Keywords

Introduction

One of the ironies in addressing planning and management matters as they relate to archaeological sites or parks is the tendency to overlook or ignore the circumstances of the place prior to its designation. In fact, it is doubly ironic because it is precisely that previous human habitation or use that makes the location of interest to us initially while more recent or contemporary dimensions fade into the background. In effect history begins anew at the moment of designation and with it the necessary creation of physical and institutional infrastructure to foster effective operations. The process of designation and formalization of activities addressing the place itself thereby produces an unconscious bias that leads to an emphasis on what lies within site boundaries; indeed the creation of boundary lines where none existed previously involves a process requiring rules specifying the who and how of boundary-making plus further rules governing relations between the site and its external environment. We identify this boundary zone as the site-society interface (Robles García and Corbett 2010b).

A further irony is a general reluctance to bring experience from other periods or places to bear on planning and management (Corbett 2016; Robles García and Corbett 2013). Certainly there are exceptions to this, e.g. manuals and studies produced by the World Heritage Centre or the conferences on best practices in heritage management convened in Menorca, Spain (Castillo Mena 2015; Brown and Hay-Edie 2014; Mitchell et al. 2009). But the more common tendency is to move forward based on limited or national perspectives, shaping planning and management in accordance with existing values, priorities and preferences rather than a systematic effort to establish forward-looking frameworks or mechanisms for decision-making.

Learning from Monte Alban

Given the general tendency to downplay context and prioritize the particular over the general, this text addresses the consequence of change over time at Monte Alban, Oaxaca , in southern Mexico. As one of the first significant urban centres in the Western Hemisphere it dates back perhaps 2500 years, but its recent history begins with early professional archaeological excavations there in 1931. At the time there was no officially designated “site”, merely a mysterious massive array of mounds, apparent plazas and suspected tombs on the summit of a mountain dominating the central Oaxaca Valley. The lands in question belonged to local indigenous communities willing to permit national government archaeologists to excavate an obscure, low-value location used for grazing, firewood gathering and limited cultivation. The archaeological remains were simply places within community boundaries that, while known, held no special significance beyond occasional private religious rituals practiced by a few community members. In effect prior to 1931, it would have been difficult to identify many elements of a site-society interface at Monte Alban as the site was simply a physical place within local society.

Over succeeding decades, however, Mexican archaeologist Alfonso Caso pursued systematic, extensive excavation and consolidation of many structures, plazas and tombs on the mountain top. In 1939 the Mexican Government created the Instituto Nacional de Antropologia e Historia (hereafter INAH) as its agency for research, protection and public education related to the country’s pre-Hispanic heritage, and INAH asserted control over the monumental remains its archaeologists were exploring. The informal, tacit boundaries established by the professional and moral authority of the archaeologists began to be codified as the legal authority of the national government. In effect, responsibility for establishing spatial and organizational boundaries shifted from informal negotiation between Caso and community authorities to more formal relations between national and local governments. In Mexico’s highly centralized political system, with INAH granted a near-monopoly over archaeological properties and artefacts, this shift imbedded the emergent site-society interface in a hierarchy of structures and processes (Ley Organica 1939).

It is difficult to exaggerate the significance of this shift. It is a classic example of boundary-making , that is, of formalizing a differentiation of spheres of power and authority, of responsibility and privilege, of arenas of action. Initially the boundaries were relatively simple. The formal site boundary was the summit with its monumental architecture, and the organizational boundary was INAH as federal agent in relations with local communities. Furthermore, as its responsibility centred on the management of artefacts and culture, not space, it exercised oversight of land use but not land tenure, i.e. ownership (Corbett and Robles García 2014). As communities retained ownership and existing uses were little affected, INAH’s presence at first had very limited impact.

But even as INAH consolidated its legal status and organizational control over the areas explored by Caso, two other changes began to alter the context of INAH operations. First, additional archaeological research, driven in part by the arrival of other archaeologists in Oaxaca and in part by shifts in archaeological perspective, began to enlarge the space understood by the referent “Monte Alban”. Caso’s work and INAH’s initial focus were on the monumentality of pre-Hispanic architecture, part of a Mexican Government effort to enhance the status of the indigenous population of Mexico through attention to their early accomplishments in constructing not only Monte Alban but also Teotihuacan, El Tajin, Tula and the many Mayan sites in southeastern Mexico. This was one reason for placing INAH under the overall responsibilities of the Secretary of Public Education; linking INAH’s research and dissemination to the education mission of the Secretary of Public Education was one way to communicate to a broad public the contributions of indigenous people to Mexican culture.

Yet this nation-building focus for INAH found it necessary to accommodate changing interests among the archaeologists it trained, employed or permitted to conduct research. During the 1970s many Mexican and foreign archaeologists shifted their professional orientation from monumentality to settlement patterns and human behaviour. One consequence at Monte Alban was a shift in archaeological research from the relatively compact and discernable site at the summit to the agricultural terraces and housing distribution along the flanks of the mountain and even to the adjacent valley floor (Robles García and Juarez Osnaya 2004). As archaeologists expanded their horizons what was understood by Monte Alban also expanded. In 1993 President Carlos Salinas de Gortari officially proclaimed the formation of the Archaeological Zone of Monte Alban, a 2078-hectare reserve far more extensive than the 70 hectares on the summit of the mountain. This brought the area controlled by INAH into more direct conflict with the second major shift across the time, the urbanization of the Oaxaca Valley.

When Caso initiated his project at Monte Alban in 1931 the nearby city of Oaxaca , capital of the state of Oaxaca, had a population of barely 40,000. Physically isolated in one of the poorest regions of Mexico , surrounded by communities of Zapotec-speaking subsistence farmers governed by civil-religious hierarchies and village assemblies, the city appeared to be of little threat to the ancient ruins of Monte Alban several miles away. But by the time the city of Oaxaca and Monte Alban were designated a World Heritage Site in 1987, population growth fed by migration from the interior of the state, increased national and international tourism and greater commerce fed by improvements in transportation networks and government services provoked an extensive spread of the urbanized area . As archaeologists expanded Monte Alban through research, urban settlement not only reached the boundaries established by the 1993 proclamation of the Monte Alban Archaeological Zone but also began to penetrate the official boundary (Corbett and Gonzalo Alafita 2002). Current estimates place the metropolitan area population at approximately 800,000 people, and in one canyon uncontrolled urban growth has effectively divided the archaeological zone into two portions.

Challenge to Boundary-Making: Increased Organizational Density

If INAH has formal control over land use within the boundaries of the World Heritage Site how could such growth threaten its integrity? The answer lies in the increased organizational density that confronts INAH today. Prior to 1939 INAH did not exist and organizational boundaries were not an issue. Alfonso Caso’s early excavations depended heavily on his personal stature and ability to convince village authorities to permit excavation. In INAH’s early years its status as an important central government agency reinforced the personal contact of Caso and other archaeologists. By 1972 the number, size, complexity and distribution of archaeological projects and sites open to the public convinced INAH to open a regional administrative centre (Robles García and Juarez Osnaya 2004). As the city of Oaxaca grew, as regional tourism increased and as infrastructure construction expanded, more extensive oversight was necessary to protect archaeological remains so a regional centre seemed a reasonable solution.

But as the population grew so did the involvement of other agencies and jurisdictions. The state government eyed Monte Alban’s slopes as a place to build housing for state workers. The Federal Electricity Commission sought to extend services to new neighbourhoods, the National Forestry Commission sought to reforest bare slopes while the Secretariat of Environment and Natural Resources struggled to protect the remaining vegetative cover, the Secretariat of Tourism promoted tourist access and services to stimulate the economy, and once-quiet rural communities like Santa Maria Atzompa found themselves confronting demands for land to be converted to residential or commercial use. By 2014 INAH found that it interacted with at least 50 agencies and organizations on a periodic or recurring basis, a number that does not reflect engagements with classes of private stakeholders such as tourist service providers or individual landowners.

The need to initiate, respond to, monitor and comply with the extraordinary growth in inter-agency and inter-jurisdictional relations, combined with the increasing pressure to address service demands associated with growing visitor traffic, produced Mexico’s first archaeological zone management plan in 1997. Nelly Robles García, a Mexican archaeologist with a doctorate in anthropology and training in cultural resource management, introduced the concept as a way to meet the obligations of World Heritage Site status as well as bring order, focus and priority-setting to the increasingly complicated role of Monte Alban director (Robles García 2010). The notion of managing the archaeological zone as a unit rather than as an accretion of individual projects proved a novel challenge as it envisioned the inclusion of biologists, engineers and others not normally a part of INAH staffing . Some archaeologists were uncomfortable with a concept they feared diminished the central role of archaeologists as well as their claims for budgetary priority. Others feared a loss of research autonomy.

Few appreciated the extent to which the role of site director had evolved across time from a coordinator of archaeological research to someone spending considerable time each week managing relations with stakeholders, organizations and agencies as varied as the Cultural Officer of the Embassy of Japan, the chief aide to the governor, the president of the tourist guides association and the Oaxaca coordinator for the federal Secretariat of Social Development. Despite early scepticism, the value of site management plans proved such that today they are required as they help structure encounters on the site-society interface by organizing relationships across boundaries. In 2011 the UNESCO World Heritage Capacity Building Strategy cited Monte Alban’s attention to managing relations with other entities as an example of “best practice” for similar sites around the world (World Heritage Committee 2011).

Above all, Monte Alban finds that its relationship with surrounding communities, once managed via an occasional visit by an archaeologist with an official letter from distant Mexico City, now requires delegating one archaeologist to full-time duty as community liaison to address matters such as disagreements or violations of boundaries, location and use of trails and roads, access to the archaeological zone for community activities such as weekend recreation, and service provision. Two generations ago the idea that an archaeologist would be detailed to do this on a full-time basis would have been unthinkable. Today, managing boundary relations between Monte Alban and neighbouring communities is accepted as essential. This collaboration with adjacent communities was also identified as a “best practice” in the capacity-building strategy noted above.

Boundary management matters with local communities frequently have to do with physical boundaries. Sometimes these are simple agreements as to the location of a boundary line to facilitate allocation of responsibilities, e.g. to make sure that an INAH water line does not inadvertently intrude into a community’s jurisdiction. Sometimes there are disputes: Does a subsurface archaeological feature extend into community land? INAH has the legal right to protect it in any case but the mechanisms might vary. Sometimes two communities disagree on a boundary matter and appeal for assistance. Or a private individual may wish to pursue construction or another use that conflicts with INAH’s understanding of subsurface features and the local authorities come into play. Local authorities are INAH’s first stop in addressing physical boundary matters and it is critical for INAH personnel to understand boundary-making and boundary maintenance not only from INAH’s perspective but also from its dynamic within the community.

One of the most critical responsibilities of community leadership , especially in formally elected roles such as presidente municipal, essentially mayor, is to defend the territorial integrity of the community, to resist efforts by outsiders to appropriate community lands for their own benefit. While today such disputes tend to wind up in court or debated in front of state or federal officials, in extreme cases the mayor is expected to prepare his community to respond via armed confrontation. As community assemblies meet every 3 years to select new mayors and councils a common question regarding candidates is whether they appear able to stand up to outsiders or higher officials; in effect the question is whether they are capable of pursuing boundary maintenance. As managing boundaries becomes more important for communities the weight attached to this capability increases. Individuals regarded as possibly excessively deferent or unprepared to protect community interests may be passed over to select those expected to be effective.

In addition to the full-time liaison with communities Monte Alban staff not only manages boundaries by attending community meetings to listen to discussions or answer questions but physically walk the place in question with community members. It is not unusual for such a group to number 20, 30 or even more individuals walking from point to point, discussing whether a tree, pile of stones or some other feature is the one referred to in eighteenth-century documents. Agreements are written down and signed. Not uncommonly community members slide into Zapotec to make their discussions more private (Robles García and Corbett 2010a). In such settings INAH staff must depend on interpersonal relations based on confianza or trust to assure positive outcomes for the intergovernmental relationships they seek to promote. Nurturing this trust requires an investment of time and commitment rarely acknowledged in documents or reports but vital to boundary-making and maintenance.

Challenge to Boundary-Making: Organizational Complexity

If organizational density refers to the growing number of relationships spanning the site-society interface emerging across time organizational complexity refers the way in which INAH must address increased specialization and differentiation within the site itself. Some of this change reflects the growth in visitor traffic from a few 100 visitors annually in the early 1930s to more than 700,000 annually today. Those early visitors needed to be well prepared as they often were faced with a 1500-ft vertical climb to the ruins. Today tour buses contribute to congested parking, thousands of school children participate in educational activities and Monte Alban offers Mexico ’s first access trail engineered for wheelchairs, including a solar-powered chairlift. Some of the changes reflect efforts to improve the quality of the site , ranging from a native plant nursery to a laboratory for material analysis and a package sewage treatment plant. Some address new institutional requirements such as improved site security and disaster planning, a requirement underscored by an earthquake in 1999 striking at midday when there were many visitors to protect and evacuate. The handful of administrative staff and custodians once supporting the site may now reach 200 staff and volunteers during peak visitor periods such as the December holidays or Oaxaca’s Guelaguetza dance festival in July. Whether coordinating volunteers and personnel from other agencies on detached duty during peak periods or responding to directives from INAH’s headquarters in Mexico City requires managing an organizational complexity not readily visible from the outside (Robles García and Corbett 2014a, b).

Dealing with wildfires is a case in point. The hilly terrain, weather cycles where the rainy season encourages the growth of grass and brush while the dry season makes it flammable tinder and the encroachment of urban settlement produce conditions that result in burning approximately 15% of Monte Alban’s surface area each year. While for the most part these are in the peripheral areas they represent a recurring danger to site structures and personnel, close roads and trails and leave denuded slopes that then suffer erosion in the subsequent rainy season, exposing and damaging unexplored archaeological remains. Yet because INAH is a cultural resource agency, not a land management agency, it does not have budgetary authority to acquire firefighting equipment . Unlike Mesa Verde National Park, its sister park in the national park system of the United States, Monte Alban has no institutional quick-response capability. Instead it is expected to call the fire department of the city of Oaxaca, in effect solving a problem by reaching across a jurisdictional boundary for assistance.

Unfortunately a firefighting solution that appears adequate on paper has serious limitations in practice. The city’s fire department is equipped and trained for urban structural fires, fires that may be intense but generally are static, i.e. they do not move. Manpower and equipment are readily deployed on a concentrated objective. Monte Alban’s fires generally begin on its lower slopes adjacent to settled areas where lack of garbage service leads to burning trash as a sanitary measure. Afternoon winds sweep burning materials upslope into dry grass and brush, and then push the flames upward toward the main plaza. Fires frequently expand until they advance on a front several hundred meters across, largely unimpeded by the steep, rough terrain. Oaxaca’s fire department is unprepared for such fires even if it is willing to respond.

To address the gap between INAH’s legal mandate and realities on the ground Monte Alban has turned to informal adjustments creating increased organizational complexity. A cadre of maintenance workers and custodians forms an almost invisible fire protection unit to respond as needed. As INAH cannot appropriate funds to purchase firefighting equipment Monte Alban appealed to the World Heritage Centre in Paris for emergency support. This was granted but the specialized portable equipment necessary was not available in Mexico . Eventually Monte Alban was able to purchase it in the United States only to have it impounded for months by Mexican customs officials. Finally delivered it supported training from the state of Oaxaca’s civil protection office and personnel from Mesa Verde. Thus the increased organizational density discussed earlier provided a support system for increased organizational complexity at Monte Alban.

Yet even development of internal organizational resources may be inadequate where boundary concerns are involved. Fires commonly begin on and burn through community lands within Monte Alban’s official boundary. This means communities have the formal responsibility for responding to fires even though they have limited capacity to do so. Usually it means the community land committee or some other body turns out a hastily mobilized force of volunteers with shovels, machetes and brooms to join INAH’s improvised fire brigade. Community reliance on such ad hoc arrangements results in uncertainties and delays in responding as well as potential danger for untrained volunteers trapped by smoke and flames. Yet the informality of Monte Alban’s own internal arrangements is vulnerable to changes in personnel and practice. In 2016 the arrival of a new director for Monte Alban, someone unfamiliar with its wildfires and its internal response capacity, meant a fire starting on a weekend burned more than 200 hectares before volunteers from Santa Maria Atzompa were able to control it.

Conclusion

Several dimensions of the Monte Alban experience are worth revisiting:

  1. 1.

    An emphasis on improved technical or disciplinary training for site/park managers, e.g. advanced degrees in archaeology for archaeologists, does not automatically prepare them for the dynamics of interaction across the site-society interface . Successful management of cross-boundary matters requires skill sets and perspectives integrating insights from several disciplines and a capacity to negotiate.

  2. 2.

    Recognizing the significance of change across time reinforces our sense of management as dynamic and evolutionary. At the same time change underscores the challenge to long-term planning as planning for Monte Alban as it was on attaining World Heritage status in 1987 would be hopelessly outdated today, and in fact the current management plan reflects a far different world than existed in 1997. Administrative histories may make for dry reading but are essential for understanding effective management. INAH is about to write a new chapter in its history with the December, 2015, transfer from its decades-old home in Public Education to the new Secretariat of Culture, a shift likely to bring changes in leadership and policy.

  3. 3.

    Boundary-making and boundary maintenance are critical processes that may be understood only in retrospect but are constantly in motion. Sometimes addressing boundary functions requires skills less valued in an earlier era; in 2016 it would be difficult for the director of Monte Alban to manage the international boundary functions of the site without a basic grasp of English or the use of computers. Managing relations across boundaries has become a central concern. When American poet Robert Frost wrote “Good fences make good neighbours” he might have been thinking of Monte Alban, not New England farmers.

  4. 4.

    Organizational density and organizational complexity are critical measures of boundary-making and maintenance. Over last 50 years Monte Alban has moved from a modest network of organizational relations to a web with international reach. Internally it has become far more complex. Fifty years ago no one would have envisioned employing truck drivers who spend their days hauling water up the mountain to support visitor services or educational services providing orientation and tours for school groups from all over the valley who come to learn the history and significance of Monte Alban. No one mentions organizational complexity to them but they are the beneficiaries of it in the form of the educational specialists who teach them while they are there.

  5. 5.

    Managing Monte Alban today is a multidisciplinary endeavour. No matter what the formal training of senior site staff they must be open to the perspectives and knowledge of specialists drawn from many fields. Conservation biologists work next to educators who work next to architects and anthropologists. Attorneys, once unimaginable at an archaeological site, today must track labour law, challenge physical invasion of the site boundaries by squatters and negotiate agreements with communities, agencies or other stakeholders. Accountants handle not only ticket receipts but also the flow of federal funds, financial collaboration with foundations, and payments to vendors while security staff do disaster planning, firefighting, attempt to control dumping and looting, and patrol more than 30 km of perimeter fencing. Coordinating this internal effort while managing external relations requires broad vision and capacity to mobilize diverse resources.

For these reasons we refer to site management at Monte Alban as social management as its core reflects the need to coordinate relationships with individuals, groups, agencies, vendors and other stakeholders (Corbett 2008; Robles García and Corbett 2010b). It is valuable to have a site director knowledgeable in archaeological techniques or the history of Zapotec civilization; it is essential to have a director with the capacity to work across organizational boundaries and address multiple constituencies. Site staff needs to appreciate the contributions all make to a team effort, not envision the site as primarily an arena that must respond to the priorities of their specialty. Creating a team is in itself an important dimension of site leadership, and overseeing its effective interaction internally as well as its engagement with interests beyond site boundaries makes for new and often daunting challenges (Robles García and Corbett 2013).