6_ICCROM Conservating Studies_Cultural Heritage in Postwar Recovery

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Cultural Heritage in Postwar Recovery

ICCROM

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Cultural Heritagein Postwar Recovery

P p rs from h iCCROM FORUM h l o Oc ob r 4-6, 2005

EditEd byn chol s S l y-Pr c

iCCROMCOnSeRvatiOn

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Cultural Heritage in Postwar Recovery. Papers from the ICCROM FORUM held on October 4-6, 2005,edited by Nicholas Stanley-Price.

ICCROM Conservation Studies 6, ICCROM, Rome.

ISBN 92-9077-201-8 2007 ICCROM

International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural PropertyVia di San Michele, 13

00153Rome, Italy

www.iccrom.org

Designed by Maxtudio, RomePrinted by Ugo Quintily S.p.A.


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ContentsPreface NICHOLAS STANLEY-PRICE

the hrea of con nu : cul ural her age npos war recover 1 NICHOLAS STANLEY-PRICE

Cul ural es ruc on war, an s mpac on 17 group en esNEAL ASCHERSON

Pos war recons ruc on an he recover of cul ural 26 her age: cr cal lessons from he las f f een earsSULTAN BARAKAT

d v e c es an e hn c confl c n he ur an oma n 40 JON CALAME

Hmong pos war en pro uc on: her age ma n enance 51 an cul ural re n erpre a onGARY YIA LEE

Recover ng a fam l her age: a personal exper ence n eas 60GermanHERMANN GRAF VON PCKLER

Pol cal confl c an recover of cul ural her age n Pales ne 68SUAD AMIRY AND KHALDUN BSHARA

Arme confl c an cul ure change n Ch apas, Mex co 75VALERIE MAGAR

the res ora on of he temple of he too h Rel c n Kan , 87 Sr Lanka: a pos -confl c cul ural response o loss of enGAMINI WIJESURIYA

Arme confl c s, peace cul ure an pro ec on of cul ural 98 her age n Wes Afr caBOUREIMA TIKORONI DIAMITANI

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iv Cultural Heritage in Postwar reCovery

Promo ng cul ural her age n a pos war env ronmen : 107 he C e ivo reHORTENSE ZAGBAYOU

Promo ng cul ural her age n pos war recover : El Salva or 114HCTOR ISMAEL SERMEO

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FigURe 1 th Pckl r f m ly hom of Schloss Br z, g rm y, from h sou hw s .

FigURe 2 th n o l L br ry S r j o, Bos H rz o , h by sh lls s of r , au us 1992 ( aFP). 6

FigURe 3 Cul ur o s o w r co s ruc o . th r - s bl sh S r j o Orch s rr h rs for co c r propos by Fr ch l s o ch l h ru s of h S r j on o l L br ry, S p mb r 1993 ( aFP).

FigURe 4 P l s s w o h h r id ch ck ch ckpo corpor o hs p r o b rr r ou s B hl h m h hop of Fr y pr y rs h al-aqsMosqu J rus l m, Oc ob r 2006 ( aFP).

FigURe 5 Co ry C h r l, 15 no mb r 1940 by Joh P p r. Comm ss o by h o r ms w r r s , P p r p h bur ru s of h C h r l h mor f r s bomb .

FigURe 6 R o o of s r s f c s, ar b hm Qu r r, n cos . F r of h s r sblock by h gr L h c y. Pho o 2005.

FigURe 7 th r co s cr o of h Fr u k rch dr s ook pl c 2005. th bl cks o blocks r hos r co r from h ru s of h church.

FigURe 8 n o l Mus um, B ru , f r s or f r m sus ur h c l w rwh loc o h gr L b w h w rr f c o s occup by h m l ry.i s coll c o s w r s , h ks o pr or pl by h s ff. Pho o 1995.

FigURe 9 th C h r l of no r -d m R ms Fr c f r b sh ll , Oc ob r 1918. FigURe 10 th s rch for pr or y, ayo hy 1992. H u x r m s s mol sh h 16 h c uryB br mosqu , s s h mpl m rk h b r hpl c of h o R m l s b h ( aFP)

FigURe 11 a J mpl L hor , P k s , coll ps s f r b ck by Musl m pro s ors r pr s l for h s ruc o of h B br mosqu ayo hy , d c mb r 2002( aFP).

FigURe 12 a P l s r fu spl ys k y o h s hous s h m rks h 58 h rs ry of n kb(d y of c s roph ) h Sh r fu c mp g z , M y 14, 2006 ( R u rs/Moh mm S l m).

FigURe 13 a P l s rl al-Huss r fu c mp, ou s amm , hol h k y o h rr f h rs hous J ff (R u rs).

FigURe 14 R l o sh ps b w m o b l y/ o r spo . a po a, m jos s r r sul s mor m o wh ch r c s m y r sourc s, bu h r s l l c p c

f w s h s m . a po B, h m o h s w l so h h r r o rbu c p c y s r r s r cr s .

FigURe 15 th ol c y K bulB l H ss r, o c hr hbourhoo , w s s roy by w y y rs of w r l c , promp s popul o o s r h r .

FigUReS 16 17. th ll of Poc lj Bos H rz o w s s 1993, s mosqu s roy . th ll h s ow b succ ssfully r co s ruc .

FigURe 18 th m boul r of Mos r form h -l b w Bos Croforc s 1993 ( aFP). 41

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FigURe 19 th ol br u r r co s ruc o (July 2003). th S r Mos (ol br ) Mos r w ss roy by k-f r ur h 19925 w r. i w s r co s ruc o r wo-y r p r o

r op July 2005 (pho o July 2003, aFP). 4

FigURe 20 O of h m s o h p c l w s B lf s . th s p r cul r s us o s ro h ru s b w h C hol c F lls Ro r h Pro s Sh k ll s r c ( m

cour sy of copyr h Cain (c .uls . c.uk).

FigURe 21 Cup r S r h F lls r of B lf s . a h r r of h hous s s h ll br ck w ll opp w h sh m l p r o h forms h p c l ( m cour sy of copyr h C(c .uls . c.uk). 45

FigURe 22 tr o l Wh Hmo gr Hmo sk r s wor by rls p rform Hmoc s Sy y, aus r l .

FigURe 23 Hmo mbro ry us s cor o for wom s r o l cos um s.

FigURe 24 Hmo fu r l h W s h l oors s c ou oor r u ls r o lo r pr c c .i h for rou , h Hmo r p p yp c lly us for fu r l mus c.

FigURe 25 S ro y r s h spor for h ol hom l r p c Hmo mbro ry

FigURe 26 Mo r Hmo cos um s op l h r rs o of h r o l sk r blous for

FigURe 27 th you r o of Hmo w h mul pl s.

FigURe 28 n w Hmo pos mo r cos um w y r pr s o ? FigURe 29 Por r of Pr c H rm . Pckl r by Fr z Kr r (17791857), p 1819 whPckl r w s 34. Mos of h cor o s show h por r w r l r s h r c

FigURe 30 Schloss Br z p r ol from h s .

FigURe 31 P r of h Sch lfs l k h l sc p r s Br z.

FigURe 32 th Pyr m o w r s by Pr c Pckl r s h s omb Br z.

FigURe 33 Pr c (Frs ) Pckl rs l br ry h Schloss Br z.

FigURe 34 th plom w r o Pr c Pckl r by K Fr r ch W lh lm iii of Pruss 1822.

FigURe 35 Ol C y of n blus, s ruc o apr l 2002 (pho o: Rul H l w ).

FigURe 36 Hosh l H lu r s l cour y r s r h b l by h OCJRP (pho o: a Kh pho o rc

FigURe 37 H bro Ol tow , r h b l qu r rs (pho o: R w q arch ).

FigURe 38 B hl h m bl m rk , r h b l 1998 s roy 2002 (pho o: M hKo s /R w q arch ). 71

FigURe 39 a isr l k h Ol C y of n blus, apr l 2002 (pho o: Rul H l w ).

FigURe 40 Job cr o hrou h r s or o proj c s, 20026 (pho o: Kh l u Bsh r /R w q arch ).

FigURe 41 R co ry u r f r : commu y c y h r o bu l of B R m CulC r (pho o: M h r S l h/R w q arch ).

FigURe 42 M p of M x co show loc o of Ch p s.

FigURe 43. Z p s army ( aFP). 76

FigURe 44 Subcom M rcos w h tzo z l wom ( aFP).

FigURe 45 tzo z l wom ch l r w r r o l clo h .

FigURe 46 Mur l p of t p rl , b for s s ruc o 1998.

FigURe 47 Mur l p o h bor r w ll b w h US M x co, copy h mur lp of t p rl .

FigURe 48 P l qu , t mplo l Co . 83

FigURe 49 Mur l p , Bo mp k.

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vi Cultural Heritage in Postwar reCovery

FigURe 50 Wom block h r r c o h ll ( aFP).

FigURe 51 P of Z p s wom .

FigURe 52 th mpl b for h bomb .

FigUReS 53 54 th mpl h f rm h of h bomb s.

FigURe 55 d m p s u r o r s or o .

FigUReS 56 57 S o c r of l ph b for f r h bomb . FigURe 58 n wly c r s o sculp ur of h s m l ph .

FigURe 59 n w s o c r s b o .

FigURe 60 th Pr s of Sr L k , Mrs Ch r k Kum r u , h M s r of Cul ur ,L kshm J y ko y, s h t mpl of h too h f r s r s or o , au us 1999.

FigURe 61 d cor mb r l m s of h r shr b for h bomb .

FigURe 62 Bu l of h n o l i s u of S u s R s rch (ineP) Co kry, gu -B sf r occup o by h m l ry subs qu b o m .

FigURe 63 docum o c r of ineP, gu -B ss u, f r s s ruc o .

FigURe 64 arch s s roy ineP bu l .

FigURe 65 th n o l Mus um of L b r , f r sh ll ur h w r h 1990s. FigURe 66 i r or of h n o l Mus um of L b r f r l sm loo of coll c o s.

FigURe 67 Church bur ur h 1990s c l w r S rr L o .

FigURe 68 Ch l r s r w s p c w r xp r c s, S rr L o .

FigURe 69 d s r bu o of pr c p l h c roups h i ory Co s .

FigURe 70 d f c o s o of i ory Co s wo zo s.

FigURe 71 el S l or. 115

FigURe 72 th Ru l P z (Rou of P c ), our s c rou cr or h r el S l or h pos w r p r o . 11

FigURe 73 Bl ck of com l s (fl c r m c sh s) h k l , c y c rr ou by m .

FigURe 74 Com l s, yp c l of S M u l r gu j u , r bur sh by h . th bl ck colour s by ss c ob from h c scol r .

FigURe 75 th r s or church of S S b s M r r gu j u , d p r m of Mor z .

FigURe 76 Pos w r mpro m s o bu l s gu j u , for s c r pl c m ofb h r qu (w l - - ub) w h ob br cks or w h co cr .

FigURe 77 Flor R r , cr f sm us p lm fro s o m k brooms s r w h s,Ulu z p (S M u l). 11

FigURe 78 S r w h s m for s l S M u l p r m .

FigURe 79 th r o l c of Chr s s Moors w s pr c c h ow of Mo c u(S M u l) from h 19 h c ury u l 1960.

FigURe 80 th c of Chr s s Moors, c o h v r of C l r , w s r - ro u 1993 mm ly f r h of h c l w r, h of Co cul ur .


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1

Nicholas staNley-Price

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Introduction the threadof continuityThe impact of war on a peoples cultural heritageis a difficult topic to broach. In times of deathand destruction, people come first. With the endof active combat and the start of recovery, theimmediate human needs of shelter, food and healthhave priority. So does proper respect for the memoryof the dead. None of this can, nor should, be denied.A concern for cultural heritage at such a time runsthe risk of appearing to be indifferent to thesepriorities.

The contents of this volume accept this premisebut aim to modify it by arguing that the role ofculture should be recognized as an important onefrom early in the recovery phase following a periodof war or armed conflict. Not only do the needs ofshelter, food and health stand a better chance ofbeing successfully met if the cultural context of theirbeneficiaries is understood; but also a peoples ability

to recover from such extreme situations owes muto their own cultural resilience. Actively includicultural heritage in the agenda for recovery can haa positive force both for social reconstruction and feventual reconciliation.

In many postwar situations, there is evidenof a popular concern to restore immediately wadamaged heritage and to revive traditions that befothe war had been obsolescent. This concern seemsanswer to a strong psychosocial need to re-establithe familiar and the cherished following a phase violent disruption of normal life. It can be distillin the concept of a thread of continuity that peopsearch for when the rhythm of everyday life has beshattered.1 In such situations, the crucial role oculture must be recognized and incorporated early the recovery process.

1 An early use of this well-worn phrase is in the study ofbereavement by Marris (1974: 17; quoted in Loizos 1981:197): the impulse to preserve the thread of continuity is ta crucial instinct of survival.

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The thread of continuity: culturalheritage in post-war recovery

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2 Cultural Heritage in Postwar reCovery

The aim of the Forum organized by ICCROMin October 2005 was to bring together experiencesthat demonstrate that cultural heritage does play animportant role in recovery from situations of war orarmed conflict.2 A certain time-perspective is requiredto determine how culture has been important. Forthis reason, most of the cases selected for discussion

at the Forum, and published here, reflect at leasta decade of experience since the end of the armedconflict to which they refer.

As the papers make clear, the contribution ofcultural heritage in postwar situations is seen asbeing much more pervasive than the restorationof war-damaged buildings or the restitution ofstolen objects, which is how it is often conceived.War damage to buildings and museum collectionsand their subsequent restoration (or restitutionin the case of looted works of art) have been thesubject of many general reviews (e.g. Nicholas1994, Greenfield 1996, Lambourne 2001, Bevan2006). Damage caused by armed conflict in the 20thcentury to libraries and archives is well documentedin a report produced for UNESCOs Memory of theWorld project (Van der Hoeven and Van Albada1996). The application of international conven-tions has also been reviewed (e.g. by Boylan 1993,Toman 1996, Boylan 2001, Chamberlain 2004).The continuing conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraqhave kept the issues of cultural heritage destructionfully in the public eye.

Reviews of the kind referred to are valuablein demonstrating the sheer scale of loss of culturalheritage (though they give most attention to Europe)as a result of armed conflict, and the highly symbolicvalue attached to it. Most limit themselves to docu-menting the scale of the phenomenon; some drawconclusions about lessons to be learnt; others gofurther in propounding a particular thesis. Bevan(2006) does this in arguing for the deliberate destruc-tion of architecture to be viewed as a form of culturalgenocide and to be considered a crime againsthumanity together with that of genocide.

2 War or armed conflict? I have used the two terms looselyhere as if equivalent. The 1954 UNESCO Hague Conventiondistinguishes between them in that the Convention appliesin the event of declared war or of any other armedconflict (Article 18), including armed conflicts that arenot international (Article 19). The common use in theConvention of the broader term armed conflict enablesthe principles of the Convention to be applied even in theabsence of a formal declaration of war (and also in the caseof occupation). (I am grateful to Jan Hladk, InternationalStandards Section, Division of Cultural Heritage, UNESCO,for his comments on this point.) Politicians also find itconvenient to distinguish between the two terms, forinstance Sir Anthony Eden, Prime Minister of Great Britain,who is quoted as saying after invading Suez in 1956: We arenot at war with Egypt. We are in armed conflict.

This volume adopts a different approach, with aemphasis on the reconstruction of society followiarmed conflict rather than, as in the studies citeabove, detailing the destruction or seizure of culturheritage during it. It acknowledges the symbovalue placed by society on buildings and museuof national significance; but it also stresses the soc

and spiritual significance of much humbler placand objects, whose value is often a personal familial one.

It is on this basis that it argues for the importancof cultural heritage in rebuilding society, while reognizing too that culture is itself transformed bconflict. As the anthropologist Valene Smith hwritten: Wars are without equal as the time-markeof society. Lives are so irrevocably changed thculture and behavior are marked by three phasebefore the war, during the war, and after thewar (Smith, V. 1998). It is sobering to reflect hooften these or similar phrases must be used arounthe world today.

Armed conflict andthe homeThe experience of war is intimately connected wquestions of displacement from the home and thland that goes with it. Some survivors of war adetermined to reject their pre-war lives and lononly for a new life elsewhere, for instance throuvoluntary emigration; others are forced to becomrefugees in other lands. But even the emigranand refugees carry with them their culture, whicsometimes flourishes more vibrantly in the diaspothan in the homeland (see Lee, this volume). Sommay never wish to revisit the country that they flebecause of its association with the horrors of waothers find that even short return visits to see famimembers may produce mixed feelings and evresentment. In studying Australian immigrants, Re(1996: Chapter 2) found that many Jewish survivoof Nazi Europe had never returned to their homelanand had no desire to do so. Other immigrants whhad fled wars in, for example, Croatia or Viet Namreported varying feelings of either longing for thomeland or rejecting it. (The data on refugees antheir attitudes towards returning to their homelanhave to be interpreted, of course, in the light of thpolitical circumstances prevailing there.)

It is not only the house itself but also the lanthat goes with it that are vital to a peoples identit(the attention now paid to the concept of culturalandscapes acknowledges this intimate linkage). predominantly agrarian societies, it is issues of la


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ownership that come immediately to the fore whenpeople displaced by conflict attempt to return to theirhomes. In Mozambique, approximately six million[sic] small-scale farmers were displaced from agricul-turally productive lands during the sixteen years ofthe most recent conflict. The return by these peopleto working the land has been on the largest scale ever

known in Africa, a process complicated by competingclaims to plots of land which have changed hands asa result of changing political regimes, and also by thepresence of numerous landmines (Unruh 1998: 90).

Other experiences of return to the homelandwere reported at the Forum. After twelve years of abitter civil war, one-third of the 2.7 million refugeeswho had left El Salvador during the conflict havereturned, 80% of them to their place of origin inthe country. Remittances from the large numbers ofemigrants had propped up the Salvadoran economyduring the years of conflict. With the return of some800,000 of them, new skills have been introducedto the local economy and culture is being revitalized(Sermeo, this volume).

The case of the Hmong people is different. Aminority people within Laos, they found themselvesdivided and fighting on both sides in the war (Lee,this volume). Many of those who fought for theRoyal Lao Government sought asylum in the Westfollowing their defeat in 1975. Lee reports that afew have found life in the diaspora so unappealingthat they have returned to the Lao P.D.R., wherethey can lead a quieter life and continue culturaltraditions which have been difficult to maintainin the West. Many others return annually to Laocommunities in the Lao P.D.R. or in Thailand tocelebrate the New Year. Cultural factors have beenstrong in influencing the preferred type of work(notably horticulture) and the environment in whichto live outside the homeland; hence the choice bysome emigrants of French Guyana and, among theAustralian immigrants, of northern Queensland asplaces of tropical environment that reproduce theclimatic conditions at home.

If due concern for cultural heritage is an essentialingredient for the post-conflict recovery of society,will not the experience of the victors be differentfrom that of the vanquished? The answer nowadaysis only hesitantly in the affirmative, mainly becauseof the changing nature of contemporary wars inwhich there may not even emerge a clear victor. Thecontext in which force is used has changed. A formercommander of the UN forces in Bosnia opens hisanalysis of conflict today with the following words:War no longer exists. Confrontation, conflict andcombat undoubtedly exist all around the worldandstates still have armed forces which they use as a

symbol of power. None the less, war as cognitiveknown to most non-combatants, war as battle in field between men and machinery, war as a decidievent in a dispute in international affairs: such wno longer exists (Smith, R. 2006: 1).

Instead, characteristic of the second half the twentieth century have been long-term arme

conflicts whose origins lie in ethnic or religious dferences, many of them in the form of civil warather than wars between nation-states. Some civwars eventually become international in nature aftspilling over borders to involve related ethnic comunities living in neighbouring states. (The changinature of war was one of the impulses towardrevisiting the 1954 UNESCO Hague Conventioleading eventually to the Second Protocol of 199see p. 12 below and note 2.) Such internal, civil wamay eventually be concluded by Peace Accords. Btypically, in a culturally diverse society, many the issues especially ethnic/religious ones tcontributed to the outbreak of war remain influential after peace has been established. They mhave played a major contributing role in startinthe war, but they continue to do so in the recoverphase. Thus, rather than war and peace, there is npredefined sequence, nor is peace necessarily eitthe starting or the end point (Smith, R. 2006: 17).

One example (and one less frequently cited) a conflict that has been formally ended but in whicethnic/religious issues continue to prevail comes frthe repression of the guerilla movement in Guatemathat finally was the object of peace accords signed June, 1994. The twelve-volume UN-sponsored trucommission enquiry into the decades of internconflict in Guatemala concluded: The massacrscorched earth operations, forced disappearances anexecutions of Maya authorities, leaders and spirituguides were not only an attempt to destroy the socibase of the guerillas, but above all,to destroy thecultural values that ensured cohesion and collectiveaction in Mayan communities (UNOPS 1999, 23quoted in Manz 2004: 4; emphasis added). If thcultural values of the Maya community in Guatema(viewed by its Government as an internal enemcould be a principal target for destruction, as thCommission concluded, then inevitably they muplay a leading role in the recovery and reconstructiof society following the formal end of the conflict.fact, the return of refugees to Guatemala has beecharacterized by a revitalization of traditional cultu(Montejo 1999).

As already mentioned, one of the fundamental human ties is to the house and to the land that goewith it. So strong is it that people will remain in thehouses in even the most dangerous circumstances


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the extent of being buried or burnt alive). Such isthe bond with the family hearth and with everythingthat constitutes a peoples cultural heritage. This canbe a powerful force in encouraging people to remainwhere they are during conflict. It is argued here thatthis is one of the strongest strands in the thread ofcontinuity that people seek in such situations.

If the home must be abandoned, what dopeople choose to carry with them when faced withforced flight under fire to an exile of unknownlength? Few formal studies seem to have been doneon this question. But a concern with maintainingidentity as expressed in family memorabilia such asfavourite personal possessions and photographs maynot provide a full answer. The useful and practicalmay be as important as the personal souvenir.Barakat (this volume) refers to Palestinian refugeesin neighbouring countries caring for house keys, eventhose to the door of the house from which they werefirst displaced as far back as 1947. Displaced peoplein the divided island of Cyprus have similar storiesof keeping the key to their former home or havinghidden it in a safe place for the day when they wouldreturn. After the crossing of the Green Line in Nicosiawas made easier in April 2003, there were reports ofGreek Cypriots who, returning for the first time tovisit their houses, found their door keys where theyhad hidden them twenty-nine years earlier.

Barakat also describes Afghan refugees arrivingin Pakistan: If at all possible they bring livestock, as ameans of economic survival, but also carpets as a formof portable wealth. In addition, multiple experience ofdisplacement has taught them that wooden beamsare difficult to replace and therefore they need to besalvaged for the new home in exile. Such portables,as he points out, would not usually feature in anoutsiders assumptions as to what has cultural (andeconomic) value for the people concerned. Differentconsiderations motivated some of the Moslems in

Crete when forced to leave the island during thexchange of populations in the 1920s, who removefrom their houses the distinctive kiosks (the projectiwooden enclosures around the upper windows) so to avoid either leaving them behind or giving theto the Christians from Turkey due to take over thehouses (Herzfeld 1991: 64).

A final example of the bond to the home the personal experience reported here of recoveria family estate in the difficult conditions of EaGermany following reunification in 1990 (voPckler, this volume). Only a very strong imputo reclaim what was a familys inheritance fortfive years earlier can explain the authors detemination in the face of numerous obstacles anddangerous environment. Its rationale lay not only a keen personal desire for the restitution of a famiproperty but in the important role, documentevividly in the family possessions, played by the vPckler family in German and European history. Italso notable for underlining a point made earlier thit is the land that goes with the home (the estate) thcontributes as much to von Pckler identity as thmain house itself (which remains in public ownershas a museum) (Fig. 1).

These examples attest the popular desire tmaintain a thread of continuity. They are on different and more human scale comparwith the continuity represented by such nationsymbols as religious monuments, museums alibraries. But it is the latter especially that have bevulnerable to being deliberately targeted in war, othe assumption that this would help shatter thathread of continuity.

Deliberate culturaldestructionIn situations of armed conflict, buildings and placthat are symbolic of the enemys cultural heritage asometimes the target of deliberate attacks. The tacgoal in destroying symbolically important objeor places is to sap enemy morale. As a strategyhas a long record in the history of war (Aschersothis volume; Bevan 2006). The UNESCO Declation (2003) concerning the intentional destruction cultural heritage has been developed in response this phenomenon, as reflected in the bombardment Dubrovnik in Croatia, the destruction of the MostaOld Bridge in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and the demolitiof the statues of Buddha at Bamiyan in Afghanistan

In most discussion of this phenomenon, themphasis has been on the deliberate destructioof places of high art monuments of historic

Figure 1t P k f m

m f sB n z, g m n ,f m w .


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and religious importance, libraries, and museumscontaining portable works of art in other words,those places that are of high symbolic value andwhose destruction is believed would cause the greatestdespair. Ascherson draws a distinction thoughwithout wishing to overstate it between a collectiveidentity which has been formed around such high art

and a social or anthropological identity, the livingtissue of familiarities accumulated around language,custom and tradition through which a communityrecognises itself and in which it finds continuity the culture of daily life, if you like.

He argues that, despite its long history, there isvery little evidence that the deliberate targeting ofthe collective, or community, identity as expressedin national heritage has succeeded in its aim ofdiminishing enemy morale. In fact, it has tended tohave the opposite effect. Perhaps, as discussion at theForum proposed, the real locus of lasting damage toidentity through cultural destruction is not, in fact,the community. Instead, it is the inhabitants of thefamily house. Or, as Bevan (2006: 76) has put it withregard to the effects of aerial bombing on civilian lifein World War II, there is no evidence that demoraliza-tion led to defeatism nor affected the outcome of thewar despite the devastation caused.

In all discussion of this highly charged topic,it is important to be sure that it was uniquely thecultural value of a place that was being targeted.Many of the cities in Britain and Germany thatwere subjected to aerial bombardment during theSecond World War were targeted not primarily fortheir cultural symbolic value (Bevan 2006, citingLambourne 2001), even if cultural destruction waswidespread. On the other hand, it does seem to havebeen the outrage in Britain at the devastation causedto Dresden as a city of art that brought about arethinking of the Allies policy of area bombing(Bevan 2006: 84). In other words, although this isa controversial question, it was the results of thearea bombing policy (its collateral damage) thatcaused outrage, not a policy of deliberate culturaltargeting.

Conversely, a policy of deliberate avoidanceof damage to culturally important sites seems allthe harder to maintain in the modern era of localconflicts with their multiple commands and militias.In fact, the adherence to all conventions governingconduct in war has diminished. Conspicuous by theirrarity are statements nowadays such as that made byGeneral Eisenhower when entering Italy with the USarmy in World War II, recognizing the cultural valueof its heritage and the obligation to avoid destroyingit so far as war allowed. On the contrary, culturalsites (in their broadest sense) have suffered from

a diminished level of protection, as the improvmeans to identify and protect them have, paradoxcally, sometimes turned them into targets.

Since the Second World War, the phenomenohas grown: the wars in the former Yugoslavia havprovided ample examples. But the accusation targeting for cultural reasons alone is still one that h

to be proven. Many culturally important buildinghave been used for military purposes the HagConvention and other international agreements nowithstanding and thus attracted enemy fire. West and Central Africa, museums, mosques anchurches have been attacked while serving as militcontrol points or as places of refuge for civilian poplations; sacred forests are targeted under suspiciof sheltering the clandestine meetings of oppositiforces (Diamitani, this volume; compare, howevAscherson (this volume) on references in Classiliterature to the deliberate felling of sacred grovin an attempt to shatter supernatural protection itimes of war). Regrettable as it is, their destructicannot be attributed solely to a deliberate targetinof cultural symbols.

Libraries and archive repositories have albeen the object of accusations of deliberate destrution (Fig. 2). The record of destruction is indeeappalling (Van der Hoeven and van Albada 1996Archives are especially crucial as the repositorof peoples identities (census data, landownershrecords, transactions, etc). As a result, they aoften deliberately destroyed during a conflict asmeans of undermining a peoples claims to land athus the evidence of its historical presence in area (Ascherson, this volume, gives the exampleGeorgians in Abkhazia). On the other hand, Maga(this volume) refers to their concern to protect thmunicipal historical archive when the Zapatisttook over control of the town of San Cristbal dlas Casas in Chiapas, so that land tenure recordwould remain safe.

In other cases, the degree of intentional destrution may be open to debate. The attack by the M-1guerilla group on the Palace of Justice in Bogo(Colombia) in 1985 resulted in not only the deathof eleven judges of the Supreme Court but also tdestruction of court records of extraditions for drurelated offences. An official enquiry suggested ththis was one of the motives behind the attack.3

3 This assertion will presumably be reviewed by theTruth Commission that has been created in 2005 by theColombian Supreme Court on the twentieth anniversaryof the siege, and that officially started work in November2005. This and the following example from Bolivia maynot meet all definitions of armed conflict but it is thevulnerability of archives in such armed confrontations thabeing illustrated.


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The violent riots that erupted in La Paz (Bolivia)in February 2003 were provoked by a proposedincrease in income tax, and led to an armed confron-tation between the police (joining the citizens strikeagainst the tax) and the national army. In the ensuingclashes, more than thirty were killed and fire destroyedmuch of the archives and libraries of the PermanentTribunal of Military Justice and of the former Ministryof Planning and Coordination. In addition, the Munic-ipality of El Alto on the outskirts of La Paz wasattacked and lost all of its records of twenty yearswork (Gmez Zubieta 2003).

In such cases, the degree of intentionality isuncertain. What is not in doubt is the central rolethat the loss of cultural heritage increasingly playsin armed conflicts. But, even granting this point, to

what extent should cultural heritage be given prioriattention in recovery, compared with what argenerally considered to be the primary needs?

Culture must waitMany of those who work for humanitarian relieagencies recognize the important role that cultuplays. However, for many others, attention to culturis not a priority in a post-conflict situation in thsame way that health, food and housing are. Sculture must wait.

Why is culture, and specifically cultural heritagnot a priority? What are the reasons for its beindemoted to a support role, once primary needs havbeen met?

A number of reasons could be put forward. Onis that cultural heritage, rather than being vieweas a positive force, is considered an obstacle rebuilding. There is often a temptation in a disastsituation to start afresh with atabula rasa, installingthose modern facilities and administrative systemapparently best suited to a new situation. Existinbut damaged stock is viewed negatively as outdatand an obstacle to progress (Fig. 3).

Another reason may be that it is difficult tquantify recovery in cultural terms. Compared witabulating statistically the number of rehoused indviduals or the number of medical cases treated, ithard to document what are the immediate benefits recovering cultural heritage.

Equally problematic may be the absence qualified personnel in cultural heritage matters (sp. 13 below). In defence of cultural heritage speciists, this may be due to their presence not having beconsidered necessary by the authorities (culture mwait). A shared view of the importance of culturheritage cannot be assumed and usually has to bestablished.

Moreover, assessments of the priority needs a post-conflict situation may differ widely. Withthe cultural sphere, as pointed out above, refugemay select to carry with them items that wounot have occurred to a government administratoas important. Yet they reflect the refugees view priorities.

At all events, each situation is different; importmodels and a standardized response to a set of basneeds that takes little account of local realities mwell not work. Imported and externally-imposemodels ignore the two most important basic neefor human recovery in the aftermath of conflict: reaffirm a sense of identity and to regain control ovones life (Barakat, this volume).

Figure 2 t N n l b n s j v , B n nd h z v n , b nd n f , a 1992 ( aFP).


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So a vision must be established as to what arepriorities not only for food, health and housing, butalso for re-establishing a spiritual adjustment to a newsituation. In such circumstances, religion may wellplay an influential role. Attention to rituals, customsand the places where they are celebrated thereforeassumes a considerable importance. For a populationof several faiths, the establishment of a communitycentre may seem a good compromise solution thatavoids assigning preference to any one faith (reflectingthe international emphasis on multiculturalism andneutrality, as Barakat notes). But it underestimatesthe probable importance to the adherents of each faithof being able to continue practicing it in that sacredplace with which they are familiar. Restoring thatplace (the temple/mosque/church or equivalent locale)to its original function would be preferable (e.g. theexample of the mosque at Teunom in Aceh, quoted byBarakat, this volume).

Another reason why the role of cultural heritageis under-rated is the common experience of somethingbeing valued only after it has been lost or is threatenedwith destruction. To give expression to a concern forplaces and buildings rather than to people runs therisk of appearing callous. Suad Amiry recognizes thisfeeling when reacting emotionally to the news of thedestruction of the historic soap-factories in Nablusrather than, initially, to the human toll that it hadcaused (Amiry 2005: 1646). Wijesuriya (this volume)

cites the study that analysed media reports on thbombing of the Temple of the Sacred Tooth, whiconcluded that it resulted in unprecedented newcoverage greater even than bomb attacks withmuch higher human or economic toll.

Both Ascherson (this volume) and Bevan (2026) cite the Croatian writer Slavenka Drakuli wh

propos the destruction of the Mostar bridge, ask and tries to answer the question: why do wfeel more pain looking at the image of the destroybridge than the image of massacred people? Thare difficult questions (see Lambourne 2001: 56), bones that cannot be ignored in the context of confliand recovery.

Any adequate answer is likely to refer to the themaddressed earlier of the vital importance to people the home and its landscape. An anthropologist whstudied the same Greek Cypriot villagers before aafter the war in Cyprus in 1974 that caused themto flee their homes writes: homes could not replaced by dwelling units; the latter could provishelter, but not the symbolic associations of the housin ArgakiThe refugees talked, obsessively I thouabout the things they had lost the orchards, thhouses, their contents and rather less about andisruption of social relationsI was initially puzzlbecause it seemed as if they valued things mothan people (Loizos 1981: 200). The author goes to clarify that what had changed was the key relatioship between the people and the place (meaning nonly the houses but also the lands that they had hato abandon, see pp. 2-4 above, emphasizing the homtogether with its land)).

To stress the positive role of culture in recoverynot to deny that sometimes the cultural legacy of conflcan be negative or even undeserving of the priority thrarely, it has been accorded.4 Divided cities are a case point, in which culture has had a divisive effect raththan an integrating one. The experience of physicseparation barriers, as found in divided cities such Nicosia and Belfast, suggest that they are a symptoof severe social breakdown between communities atend only to exacerbate prejudices in the long ter(Calame, this volume). The construction of physibarriers, either to separate groups competing for tsame land or to control immigration, has to be viewas an ominous development whether it takes place Palestine or along the USAMexico border, to cite twcurrent examples (Fig. 4).

4 As an example of culture having been a debatable prioritycan be cited the hugely expensive, and controversial,reconstruction of the ancient site of Babylon undertaken byIraq in the midst of its long war with Iran, and the priorityproject of a monumental war memorial erected in Basrahimmediately after the war ended (Barakat 1994: 1078).

Figure 3c d n

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Constructed barriers may be effective in physicallyseparating culturally different groups, but they area sign of failure by most other criteria. Instead,mechanisms that comprehend culture and use it topromote understanding are needed. For mediatingin conflict situations in West Africa, greater use oftraditional customs (alliances and parent plaisan-terie good-natured teasing) has been proposedfor the management and resolution of conflicts(Diamitani, this volume). The region provides anexample relevant to museums everywhere for whomthe representation of different groups in a multi-ethnic society has to be handled sensitively. In CtedIvoire, the Museum of Civilizations in the capital,Abidjan, is contributing to postwar national recon-ciliation through promoting the exhibition of Islamiccultural heritage in museums. This new policy hascome about in response to political claims as to thesource of the civil conflict in the country (Zagbayou,this volume).

The case for integrating cultural heritage into therecovery process should be made on its own merits.But it goes without saying that there is a furtherargument in its favour on the basis of the economicopportunities made possible by postwar restorationprojects (see Amiry and Bshara, and Sermeo, thisvolume). East Germany, following reunification,provides another example of restoration projectsproviding badly needed income-generation activities.

Arguing for the importance of cultural heritagein recovery is not to ignore that its nature is changedby war. Culture will take on new forms; but often itis actually strengthened post-conflict with the revivalof forms and traditions that had previously beenobsolescent.

Revival of culturaltraditionsContrary to the view that culture must wait ipostwar recovery, there is ample evidence that concern for culture and for cultural heritage is intrcately associated with the earliest responses to t

termination of armed conflict. This takes differeforms, some of them personal as people seek solain that which is familiar and cherished by themand others official as the national authorities movquickly to re-establish visible symbols of nationidentity.

The revival of traditional but obsolescent culturpractices following a war (or following a naturdisaster) is a well-known phenomenon. It can takthe form of the revival of crafts, often with a returto the use of natural materials which had been the process of replacement by synthetics. A commfeature too is the revival of festivals and ceremonthat had been dying out. As noted above, crapractices and festivals may be transformed as result of changed circumstances following the wfor instance, the arrival of new immigrant commnities may lead to a blending of previously distintraditions. Nevertheless, the revival of such cultupractices plays an important role in reaffirminidentity in conditions of uncertainty and perhapeven of continuing danger.

Several examples are referred to in the papein this volume. Lees account of the Hmong illutrates not only the strength of Hmong culture in thdiaspora but also the new forms that it has taken o(for instance, in costume and music) when encoutering other societies. Since the end of the confl

in Laos, it has thrived onadaptation and emerges thericher, rather than as mighhave happened becomingradually absorbed as manHmong people embracmodernity in their adoptedcountries of the West. At thsame time there is a veritabindustry of recompositionof Hmong identity by meanof the media (books, audiovideo and the Internet) bualso through the traditionaHmong craft of embroidery.

Despite being minoritiein all of the states in whicthey reside, they have nevertheless managed to creata dynamic and transnationa

Figure 4P n nw n v iD k d

kp nn p d n

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culture and a common identity. A complicating factorin achieving this common identity, as Lee observes,is that Hmong identities are assigned to Hmong byothers and not only by the Hmong themselves. Thusin their modern settings, the Hmong are no longerjust Hmong, but Lao Hmong, French Hmong, orHmong Americans as those in the USA prefer to be

known. The Hmong identity has become secondaryin the face of external pressure. It is interesting tocontrast this development with the reverse situation(due to different external incentives) described byMagar (this volume) in which the indigenous com-munities in Chiapas, Mexico, have tended to adopt acommon Maya identity, replacing their traditionalseparate identities (e.g. Tzotziles, Choles, Lacandonesand so on).

A revival of traditional crafts and festivals hasalso been actively promoted in El Salvador followingthe end of twelve years of civil war, encouraged bythe passage of new legislation for protection of thecultural heritage (Sermeo, this volume). Many ofthese had already died out or were in danger of dyingout, for instance religious festivals held in villageswhich had been completely depopulated during thecivil war. Private, non-governmental initiatives havealso aimed at recovering Salvadoran culture: theMuseo de la Palabra y la Imagen was founded atthe end of the war in 1992 as a citizens initiative topromote truth and reconciliation, drawing upon therecent cultural history of El Salvador.5

For the restoration of the Temple of the SacredTooth in Sri Lanka, traditional crafts such as stonecarving, which had almost died out in the country,were revitalised. In this case, this was due to theinsistence of the monks of the temple communitywho refused to countenance the import from abroadeither of craftsmen or of raw materials such as timberfor the repair of the temple following its bombing(Wijesuriya 2000 and this volume).

It seems undeniable that it is the experience ofwar, and the destruction and displacement that itcauses, that stimulates the kind of cultural revivaldescribed here. Other events (and especially naturaldisasters such as earthquakes) can have similareffects; they all testify to a similar phenomenon atwork. To what extent, though, is it a spontaneousresponse by people in a time of crisis or the result ofnational policies developed with broader objectives?

Both factors are at work, though the speedwith which traditional forms of cultural behaviourre-appear seems to confirm the validity of thefirst hypothesis (the spontaneous popular response).

5 See (accessed 14 April2006).

Loizos (1981: 21011) has described well the reltionship between the two. Referring to the two yeafollowing the war of 1974 in Cyprus, he remarkon the one hand on the major exhibitions of refugepoetry, of paintings by refugee children and on thnumber of books being written about every aspect the war; and, on the other hand, on the encourage

ment by schoolteachers and the insistence on refugthemes in the mass media. But, he continues, theemphases were from the heart, and not the resulof more self-conscious and manipulative culturcommissars, who, although they may have approvecould not have succeeded in stimulating what wasnot, in an important sense, already there (emphasiadded).

Similar observations could be made on the roof museums and other cultural institutions in thimmediate post-conflict phase. Many would argthat they have a key role to play in promoting recociliation between former combatants (Zagbayou, thvolume; also Manzambi Vuvu 2003). This may tathe form of promoting exhibitions that emphasize thcommon cultural heritage, perhaps choosing a themin archaeology or history that predates the emergenof cultural differences that underlie the conflicTackling head-on the issues of the recently concludconflict is a much braver strategy and one more line with what many would describe as the museumobligation to be engaged with contemporary issues

Counter to this spirit is the commemoration omilitary victory in the form of war museums whiso often involve the demonization of the formenemy. The result is the opposite of reconciltion. The growing interest in peace museums, siof conscience and projects such as the Garden Forgiveness proposed for the centre of Beirut ispromising counterweight to the predominance war museums. Memories of war both positive annegative deserve to be commemorated, but museuhave an obligation to strike a balance betweecompeting versions of history. The ICOM Coof Ethics stated that the museum should seek ensure that information in displays and exhibitionshonest and objective and does not perpetuate mythor stereotypes (ICOM Code of Professional Ethiadopted 1986, paragraph 2.8).6

As confirmation of a widespread concern protect cultural heritage during and following armeconflict, one need only mention the devotion curators to ensuring the safety of collections, oftat great personal risk. Anecdotes abound, wheth

6 The recently revised edition (ICOM 2006), under thetitle ICOM code of ethics for museums , does not use thisphraseology while retaining the principle.


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they concern museums or libraries and archives,and whether they are located in Sarajevo or Grozny,Baghdad or Beirut. Similar experiences of profes-sionals protecting historic buildings while under fireare also well documented (see p. 14 below). In therecovery phase, the restoration of damaged buildings and the restitution of stolen collections receive

attention sooner or later. Since these are often theonly contexts in which armed conflict and culturalheritage are linked in the popular mind, they deservea separate section.

Building restoration andrestitution of collectionsAs noted above (p. 2), the contribution of culturalheritage in post-conflict situations is more pervasivethan the restoration of war-damaged buildings orthe restitution of stolen objects. But both theseactions can be components of recovery and have thepotential to bring about reconciliation if concernedwith heritage that is truly felt to be held in common.If not, they can exacerbate rivalries and build upresentments that can last forever (or certainly untilthe next outbreak of war).

Both topics (the restoration of war-damagedbuildings and the restitution of stolen collections)have been much studied (see references cited on p. 2and their bibliographies). The point to be made hereis the rapidity with which the determination to rebuild

(or to claim restitution) is made apparent and the timit takes to realize. Even though the needs of sheltfood and health are pressing, there is also often aimmediate recognition of the value of cultural heritathat has been lost and a strong desire to regain it.

Hence the emotional response and immediacalls to rebuild the cultural jewels of cities destroy

in World War II. To take only three examples, all othem reflecting genuinely popular campaigns: Warsaw, where, in the same year that the wa

ended (1945), the newly created Office fReconstruction organized an exhibition with thNational Museum on the reconstruction of thOld Town, arguing that living symbols withowhich a nation cannot exist must be rebuil(quoted in Ascherson, this volume);

Coventry, in the English Midlands, where was decided to rebuild the mediaeval cathedrthe morning after its destruction in 1940, aundertaking that led not only to an inspirearchitectural solution but also to the CathedralMinistry for Peace and Reconciliation that active in areas of conflict throughout the worl(Fig. 5); and

Dresden, whose citizens wished immediatelyrebuild their Frauenkirche destroyed in 194but, when stymied by lack of funds and politicopposition until after the reunification oGermany, made the bombed church a focus popular protest against the communist regimand ultimately, like Coventry Cathedral, a symbof reconciliation with former enemies.In Warsaw a Program and principles for th

conservation of our cultural heritage was announcin 1946: not accepting that our cultural monumenshould be wrestled away from us, we will erethem, reconstruct them in order to relay for futurgenerations at least their form, alive in our memoriand records, even if it is not authentic (Profess J. Zachwatowicz, quoted in Baraski 1994: 48). Inpost-World War II West Germany, a similar searcfor identity led to citizens playing a fundamentrole in influencing policies of how and what rebuild (Diefendorf 1996: 1011). Diefendorf givthe example of churches being reconstructed parishes even where the number of parishioners winadequate to support them because they served cultural identity markers.

The ability of reconstruction projects to promothe idea of reconciliation is put to the test in muticultural societies emerging from civil war. Whoheritage is to be preserved? Only the victors? Awho is to choose the national authorities alonor with the mediation of international parties? Thlatter will promote the interests of reconciliatio

Figure 5c v n c d ,15 N v mb 1940b J n P p .c mm n d b v nm n

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(working against pressures that may possibly resultin partition (see pp. 7-8 above on divided cities)),and advocate an even-handed approach to whatshould be viewed as a shared heritage. But this iseasier said than done and requires agreement by allparties. Thus, in post-conflict Kosovo, restorationefforts undertaken under international and bilateral

agreements aim to strike a precise numerical balancebetween Christian and Moslem monuments (togetherwith several important secular buildings), all withina context of changing population ratios, an overalldesire to promote reconciliation between the com-munities, and the attendant publicity emitted by allparties involved.

A different, and lower-key, approach has beenfollowed in Cyprus, still divided after more thanthirty years. From the earliest years of partition, therehas been ample evidence of the destruction of culturalheritage. On the positive side, since 1981 there hasbeen functioning a bicommunal Nicosia Master Planteam to coordinate essential services in the city; andnow for several years a Bi-Communal DevelopmentProgramme (funded mainly by UNDP and USAID)has been fostering joint projects between Greek andTurkish Cypriots in which they have a commoninterest (such as a bi-communal sewer system). Inthe cultural sphere, the projects have included therenovation of historic quarters on both sides ofthe Green Line in Nicosia, as recommended by theMaster Plan team (Fig. 6); a survey of the dilapidated

buildings in the buffer zone that separates the twcommunities in Nicosia; and the restoration of well-known Moslem mosque (the Hala Sultan Tekkin the south and the Orthodox Apostolos AndreaMonastery in the northeast of the island.7

Amiry and Bshara (this volume) refer to a simiexample in Israel/the Palestinian Territories of t

restoration of buildings belonging to the Othercultural heritage. In another divided country, that oKorea, the reconstruction of the Buddhist ShingyaTemple which was destroyed by American bombiduring the war of the 1950s is viewed as a culturcontribution to eventual reunification that complments the political and economic approaches. Ttemple lies in the tourist development enclave in tKumgang mountains of North Korea (where religiis officially banned). Its reconstruction is a joiproject of the Ministry of Unification in Seoul anthe Jogye order, South Koreas largest Zen Buddhisect (Fifield 2005).

It is striking that all the restoration projects citehere have been completed only many years after tend of the hostilities that caused their destructioThe restoration after a conflict of damaged buildinof symbolic importance cannot be rushed, and mube seen as part of a long-term development procein which the actual restoration work forms part oa much broader reconciliation strategy (Barakathis volume). Successful restoration projects not themselves mean that reconciliation has beachieved, as the Cyprus case demonstrates; but thcan be important confidence-building measures, aindicators of progress having been achieved towarthat reconciliation.

The restitution of collections seized fromuseums, libraries and archives during armed conflcan also be a long drawn-out process, as the recentrevived interest in the restitution of works of alooted during the Nazi era testifies. Only in 1997 dSchevadnadze, as President of Georgia, voluntarreturn to Germany 20,000 volumes of books whicthe Russians had removed during World War II (voPckler, this volume). On the other hand, thankto UN mediation, the collections of the KuwaNational Museum and the Dar al-Athar al-Islamiyywere returned to Kuwait within little more than onyear after the Iraqi invasion and the transport of thecollections to Iraq (Norman 1997). The renovatioand re-opening of the two damaged museums htaken much longer, however.

To repeat, both restoration and restitution cancontribute substantially to healing the wounds o

7 See (acces14 April 2006).

Figure 6 r n v n f nd f d , a b m Q , N . Fnd f b k d b g n l n d v d n . P 2005.


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war but they are processes that take time and thatmust be integrated with larger social reconstructionprojects. Notable is the emphasis placed on therestoration of religious buildings (and the restitu-tion of museum objects valued with a near-religiousintensity), testifying once again to the key roleplayed by religion in many societies in recovering

from war.

The role of the professionalsIf only they couldsee! Thus did Albert Einsteinencourage all students in the world to visit the war-devastated ruins of the Dormans region of Franceduring his tour of them four years after the end ofWorld War I (Roth 1997). Einsteins reaction wassimilar to the emotion that underlies the widespreadurge to preserve untouched war-damaged buildingsto serve as a moral admonition. In other words,the visible effects of destruction should act toremind us of the horrors of war (while serving alsoas memorials to the dead). Some sites have beenpreserved untouched. For more than forty years, theruins of the Frauenkirche in Dresden (see above, p. 10)played this role quite dramatically. But in the end the

even stronger popular desire to see the church rebuhas prevailed (Fig. 7).

How effective have been the exhortations Einstein and other intellectuals to learn from thexperience of war devastation? It is undeniable ththey have been more concerned with promoting thideals of Aschersons collective or commun

identity than his social identity (see p. 5 above aAscherson, this volume). The record of internationnormative instruments concerning war is a long onThe international conventions prescribing a respefor rules in war and for those caught up in it havcontributed substantially to the evolution of ainternational humanitarian law. UNESCO, as thheir de facto of the International Institute for Intellectual Cooperation, was founded in the immediaaftermath of the Second World War; not surprisingly, the ideals of peace featured prominently its founding philosophy and continued to influencmany of its programmes and statements (Hogga1978: 267 and passim ).

Appropriately enough, cultural property receivattention early in UNESCOs work because of tdestruction caused by World War II, and became thobject of its first specialized convention (the 19UNESCO Hague Convention). The Second Protoc(1999) to that convention has now supplemented in taking account of developments in warfare sinthe post-World War II period, especially the type ethnic conflict that erupted in the former Yugoslav(Chamberlain 2004). Both the Second Protocol anUNESCOs Declaration (2003) address the intetional destruction of cultural heritage.

Another significant development at the intergoernmental level has been the precedent established the International Criminal Tribunal for the FormeYugoslavia in 2001 in including offences againcultural property among the possible indictments fwar crimes. The tribunal and the Statutes of thInternational Criminal Court can bring chargunder the 1954 Hague Convention and the additionaProtocols of the Geneva Convention referring cultural property. Continuing the tradition of peactreaties that include attention to cultural propertythe Dayton Peace Agreement of 1995 demanded tprotection of the cultural heritage of Bosnia-Herzgovina.

Culture and cultural property have also receivesteadily more attention from the InternationaCommittee of the Red Cross, which devoted special issue of its newsletter to celebrating 50 yeof the Hague Convention (International Committeof the Red Cross 2004). In the meantime, the Intenational Committee of the Blue Shield (ICBS) wfounded in 1996, the Blue Shield being consider

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1997).10 The experiences reported on that occasionfrom Beirut (Skaf 1997) and Kuwait (Norman 1997)could now be added to, not necessarily in publishedform (though see Gerhard 1999) but with unsungaccounts of conservators and curators (see p. 10 above)who have been equal to the task in situations of post-conflict recovery.

In fact, many specialists in cultural heritage,both built heritage and movable collections, haveshown the needed skills even if never formallytaught them. While much has been lost, there isalso much of what has been deemed to be nationalheritage that has been kept from harm, thanks tothe prior planning and dedication on the part ofcultural heritage professionals (Fig. 8). Frequently, itis not the world heritage sites nor the outstandingmuseum exhibits that are the beneficiaries of thiscare, but the mass collections and I include thoseof libraries and archives that are as much a partof the nations memory. It is especially with suchcollections that preventive measures can be takenin advance, and negotiations for their protectionconducted discreetly between parties, avoiding thepublic controversies that frequently attend the fate

10 The occasion for the debate under this title was a PlenarySession of the Triennial Meeting of the ICOM Committeefor Conservation, held in Edinburgh, UK, in 1996.

of the highly publicized heritage that is the object media attention.

Discreet negotiation over contested heritabetween the parties concerned is, in the end, moconducive to eventual reconciliation than aattempts to moderate between polarized positionin the full glare of publicity. Many examples of t

quietly negotiated restitution of objects betweemuseums attest to this. Moreover, such negotiatioacknowledge that, more often than not, the culture oeveryday life is of no less concern to most people ththe culture represented by places or objects that habeen elevated into national symbols. Or, put anothway, Aschersons social identity weighs as much asnot more than, his community or collective identiin times of conflict.11

ConclusionThis latter assertion is a conclusion that is open tfurther debate, but the aim of the papers publishehere is to help stimulate it. In particular, they aito report experiences that reflect values based oncultural heritage that is much humbler but no leimportant than the one epitomized by national iconIn the process of recovery from armed conflict, it mwell be, as Calame writes in concluding his pap(this volume), that success is measured in incremtal improvements to psychological well-being raththan in the restitution of contested symbols. successful restitution of symbols may well eventuacontribute to that feeling of wellbeing but, as noteabove, it can be a long drawn-out process. Re-estalishing the thread of continuity in peoples dailives should also be a priority goal in the recovefrom war and in helping to bring about the ultimatobjective of reconciliation between those who habeen at war with each other.

BiographyNicholas Stanley-Price has held positions at ICCRO(19826) and the Getty Conservation Institute in LAngeles (198795), specializing in archaeologiconservation and professional education. After twyears at the Institute of Archaeology at UniversCollege London where he introduced a new Mprogramme in site conservation and management, returned to ICCROM as Director-General (20005

11 After completion of this essay, I find many of its themes hbeen recently addressed, in a provocative and humane wayby Jan Pronk (2006), at the time Special Representative ofthe Secretary-General of the UN in Sudan.

Figure 8N n M m,B , f d

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He is the founder and editor-in-chief of the quarterlyjournal Conservation and Management of Archaeo-logical Sites published in association with ICCROM.He is now an advisor on cultural heritage preserva-tion.

Contact: [email protected].

AcknowledgmentsThis chapter has benefited from the bibliographyprepared by Jennifer Copithorne for the Forum andfrom comments on an earlier draft by Rosalia VaroliPiazza, Gamini Wijesuriya and two anonymousreferees; responsibility for the opinions expressedremains my own and not ICCROMs.

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Baraski, M. (1994), The monuments of Warsaw 50years after,Transactions, Association for Studies in theConservation of Historic Buildings 19: 3949.

Bevan, R. (2006),The destruction of memory. Architectureat war (Reaktion Books, London).

Boylan, P.J. (1993),Review of the Convention for theProtection of Cultural Property in the Event of ArmedConflict (The Hague Convention of 1954), Report CLT-93/WS/12 (UNESCO, Paris).

(2001) The concept of cultural protection in timesof armed conflict: from the Crusades to the NewMillennium. in K.B. Tubb and N. Brodie, (eds) Illicitantiquities: the theft of culture and the extinction ofarchaeology. One World Archaeology 42 (London:Routledge), 43108.

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Cultural destruction by war andits impact on group identities

Ein helles Licht ist erloschen (a bright light hasbeen put out)

(gerHart HauPtmann,on Hearing of tHe destruCtion of dresden in 1945)

To begin with, I need to explain the target of thispaper. The topic suggested to me was the effects ofarmed conflict on cultural identity in Europe in thetwentieth century. This opens an inviting door todigression which I must at once shut. If I were toexamine what armed conflict, or the whole experienceof war, has done to European self-awareness, conti-nental, national and local, I would be writing a verylong book. So I have narrowed the subject to certainaspects of cultural destruction brought about bywar: the interpretations put on that destruction bycombatants and victims, and its impact on the self-understanding of nations and communities.

My second prefatory remark, meant to clearthe ground a little further, is to suggest thatwarthrough its destructions and also through itsremovals of portable items of culturecan damage

two different, though not entirely distinct, forms cultural identity. One form is social or anthropologcal identity, the living tissue of familiarities accumlated around language, custom and tradition througwhich a community recognises itself and in whichfinds continuitythe culture of daily life, if you liThe second form is the collective identity which hbeen constructed and often unquestioningly acceptaround objects of so-called high artour cathedralsor mosques, our monuments, libraries, portablantiquities, famous paintings and so forth.

These two forms are not, I repeat, entireldistinct. The artificial and recent concept of nationheritage can overlap with daily-life awareness community, but much less often and less effectivthan ruling elites would wish. At the extreme, thehave always been suggestions, some prescient asome in hindsight, that deliberate cultural destrution and collective physical extermination may togetherthe first at once a warning and an initiphase of the second. Heinrich Heine prophesiedhundred years before the Holocaust that wherev

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books are burned, men too are burned in theend (Heine 1821: line 2245). Robert Bevan writesof the fatally intertwined experience of genocideand cultural genocide (Bevan 2005: 11). This is atempting hypothesis, but nothing like a universal law.For the purposes of this paper, I want to maintainthe distinction between the two categories of cultural

identity.

Collective identity anddeliberate destructionin warThe second form of cultural identity, rallied roundthe flag of high art, obviously relates to the con-struction of modern nationalism, the deliberatebuilding of imagined community (Anderson 1983:15) which reached its peak in the nineteenth andtwentieth centuries. The mobilization or conscrip-tion of selected artefacts (architectural, monumentalor portable) as symbols of collective identity is anactivity associated with the modern nation-state.But in reality it is far older, in the same way that thenotion of nationalism as a phenomenon which onlyemerges with the social upheavals of modernisationignores the existence of what has been uneasily termedprimordial nationalism throughout the recordedpast (Kellas 1991: 345). It would be very wrongto assume that the conscious use of monuments andrelics as popular mobilizers dates back only to thenineteenth century, and to the final stages of nation-state development. The story that really concerns usherethe story of how such objects have been usedin times of war either to create and enhance bondsof collective identity or to dissolve those bonds ofidentity through their destruction or removalis avery old one indeed.

The Old Testament has many references to thealmost routine connection made between conquestand the destruction of enemy cult objects (Exodus23, 234, for example, on the commandment tooverthrow the images worshipped by Amorites,Hittites, Perizalites, Canaanites, Hivites and Jebusites, following the decision of Jehovah to cutthem off through military defeat by the children ofIsrael). Classical literature, from accounts of thefall of Troy onwards, abounds with instances inwhich war is accompanied by cultural destructionintended to undermine enemy morale and cohesion.This could take the form of attempting to shattersupernatural protection, as by the felling of sacredgroves. It could also involve attacking objectswhich symbolised or personified political identity,

as when Xerxes removed from Athens the statuof the tyrannicides Harmodius and Aristogeito(they were recaptured in Persia and returned bAlexander in 323 BC (Arrian 1976: 174)). Thdestruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by Titus 70 AD had both aspects.

Another aspect of these early campaigns again

enemy culture concerned legitimacythe theory ththe loss of certain key ritual objects or sites wouundermine political authority. This theory was tbecome prominent in the European middle ages. Britain, it was put into practice by Edward I, kinof England, during his campaigns at the end of ththirteenth century to subdue and assimilate Waland Scotland. In Wales in 1284, he seized the scalled Crown of King Arthur and the coronet of hdead adversary Llywelyn ap Gruffudd, and presentthem to the shrine of St Edward the Confessin Westminster. He kept for himself the Cross Destiny, supposed to be a portion of the true croswhich had been the awesome heirloom of the royfamily of Gwynedd for many generations.

The removal of the regalia and the cross weovertly political measures. Even more political whis decision in 1296 to capture and remove to Wesminster the Stone of Scone or of Destiny, the slof sandstone on which the kings of Scotland weinaugurated. Without the Stone, he reasoned, nfuture Scottish king could claim lawful authorior kingship over Scottish subjects (Barrow 2002001). Compare Ireland in 1602, in the aftermatof Hugh ONeills failed rebellion, when Lord DepuMountjoy, the English commander, smashed to piecthe inaugural stone of the ONeills at Tulach Og Ulster (Fitzpatrick 2003: 111). Yet another exampis offered by the adventures and travels in thnineteenth and twentieth centuries of the Hungariaso-called Crown of St Stephen, without whopresence in the countryso Hungarian patrioclaimed to believeno Hungarian regime has autheticity (Lendvai 2003: 232).

Cultural destruction intended to underminpolitical authority occurred throughout the nineteencentury colonial empires, and during the onslaught European settlers against indigenous populationIn West Africa, British punitive military expetions often ended with the burning or removal ocultural artefacts forming the equipment of tradtional authority, especially the stools (thrones) local rulers. Often enoughas in the case of BenCity in 1897colonial war ended in the plunderinof almost all movable artefacts, but this generalbelongs to the category of greed-driven looting raththan to that of either planned cultural destruction ounplanned so-called collateral war damage.


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2 Cul ural es ruc on war an s mpac on group en

Many of these objects ended up in the ethnologi-cal galleries of museums in Europe or North America.These museums became in effect hostage-cages, incar-cerating a strange assortment of objects originallyremoved in order to dilute an indigenous sense ofidentity during the early colonial period. Therethese objects were presented to the public initially as

something close to trophies, a status later adjustedto that of scientific specimens. Such, for instance,was the fate of the genitals of one of the Kabakas ofBuganda, removedprobably on political groundsby a member of the British protectorate adminis-trationfrom the royal tombs at Kasubi and formany years displayed in a glass case in the DowningStreet Museum of Archaeology and Anthropol-ogy at Cambridge. They were discreetly returnedto Uganda in the 1970s (personal communicationfrom the Museum staff). Today, as we all know, thetrophy label for such objects is unthinkable, whilethe scientific label has in many cases peeled awayand become unconvincing. Indigenous demands forthe return of body parts or skeletal remains do notusually meet with determined resistance.

The destruction of highculture in twentieth-centurywarfareIn early twentieth-century Europe, as it slid towardstwo catastrophic general wars and a series of smallerbut equally savage conflicts, the identification of anation with the official inventory of its own highculture had reached its peak of conviction. Theterm civilization was sometimes used in a broad,supranational sense, as in Western Christian Civili-zation. More often, it was held to imply a nationalset of attributes: sometimes an abstract standardof ethics and behaviour, sometimes that concreteinventory of art achievements. (The second usage isthe ancestor of the more nationalistic and authori-tarian term heritage). Inevitably, and especially inFrance, the word civilization became at first com-petitive and then exclusivea technique for identify-ing otherness. If France has civilization, then whatother nations have must be barbarityadmittedly, invarying degrees.

This mobilization of cultural objects intosymbolic components of national identity firstbecame noticeable during the Franco-Prussian Warof 1870. The Prussians bombarded Strasbourg,several times (but almost certainly without intention)hitting the cathedral and their artillery also destroyeda museum. The French proclaimed that Germans

were barbarians; Latin civilization might be militarinferior, but it was culturally superior. A Frenceditor wrote: This is the way the sons of noble anphilosophical Germany, in the grip of an uncontrolable frenzy, carry out the promise, made solemnand before the whole of Europe on their entry intAlsace, to respect religion, humanity and civilizati

(quoted in Lambourne 2001: 14).Soon the image of the German soldier as

Teutonic subhuman, lusting to loot and burn churchein villes martyres, became international. But therwere two other developments, both still operating our own day. First, as Nicola Lambourne has writtena change in the status of this particular effect conflict had occurred. This aspect of war [i.e. culturdestruction] was established as something worcommenting on (Lambourne 2001: 17). Secondcultural destruction in war, once taken with a shrugwas elevated to a crime, or at least a sin. Theis a commonly held assumption that it is contrato military concepts of honour or, more generallmorally wrong to mistreat works of art and archtecture during a military conflict (Lambour2001: 6). The Brussels Declaration of 1876 callfor the protection of historic monuments from wilfdamage, while the Hague International Peace Coferences of 1899 and 1907 established rules for thprotection of cultural property in times of war.

The First World War renewed and amplified thpropaganda attitudes invented in 1870. In WesterEurope, the damage to cultural objects was relativelocal. Reims cathedral for example, which founitself on the front line, was heavily damaged (Fig. and the magnificent library at Louvain was burneout in 1914. Once again but far more loudly, thFrench and Belgian victims exploited the destrution for highly successful propaganda against thbarbaric Huns. The Germans, their own reinventcultural identity founded on definitions of superiGerman civilization, were acutely embarrassed. Thclaimed that the French had deliberately put the froline near Reims, that Louvain had been an accide(which is possible), and that they had taken troubto protect monuments in occupied areas (whicappears to be partly true).

The discourse of the victim nation whose culturmonuments had suffered was now firmly couchedthese civilization versus barbarism terms. But truth was that, up to and during the First World Warno major European Power had set out deliberately target monuments of the past or lieux de mmoire a way of cracking enemy morale. (As an exceptionprove the rule, Austrian aircraft bombed the historcentre of Venice during the First World Waraoften forgotten episodeand hit several irreplaceab


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buildings and frescos). Neither, leaving out the ratherlarge exception of the earlier Balkan wars, had warbeen used in recent times to extirpate a people bycombining massacre, expulsion and the demolitionof sacred objects.

Deliberate destruction in theSecond World WarThe Second World War and its prelude changed thispattern. It may help to reiterate those two forms ofcultural identity. The first is primary: social cohesionas a daily-life community bonded by living languageand custom. The second is a construct: the promotionof national unity by labelling treasured objects as acommon national heritage or our civilization.

The 193945 war produced an onslaught on bothforms of identity. It brought the deliberate oblitera-tion of a variety of ethnic groups through expulsion,cultural suppression and genocide. At the sametime, the combatants exploited the fate of scheduledobjects to further the purposes of war. The Germansdid so in Poland and the Soviet Union by deliberatedestruction of the enemys high-cultural inventoryasharp contrast to their behaviour in France, Greeceor post-fascist Italy. Much more often, however, thecombatants on both sides dramatized the fate of theirown monuments or art objects in order to encourageresistance to the barbarous enemy.

The idea that progress could demand the elimi-nation of particular cultures or populations belonged

to the ideologies of Stalin and Hitler. But its ancestoincluded the doctrine of racial homogeneity as prcondition for a strong nation, a nineteenth centuridea formulated by political thinkers like RomaDmowski in Poland and first put into practice by thKemalist regime in Turkey.

The Ottoman Empire set terrible preceden

by annihilating its Armenian minority after 191The Kemalist Turkish state which succeeded tOttomans pushed the doctrine of ethnic homogneity further towards the goal of a Turkey for thTurks by expelling the Pontic Greek population 1923the first great population transfer, or ethnicleansing. Hitler was to copy the first measurewho now remembers the Armenians? The secomethodremoving cultural identity by expulsiand deportationwas subsequently copied by StalHitler, Churchill andmost recently in the Balkansby Franjo Tudjman and Slobodan Milosevic. It striking, all the same, that the Turks did not carrthrough a comprehensive campaign of destructioagainst Armenian or Greek objects of culture. Thewere many demolitions of churches, but on the whoChristian buildings were either adapted to Mosleuse or left to decay.

As far as material culture is concerned, thSecond World War in Europe caused devastation oa scale never imagined before. Popu

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6_ICCROM Conservating Studies_Cultural Heritage in Postwar Recovery