A final theme within which archaeology is being given meaning in contemporary popular culture has only over the past few years gained in significance, as developer-funded rescue archaeology and cultural heritage management have been thoroughly transforming the landscape of professional archaeology throughout Europe and beyond. Archaeologists have become the Heritage Police (Welinder 2000: 86-7).

This theme revolves around the notion that in managing ancient sites and finds, archaeologists bear the responsibility of taking care of what are scarce and non-renewable resources (Holtorf 2005: chapter 8). Accordingly, the archaeologist, whether a civil servant or an employee of a commercial company, is a caring specialist with limited time and limited resources who tries to salvage, for the benefit of society and humankind, valuable archaeological sites or artifacts – and the historical information they may possess – from decay or destruction. In addition, these professional rescuers, who are committed to working according to ethical principles, also fight things like tomb-raiding (á la Lara Croft) and the illicit antiquities trade. Incidentally, such elements are also central in how archaeologists see themselves (Welinder 2000). That is reflected, for example, in information signs that explain to the public why there is nothing to see of the rock art for which they came to Aspeberget, part of the World Heritage site of Tanum in Bohuslän, Sweden: the archaeologists cared so much for their sites that in order to protect some of the finest art from further weathering and erosion, they covered it up with soil (Gustafsson and Karlssson 2004: *ms 117-8*).

Figure 5.5 The archaeologist as a rescuer. From the comic Tumac.

Whereas the A theme is usually far-away archaeology, the C theme tends to be close-to-home archaeology. Whereas the former can be appreciated in national and indeed international media, the latter is particularly visible in local media such as newspapers. Local papers contain numerous reports about precisely what has been rescued where and which preserved archaeological sites or recovered finds exhibited in museums might draw visitors to the area. So strong is this fascination with caring for ancient sites and preserving historical evidence at risk that local rescue projects might even then be deemed newsworthy when nothing has been found: ”No archaeological finds where National Road 29 will run” (Blekinge Läns Tidning, 2 October 2002, my translation).

The C theme is now also entering the worlds of film and fiction. The well known Swedish author P. C. Jersild published in 2003 a novel (De ondas kloster) about a small archaeological rescue firm struggling under various pressures as clues about the Medieval site under investigation emerge. In the movie The Body (2001), the remains of none less than Christ come to light on a rescue dig in Jerusalem. The film archaeologist Dr Sharon Golban explains the circumstances of the discovery in a way that Indiana Jones, his father, or Erich von Däniken would not have chosen: ”They wanted to put up flats in about three months so we had to be quick.” The National Geographic Society, too, is now extending the appeal of their documentaries to include the C theme. A DVD I bought of the 2002 production Inca Mummies: Secrets of a Lost Empire features on its cover not only some of the usual emblems of the A theme but also an invitation to ”join archaeologists racing to rescue priceless Inca relics from looters and urban sprawl.”

Although C and D themes are very compatible with each other and indeed often combined, as all my previous examples actually illustrate, the two are nevertheless not interchangeable. The archaeologist as specialist care-taker and manager is more likely than any other archaeologist to work at home rather than abroad. Also, he or she is not a detective carrying a notebook and a magnifying glass but rather a professional expert who wears either suit and tie or protective clothing suggested by the appropriate Health and Safety regulations (see below).

Even science-fiction adventures, which always had a leaning towards featuring archaeologists, have now begun to reflect these real changes to the discipline on planet Earth (Russell 2002a). For example, the Startrek episode Q-less (1993) featuring rogue archaeologist Vash who has previously been expelled from the Federation’s Archaeology Council for selling illicit artifacts, contains a strong ethical message. When she is resuming her illegal activities, omnipotent alien Q informs the bridge crew of space station Deep Space Nine that Vash is ”setting Federation ethics back two hundred years. Believe me, gang, she is far more dangerous to you than I am.”

One of my favourite archaeological sci-fi novels is Jack McDevitt’s Deepsix (2001) in which an archaeological team finds itself in a scenario where a rogue moon hurtling through space is about to obliterate the last opportunity to study a rare planet with ancient remains. As the back cover explains, the group must ”glean whatever they can about its life forms and lost civilizations before time runs out.” As much as this is also an adventure story, the particular kind of threat the archaeologists face is one that Indiana Jones would find extremely foreign to the same extent to which it would be extremely familiar to any professional archaeologist of our time. The same can be said about the particular challenges waiting for players in Channel 4’s online archaeological whodunit ”Time Detectives”:

A local developer wants to build a housing estate on the quiet rural fields of Teamchester. You and your team of specialists have been called in to do an archaeological assessment of the area. You have just three days to discover the lost story of the Teamchester fields. If you can’t come up with a conclusive report at the end of the last day the developers will move in.

The C theme in archaeology has both comical and tragic elements. On the one hand, precisely why should anybody want to rescue a few ancient artifacts? On the other hand, the archaeologist can often not prevent but only alleviate the destruction of archaeological sites. In films like the Swedish comedy Den ofrivillige golfaren (1991), where a somewhat hopeless character played by Claes Månsson represents the state archaeologist Berglund, both elements are coming together. The audience smiles about the seemingly ridiculous endeavours of the naive and inept archaeologist but at the same time feels for this poor guy who is trying to do his important job, without being taken seriously by anybody. Significantly, when I began my project, many of my new Swedish colleagues suggested that this is the film I ought to watch… No doubt they were recognizing one part of themselves in the figure of the archaeologist Berglund (Fig. 5.6).

Figure 5.6: The state archaeologist Berglund. Still from Den ofrivillige golfaren (1991)

The work of the care-taker archaeologist is usually appreciated by people. For example, in the digital strategy game Tropico: Paradise Island (2002) you are installed as the new dictator on an imaginary Caribbean island and have to develop your country. Among the many options you have, professional archaeologists can be employed in order to create and maintain tourist sites which will benefit your economy (Felder et al 2003: 174; tropico.godgames.com/paradiseisland). But when personal interests are involved, e. g. when peoples’ personal beliefs, finances or livelihoods are concerned, the stakes rise quickly and the archaeologist can be perceived as a formidable enemy. It may suddenly appear questionable why all this academic attention to ancient remains should be so sensible after all. For example, in the events following the discovery of Seahenge at the Norfolk coast in England, various New Age and pagan groups as well as local supporters presented themselves as the true protectors of this magic site, whereas the archaeologists who were trying to ’rescue’ it from destruction came across in the media as desecrators and violators of these people’s legitimate interests (Ascherson 2004: 147).

Very different circumstances are described in the British film Pascali’s Island (1988). Set on an Aegean island during the end of the Ottoman Empire the local Pasha feels threatened by the archaeologist Anthony Bowles who lets it be known that he will report his valuable discoveries to the national authorities in Constantinople so that the Sultan can take care of it in the proper way. The irony is that Bowles himself turns out to be a swindler who is seeking to get rich from the greedy Pasha.

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