although not always made
explicit, is that contemporary practices are a result of particular historical trajectories that may
well change in the future. The questioning, or even the rejection, of the fundamental condi-
tions of modernity and some of its main tropes prompts us to ask where that leaves archaeology
and heritage. A ‘New Heritage’ is already emerging, but what does this offer?

A new agenda
In the past ten to fifteen years, a ‘New Heritage’ has emerged that dwells much less on the
objects of heritage and much more on a view of heritage as the interaction between people
and their world, and between people themselves. Instead of being valued for its intrinsic worth,
since 1989 heritage in Europe, particularly in central, east and south-east Europe, as Noel Fojut
(2009: 17) has pointed out, has been discovered to be valuable for matters such as conflict reso-
lution (e.g. Ünsal 2012), economic regeneration and education for citizenship or sustainable
development. This emerging view of heritage is concerned with the meanings and interpreta-
tions which people invest in heritage and thus with their lives today. It lends the concept of
heritage a much greater power and influence in contemporary society than it previously had.
Rather than heritage being served by society, now heritage must serve society (Fojut 2009: 17;
Paludan-Müller 2010; Holtorf 2011). Archaeology, too, is increasingly valued for its usefulness
to contemporary society (Loulanski 2006; Dawdy 2009). Indeed, nowadays it is entirely pos-
sible for people to recognize heritage and experience archaeology in a context entirely devoid
of finds or monuments from the past that instead resembles a theme park (Melotti 2011: 2).
Acknowledging specifically the appropriation of heritage by communities, the significance
of heritage for addressing social processes and conditions, and the growing acceptance of her-

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itage as a public commodity, the President of the International Council on Monuments and
Sites (ICOMOS), Gustavo F. Araoz (2011) has been speaking of a new paradigm for herit-
age in society. From Araoz’s analysis it emerges that ‘the heritage conservation community is
increasingly finding that the professional toolkit and the doctrinal foundation on which it has
relied for decades … are insufficient to effectively deal with these new demands which are
often perceived as threats’. As society and social practices are being transformed, it appears – in
the words of Marxiano Melotti (2011: 1) – that what ‘occasionally avoids transformation is
academic reflection’.
The panic response of movements based on ‘saving’ or ‘rescuing’ heritage (Fairclough
2009b) has served us well in the past (for example in the context of wholesale redevelopment
in many west European cities in the 1960s and 1970s) but in many parts of Europe the need for
such exclusive concepts and reactions is now less strong. We can instead look with more open
eyes at all that exists around us, accept that all of it is at some level heritage – and then decide
how to use it best for maximizing its social and future values. That use might involve tradi-
tional preservation, but sometimes it might not, because heritage cannot be seen as being only
about preservation. Describing the obsession with conservation, preservation and protection of
heritage, the French architectural historian Françoise Choay (2001 [1992]: 139–142) used the
phrase ‘Noah complex’. In her discussion she referred to ‘the religion of heritage’, ‘the cult of
the historical monument’ and widely practised ‘rites of an official cult of historic heritage’. In
characterizations like this, which reflect a modernist distancing of the past from the present (see
also Gnecco this volume) it becomes obvious to what extent the dominant heritage discourse is
a peculiarity of our age. Its world historical significance is not a given, but for coming genera-
tions to determine (Holtorf 2012a).
Not all heritage is for keeping. The acts of changing, destroying or replacing a building are
all forms of interpreting, using and transforming heritage (Holtorf 2006); this was one of the
planks of the ‘Change and Creation’ debate promoted in the UK a few years ago in the context
of modern or contemporary heritage (Bradley et al. 2004; Fairclough 2007). Acts of destruction
are social acts carried out with particular intentions in particular circumstances. There are many
different kinds of heritage destruction and vandalism, some related to very personal circum-
stances and others to broader sociopolitical ones, but they all equally manifest and contribute
to historic processes and their product: change. Reciprocally, heritage preservation as paradigm
and practice helps to shape social and cultural development. Something new always emerges
out of the transformation of the old. Indeed, vandalized or destroyed heritage – even perhaps
the total erasure of the physical traces of the past, which now seems a possible action in certain
contexts (see also Olivier this volume) – becomes itself part of a heritage of transformation and
loss acquiring significance related to change over time and remembrance. In recent years, new
notions of authenticity and pastness have come to the fore; these accommodate changes and
indeed alternatives to original material substance without necessarily jeopardizing the authen-
ticity of heritage (Holtorf forthcoming).
As a consequence, the objectives of heritage management will need to be revisited, too, so
that the management of change becomes its primary aim, not simply the protection of fabric
at the ‘best’ sites (Fig. 15.1). Gustavo Araoz (2008: 170) plainly stated that the field of herit-
age management and historic preservation has to redefine its mission: ‘it is not so much about
preventing change any more; it is about managing change’ (original emphasis). To him, this is
the essence of the on-going paradigm shift of conceiving heritage. These ideas arose first in
the 1990s in reflections on the relationship between heritage and sustainable development (see
e.g. English Heritage 1997; Fairclough 2003; Gibson and Pendlebury 2009: 8), but it was in
the field of landscape (or more accurately, ‘landscape as heritage’) that the need to move to

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Figure 15.1 Uses of heritage requiring the management of change: the Roman wall of Ljubjlana
(Iulia (A)emona). Photograph: Graham Fairclough

managing change first became evident (see e.g. Fairclough and Rippon 2002; Fairclough 2006:
70–72). Landscape as a subjective matter of perception, the tangible made intangible; landscape
as a way of seeing and thinking rather than as a thing; landscape as the product of function and
processes which simply cannot be preserved purely as form and fabric; landscape as in any case
endlessly dynamic, ever-changing; finally landscape as being everywhere, a continuous part of
everyday life, and thus incapable of ‘preservation’ – all these aspects made it necessary to revisit
the more traditional archaeological aspects of heritage. If the whole landscape calls for manage-
ment of change not preservation, surely the same is true of its parts?
Conservation and preservation do not need to be the default aims of managing heritage. The
Faro Convention ‘on the Value of Cultural Heritage for Society’ (Council of Europe 2005)
offers an alternative approach which creates a comprehensive definition of heritage as it is lived
and experienced (Council of Europe 2009; notably Fojut and Fairclough).

The significance of the Faro Convention

For the Faro Convention (or shorter, Faro), people’s heritage does not begin at the ticket kiosk
of a heritage tourist attraction or at the gates of a historic city centre, but with ordinary things
at the threshold of their homes as they step out into their street and into their personal land-
scape. To restrict the term ‘heritage’ to commoditized and merchandised special and isolated
places is to miss the centrality of heritage to the much more important daily experience of life,

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and to individual memory and identity. It downgrades dynamic living, common heritage in
favour of narrow official selections. Instead, Faro’s first article sets ambitious targets for using
and exploiting all cultural heritage for high-level political, social and economic progress. They
include recognizing that ‘rights relating to cultural heritage are inherent in the right to partici-
pate in cultural life, as defined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights’, that heritage is
an important contributor to ‘human development and quality of life’, and that cultural heritage
(including through promoting cultural diversity) should be made to support the construction of
a peaceful and democratic society.
This people-centred perspective makes the Faro Convention different to previous heritage
conventions of the Council of Europe (though not to its Landscape Convention, Council of
Europe 2000) and UNESCO. The Faro view of heritage is concerned with how people inter-
pret – and interact with – the world around them. It is about the process of using (and making)
cultural heritage for broader social benefits. The word heritage holds object and action, product
and process. It refers on one side to the things (goods, properties, immobilier – stuff, and our
perceptions of it) that we inherit, irrespective of whether we want to keep them; and it refers
on the other to the processes by which we understand and contextualize, perceive and trans-
form the inherited world. In short, although it is conventionally used descriptively as a noun to
signify the objects we worry about preserving, ‘heritage’ can and perhaps should also be used in
an active sense as a verb to signify the process (and philosophy) of looking after and exploiting
those objects in a diverse range of ways: by understanding, explaining, celebrating, changing
and modifying, even destroying and replacing, and of course sharing and using.
In terms of heritage as object, many new categories have been added to the cultural herit-
age canon: for instance, very recent buildings, military remains even of the Cold War, the
semi-natural components of landscape, the intangible dimensions of heritage which are now
recognized not only among Third World First Nations, the ugly and the painful as well as the
beautiful and uplifting legacy of the past, the idea of living heritage. All this goes hand in hand
with new insights into the relationship between experts and everyone else, much of the pres-
sure for expanding the canon coming from non-expert but highly engaged groups in society.
Democratizing heritage expertise is not about dumbing down, as some call it, but about reas-
sessing authority and participation in heritage-related matters (Holtorf 2007, 2012b). As Noel
Fojut (2009: 16) has argued, by the late 1990s ‘the “balance of power” in heritage management
had begun to shift decisively, with the expert increasingly seen as the servant of the public,
rather than its guide and educator’.
In terms of heritage as action, rather than government policy, however, new ways of doing
heritage have become common, for example based on recognizing the importance of the local
and the ordinary. The memories and stories about the past associated with a place are valued
by the local community before, and irrespective of, its designated status. This is particularly so
in the context of greater democratic participation and the embedding of heritage values into
social attitudes. This new approach often focuses on context rather than only the object itself,
and it recognizes other ways to achieve sustainable management of heritage than the conven-
tional approach of careful, conservative physical preservation or restoration. For new heritage,
to repeat, the overall objective is not necessarily preservation but the management of change,
to which end preservation is just one means.
Seeing cultural heritage as a resource (not merely as assets), as Faro does (article 2), carries the
implication that it exists to be utilized, even if in the process it might be eroded or even used up
(Fig. 15.1). The existence of a resource automatically presupposes the existence of users, people
who will benefit from its use or merely its existence, individually or in heritage communities,
which gives heritage its broader social relevance and value. New heritage tries to put these

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people at the centre of the discussion. It is not the objects themselves that matter but what those
objects mean in a myriad of ways to people. Value is attributed to things for all manner of social,
economic and personal reasons; few of these values reside intrinsically in the thing itself (see, for
example, numerous papers in Fairclough et al. 2008; for a contrasting view see Solli et al. 2011).
The Faro Convention reminds us that cultural heritage is a resource for living at all levels,
from the emotional to the financial, from the spiritual to the functional. Alongside landscape, it
is one of the most potent ways for people to connect themselves to their past. Not all heritage
needs public subsidy, any more than all heritage needs to earn money (it pays its way in other
currencies), and not all heritage needs official designation or sanction. Faro also throws new
light on the old question of how society can afford the cost of preserving old buildings – the
cost of heritage. Faro reverses this question, asking what is the cost, social and political as well
as economic, of not using heritage sensibly, in socially relevant ways, as part of a socially (as
opposed to environmentally) focused sustainability?

The New Heritage

The New Heritage is about the use of the past in the present and its renewal into the future:
the ‘why’ of heritage, not the ‘what’ or ‘how’. It fills the present with memories and creates
places distinguished by history. But these are continuous processes. Heritage – not necessarily
the material remains themselves, although of course they may change, but the way they are
regarded, valued, ignored and so on – is constantly re-made; a living heritage is a changing her-
itage. The large scale of current changes in the world seems daunting, but instead of seeing these
exclusively as threats to the fabric of heritage, it calls for recognition that heritage is actually a
part of those processes, and indeed potentially part of the response to them. The bywords need
to be social sustainability (sustainable development as a cultural rather than an environmental
measure) and social change expressed by and reflecting cultural heritage.
There is the oft-cited desire for good quality of life to which archaeology and heritage can
each make key contributions. Palaeo-ecological research can, for example, result in long-term
predictions of environmental change, as can landscape research (e.g. Widgren 2012). The study
and regeneration of ancient engineering and agricultural methods can increase yields in a range
of world regions and establish ways of working the land that are more sustainable than indus-
trialized farming (Guttmann-Bond 2010). Since many people today find heritage sites enjoy-
able and engaging in both physical and intellectual ways, visiting museums and heritage sites
can also improve the health and well-being of people of different ages, different backgrounds,
and different skills and abilities. Archaeology after all is fun (Melotti 2011)! Cultural heritage
can even provide people with concrete health benefits based on positive effects of stimulation
and inspiration. For example, recent work with elderly people in the early stages of dementia
found that cultural heritage relating to the specific individuals’ childhood and youth was able
to stimulate their memory and self-esteem, thus contributing to their well-being and possibly
even slowing down the progress of the disease (Zipsane 2011).
The Faro Convention also reminds us that heritage can promote values and virtues derived
from humanism and a commitment to global solidarity. Battlefields, prisons, concentration
camps or other sites of violence and oppression can remind us of the global significance of
peace, tolerance and equality (cf. Ševčenko 2011). By the same token, human achievements
in heritage, whether in the form of artistic creativity, architectural engineering or peaceful
coexistence may inspire us to try and excel in our own ways, seeking to transcend any cultural
limitations. Even something as mundane as a number of car wrecks may contribute to pro-
vide perspective and understanding of what it means to be human beyond cultural or national

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boundaries. For example, the car cemetery in the woods at Kyrkö Mosse near Tingsryd in
southern Sweden featuring automobile history from the 1930s through to the 1970s stimulates
existential reflection, especially for those of us recalling from our own life experience some of
the car models from those decades. The wrecks remind us of the short-lived nature of material
culture, raise questions about our own consumption habits and thus invite us to reflect about
the values and overall priorities by which we live (Burström 2009).
Heritage also offers opportunities to understand past trajectories of environmental and land-
scape change, and thus an opportunity to model future scenarios. Environmental protection
cannot be pursued purely as an issue of the physical or natural world. Heritage reminds us that
we are not dealing with a wholly natural environment but with a greatly humanly modified
one. Whatever the physical reality might be argued to be, in political and social terms the filter
through which people view the environment is a cultural, perceptual one, and thus heritage
(Fig. 15.2). Sustainable development, contrary perhaps to received ideas, is a cultural process,
in which heritage has a role.
Heritage can address social and cultural issues caused by population movements from rural
to urban contexts, within and between nations, and from beyond Europe as well as in Europe.
Cultural heritage as identity can be re-formed during these population shifts and changes, dif-
ferent things being valued or being valued differently. Migrating peoples bring their own herit-
age, and will sometimes share it, and they will adopt specific attitudes to the heritage they find
on their arrival which in some cases may have the effect of changing how that heritage is used

Figure 15.2 New uses for old terraces: remains of the past embedded in everyday life-worlds
of the present, Samos. Photograph: Graham Fairclough

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Cornelius Holtorf and Graham Fairclough

and valued. Static national and indeed all government-endorsed definitions of heritage are at
the very least poorly fitted to such fluid and ever-changing circumstances. Social cohesion on
the other hand becomes more important in such situations and heritage could be a cornerstone.
In the context of diverse and multiple (and multiplying) identities, however, the question
becomes not whose heritage but which heritage? For example, the International Coalition of
Sites of Conscience (currently encompassing seventeen sites around the world) seeks to engage
divided communities in dialogue, advance social healing and reparation, and promote democ-
racy and civic engagement, based on a commitment to human rights rather than any particular
national, ethnic or other cultural allegiance (Ševčenko 2011). Democratic participation is one
particularly important aspect of introducing heritage into negotiations of being and belonging.
Caring for something fragile together can promote a sense of responsibility, persistence and
respect for the knowledge and values of fellow residents or citizens. Social cohesion can thus be
advanced through the very process of caring for the heritage, rather than through the celebra-
tion of any particular meaning the heritage may have. For example, a recent project conducted
in a life-long learning context by the Nordic Centre of Heritage Learning demonstrated that
by engaging young school drop-outs who find themselves at the margins of the community,
working with cultural heritage can build up confidence, motivation and discipline so that they
may be able to continue with their studies and thus improve their chances on the labour market
(Zipsane 2011). In Bergsjön, Gothenburg, Sweden, community tensions based on ethnic and
cultural differences were eased through a cultural heritage project involving, among others,
the local library and a local school. Conceived as action research, this project offered a range
of activities around a prehistoric monument, from excavating to forming clay sculptures and
listening to live music. Several hundred people from different cultural backgrounds participated
and enjoyed themselves alongside the archaeologists, thus enhancing a sense of local belonging
(Synnestvedt and Persson 2007).
Finally, there are economic issues. The New Heritage and Faro relocate heritage firmly in
the economic mainstream because it is defined as being whatever people value in a wide range
of ways, and thus as a part of everyday life and therefore a part of consumption patterns. Herit-
age cannot be disassociated from living and thus from the economy; it is as much of a resource
for the economy as land, people or basic raw materials, and it is a resource that extends far
beyond the double-edged impact of tourism. Irrespective of whose past may be involved, the
new cultural heritage makes an important contribution to regional development by providing
sustainable heritage experiences that satisfy the existing demand for experiences and storytell-
ing in what has been called the Experience Economy (Pine and Gilmore 2011). Tourism and
leisure industries draw increasingly on storytelling and rich sensual experiences associated with
cultural heritage (Melotti 2011). According to the analysis of archaeologist Rodney Harrison
(forthcoming), the parallel shift in emphasis from collecting cultural relics in displays to in situ
conservation means that heritage sites can invite contemporary travellers to consume the past in
the landscape, thus matching their quest for authentic experiences and destinations in the late
modern Experience Economy.
Even pasts that are partly or wholly fictionalized can play similar roles. Rosslyn Chapel near
Edinburgh in Scotland saw its visitor numbers increase after 2003 by a factor of seventeen; they
reached 170,000 in 2006 and made the site one of Scotland’s top twenty visitor attractions. This
was almost entirely due to the novel and film The Da Vinci Code, which places a key important
scene there (Månsson 2010). The small town of Ystad in the south of Sweden has over the past
decade seen an invasion of tourists following in the footsteps of Inspector Wallander, the main
character of Henning Mankell’s detective novels and three different TV adaptations (Fig. 15.3),
just as fiction has long overtaken real life in Holmfirth, a small town of fewer than 2,000 people

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Book a Wallander package

Discover Inspector Wallander's home town!

Check into one of the W allander hotels in Ystad.
Enjoy good food or light refreshments at the restaurants
and cafes frequented by Wallander.

A visit to Cineteket, an interactive film museum, is

included from May-Sept.

Prices from SEK 810 per person included an over­

night stay, dinner, coffee and a pastry.

To book visit www.ystad.se/online or call the Tourist Office

More information Y sta d Tourist O ffice

St Knuts torg, Ystad
Tel: +46-(0)411-577 681, www.ystad.se/tourism

REGION
YSIADs
SKANE LANSSTYRELSEN
i v k A.n * L K N
KOMMUN I
-O
The activities are partly financed with EU funds administered by the Rural "O
Development Department of the Skane County Administrative Board. A joint
venture between the Municipality of Ystad and Region Skane's Visitors Project.

Figure 15.3 The New Heritage includes fictionalized heritage championed by contemporary
visitors. The image shows the final page of Ystad’s guide for fans of Inspector Wallander
Source: http://www.ystad.se/Broschyr.nsf/0/DB24F550719D1D93C1257372003AADBC/$file/
Wallanderfolder09_Eng.pdf

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Cornelius Holtorf and Graham Fairclough

in Yorkshire which was home to the world’s longest-running (1973–2010) sitcom about badly
behaving old age pensioners. Finally, there is an increasing number of plaques to commemorate
fictional characters: Sherlock Holmes and Ziggy Stardust in London and Mickey and Minnie
Mouse in Hastings are already being commemorated in this way – who else will follow (Rob-
erto 2012)? All these examples illustrate how the new heritage can derive authenticity from
popular culture. This heritage tells stories that fascinate and mobilize many people, increasing
their quality of life, and often contributing to the creation of local identities and regional eco-
nomic development beyond the major heritage sites and museums.

Conclusions: What future for the past?

It has long been assumed without much reflection that heritage is to be preserved for the future,
whereas in reality it is preserved for the present (or the recent past, given how slowly we keep
up with change). Present-day social values and attitudes govern the way in which we define,
manage and indeed construct heritage. The contemporary preservationist paradigm of heritage
is firmly situated in the given historical and cultural context of the present, and as the present
becomes someone else’s past, it is likely – eventually – to change.
A role for cultural heritage that benefits contemporary societies without evoking (intention-
ally or otherwise) a common origin and a historical narrative in terms of national monuments
and national histories is becoming an ever more urgent need (Fig. 15.4). A fixed national herit-
age (the ‘story of England’ for example) is no longer plausible for fast-changing, multicultural
populations of citizens and other residents who have varying backgrounds and diverse collective
identities. What is needed are stories of Anyland, All-lands, indeed No-lands. At least in north-
ern and western Europe traditional ways of linking heritage, identity and place or territory have
lost their former viability so that the future of traditional notions of heritage seems wide open.
This trend is not yet visible globally; in some regions of Europe and the world it does not seem
to exist at all, and traditional identity politics and narratives of national heritage are still aspira-
tions. However, as insight increases that nation-states are not necessarily best placed to solve
global problems and make the world a better place for all human beings, cultural heritage can
profitably be put to new uses everywhere.
It is no longer unarguable that to a large extent archaeology and heritage revolve around
authentic monuments with inherent values and meanings best understood by experts and best
preserved exclusively in terms of fabric and facts. Instead, it is increasingly understood that
heritage, like landscapes and culture at large, must serve wider constituencies of people and
indeed society as a whole. The core values of heritage are increasingly deemed to reside in the
cultural meanings and values humans invest in monuments and landscapes, not in their physical
substance (Araoz 2011; Fojut 2009; Fairclough 2009a; Loulanski 2006). New thinking about
heritage is thus required. In this situation, the Greek heritage expert Ioannis Poulios recently
put forward a bold and well-considered argument as an alternative to current thinking about
heritage. His summary speaks volumes about the inevitably transitory nature of the preserva-
tionist paradigm of heritage (Poulios 2010: 182):

Conservation should move towards a completely different context of understanding and

safeguarding heritage: shifting the focus from protection towards creation. Conservationists
need to ‘escape’ from the discontinuity created between the monuments, considered to
belong to the past, and the people of the present and also from the attachment to the
fabric, and move towards embracing communities’ associations with sites and the continual
process of creation of the sites in the context of these associations.

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Figure 15.4 Everyday heritage for sale: a more inclusive narrative? Photograph: Graham
Fairclough

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This concept of creation also speaks to the idea of landscape as something not just for ‘looking
at’ but for being performed.
Rather than preserving national monuments in isolation, then, we need to focus on the one
hand on the meanings and values attributed by people to all their heritage, and on the other on
its effect of stabilizing human communities by inclusive rather than exclusive agendas. Some-
what ironically, the historical narrative stretching from the past to the present may have lost the
significance it used to have for heritage. Landscape concepts to some extent negate chronology,
being the ultimate demonstration of how ‘the Past’ lives in the present not in the past (see for
example Hingley 2012). Instead of reflecting about historical change on a linear timescale that
locates modernity at the pinnacle of human cultural evolution, other values of heritage have
come to the fore. The New Heritage fulfils important functions in society. It enhances the
population’s health and quality of life; it strengthens global solidarity and reflection about the
values we live by; it makes our management of the environment more sustainable; it improves
a sense of belonging, social cohesion and democratic participation in diverse and segregated
societies; and it boosts regional development through the impact of increasing tourism.
The Faro Convention has given these ideas and social values of heritage new force in Europe
– and not only in Western Europe but also and in fact most strongly in those parts of Europe,
for example in ex-Yugoslav countries and former Soviet republics, where issues of nationalism,
conflict and identity have a particular sharpness, and in countries currently at the margins of the
‘European project’, such as Turkey (Ünsal 2012). Faro has started to affect academic and politi-
cal debate, community behaviours and policy already. Future Heritage might be unfamiliar, but
it will be heritage – new heritage. Through embracing the new heritage, archaeology can be
reclaimed from the claws of its own modernist heritage. After all, archaeology routinely deals
with the interaction that lies at the core of heritage, between people and the things that have
traditionally been regarded as defining heritage. Archaeologists habitually engage with people’s
lives and social life-worlds, the ordinary and everyday – not only in the past but also increas-
ingly in the present (Dawdy 2009) – just what is needed to appreciate the changing role of
heritage. Potentially, and perhaps ironically, therefore, current re-shapings of the past may not
require a re-shaping of archaeology.

Acknowledgements
We are grateful to many colleagues – and to each other – for discussions and inspirations about
these matters over many years. More proximally we wish to thank Alfredo González-Ruibal for
his helpful comments on this chapter in draft.

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