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Mercenaries are fighters who operate under special conditions. Their presence, as shadow combatants, often tends to exacerbate the violence of their enemies. That’s why the analysis focuses on the singularity of the relationship to death and ‘procedures’ concerning the corpses of their fallen comrades. As a fighter identified and engaged in landlocked areas, the mercenary’s corpse is treated according to material constraints pertaining in the 1960s. After violence on their body, and evolution towards the secret war, mercenaries favour the repatriation of the body or its disappearance. These new, painful conditions for comrades and families give birth to a collective memory fostered by commemorations.
, later, as World Heritage. Conversely, the cliff temples could have prevented the establishment of the Aswan High Dam and therefore the modernisation of Egypt. The preserved temples may also hamper a development that is not directly linked to income from tourism. In the future, then, the original threat, the dam – and perhaps also Abu Simbel’s concrete arched domes – will be worthy of preservation as unique and irreplaceable testimony to the engineering skills of the 1960s. Clearly, history, memory, and heritage are interwoven with threats. 5. The past and modernity
increase in musealisation in Switzerland and Germany over the twentieth century (Lübbe 1982 ); Robert Hewison observed an increase in the number of museums, theme parks, and visitor centres in England since the 1960s and launched the concept “Heritage Industry” (Hewison 1987 : 83ff); Françoise Choay perceived an inflation in heritage since the 1960s, reacting particularly strongly against the establishment of industrial monuments and increased heritage tourism (Choay 1992 (French): 158ff; 2001 (English): 138ff); and Andreas Huyssen observed a “relentless museummania
tendencies appear regarding World Heritage. Here, however, the picture is even clearer. Thus, there are no simple correlations between the establishment of World Heritage and trends in the history of ideas and the economy. The World Heritage Convention came into being in 1972, right at the end of a unique period of economic growth and confidence in modernity in the West. The Convention was developed in the 1960s during a modern boom, which coincided with the establishing of new states after decolonisation. As an idea, the Convention thus belongs to modernity with its
uncertainty. The UK had, he said, been in crisis ever since the 1960s, beset by pessimism, devaluation, and oil crises. Modernisation had been replaced by deindustrialisation and unemployment. Industrial premises had become museums. Instead of goods, they produced superficial heritage. In Hewison’s view, the heritage industry was stifling contemporary culture, and its inertia was impeding necessary renewal. What he wished to see was not more heritage and bringing to life but critical history, “real” industry, and “real” jobs (Hewison 1987 ). Similarly drastic criticism
Belzoni from 1817, and other inscriptions are memories of numerous visits (MacQuitty 1965 : 76, 84, 91, 98f, 134; Desroches-Noblecourt & Gerster 1968 : 30f). After their rediscovery, the temples became destinations on cruises along the Nile. Travel books, novels, and films established Abu Simbel as Egyptian icons along with destinations including the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, the Pyramids of Giza, the Valley of the Kings, Karnak, and Luxor; upper-class travel paved the way for mass tourism. The salvage campaign of the 1960s increased the attraction of the
usually neglected by the first generation of Serbian archaeologists. Nevertheless, after they proved useful during the 1960s, Kanitz’s publications have been consulted in excavations of Roman sites ever since. At the same time, they have been used for constructions of contemporary identities. Present-day Serbian archaeologists often refer to Kanitz in their constant effort to prove that Serbia has a claim to European heritage that is, if not greater than that of Western Europe – as signified by the current, state-supported project purporting to show Serbia to be the
Vermaseren some ten years later (Vermaseren, 1975; cf. Kruijer, Hilbrants, Pelgrom and Taviani, 2018). His evident disillusionment is understandable, for the excavations did not yield what he and his team expected. But another explanation for the failure of that second campaign at Santa Prisca is that the academic and political network which had so strongly favoured the first campaign in the 1950s had largely disappeared by the mid-1960s. Van Essen himself had died quite suddenly in 1963; director Poelhekke left the Netherlands Institute two years later for a professorship
personal, community and landscape identities were persistently negotiated, renegotiated and reinterpreted. Approaching cemetery space The earliest reports about Anglo-Saxon cemeteries were the results of eighteenth-century excavation. Attractive illustrations focused on gravegoods and occasionally reproduced images of the wealthiest graves (Williams, 2009 ). It was only in the 1930s that the less wealthy, but more typical, early Anglo-Saxon graves were also illustrated, albeit with a focus on the ‘warrior burial’ (Williams, 2009 : 171–2). By the 1960s and 1970s
discussed in Chapter 6 . Even quite reasonable discussions of the violence and methods of death suffered by Lindow Man (such as Hill 2004b ) have earned the ire of sceptics, keen to demystify this phenomenon (Hutton 2004b ; see also response by Hill 2004a ). Meanwhile in 1960s Denmark, Glob’s emphasis upon ritual sacrifice to a goddess of fertility, in the cases of Tollund and Grauballe Man, have been critically situated by Asingh ( 2009 : 18) in a similar backlash: ‘In the post war years, National Romanticism was dusted off … Just think – we Danes are descendants of