Calling on the Community: Understanding Participation in the Heritage Sector, an Interactive Governance Perspective 9781800738393

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables
Introduction
Part I. Framework: Theories of Heritage, Public Administration and Political Science
Chapter 1. Understanding the Governance of Heritage: A Plea for Using Public Administration Theories in Heritage Studies
Chapter 2. Interacting with Governance: A Public Administration Perspective on Interactive Governance for Heritage Studies
Chapter 3. From ‘Democratic Turn’ to ‘Agonistic Approach’: Understanding Participation from the Perspective of Mouffe’s Agonistic Pluralism
Part II. Top-Down Closed Interactive Heritage Governance: Stakeholder Participation
Chapter 4. Building a Community of Practice in a Roman Heritage Landscape
Chapter 5. Crafting Castella: Why Interactive Governance Led to Success in Reconstructing a Castellum in Utrecht but Not in Leiden
Chapter 6. Participatory Heritage Planning Policy in Coastal Europe: Lessons from the HERICOAST Project
Part III. Top-Down Open Interactive Heritage Governance: Citizen Participation
Chapter 7. Go On, I Dare You! Heritage, Archaeology and Meaningful Participation in the UK
Chapter 8. Barriers to Public Participation in Memorialization Processes: Evidence from the Dutch Holocaust Memorial of Names
Chapter 9. Delisting Dresden: Bridging Local Interests and International Obligations
Part IV. Bottom-up Open Interactive Heritage Governance: Governing the Public Good and Common Pool Resources
Chapter 10. White Lions in South Africa: A Living Heritage
Part V. Bottom-up Closed Interactive Heritage Governance: Governing Common Pool Resources
Chapter 11. From Paradigm Shift to Practice: Experimenting Innovation in Participatory Heritage Making
Chapter 12. Participation as an Effective Way to Stimulate Multivocality in Heritage Discourse?
Conclusion
Index

Citation preview

CALLING ON THE COMMUNITY

Explorations in Heritage Studies Series Editors: Ali Mozaffari, Deakin University David Charles Harvey, Aarhus University Explorations in Heritage Studies responds directly to the rapid growth of heritage scholarship and recognizes the trans-­disciplinary nature of research in this area, as reflected in the wide-­ranging fields, such as archaeology, geography, anthropology and ethnology, digital heritage, heritage management, conservation theory, physical science, architecture, history, tourism and planning. With a blurring of boundaries between art and science, theory and practice, culture and nature, the volumes in the series balance theoretical and empirical research, and often challenge dominant assumptions in theory and practice. Volume 7 Calling on the Community: Understanding Participation in the Heritage Sector, an Interactive Governance Perspective Edited by Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-­Jan Burgers Volume 6 Managing Sacralities: Competing and Converging Claims of Religious Heritage Edited by Ernst van den Hemel, Oscar Salemink and Irene Stengs Volume 5 Heritage, Gentrification and Resistance in the Neoliberal City Edited by Feras Hammami, Daniel Jewesbury and Chiara Valli Volume 4 Forging Architectural Tradition: National Narratives, Monument Preservation and Architectural Work in the Nineteenth Century Edited by Dragan Damjanović and Aleksander Łupienko Volume 3 Walls and Gateways: Contested Heritage in Dubrovnik Celine Motzfeldt Loades Volume 2 Heritage Movements in Asia: Cultural Heritage Activism, Politics, and Identity Edited by Ali Mozaffari and Tod Jones Volume 1 Politics of Scale: New Directions in Critical Heritage Studies Edited by Tuuli Lähdesmäki, Suzie Thomas and Yujie Zhu

CALLING ON THE COMMUNITY

Understanding Participation in the Heritage Sector, an Interactive Governance Perspective

8 Edited by

Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2023 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2023 Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-­Jan Burgers

All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rodenberg, Jeroen, editor. | Wagenaar, F. P., editor. | Burgers, G.-J. L. M., editor. Title: Calling on the community : understanding participation in the heritage sector, an interactive governance perspective / edited by Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers. Description: [New York] : Berghahn Books, 2023. | Series: Explorations in heritage studies ; volume 7 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022036415 (print) | LCCN 2022036416 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800738386 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800738393 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Cultural property--Protection--Case studies. | Cultural property--Protection--Citizen participation--Case studies. | Archaeology and state--Case studies. | Art and state--Case studies. | Public administration--Case studies. Classification: LCC CC135 .C26 2023 (print) | LCC CC135 (ebook) | DDC 363.6/9--dc23/eng/20221116 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022036415 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022036416 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-­1-80073-­838-­6 hardback ISBN 978-­1-80073-­839-­3 ebook https://doi.org/10.3167/9781800738386

Contents 8

List of Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables

vii

Introduction1 Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers Part I.  Framework: Theories of Heritage, Public Administration and Political Science Chapter 1.  Understanding the Governance of Heritage: A Plea for Using Public Administration Theories in Heritage Studies Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

7

Chapter 2.  Interacting with Governance: A Public Administration Perspective on Interactive Governance for Heritage Studies Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

28

Chapter 3.  From ‘Democratic Turn’ to ‘Agonistic Approach’: Understanding Participation from the Perspective of Mouffe’s Agonistic Pluralism Jarik Chambille

53

Part II.  Top-Down Closed Interactive Heritage Governance: Stakeholder Participation Chapter 4.  Building a Community of Practice in a Roman Heritage Landscape71 Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner Chapter 5.  Crafting Castella: Why Interactive Governance Led to Success in Reconstructing a Castellum in Utrecht but Not in Leiden Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes Chapter 6.  Participatory Heritage Planning Policy in Coastal Europe: Lessons from the HERICOAST Project Linde Egberts

93

116

vi • Contents

Part III.  Top-Down Open Interactive Heritage Governance: Citizen Participation Chapter 7.  Go On, I Dare You! Heritage, Archaeology and Meaningful Participation in the UK Cath Neal

143

Chapter 8.  Barriers to Public Participation in Memorialization Processes: Evidence from the Dutch Holocaust Memorial of Names Alana Castro de Azevedo

162

Chapter 9.  Delisting Dresden: Bridging Local Interests and International Obligations Bart Zwegers

189

Part IV.  Bottom-up Open Interactive Heritage Governance: Governing the Public Good and Common Pool Resources Chapter 10.  White Lions in South Africa: A Living Heritage Jason Turner and Harry Wels

209

Part V.  Bottom-up Closed Interactive Heritage Governance: Governing Common Pool Resources Chapter 11.  From Paradigm Shift to Practice: Experimenting Innovation in Participatory Heritage Making Gert-Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

233

Chapter 12.  Participation as an Effective Way to Stimulate Multivocality in Heritage Discourse? Nana Zheng and Gert-Jan Burgers

251

Conclusion270 Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg Index274

8 Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables Illustrations 4.1.  Hadrian’s Wall: (A) The iconic view of Hadrian’s Wall at Walltown Crags, Northumberland, where the Wall runs along the forward edge of the crags of the geological formation known as the Whin Sill. (B) A historic farm with its northernmost structures built on top of the Wall and immediately to the south, with the Wall visible running to the east (left) and west (right) at Willowford, Cumbria. This positioning of historic farms is typical along the Wall. (C) The Wall is visible in a short length of consolidated masonry in the lower right foreground of the image, with the line of the Wall demarcated running east into Newcastle by the broad line of West Road. © Rob Collins.

73

4.2.  WallCAP volunteers recording fabric at Thirlwall Castle, Northumberland, built in the thirteenth century and located approximately 150 m north of Hadrian’s Wall. The castle was built almost entirely from stone reused from the Wall. Subsequently, stone from the castle was robbed to build neighbouring farmhouses and barns. © Rob Collins.

80

6.1.  The historic outport Ny-­Hellesund was one of the focal areas of the HERICOAST project. © Linde Egberts.

132

10.1.  Tawny lioness (named Khanyezi). © Harry Wels.

211

10.2.  White lion (named Letaba, who passed away 2020). © Jason Turner.211 10.3.  Global White Lion Protection Trust logo. © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

213

viii • Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables

10.4.  White Male lion (named Matsieng) with tawny lioness (named Tswalu). © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

216

10.5.  White lion (Letaba in his younger years) after he has hunted successfully. © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

218

10.6.  Educational materials of the StarLion Programme. © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

219

10.7.  Visualization of the thirteen laws for educational purposes. © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

221

10.8.  Cultural celebration of the white lions as a living cultural legacy, 2017. © Harry Wels.

223

11.1.  Inauguration of a new visitor area at Muro Tenente, with reconstructed ancient dwelling. © Quimesagne.it.

240

12.1.  Digital reconstruction of the ancient wall settlement of Muro Tenente. © Mikko K ­ riek – ­VU Amsterdam.

261

Figures 1.1.  Studying the governance of heritage: Five levels of analysis and selected suitable PA theories. Figure created by the authors. 2.1.  Ladder of participation. Source: Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24, see 217.

9

37

5.1.  Visualization of the multilevel governance arrangement of the Limes. Source: Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes 2014 [Declaration of Intent World Heritage Nomination Roman Limes], p. 7.

100

6.1.  Ladder of participation. Source: Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24, see 217.

120

Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables  •  ix

Maps 4.1.  The line of Hadrian’s Wall and its principal forts, crossing the narrow isthmus from the North Sea in the east to the Irish Sea in the west. © Rob Collins.

72

11.1.  The trajectory of the ancient Via Appia, with places mentioned in the text. © Bert Brouwenstijn, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam.235 12.1.  Location of Muro Tenente (based on Google maps).

253

Tables 1.1.  Four ideal-­typical types of interactive governance.

18

2.1.  Four ideal-­typical types of interactive governance.

33

2.2.  The ‘9-­cell model’. A practical and theoretical model of interactive governance suited to designing and analysing interactive decision-­making processes. Source: Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek, p. 23.

38

4.1.  A schematic of barriers to the heritage of Hadrian’s Wall.

85

4.2.  Participation and testimonials of WallCAP engagements from 2019 and 2020.

87

5.1.  Three forms of interactive governance in the two cases under study.94 5.2.  9-­cell model. Source: Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek, p. 23. 95 5.3.  Hoge Woerd: Citizen involvement during the three phases.

104

5.4.  Aspects of citizen participation in the construction of Park Matilo varied during the three phases.

109

6.1.  Factors that shape power inequalities per project stage, according to Edelenbos et al. (2006).

122

6.2.  Aims of action plan per partner region. Source: HERICOAST regional action plans, 2018.

124

x • Illustrations, Figures, Maps and Tables

6.3.  Regional and inter-­regional learning activities throughout the HERICOAST project.

126

6.4.  Overview of stakeholders per region in 2018. Source: HERICOAST regional action plans.

129

6.5.  Power relationships at each stage of the HERICOAST project, after Edelenbos et al. (2016).

134

Introduction 8 Jeroen Rodenberg, Pieter Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers

The Importance of Participation To determine which heritage sites within the Kingdom of the Netherlands could be nominated for consideration as a world heritage site, the State Secretary for Culture, Halbe Zijlstra, installed an expert committee on 8 March 2010. In assessing the eligibility of possible sites, the Committee applied the UNESCO guidelines; namely, ‘authenticity’, ‘exceptionality’ and ‘universality’. Among the heritage sites proposed by the Committee was the Noordoostpolder, the world’s largest polder. The heritage experts concluded that this polder represented an exponent of the twentieth-­century ideal of social engineering. In designing the polder, after all, landscape planners and architects had drawn out the agricultural parcels in a consistent and coherent manner and used Chrystaller’s ‘central place theory’ to plan the polder’s central town and villages. These spatial characteristics are still visible and, according to the committee, of unique and universal value (Commissie Herziening Voorlopige Lijst Werelderfgoed 2010: 21–24, 41–42). After the Committee presented its tentative list, the State Secretary still had to approve it. He promised to do so provided there was sufficient local support. Although the mayor and aldermen of the municipality of the Noordoostpolder were initially in favour of placing the polder on the tentative list, the local community was divided on the plan. Opponents argued that a heritage label was being imposed on them from above that was inconsistent with their perception of the polder heritage, which was based on the agricultural use of the landscape. Nominating the polder as a world heritage site would impede their desire to scale up the outdated agricultural parcels. In the face of the growing resistance within the local community to the imposed heritage discourse, local administrative support quickly evaporated, and the State Secretary decided to remove the Noordoostpolder

2 • Jeroen Rodenberg, Pietar Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers

from the list (Rodenberg 2015). The Noordoostpolder thus presents a ­remarkable – ­and for some heritage scholars within the school of Critical Heritage Studies perhaps ­hopeful – ­case, one in which an Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD) (Smith 2006) ultimately lost out in a decision-­ making process to a community discourse. Would things have turned out differently if the Noordoostpolder ‘community’ had been involved at an earlier stage? Would it have been possible to integrate their discourse and the AHD? If so, how does one achieve involvement of the local communities in governance?

Outline of the Volume For several years, Heritage Studies scholars have been paying attention to participation in heritage governance; a phenomenon called ‘interactive governance’ in the discipline of Public Administration. An important explanation for this is the desire to enable communities to develop their own heritage discourse rather than being subjected to an AHD that is alien to them (see for example Smith 2006) or as a way to mitigate contestation (Korostelina 2019). Studies of such governance processes therefore abound, but, curiously, they seldom make use of Public Administration theory (PA). This is all the more striking given that scholars working in this academic discipline have been studying interactive governance for decades. For us, this is a reason to devote an entire book to the insights developed by students of public administration and how heritage scholars could draw from these. The book is organized as follows. We begin with two theoretical chapters. The first provides an overview of PA thinking on interactive governance and forms the theoretical framework of the book. Yet, Public  Administration  is  not the only scholarly discipline in which interactive governance is discussed. Political philosophers also have something to say, which is why we have added a second theoretical chapter. In it we demonstrate that interactive governance is often inspired  by Habermasian notions of the ideal speech situation, something that has not gone without criticism in political philosophy. The remainder of the book consists of case studies. On the basis of these, we try to assess to what extent the concepts developed in PA are applicable to the field of ­heritage. However, theories about interactive governance are  not the only benefits that can be drawn from PA. Indeed, heritage scholars are quite often concerned with governance. PA is therefore also relevant to those who are interested in more than just its interactive forms. This is why in the first chapter of the book, we offer a very brief and very

Introduction • 3

personal overview of other bodies of PA theory that may also be of benefit to Heritage Studies.

Fundamental Concepts Before we go any further, we first need to clarify what we mean by some of the terms we use. The first one we need to deal with is ‘public administration’. When we use the word without capitals we mean ‘government’ in its broadest sense.‘Public Administration’ with capitals is then the academic discipline studying it. 1 The definition of ‘governance’ is somewhat trickier. In 1995, the Public Administration scholar Rhodes remarked that the word had changed in meaning and now referred to at least six new developments in public administration. These ranged from ‘New Public Management’ (NPM) to ‘good governance’, and from the minimal state to the way private companies are run (Rhodes 1996). We here use the term in the original sense of the word, to mean ‘the act of governing’ (Emerson, Nabatchi and Balogh 2011: 2). ‘Interactive governance’ will be defined in the second chapter of this book. There are also two concepts that emerge from Heritage Studies we need to define. Without dwelling on the debates surrounding the concept of ‘cultural heritage’, we define it briefly as ‘a social and cultural practice, enacted by communities and individuals, in which histories are selected or rejected’ (Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2018: 2; cf. Smith 2006). The term ‘Authorized Heritage Discourse’, which has already been mentioned, was coined by Smith. It refers to a dominant heritage discourse, often articulated by experts, which exists at the expense of subaltern discourses (Smith 2006). Now we have made our concepts clear, it is time to take a closer look at what the field of PA has to offer Heritage Studies. Jeroen Rodenberg has an MA in Medieval History and a MSc in Public Administration (Leiden University). He is a lecturer and Ph.D. candidate at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, with research interests in heritage governance and policy and the history of public administration. He is involved in the pan-­ European research and training project on heritage planning HERILAND. Currently, he is completing his dissertational research on competing heritage policy discourses in decision-­making processes. Dr Pieter Wagenaar is an assistant professor at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His research interests are the history of administration and the administration

4 • Jeroen Rodenberg, Pietar Wagenaar and Gert-Jan Burgers

of history. At present, he is focused on interactive governance in the heritage sector. He is involved in the HERILAND project: a pan-­European research and training network on cultural heritage in relation to Spatial Planning and Design. Dr Gert-Jan Burgers has a chair in Heritage of Cultural Landscapes and Urban Environments at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. He is also director of CLUE+, the Vrije Universiteit interfaculty research institute for Culture, Cognition, History and Heritage, and project leader of the International Training Network HERILAND, Cultural Heritage and the Planning of European Landscapes, financed by the EU H2020 Marie Sklodowska Curie scheme. NOTE 1. Iain McLean and Alistair McMillan, The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Politics, 3rd edn. (Oxford University Press 2009).

References Commissie Herziening voorlopige lijst werelderfgoed. 2010. Uitzonderlijk en universeel: Voorlopige lijst Unesco werelderfgoed Koninkrijk der Nederlanden. [s.l]. Emerson, K., T. Nabatchi and S. Balogh. 2012. ‘An Integrative Framework for Collaborative Governance’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 22(1): 1–29. Korostelina, A.V. 2019. ‘Understanding Values of Cultural Heritage within the Framework of Social Identity Conflicts’, in E. Avrami, S. Macdonald, R. Mason and D. Myers (eds), Values in Heritage Management: Emerging Approaches and Research Directions. Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, pp. 83–96. Rhodes, R.A.W. 1996. ‘The New Governance: Governing without Government’, Political Studies 44(4): 652–67. Rodenberg, J. 2015. ‘De bestuurlijke omgang met verleden, heden en toekomst: of hoe de Noordoostpolder geen Werelderfgoed werd’, in R. van Diepen, W. van der Most and H. Pruntel (eds), Polders peilen. Lelystad: Stichting Uitgeverij De Twaalfde Provincie, pp. 130–53. Rodenberg, J., and P. Wagenaar. 2018. ‘Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government’, in J. Rodenberg and F.P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave McMillan, pp. 1–10. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-­3-319-­91914-­0_1. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London and New York: Routledge.

PART I

8 FRAMEWORK Theories of Heritage, Public Administration and Political Science

8 CHAPTER 1 Understanding the Governance of Heritage A Plea for Using Public Administration Theories in Heritage Studies Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

A Plea for Public Administration Over the past few years, The Netherlands has been fragmented by a conflict surrounding the country’s most beloved tradition: the festivity of Saint Nicholas. The root of the controversy is the physical appearance of the figure of Zwarte Piet, Saint Nicholas’ companion, wearing black-­face. Although government actively participates in the festival, as sponsor and facilitator of Saint Nicholas-­related events, it tries to distance itself from the controversy. But several governmental actors, most notably the Mayor of Amsterdam, have made an effort to solve the problem (Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2016; Wagenaar and Rodenberg 2018). One could analyse this debate using concepts and theories stemming from Heritage Studies and argue, for instance, that the figure is part of a Dutch AHD, which constructs and expresses an envisioned national identity focused on ‘white middle-­class values’. As it neglects the identities of minority groups, opposition to this discourse has turned the festivity into ‘contested heritage’. Yet, such an approach would fall short in several ways, most importantly negating the role government plays. As many of our colleagues will acknowledge, Smith’s (2006) concept of the AHD has been vital to the discipline of Critical Heritage Studies. Those who use it interpret ‘heritage’ as a social and cultural practice, construed by a dominant discourse and authorized by government. They

8 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

have demonstrated how this discourse inevitably excludes participation of various groups in society. The next step has not yet been taken, though. The aforementioned concept, after all, seminal as it is, does not provide us with the tools to analyse why government acts as it does. This ­difficulty – ­having to explain what government does but lacking the tools to analyse ­why – r­ears its head in Heritage Studies time and again. Therefore, we argue that the multidisciplinary field of critical Heritage Studies should fundamentally include the discipline of Public Administration. Moreover, if practising Critical Heritage Studies implies a wish to influence policy, as Smith’s remarks during the ACHS conference in 2018 imply,1 knowledge of the way (governmental) actors actually motivate policy is of the essence. However, a wish to comprehend and influence the role governments play in heritage practices is not the principal reason why we call for the inclusion of Public Administration theory. We feel government should be one of the field’s central research objects. Critical Heritage Studies, after all, originated as a critique on the way governments attribute heritage (Harrison 2013: 96–97; Silberman 1995). The fact that heritage is being instrumentalized for other purposes still solicits much attention. Yet, over time, heritage scholars’ scrutiny of government has dwindled. Perhaps this can best be explained by the fact that the disciplines who contribute most to Heritage Studies – (art)history, archaeology and a­ nthropology – ­lack the tools to analyse it. We obviously do not wish to assert that heritage scholars do not pay attention to government at all. They do. Often. But in their analyses, it is usually but one of many actors. As it is not central to their analyses, heritage scholars usually do not feel compelled to seek theories dealing with government exclusively. This was apparent during the 2018 ACHS conference, where there was much mention of government in many presentations but very little theoretical substantiation thereof.

Attention for Public Administration and Governance in Heritage Studies Adding PA to the disciplines that comprise Heritage Studies implies broadening the theoretical base, which of late has already grown extensively. Although Heritage Studies still focuses heavily on the empirical, this does not detract from the theoretical base of the discipline anymore. Ever since Laurajane Smith’s ‘ACHS Manifest’ in 2012 asked for a more thorough theoretical grounding of the field, and advocated looking towards the social sciences for inspiration, a lot has happened (Smith 2012). There has been a clear shift towards an ever more integrated field of ‘Critical Heritage

Understanding Governance  •  9

Figure 1.1. Studying the governance of heritage: Five levels of analysis and selected suitable PA theories. Figure created by the authors. Studies’ that references ‘critical theory’ to provide its theoretical frameworks. It might remain unclear what these frameworks are going to look like. We may be uncertain what we mean by ‘critical’, or ‘critical theory’ (see for example Winter 2013 on the term ‘critical’). We might also group very different entities under this common denominator, and ultimately few of the many colleagues who work under the flag of the ACHS will unanimously embrace the form of ‘die-­hard’ critical theory proposed by the Frankfurter Schule. Yet, as far as we are concerned, this lack of theoretical clarity does not matter. Given that being critical presupposes a conceptualization of the object of study that is as broad as possible, using the full range of theories available, a shared paradigm emerges over time with the further augmentation of the discipline. It need not necessarily be explicit at the outset.

10 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

The object of study is certainly broad. Heritage scholars pay attention to a plethora of themes: from religion to memory, from sustainable development to emotion, from landscapes to gastronomy.2 Certainly not all of these relate to governance, but if we view them from the perspective of heritage-­ society-­governance, we see a range of core themes emerging that could be studied using PA theory. In this chapter, we certainly do not intend to subdivide these into exclusive categories but rather into overlapping themes. We do not attempt to offer a complete overview of the field either, rather we offer to help those heritage scholars who are confronted with the fact that they need to know more about Public Administration theory to orientate themselves. In the next sections, we look at PA theory using a funnel to guide us through several levels of analysis. We begin at the highest level, that of the state in its entirety, to end with the lowest, where the individual citizen confronts bureaucracy. In the discussion of the different levels, we start by asking ourselves what Heritage Studies scholars are currently doing and then consider what PA could further contribute.

Heritage and Polity At the highest level, where the state as a whole administers heritage, Heritage Studies have contributed a lot of significant content. There is actually very little PA could still add. ‘Why do states engage with heritage?’ is the pertinent question here. According to critical heritage scholars, they do so for two interlinked reasons, both related to the coming into being of the nation-­state in the context of ‘modernity’. Harrison (2013) writes that ‘modernity’ is characterized by a feeling of ‘loss’ and a wish to manage risks. Loss itself is such a risk, and state bureaucracies, in general, go through great pains to mitigate it. This also happens in the domain of heritage. Experts are the people looked upon to map the risks of loss, to estimate the value of what could be lost and to propose measures to limit the risks. In Western Europe, all this has resulted in the founding of specialized bureaucracies, laws and regulations, and the listing of monuments that need to be protected (Harrison 2013). In North America, similar measures have been put into place (Valadares 2018). Feelings of nationalism, characteristic of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, were the drivers behind said measures. In Western Europe, monumental buildings were viewed as expressions and highlights of a shared past over time, connecting the members of a nation. Losing them would endanger the nation’s very foundations. The measures taken aimed to temper the destructive force of ‘modernity’ and industrialization (Harrison 2013). State protection of heritage also served to legitimize the

Understanding Governance  •  11

state. Archaeological finds became the carriers of the state’s narratives about state and people (Silberman 1995); a practice that has still not disappeared (Volchevska 2018). Often it even turned out to be necessary to ‘invent’ heritage for this purpose (Hobsbawm and Ranger [1983] 2012). From the nineteenth century onwards, heritage in the West became subject to bureaucratic standardization, centralization and planning and control. Local customs, including the way heritage was handled and perceived, thus became part of national values and administrative regimes (Harrison 2013). In the twentieth century, once the West had adopted the practice of heritage ‘listing’, and this practice had become enshrined in national heritage regimes, it transferred its policies to the international and even global level. These policies then became UNESCO’s guiding principles. After this approach to heritage listing and categorization had become part of a global AHD, it was then ‘transposed’ (as PA scholars would say) back from the global to the national and local levels all over the world (Harrison 2013; Smith 2006).

Heritage and Policy The second level of analysis is that of heritage policy. At this level, three questions are important. The first one concerns the effects of heritage policies. In the field of heritage, this question is usually answered through research into the effects of management and conservation measures, which are part of rules and regulations aimed at preserving material heritage. It departs from a classical heritage management approach and is often executed by, for instance, experts on restoration or landscape architects working for municipalities or museums. There is plenty of it in academe as well, conducted by material experts in departments of art history, archaeology and architectural history. The focus of this kind of research is on the consequences of certain interventions for heritage in terms of loss of intrinsic heritage values. One could think of archaeological value mapping or trying to establish the effects of the construction of a freeway on the intrinsic archaeological value of a landscape. It is dominant in, for instance, the Journal of Cultural Heritage, which focuses on research into ‘technology for conservation and awareness’.3 What Public Administration theory could add to this approach are the research methods developed in the field of ‘policy analysis’. Especially valuable is the literature on ‘policy evaluation’ and ‘policy learning’. The field of policy evaluation provides almost ready-­made social science methods for research on the effects of, for instance, city regeneration projects. Yet, another important takeaway from this body of literature is just how hard

12 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

evaluation is. Because the aims of policies are often formulated vaguely, it is usually difficult to conclude anything meaningful about their success or failure. Organizations do have opportunities to learn from evaluations (Howlett and Giest 2015), but the degree to which an organization is capable of doing this depends on its ability to process new information. To this day, findings have not been hopeful (Cohen and Levinthal 1990). A second question concerns the effects of heritage policies in terms of power relations, social inclusion and exclusion, and identity politics. This type of question is at the core of what we nowadays call Critical Heritage Studies. A concept from Public Administration that could add to it has been formulated by the sociologist Robert K. Merton (1936). He points at the ‘unintended consequences’ of certain policies. Government bureaucracies may act rationally, but the goals they set themselves always produce unforeseen outcomes. The conservation policies adopted by governments for monuments in the twentieth century, for instance, had as their goal the drawing up of lists of edifices that needed to be preserved. At the time, no one realized the effect this might have on social cohesion. Even policies that ‘instrumentalize’ heritage to further social cohesion might have social exclusion as an effect. The concept of unintended consequences helps explain this (Merton 1936). If we look at existing literature on heritage policies, it becomes clear that it is especially policy outcomes that have drawn attention and not the processes that have produced these. This should come as no surprise, as from the daily practice of conserving heritage, it is exactly these outcomes that are noticeable. If adherence to a classical perspective on preservation ‘heritage’ is a given, it can become jeopardized because of how we treat our environment. Heritage policy then becomes a researchable and rather technical matter. For adherents to a critical approach, it is effects on social power relations, specifically social inclusion and exclusion, that are of importance. In the field of spatial planning, though, there is attention to the question of why and how certain policies are adopted. Yet scholars working in this field are more focused on methods for planning and justifying spatial ­interventions – ­for example, the landscape biography approach (Kolen, Renes and Bosma 2016) – than on theories explaining the planning process. However, in their analyses, sometimes ideas pop up that have crossed the divide with Public Administration. A beautiful example is a study of the decision-­making process concerning Enning Road, which makes use of Paul Sabatier’s (1988) concept of the ‘Advocacy Coalition Framework’. Lee uses this theory to show how the different ‘beliefs’ of the actors structure interaction processes, and how because of an emerging new and shared ‘belief ’ one of the policy coalitions gains the upper hand. This is how the principles underlying spatial planning shift from ‘property led’ to ‘heritage

Understanding Governance  •  13

conservation led’ (Lee 2016). It is in the answers to this third question, on why certain choices regarding heritage policy are made, that Public Administration can make its largest contribution. Here it has decision-­ making theories to offer that not only explain the process but also provide means of changing the status quo. The (many) decision-­making theories Public Administration knows can be divided into three approaches (Frederickson and Smith 2003: 161–83). The first one is the rational approach, which looks for scientific ways to make policy attain the goals politics has set (Axelrod 1976; Huff 1990). Then there is an approach influenced by Herbert Simon’s concept of ‘bounded-­ rationality’: the observation that our capacity for rational decision-­making is far too limited for the problems policymakers are confronted with, which is why they are satisficers rather than maximizers (Simon [1947] 2013); an example is Charles Lindblom’s ‘incremental model’, which explains outcomes by looking at the policy process as one of trial and error in many small steps (Lindblom 1959). Peter Hall’s application of Kuhn’s ideas on scientific paradigm shifts to policy might also prove to be valuable (Hall 1993). The third, and in our opinion most useful approach for Heritage Studies, could be called the ‘irrational’ one. The theories in this category assign important roles to chance (Cohen, March and Olsen 1972; Kingdon 1995), to the power of rhetoric (Edelman 1967, 1977) or to power positions (Bachrach and Baratz 1970) in explaining how policies come about.

Heritage and Administrative Practice The third level of analysis concerns the relation between heritage and ‘administrative practice’. At this level, questions about how and why public heritage institutions act the way they do emerge. Obviously, such questions are closely related to the way policy is made, the subject of the previous section, but here the focus is on patterns in the behaviour of single actors. Heritage Studies actually involves quite a lot of analysis at this level; often in the form of careful empirical descriptions of government actions resulting in heritage policy or the effects of it. Yet, the problem is that these usually do not make use of PA theory. There are important exceptions, though, for instance in Bendix et al.’s edited volume Heritage Regimes and the State (2013). All the authors in this book try to answer the question of how heritage regimes structure the behaviour of bureaucracies. Using ethnography as their prime methodology, they focus on international (UNESCO) heritage treaties, which create new national heritage regimes and government institutions. What these then do is not only determined by the treaties but also by the pre-­existing national

14 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

rules and regulations, administrative regimes and patterns of bureaucratic behaviour. Tauschek (2013), for instance, demonstrates how this leads to several different heritage regimes in Germany, as it is a federal republic and the separate ‘Bundesländer’ each have their own specific administrative context. Fournier (2013) shows how after a wave of decentralization heritage policy was one of the few areas in which the French central state still remained competent. Consequently, it strengthened its grip on this sector. In the same volume, Rosemary J. Coombe (2013) reflects on the contributions to it on a more abstract level. Using the work of Michel Foucault she describes ‘managing cultural heritage as Neoliberal Governmentality’. Coombe argues that heritage regimes are neoliberal in nature because of the dominance of market thinking, the appreciation of heritage in terms of investments and gains, and because a retreating government leaves room for private heritage initiatives. Obviously, this volume is not the only publication that focuses on the way government deals with heritage, but it is among the rare works that take a Public Administration perspective. There are a few scholars who have done the same, though. A beautiful example is Christina Maags (2018), who applies the concept of multilevel governance (more about this in the following). She analyses how tasks and competences are divided between the various governmental levels in China, the way this structures their actions and why this leads to bureaucratic infighting. With Maags (2018) and with Bendix, Eggert and Peselmann’s (2013) volume we have entered the realm of Public Administration theory. They clearly illustrate its value for Heritage Studies as a rich source for explaining the actions of government instutions. In the following, we will discuss several theory sub-­ clusters we feel are directly applicable as well. To organize our material, in this section we use the same principle we applied to this chapter as a whole. Starting at the metalevel, we slowly work our way down to theories explaining the behaviour of single institutions, and even individual administrators. In the first instance, we would like to draw attention to a cluster of theories surrounding the concept of ‘governance’ – thinking about the design and operation of public administration as a process. In Public Administration theory, theories departing from this notion are especially New Public Management (NPM) (Hood 1991), multilevel governance (Hooghe and Marks 2002; Hooghe, Marks and Schakel 2020), Rhodes’ hollow state thesis (Rhodes 1996) and network theory (Klijn and Koppenjan 2015; Marsh and Rhodes 1992). NPM is an important and highly normative theory. It describes how public administration should ideally be organized and prescribes a specific mode of action. From the 1990s until recently, it was a highly dominant practice. As a reaction to public administration heavily interfering in all societal

Understanding Governance  •  15

domains, and to rising costs of government in times of economic crisis, the idea emerged that government should play a much more modest role in society, should leave much of its activities to the market, and, if government interference really could not be avoided, should organize itself in ways that as much as possible imitated private business practices. In sum: it needed to be ‘entrepreneurial’ (Osborne and Gaebler 1993). These principles were indeed adopted to a high degree in the English-­speaking countries, and various continental European states followed their lead. Global institutions like the World Bank and the IMF then spread them all over the world. From the start, NPM was not just a normative theory but also functioned as an analytical tool to understand public administration and, as such, was heavily criticized by many scholars working in the field (Hood 1991). That parts of heritage ‘management’ (sic!) are left to the market is readily explicable if one departs from NPM. The same goes for quite a lot of governmental heritage policy at the start of this century and the last decades of the previous one. If the proceeds from heritage do not exceed the costs, it is easily understandable why an entrepreneurial government does not act. Another cluster of theories explaining the retreat of (central) government concerns multilevel governance (Hooghe and Marks 2002; Hooghe Marks and Schakel 2020). Multilevel governance points to the development of central government no longer initiating policy itself, as it did in the heydays of the welfare-­state, but closely cooperating with decentralized and supranational government levels. As we have seen, Maags (2018) uses this perspective to explain why different government levels in China adopt different heritage policy goals and then get into conflict with each other. A closely related concept is called ‘transposition’. This relates to governmental bodies on a national or supranational level making policies that then need to be adopted by lower-­level administrations but change during this process. Tauschek (2013) shows how this works in the FRG. With his hollow-­state thesis Rhodes (1996) also points at the ever-­weaker position of central government. Because of decentralization processes started in the eighties, and which had as their goals the strengthening of local democracy, improved service delivery and budget cuts, tasks and competences of central government have been transferred down to the local level, or up to the EU. And this has not been the end of it: institutions and tasks were also privatized (Rhodes 1996). Rhodes’ ideas, of course, closely mirror Fournier’s (2013) analysis discussed above. The consequences are studied by network theory. This cluster departs from the observation that the process of governing takes place in complex networks consisting of public and private actors in configurations that vary depending on the issue at hand. In many instances, central government is no longer in a position to take the lead. The behaviour of the various actors in these

16 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

governance networks is then explained with the use of ‘dependency theory’. It is the goals actors have and the resources they can mobilize that explain their actions and relations (Kickert, Klijn and Koppenjan 1997; Marsh and Rhodes 1992). The case of the Dutch Noordoostpolder presented earlier illustrates how interdependencies between actors in a governance network led to an unexpected policy outcome: the polder never attained world heritage status, despite central government putting it on its tentative list (Rodenberg 2015). Contrary to the French case (Fournier 2013) the Dutch central state has been hollowed out in the field of heritage, Rodenberg finds. It now depends on the cooperation of other public and private actors and cannot always get its own way. Public Administration theory clusters specifically aimed at explaining behaviour fall under the heading of institutional theories. Vivien Schmidt (2008) distinguishes between four of these, which use different perspectives on institutions when looking for the explanation of administrative actions. Discursive i­nstitutionalism – ­seeing discourse as an institutionalized set of ideas and practices structuring ­action – ­has been at the core of critical Heritage Studies since Hall and Smith and will therefore not be discussed here. Next to it Schmidt discerns rational choice institutionalism (RCI), historical institutionalism (HI) and sociological institutionalism (SI). Adherents to RCI look for the explanation for behaviour in knowledge of one’s preferences, and those of other actors, the setting of goals on the basis of such knowledge, and the quest for means to attain these in as efficient a way as possible. An important component of HI is ‘path-­dependency’. In essence, this perspective comes down to the idea that the choices we have made in the past limit our options in the future. SI looks for explanations for behaviour in existing (un)written rules. Laws, regulations and treaties are examples of these, which is why a large part of Bendix’ volume really takes an SI perspective. Yet, unwritten rules are of importance as well. What all types of institutionalism have in common is the notion that existing frameworks for action lead to stable behavioural patterns. This is why changing behaviour is difficult. It only happens sporadically, and only in small steps (Schmidt 2008). Although Heritage Studies rarely explicitly uses institutional theory, it sometimes applies approaches that closely resemble it. As we have just seen, this goes for Bendix et al.’s (2013) book. Tauschek (2013), for instance, implicitly uses HI and SI. RCI is rare, but Rizzo and Peacock use it to describe how expected gains structure the behaviour of museums (Rizzo and Peacock 2008). ‘Bureaucratic politics’, finally, is where analysis reaches the individual level. It looks for an answer to the question why bureaucrats act as they do. James Q. Wilson ([1991] 2000) explains their behaviour by looking at the degree to which they possess discretion, and at their motives. He finds

Understanding Governance  •  17

that the incentives driving these administrators vary from a wish to attain organizational goals to an ideologically motivated desire to serve specific societal groups (Wilson [1991] 2000). We know of no application of his approach in Heritage Studies.

Heritage and Community As has already been pointed out in the introduction of this book, at current critical heritage scholars devote much attention to the degree to which communities are enabled to define and manage their own heritage. The direct cause of this has been the publication of Smith’s Uses of Heritage (2006), which has led to a rising criticism of the often marginal role communities play in heritage practices. Heritage communities, it turns out, are often dominated by experts, who can play such a powerful role because the AHD defines what heritage is and how it should be treated. Naturally, one of the ways expert dominance could be countered is by granting communities the possibility to define and manage their own heritage. It is the wish to do so that has given rise to the popularity of the subject of interactive governance amongst heritage scholars, and amongst practitioners t­oo – f­or example, through the implementation of the Faro Convention in Europe. Exploration of this phenomenon in Heritage Studies usually takes the form of single anthropological case studies. One of the best examples is by Corinne Perkin (2010), who has drawn up a list of factors responsible for the failure of many of such projects. Her list closely resembles similar findings in Public Administration (Cornwall 2008b: 279–80; Ianniello et al. 2019; Van Gool 2008: 41–51; Verschuere et al. 2018: 244–45). Other recent examples are Between Imagined Communities and Communities of Practice (eds. Adell et al. 2015), Who Needs Experts? (ed. Schofield 2014), Heritage, Conservation and Communities (ed. Chitty 2017) and Engaging Heritage, Engaging Communities (eds. Onciul, Stefano and Hawke 2017). All of these edited volumes are the product of close cooperation between scholars and practitioners. Yet, what the work done in Heritage Studies usually lacks is explicit use of the normative and empirical theory developed in Public Administration, and to a degree in spatial planning. It is these theories that are the subject of our next chapter, but to enable the reader to read the present chapter in its own right, without having to switch to the next, we will briefly summarize it here. As several scholars have observed, if interactive governance is initiated top-­down (meaning by government) then there are two ways to involve the community. The first one is open selection, in which actors are free to come forward and join the initiatives on their own accord. Yet, government

18 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

Table 1.1. Four ideal-typical types of interactive governance. INITIATIVE

OPENNESS

Top-down

Bottom-up

Closed

Stakeholder participation

Governing the CPR

Open

Citizen participation

Governing the public good

can also decide to select participants itself. If so, it first conducts a stakeholder analysis and then draws up a list of interested parties (Bingham 2011; Kahane et al. 2013; Røiseland and Vabo 2016: 121; Van Stokkom 2005: 389). To this observation other scholars have added that there are two more forms interactive governance takes, as it can also be initiated bottom-­up (Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2016; Schauppenlehner-­Kloyber and Penker 2016). The four (ideal-­typical) modes of interactive governance we thus arrive at are so different that entirely distinct bodies of theory need to be applied if we are to properly understand them (Schauppenlehner-­ Kloyber and Penker 2016). We start with the form in which government has taken the initiative and has selected stakeholders itself, using ‘stakeholder analysis’. Such analysis is not just an instrument to identify potential participants but also a methodological tool used in PA to map involvement after the event. A closely related tool is network analysis, used to map all actors involved, with their goals, interests and competencies. Governments use it to try and predict potential difficulties beforehand and to find ways of dealing with the ensuing complexity (Huxham and Vangen 2005; Klijn and Koppenjan 2015). PA scholars use it the same way they apply stakeholder analysis. A beautiful example of this in Heritage Studies is provided by Kryder-­Reid and Zimmerman (2018). More open forms of interactive governance are often analysed with use of Sherry Arnstein’s ‘participation ladder’ (1969). She distinguishes between eight rungs, the top three of w ­ hich – ­collectively called ‘degrees of citizen power’– are the most desirable. On the lower rungs, which Arnstein groups into ‘degrees of tokenism’ and ‘nonparticipation’, citizens exert ever less influence. Arnstein’s model has been used in Heritage Studies, and successfully ( Jackson and Schmisseur 2017), but unfortunately only rarely. This is even more true for the more advanced models that have been developed

Understanding Governance  •  19

since Arnstein’s seminal article, which is unfortunate, as it is these that enable us to explain why a certain rung on her ladder is reached. We name two. First there is Fung’s three-­dimensional ‘democracy cube’ (2006). This model helps us in determining the identity of the participants involved, the way they communicate and decide, and their actual influence. Jurian Edelenbos et al. (2006) use an even more complex 9-­cell matrix. They follow three ­dimensions – c­ ontent, process and ­power – ­through three stages, architecture, actions and results, and in so doing manage to analyse almost every single aspect related to a particular interactive governance process. The degree to which the participants manage to exert influence is not the only topic PA scholars are interested in, though. They also research the representativeness of interactive governance processes (Cornwall 2008a: 24). As often only a small number of participants partakes in such processes, a problem is how to link these forms of direct democracy to the larger system of representative democracy in which every citizen potentially shares (Sørensen and Torfing 2005; Torfing et al. 2012: 195–202). Finally, as interactive governance can also be initiated bottom-­up, there are a third and a fourth form it can take. For analysing processes that start in this fashion, a different body of theory is required: Elinor Ostrom’s design principles for common pool resource institutions (Ostrom 1990; Schauppenlehner-­Kloyber and Penker 2016). Point of departure, then, is the conceptualizing of heritage as a common pool resource (CPR), which can have various functions for a local community. The idea of a CPR, and the way it is dealt with, originates in the field of ecology but has been elaborated on in economics. At the end of the 1960s, the ecologist Hardin claimed that local communities are unable to independently manage their depletable CPRs. Despite the fact that communities as a whole realize that depletion of a CPR inevitable leads to its destruction, the individuals they are made up of will not act according to this knowledge. Hardin calls this mechanism the ‘tragedy of the commons’. To solve this problem, arrangements are necessary that are enforced from outside the community. These can either be provided by the market or by government interference (Hardin 1968). Hardin’s point of view dominated the thinking about CPRs for a long time, until Elinor Ostrom drew our attention to bottom-­up institutional arrangements for managing CPRs. She criticized the notion that only government or market forces can solve Hardin’s infamous tragedy and shows how communities themselves can come up with design principles enabling them to do so. She illustrated this using research into the way local, often agrarian, communities managed their CPRs themselves. An example would be a common pasture or a fishing ground (Ostrom 1990). The idea that heritage forms a ‘commons’ is not unknown to heritage scholars (Gonzalez 2014). There is even literature in which Ostrom’s sets of

20 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

rules is applied to the way communities manage their heritage (e.g. Zhang 2012). The same goes for the fourth form interactive governance can take. The ‘new commons’ literature looks at commons that are open, as they have a ‘public good’ rather than a CPR at their core (Hess 2012). As these cannot be closed off, the question is whether Ostrom’s design principles still apply. As said before, in this volume we aim to look at interactive governance in the heritage sector using PA theory. The observation that to do so we need four entirely different bodies of theory will be our guide, which is why we dwell lengthily on these in the next chapter. In the rest of this volume, we aim to find out to what extent using PA theory actually enhances our understanding. But before we can turn to the next chapter, there is one last level of analysis we still need to pay attention to. And that is the layer were the individual citizen meets government in the heritage sector.

The ‘Heritage Bureaucrat’ and the Citizen Citizens, as a rule, cannot avoid interacting with government. They need to present information to it, they need it for the variety of public services it provides, and they cannot avoid it when they require permits or permissions. Next to this, government enforces laws, and rules and regulations, which is why citizens are obliged to interact with administrators on quite a regular basis; with policemen or inspectors, for instance. This also applies to the field of heritage: most countries have monument protection acts and protection regimes citizens might be confronted with at a given moment. Next to this, governments provide public services that are part of heritage practices: maintaining public record offices, museums and knowledge centres. Here too we find functionaries who interact with citizens: desk clerks at the national records office, heritage inspectors or tour guides in museums. Naturally, Public Administration has studied the interactions between citizens and bureaucrats extensively. Yet, before we can ascertain what the value of this research is for Heritage Studies, we first, very summarily, need to discuss what these have already done on their own accord to try and study the work of the ‘heritage bureaucrat’. Let us start with the term ‘heritage bureaucrats’, though. With this we mean ‘public service workers’ (Lipsky [1980] 2010: 3) who form the interface between government and the individual citizen in the heritage sector. These bureaucrats are tasked with the execution of policy. Contrary to heritage experts in government service, they need not necessarily have an academic degree in one of the academic disciplines dealing with heritage. Heritage Studies does pay attention to their work, but this is limited, and

Understanding Governance  •  21

fragmented between various sub-­disciplines. What there is can be found in Museum Studies, Archival Science, Archaeology (especially public archaeology) and History (public history). These disciplines each have their own focus when dealing with the topic: Museum Studies focuses on exhibitions as a ‘passive way’ of interacting with the citizen. Curators try to present a story to the citizen. Yet sometimes they follow an interactive approach, by use of IT, for instance. This also happens in record offices and libraries nowadays. Often the input of the citizen is explicitly solicited, and this is extensively studied (e.g. Hetland, Pierroux and Esborg 2020). Heritage scholars also pay attention to the role of museum guides at heritage institutions, quite often taking a didactic perspective (Schep 2019). Archaeologists study the relation between amateur archaeologists and professional archaeological institutions (Duineveld, Van Assche and Beunen 2008). What still seems to be lacking, though, is attention to the relation between the individual citizen and the heritage bureaucrat. The position and role of such functionaries can be understood with the use of Michael Lipsky’s concept of ‘street-­level bureaucracy’ (Lipsky [1980] 2010). The street-­level bureaucrats (SLBs) who work in it are, in Lipsky’s words: ‘public workers who regularly interact with citizens in the course of their job’. Examples are ‘teachers, social workers, [and] police officers’ (Lipsky [1980] 2010: xi). They are primarily tasked with policy execution, but the means available to them are scarce, and the demand for their services is in principle unlimited. This creates a constant pressure. What is more, SLBs are confronted with a paradox. To quote Lipsky again: ‘how to treat all citizens alike in their claims on government, and how at the same time to be responsive to the individual case when appropriate’ (Lipsky [1980] 2010: xii–xiii). Yet, on the upside, they do have ‘autonomy’ and ‘discretion’. They do their work relatively unsupervised, their clients are involuntary (or, at least, can go nowhere else), the goals are often unclear and SLBs have a choice in how to actually apply the rules to individual cases. Often they make use of the leeway this provides them with to develop ‘coping-­mechanisms’ – ‘routines and simplifications’ – that help deal with the scarcity and the aforementioned paradox. These mechanisms, then, to a degree, become the policy street-­level bureaucrats were merely expected to execute (Lipsky [1980] 2010: xii–xiii, 13–25, 81–83). If we apply Lipsky’s concept to heritage bureaucrats then the assumption seems to be justified that these functionaries play an important role in the shaping of heritage practices. Using it as a focus not only helps us see how, but also enables us to bundle together the fragmented research done on SLB practices. We could thus combine attention to desk clerks at records offices and museums, review committees advising on permissions for the renovation of buildings of heritage value, and heritage inspectors,

22 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

with, for instance, tour guides in museums. Research on how amateur heritage experts and professional bureaucrats interact could also be seen in this light. But that would be the subject of another book. In the following, it is collectives of c­ itizens – ­heritage c­ ommunities – ­and their interaction with government that are of interest to us. The book is structured according to the top-­down open, top-­down closed, bottom-­up open and bottom-­up closed partition discussed before. In the next chapter, we lengthily discuss the Public Administration theory pertaining to these forms of interactive governance. Jeroen Rodenberg has an MA in Medieval History and a MSc in Public Administration (Leiden University). He is a lecturer and Ph.D. candidate at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, with research interests in heritage governance and policy and the history of public administration. He is involved in the pan-­ European research and training project on heritage planning HERILAND. Currently, he is completing his dissertational research on competing heritage policy discourses in decision-­making processes. Dr Pieter Wagenaar is an assistant professor at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His research interests are the history of administration and the administration of history. At present, he is focused on interactive governance in the heritage sector. He is involved in the HERILAND project: a pan-­European research and training network on cultural heritage in relation to Spatial Planning and Design. NOTES 1. She made that remark at the panel discussion ‘A Critical or Not-­So-­Critical Force? Borders of Critical Heritage Studies in Practice’ in her presentation ‘ECRs, the AHD and the Aims and Scope of the ACHS’ as part of the Association of Critical Heritage Studies, 4th Biennial Conference, 1–6  September, 2018, Zhejiang University, Hangzhou, China, which we attended. 2. This is, for example, illustrated by the variety in themes of books published in the series ‘Key Issues in Heritage Studies’ (series editors Laurajane Smith and William Logan), the themes discussed in the edited volumes The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research edited by Emma Waterton and Steve Watson (2015) and A Companion to Heritage Studies edited by William Logan, Mairead Nic Craith and Ulrich Kockel. 3. https://www.journals.elsevier.com/journal-of-cultural-heritage.

Understanding Governance  •  23

References Adell, N. et al. (eds). 2015. Between Imagined Communities and Communities of Practice. Göttingen Studies in Cultural Property, vol. 8. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen. Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of planners 35(4): 216–24. Axelrod, R. 1976. Structure of Decision. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bachrach, P., and M.S. Baratz. 1970. Power and Poverty. New York: Oxford University Press. Bendix, R.F., A. Eggert and A. Peselmann (eds). 2013. Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen. Bingham, L.B. 2011. ‘Collaborative Governance’, in M. Bevir (ed.), The SAGE Handbook of Governance. Los Angeles: Sage, pp. 386–401. Chitty, G. (ed.). 2017. Heritage, Conservation and Communities: Engagement, Participation and Capacity Building. London: Routledge. Cohen, M.D., J.G. March and J.P. Olsen. 1972. ‘A Garbage Can Model of Organizational Choice’, Administrative Science Quarterly 17(1): 1–25. Cohen, W.M., and D.A. Levinthal. 1990. ‘Absorptive Capacity: A New Perspective on Learning and Innovation’, Administrative Science Quarterly 35(1): 128–52. Coombe, R.J. 2013. ‘Managing Cultural Heritage as Neoliberal Governmentality’, in R.F. Bendix, A. Eggert and A. Peselmann (eds), Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen, pp. 375–89. Cornwall, A. 2008a. Democratising Engagement: What the UK Can Learn from International Experience. London: Demos. ———. 2008b. ‘Unpacking “Participation”: Models, Meanings and Practices’, Community Development Journal 43(3): 269–83. Duineveld, M., K.A.M. van Assche and R. Beunen. 2008. ‘Uitgesloten amateurs in het nieuwe landschap van de Nederlandse archeologie’, Vrijetijdstudies 26(4): 29–39. Edelenbos, J., P.J. Klok, J. van Tatenhove and A. Domingo. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek. Edelenbos, J., and I. van Meerkerk. 2016. ‘Introduction: Three Reflecting Perspectives on Interactive Governance’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 1–28. Edelman, M.J. 1967. The Symbolic Uses of Politics. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. ———. 1977. Political Language: Words That Succeed and Policies That Fail. New York: Academic Press. Fournier, L.S. 2013. ‘Intangible Cultural Heritage in France: From State Culture to Local Development’, in R.F. Bendix, A. Eggert and A. Peselmann (eds), Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen, pp. 327–41. Frederickson, H., and K.B. Smith. 2003. The Public Administration Theory Primer. Boulder and Oxford: Westview Press. Fung, A. 2006. ‘Varieties of Participation in Complex Governance’, Public Administration Review 66(1): 66–75.

24 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

Gonzalez, P.A. 2014. ‘From a Given to a Construct’, Cultural Studies 28(3): 359–90. Gould, P.G. 2018. Empowering Communities through Archaeology and Heritage: The Role of Local Governance in Economic Development. Bloomsbury Publishing. Hall, P.A. 1993. ‘Policy Paradigms, Social Learning, and the State: The Case of Economic Policymaking in Britain’, Comparative politics 25(3): 275–96. Hardin, G. 1968. ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, Science 162(3859): 1243–48. Harrison, R. 2013. Heritage: Critical Approaches. London: Routledge. Hess, C. 2012. ‘Constructing a New Research Agenda for Cultural Commons’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 19–35. Hetland, P., P. Pierroux and L. Esborg (eds). 2020. A History of Participation in Museums and Archives: Traversing Citizen Science and Citizen Humanities. London: Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780429197536. Hobsbawm, E., and T. Ranger. [1983] 2012. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hood, C. 1991. ‘A Public Management for All Seasons?’, Public Administration 69(1): 3–19. Hooghe, L., and G. Marks. 2002. ‘Types of Multi-­level Governance’, Les Cahiers européens de Sciences Po 3: 3–31. Hooghe, L., G. Marks and A. Schakel. 2020. ‘Multilevel Governance’, in D. Caramani (ed.), Comparative Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 193–211. Howlett, S., and S. Giest. 2015. ‘Policy Cycle’, in J.D. Wright (ed.), International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences (Second Edition). Oxford: Elsevier, pp. 288–92. Huff, A.S. 1990. Mapping Strategic Thought. Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons. Huxham, C., and S. Vangen. 2005. Managing to Collaborate: The Theory and Practice of Collaborative Advantage. London and New York: Routledge. Ianniello, M. et al. 2019. ‘Obstacles and Solutions on the Ladder of Citizen Participation: A Systematic Review’, Public Management Review 21(1): 21–46. Jackson, S., and A. Schmisseur. 2017. ‘SPAB Maintenance Co-­ops: A Move Towards Meaningful Participation?’, in G. Chitty (ed.), Heritage, Conservation and Communities. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 254–66. Kahane, D. et al. 2013. ‘Stakeholder and Citizen Roles in Public Deliberation’, Journal of Public Deliberation 9(1): 1–37. Kickert, W.J., E.-H. Klijn and J.F.M. Koppenjan (eds). 1997. Managing Complex Networks: Strategies for the Public Sector. London: Sage. Kingdon, J. 1995. Agendas, Alternatives, and Public Policies. 2nd edn. New York: Longman. Klijn, E.H-­H., and J.F.M. Koppenjan. 2015. Governance Networks in the Public Sector. London: Routledge. Kolen, J., H. Renes and K. Bosma. 2016. ‘Landscape Biography’, in A. van den Brink, D. Bruns, H. Tobi and S. Bell (eds), Research in Landscape Architecture: Methods and Methodology. London: Routledge, pp. 120–35. Kryder-­Reid, E., and L. Zimmerman. 2018 ‘Of, By, and For Which People? Government and Contested Heritage in the American Midwest’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar

Understanding Governance  •  25

(eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave, pp. 239–62. Lee, A. 2016. ‘Heritage Conservation and Advocacy Coalitions: The State-­Society Conflict in the Case of the Enning Road Redevelopment Project in Guangzhou’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 22(9): 729–47. Lindblom, C.E. 1959. ‘The Science of Muddling Through’, Public Administration Review 19(2): 79–88. Lipsky, M. [1980] 2010. Street-Level Bureaucracy: Dilemmas of the Individual in Public Service. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Logan, W., N.C. Máiréad and U. Kockel (eds). 2015. A Companion to Heritage Studies. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Maags, C. 2018. ‘Cultural Contestation in China: Ethnicity, Identity, and the State’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave, pp. 13–36. Marsh, D., and R.A.W. Rhodes. 1992. Policy Networks in British Government. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Merton, R.K. 1936. ‘The Unanticipated Consequences of Purposive Social Action’, American Sociological Review 1(6): 894–904. Onciul, B., M.L. Stefano and S. Hawke (eds). 2017. Engaging Heritage, Engaging Communities. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Osborne, D., and T. Gaebler. 1993. Reinventing Government: How the Entrepreneurial Spirit is Transforming the Public Sector. New York: Plume. Ostrom, E. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge University Press. Peacock, A. and I. Rizzo. 2008. The Heritage Game: Economic, Policy and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Perkin, C. 2010. ‘Beyond the Rhetoric: Negotiating the Politics and Realising the Potential of Community-­Driven Heritage Engagement’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 107–22. Rhodes, R.A.W. 1996. ‘The New Governance: Governing without Government’, Political Studies 44(4): 652–67. Rodenberg, J. 2015. ‘De bestuurlijke omgang met verleden, heden en toekomst: of hoe de Noordoostpolder geen Werelderfgoed werd’, in R. van Diepen, W. van der Most and H. Pruntel (eds), Polders peilen. Stichting Uitgeverij De Twaalfde Provincie, pp. 130–53. Rodenberg, J. and Wagenaar, F.P. 2016. ‘Essentializing ‘Black Pete’: Competing Narratives Surrounding the Sinterklaas Tradition in the Netherlands’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 22(9): 716–28. Røiseland, A., and S.I. Vabo. 2016. ‘­Interactive – o ­ r ­Counteractive – G ­ overnance? Lessons Learned about Citizen Participation and Political Leadership’, in J.  Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: SelfOrganization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 120–45. Sabatier, P.A. 1988. ‘An Advocacy Coalition Framework of Policy Change and the Role of Policy-­Oriented Learning Therein’, Policy Sciences 21(2): 129–68. Schauppenlehner-­ Kloyber, E., and M. Penker. 2016. ‘Between Participation and

26 • Jeroen Rodenberg and Pieter Wagenaar

Collective Action: From Occasional Liaisons towards Long-­Term Co-­Management for Urban Resilience’, Sustainability 8(7): 664. Schep, M. 2019. ‘Guidance for Guiding: Professionalization of Guides in Museums of Art and History’. Ph.D. thesis. University of Amsterdam. Schmidt, V.A. 2008. ‘Discursive Institutionalism: The Explanatory Power of Ideas and Discourse’, Annual Review of Political Science 11(1): 303–26. Schofield, J. (ed.). 2014. Who Needs Experts? Counter-Mapping Cultural Heritage, Heritage, Culture and Identity. Farnham: Ashgate. Silberman, N.A. 1995. ‘Promised Lands and Chosen People: The Politics and Poetics of Archaeological Narrative’, in P.L. Kohl and C. Fawcett (eds), Nationalism, Politics and the Practice of Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 249–62. Simon, H.A. [1947] 2013. Administrative Behavior: A Study of Decision-Making Processes in Administrative Organizations. New York: The Free Press. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London and New York: Routledge. ———. 2012. ‘Manifesto’. Association of Critical Heritage Studies website. Retrieved 12 July 2021 from www.criticalheritagestudies.org/history. Sørensen, E., and J. Torfing. 2005. ‘The Democratic Anchorage of Governance Networks’, Scandinavian Political Studies 28(3): 195–218. Tauschek, M. 2013. ‘The Bureaucratic Texture of National Patrimonial Policies’, in R.F. Bendix, A. Eggert and A. Peselmann (eds), Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen, pp. 195–213. Torfing, J. et al. 2012. Interactive Governance: Advancing the Paradigm. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Valadares, D. 2018. ‘Dispossessing the Wilderness: Contesting Canada’s National Park Narrative’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave, pp. 139–53. Van Gool, B. 2008. ‘Waarom beleidsparticipatie door “gewone” burgers meestal faalt: een reconstructie van de oorzaken van participatieve verdamping’, Res Publica: politiek-wetenschappelijk tijdschrift van de Lage Landen 50(1): 31–59. Van Stokkom, B. 2005. ‘Deliberative Group Dynamics: Power, Status and Affect in Interactive Policy Making’, Policy & Politics 33(3): 387–409. Verschuere, B. et al. 2018. ‘Democratic Co-­Production: Concepts and Determinants’, in T. Brandsen, T. Steen and B. Verschuere (eds), Co-Production and CoCreation: Engaging Citizens in Public Services. New York and London: Routledge, pp. 244–45. Volchevska, B. 2018. ‘Lost Temporalities and Imagined Histories: The Symbolic Violence in the Greek-­Macedonian Naming Dispute’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave, pp. 219–36. Wagenaar, P., and J. Rodenberg. 2018. ‘Acting in a National Play: Governmental Roles during the Zwarte Piet Contestation’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 283–314. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-­3-319-­91914-­0_14. Waterton, E., and S. Watson (eds). 2015. The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Houndsmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Understanding Governance  •  27

Wilson, J.Q. [1991] 2000. Bureaucracy: What Government Agencies Do and Why They Do It. New York: Basic Books. Winter, T. 2013. ‘Clarifying the Critical in Critical Heritage Studies’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 19(6): 532–45. Zhang, Y. 2012. ‘Heritage as Cultural Commons: Towards an Institutional Approach of Self Governance’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 153–77.

8 CHAPTER 2 Interacting with Governance A Public Administration Perspective on Interactive Governance for Heritage Studies Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Introduction Since the beginning of this century, participation has taken centre stage in international conventions and recommendations on heritage. Examples are the UNESCO Convention on the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage (2003), the European Faro Convention (2005) and the Operational Guidelines for World Heritage Sites (2019, Article 12). A similar phenomenon has occurred at the local level, where policy is implemented. As the contributions to this volume show, initiatives to govern heritage through interactive governance abound. There are three reasons behind this growing attention to participation in Heritage Studies and heritage practice. The first has to do with the expected benefits of using participation as a tool to ‘augment professional capacity’ (as noted and criticized by Fredheim 2019: 17). According to adherents to this ‘instrumental perspective’, participation could contribute to better ‘heritage conservation’ (e.g. Caspersen 2009), ‘the preservation and valorisation of heritage’ (Lähdesmäki 2019), or sustainable urban development (e.g. Li et al. 2020a, 2020b). In addition, scholars point to another ‘instrumental benefit’ of participation: they see it as a means to avoid, reduce or solve various forms of contestation between the parties involved (e.g. Chirikure et al. 2010; Korostelina 2019). A third ­reason – t­ ypical of the so-­called Critical Heritage ­Studies – ­has come to the fore with the appearance of Laurajane Smith’s Uses of Heritage.

Interacting with Governance  •  29

The relation between participation and heritage that she develops in this book is both more complicated and more ideological than that of the instrumental perspective. Heritage, according to Smith, is a sociocultural practice through which communities give meaning to historical objects, landscapes or traditions because these are meaningful for the construction of identities. The problem, she then goes on to point out, is that heritage practices can cause social exclusion. This is of course true for every construction of a collective identity, but the problematic aspect of heritage practices is that they are institutionalized. When deciding on heritage, it is the experts who determine what counts as such. The criteria they apply have the appearance of objectivity but in reality stem from the contemporary values of only a small part of the public, projected onto specific periods in history. This is what Smith calls the Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD), and vehemently rejects. The imposition of the AHD prevents many communities within the nation-­state from co-­determining what counts as heritage, leading to social exclusion. To achieve social inclusion, it is argued, the dominance of the ­AHD – ­and of the experts imposing i­t – ­must be countered. Marginalized communities need to be offered the opportunity to participate in heritage practices. Recognizing the heritage of these groups acknowledges their identity and promotes social inclusion (Smith 2006; cf. Fredheim’s ‘drivers’, 2019: 17). The desire to achieve this is the reason many scholars working in the field of Heritage Studies have begun to engage with interactive governance (e.g. Chitty 2017; Graham and Vergunst 2019; Onciul, Stefano and Hawke 2017). They compare different forms of participation (Crooke 2010), look at the effects of prescribing a greater role for heritage communities through legislation and regulations (Prangnell, Ross and Coghill 2010), study challenges for the management of bottom-­up participation (Perkin 2010), or try to figure out how participation can be the cause of conflicts (Cortés-­Vázquez, Jiménes-­Esquinas and Sánchez-­Carretero 2017). As a rule, little or no use is made of Social Science theory, yet there are exceptions. Examples include the creation of frameworks for the evaluation of participation using grounded theory (Landorf 2009; Lennox 2016; Li et al. 2020a, 2020b), or an analysis of the power relations that participation entails through the lens of Critical Anthropology (Alonso González, González-­Álvarez and Roura-­ Expósito 2018). Are Heritage Studies and the heritage sector perhaps neglecting something? Something that could render participatory heritage governance understandable, explain outcomes and provide insight into the possibilities, constraints and changes for participation? We think so, and what they are overlooking is, not surprisingly, the discipline of Public Administration. True, of course Heritage Studies does sometimes use

30 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

PA theory on participation, as shown by Bertacchini et al. (2018), whose edited volume draws on the ideas of Elinor Ostrom (1990), Gould’s use of governance theory (2018) or Neal’s (2015) application of Arnstein’s (1969) ‘ladder of participation’. The point we would like to make is that there is a very specific body of Public Administration theory, touched upon by the aforementioned publications, that is extremely useful for those who seek to understand, explain and perhaps even improve heritage participation. So far, this body of theory has not been fully exploited. In the previous chapter, we have explored the value of Public Administration for Heritage Studies. This chapter is an attempt at something similar, now focusing solely on interactive governance. In doing so, we also present the reader with the theoretical framework for the following chapters.

‘Interactive Governance’: A Fuzzy Concept Scholars who are studying public administration often start with observing that there are roughly speaking three ways to govern, either through hierarchy (state, bureaucracies), through markets or using networks ( Jessop 2002: 52–53).1 Macro-­sociologists like Jessop and Castells claim that currently the network mode of governing is gaining ever more ground as compensation for the failure of both state and market (Castells 1996, 1997, 1998; Jessop 2002: 236–40). Yet, other authors point to the fact that governance networks have always been around, and from a historical perspective, hierarchy is the newcomer (Brandsen 2016: 338, 350; Denters 2016; Donahue and Zeckhauser 2012; Salamon 2002: 3–6), and with good reason. The current attention to network governance, which has undoubtedly been growing over the past decades, is often called ‘new public governance’. ‘This paradigm’, to quote Brandsen, Trommel and Verschuere, ‘is based on the assumption that for effective policy-­making and service delivery, government should collaborate in pluralistic networks with many other actors, since complex social problems can only be dealt with through the combination of various resources’ (2017: 682). As we have seen, the presumed benefit of this form of governance in Critical Heritage Studies is that it empowers heritage communities, enabling them to preserve what they consider as their heritage, but Public Administration scholars attribute many more advantages to it than just that. The new governance is said to address the gap that exists between citizens and politics, to create support for policies (Edelenbos et al. 2006: 20), or at least prevent protracted and costly legal procedures instigated by opponents of a certain policy (Mayer, Edelenbos and Monnikhof 2005: 180). It provides government with information and resources it could never have obtained on

Interacting with Governance  •  31

its own (Donahue and Zeckhauser 2012: 35) and acts as a solution to the fragmentation that characterizes many policy spheres today (Torfing et al. 2012: 18). Not only is it supposed to boost effectiveness and efficiency, in creating new democratic forums it also functions as a learning school for citizenship, forms a necessary complement to the institutions of representative democracy, and restores trust in government (Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2016: 4–5). In addition to all this, it furthers social justice (Fung 2015: 519–20), enables government to tap into local knowledge, and shortens the feedback loop between policy formulation and evaluation (Van Gool 2008: 37). Finally, a very important function it is assumed to have is that it is an answer to so-­called ‘wicked problems’ (Mayer, Edelenbos and Monnikhof 2005: 180). Such problems are characterized by the fact that policymakers are unable to arrive at a proper problem definition, as there is disagreement as to which knowledge is necessary and which values should receive priority when tackling it (Rittel and Webber 1973). Gathering all the actors involved around one table and discussing the problem together is assumed to be a way of solving this. As wicked problems play an important role in Public Administration thinking towards interactive governance, we will return to the topic later. First, however, we need to be clear about definitions. So far, we have been referring to ‘collaborative governance’, ‘interactive governance’, ‘network governance’ and ‘new public governance’ without defining these terms properly. They are often used interchangeably as umbrella terms (Bingham 2011) covering a wide range of phenomena, but their strict meaning is not too clear. There are a plethora of quite complicated and ‘segmented’ definitions to be found (for instance, Robertson and Choi 2012: 86). Examples of such definitions are: By interactive governance we mean the complex process through which a plurality of social and political actors with diverging interests interact in order to formulate, promote, and achieve common objectives by means of mobilizing, exchanging, and deploying a range of ideas, rules, and … resources. (Torfing et al. 2012: 2–3, emphasis in the original)

or: While differences in label, language, and approach exist, there are several characteristics common to collaborative governance processes that serve to bound its definition. These include broad stakeholder inclusion, face-­to-­face deliberation, shared learning, a willingness to reconsider assumptions, pooling of resources, construction of long-­ term relationships, and consensus-­ focused decision-­making. (Brisbois and De Loë 2016: 775)

32 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

or: The interactive governance ­model … f­ ocuses on processes that engage both government and citizens in governance by including a participatory component from the onset of the policy development process. (Patterson et al. 2016: 318)

or: The terms ‘collaboration’ and ‘collaborative governance’ are taken to include all forms of, and labels for, governance that involves people in working relationships with those in other organizations. (Huxham et al. 2000: 339)

The reason these definitions differ from each other to such a broad degree is that the umbrella terms they refer to pertain to very different phenomena, which are studied in a great many varied scholarly disciplines (Law, Public Administration, Economics, Public Management, etc.) (Donahue and Zeckhauser 2012). All manner of research methods are applied to them (Torfing 2006a: 16–17), including exotic methods such as action research (Huxham and Vangen 2005), computer simulations (Robertson and Choi 2012), or structural equation modelling (Thomson, Perry and Miller 2009). It is no surprise, then, that many scholars have devised typologies in an attempt to help clarify the resulting confusion. Bingham, for example, uses the metaphor of a stream, to order her subject. To quote her literally: One helpful metaphor is the flowing stream. Upstream generally involves making policy through more legislative or quasi-­legislative activity [deliberative and participatory democracy]; midstream involves implementing, managing, and evaluating policy [collaborative public or network management]; and downstream involves enforcing policy through quasi-­judicial or judicial action [conflict resolution and the ADR (alternative or appropriate dispute resolution movement)]. (Bingham 2011)

Börzel and Risse (2010: 114) use a ladder to map different forms of interactive governance, with rungs stretching from ‘governance without government’ up to ‘governance by government’. Our own typology of different kinds of interactive (or ‘collaborative’, or ‘new public’, or ‘network’) governance is based on two distinctions commonly made in the available literature. The first is the difference between bottom-­ up and top-­ down forms of interactive governance. They are distinguished from each other on the basis of whether the initiator was government or (groups of ) other stakeholders (Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2016; Schauppenlehner-­Kloyber and Penker 2016). The second distinction is based on the degree of ‘openness’ of interactive governance processes.

Interacting with Governance  •  33

Table 2.1. Four ideal-typical types of interactive governance. INITIATIVE

OPENNESS

Top-down

Bottom-up

Closed

Stakeholder participation

Governing the CPR

Open

Citizen participation

Governing the public good

Sometimes only certain stakeholders are invited to the table, often after a stakeholder analysis has been conducted. Yet there are also forms of interactive governance in which more or less anyone who feels called upon to do so can participate: ‘citizen participation’ (Bingham 2011; Kahane et al. 2013; Røiseland and Vabo; Van Stokkom 2005: 389).2 Combining these two distinctions leads to a matrix in which four forms of interactive governance are distinguished: top-­down and closed interactive governance or ‘stakeholder participation’, top-­down and open interactive governance or ‘citizen participation’, bottom-­up and closed interactive governance or ‘governing the common pool resource (CPR)’ and, finally, bottom-­up and open interactive governance or ‘governing the public good’. It is on these ideal-­typical forms of interactive governance we will now focus, but before we do, a word of caution is in order: we are using this matrix to organize the way in which Public Administration scholars have thought about interactive governance, but we are well aware that it is our matrix. The scholars whose work we are discussing may not agree with the way we classify their theories.

Stakeholder Participation The study of stakeholder participation, the top-­down and closed version of interactive governance, can be divided into two different streams, according to Marcussen and Olsen. One is mainly American, very quantitative, often focused on making and analysing elaborate sociograms and is called ‘social network analysis’. The second stream, a European one, which exists almost completely independent of the first, is far more qualitative. Whereas the American version can be found across a range of disciplines, the European network scholars publish mainly within the field of Public Administration (Marcussen and Olsen 2006: 273–77).

34 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Klijn and Koppenjan and Sørensen and Torfing write that in the European stream two generations can be distinguished in governance network research. Initially, the scholars contributing to it were mainly concerned with mapping governance networks. Nowadays, they have become more analytical (Klijn and Koppenjan 2015: 11; Torfing 2006a: 16–17), asking questions about the functioning and development of governance networks, the factors responsible for their success or failure, the accountability problems that surround them, and about ‘meta-­governance’ (Sørensen and Torfing 2007a: 14–16). Most second-­generation researchers seem to agree that the emergence of networks does not render government redundant. That it sometimes uses stakeholder networks does not mean government becomes powerless (Agranoff 2006; 2007: 189–220; Torfing 2006a: 4); not even when it leaves governance entirely to these networks. Scharpf has noted that networks usually function in the ‘shadow of hierarchy’. Stakeholders know that government retains the power to intervene. As they do not wish to provoke government intervention, they take care not to give it grounds to do so (1997: 197–201). Often, however, government influence is much more direct. Through ‘meta-­governance’, understood as choosing the mix of modes of governance (hierarchy, market and network), or as orchestrating a governance network, it gets its way (Sørensen and Torfing 2016: 449; Torfing et al. 2012: 4, 126–29). No wonder, then, that meta-­governance or ‘network management’, as it is also known, is considered by many researchers as essential to the success of a governance network (Klijn and Koppenjan 2015: 180). This is the reason why several scholars who study governance networks have tried to formulate a ‘POSDCORB’ for network managers. ‘POSDCORB’, the acronym was coined by Luther Gulick in the 1930s, stands for the tasks a public manager should perform: planning, organizing, staffing, directing, coordinating, reporting and budgeting (Gulick 1937: 13). Lester Salamon was one of the first to ask what these tasks would look like for network managers. He came up with three activities: ‘activation’ – identifying and encouraging stakeholders; ‘orchestration’ – certainly not top-­down command but more a kind of diplomatic activity; and ‘modulation’ – providing (enough but not too much of ) the right (dis)incentives to stakeholders (Salamon 2002: 16–18). Others have followed in his footsteps and devised their own POSDCORBs (Agranoff and McGuire 2001: 297–301; Donahue and Zeckhauser 2012; Klijn 2016; Klijn, Steijn and Edelenbos 2010). Yet, Agranoff begs to differ. Having studied fourteen different governance networks, he arrived at a grounded theory of network management ‘as practiced by its practitioners’ and warned that hierarchical organizations are becoming ever less hierarchical, which renders POSDCORB somewhat outdated. At the same time,

Interacting with Governance  •  35

such organizations do play an enormous role in the management of governance networks, which is why the POSDCORB of networks is POSDCORB. There is no separate type (Agranoff 2007: 35, 84, 230). But if not through a specialized POSDCORB, how should network managers proceed? The immense amount of literature on network management is daunting and dishearteningly vast, but there are two books we consider essential to heritage professionals and scholars if they aspire to engage meaningfully with stakeholder participation. We have selected them for their all-­encompassing and systematic nature. The first is Managing to Collaborate: The Theory and Practice of Collaborative Advantage, by Huxham and Vangen. Their book is based on action research, including extensive surveys and brainstorming sessions with practitioners, from which a theory on the way to reach ‘collaborative advantage’ has slowly ‘emerged’ (Huxham 2003: 402; Huxham and Vangen 2005: 31). They present it in the form of ten ‘themes’ – they deliberately do not speak of rules (Huxham and Vangen 2005: 35–37, 61–81) – which can serve as ‘handles for reflexive practice’ (234). After all, the variation in and complexity of networks is far too great to prescribe recipes (Huxham et al. 2000). Then they proceed with a careful and intricate discussion of how these ‘themes’ can be addressed. Two other indispensable thinkers on network management are Klijn and Koppenjan. For these authors, who have incorporated an enormous amount of theory in their standard work Governance Networks in the Public Sector, networks are foremost an answer to ‘wicked problems’ (2015: 2–4; also see the previous section). Their book is organized around three kinds of complexity: substantive, strategic and institutional. By ‘substantive complexity’ they mean that governance networks have to deal with wicked problems. Stakeholders therefore have different perceptions of what the problem is and hold diverging values. ‘Strategic complexity’ refers to the fact that stakeholders are simultaneously involved in different, unpredictable games played in more than one arena. ‘Institutional complexity’, finally, is caused by the history of a network. As stakeholders have interacted for long periods of time, undesirable patterns of interaction and perception (including trust), and institutional rules, have solidified. Such rules may have become unclear because actors are representatives of different parent organizations, with their own (sometimes incompatible) sets of rules. They might also be acting in several networks at the same time, so that multiple sets of rules apply simultaneously (2015: 12–13). To deal with this network, managers must address all three forms of complexity concurrently. The authors not only provide a careful analysis of the three forms of complexity that plague governance networks, and discuss at length what network management can do to deal with them, they also propose an elaborate ten-­step research method for network analysis (2015: 259–88, 293).

36 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Do such management strategies now lead to success? As Torfing et al. observe, the problem is that we do not know what ‘success’ is in this respect, let alone how to measure it, as different stakeholders may have different goals, which moreover may change over time. Some authors therefore propose to look at ‘ex post satisfaction’, but according to Torfing et al. this also poses problems, as stakeholders often lack the necessary information and are primarily concerned as to the extent their interests are achieved. These authors therefore draw up their own set of evaluation criteria (Torfing et al. 2012: 171–72), as do Klijn, Steijn and Edelenbos (2010: 1065–67). A final problem scholars studying stakeholder participation encounter concerns accountability. Events in the networks might easily elude the oversight of democratically elected politicians; a topic we will elaborate on in the next section. Accountability to other ­forums – K ­ lijn and Koppenjan distinguish between democratic, legal, administrative and market ­accountability – ­poses comparable problems (2015: 223, 226–38).

Citizen Participation ‘Citizen participation’ has roots in political philosophy that stretch back millennia (Van Gool 2008: 33–35) and has recently found new advocates in the so-­called post liberal theorists of democracy (e.g. Dryzek 2002; Fung and Wright 2003; Mouffe 1999; see also Hajer and Wagenaar 2003a, 2003b). It is tempting to assume that the long history of this top-­down open form of interactive governance would explain the enormous variety it is manifesting; ranging from hearings to participatory budgeting, and from citizen juries to deliberative polls (Fung 2015: 514; Cornwall 2008a: 25; McLaverty 2011). Yet, despite their wide variety, scholars studying these forms of citizen participation often regard them as highly problematic, since they exclude large parts of the population. The fact that other societal groups are over-­represented exacerbates the problem (Verschuere et al. 2018: 244–45). The reasons cited in the available literature for this lack of representation are manifold: a shortage of information from both government institutions and citizens, the unwillingness of certain public functionaries and institutions, the way in which participants are selected (only the ‘usual suspects’), a flawed process design, members of certain elites dominating the citizen participants, the rapid waning of enthusiasm once it becomes apparent that exerting influence on policymaking is unlikely (Ianniello et al. 2019), the ‘self-­exclusion’ of certain groups of citizens, their lack of resources (time, knowledge, self-­confidence, etc.), and ‘participation fatigue’ (Cornwall

Interacting with Governance  •  37

Figure 2.1. Ladder of participation. Source: Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24, see 217. 2008b: 279–80). Van Gool, who has studied ‘participatory evaporation’ in Flanders, adds to this list. He observes that civil servants tasked with initiating citizen participation often shield themselves by physically distancing themselves from the public and hiding behind rules and regulations. The fact that participatory projects can bring conflicts in the community to the fore and create negative group dynamics exacerbates the situation (Van Gool 2008: 41–51). Lack of representativeness is not the only malady citizen participation suffers; there is also the problem of lack of influence (Cornwall 2008a: 24). Arnstein, who was among the first to note this, drew a famously metaphorical ‘ladder of citizen participation’, with each ascending rung reflecting the level of influence citizens exercise. She finds that participation usually only reaches the first few rungs. Many researchers have echoed similar sentiments, producing their own versions of this tool (Arnstein 1969; Cornwall 2008b: 270–73).3 Why is it that citizen participants so often remain stuck at the bottom rungs of Arnstein’s ladder? There are several holistic models of citizen participation that enable us to analyse particular participation processes when looking for an answer to this question (e.g. Ansell and Gash 2008; Emerson, Nabatchi and Balogh 2012; Farrington et al. 1993: 102–9). A very well-­known one is Fung’s elaborate ‘democracy cube’: a three-­dimensional

38 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Table 2.2. The ‘9-cell model’. A practical and theoretical model of interactive governance suited to designing and analysing interactive decision-making processes. Source: Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek, p. 23. PHASE

DIMENSION

Architecture

Actions

Results

Content

framework

input stakeholders

substantive results

Process

design of process

process evolution and process management

degree of agreement and conflict

Power

access and decisionmaking mechanisms

use of resources, powering

degree of influence

model that, in his own words, is organized along the following axes: ‘(1) Who participates? (2) How do they communicate and make decisions? (3) What influence do they have over the resulting public decisions and actions?’ (2015: 515; see also Fung 2006). A model that we ourselves have positive experiences with is a 9-­cell matrix drawn up by Edelenbos et al. (2006). It consists of three columns and three rows. The columns represent phases: a participatory process is designed, it proceeds through the actions of the participants, and it leads to results. The process design, drawn up in the first phase, will determine how much capacity the participants have to exert power later. On the rows we find different dimensions: the contents of the participation, the process itself and the power dimension. A fourth dimension, pertaining to the ‘institutional embedding’ of a participatory trajectory, is left out of the model by the authors because the three phases they discern are less applicable to it. It is about the relationship between a participatory process and formal decision-­making procedures. The matrix below shows the exact contents of each cell (Edelenbos, Klok and Van Tatenhove 2009; Edelenbos et al. 2006; Van Tatenhove, Edelenbos and Klok 2010). The authors have also drawn up a version of this matrix in which the cells are filled with the questions researchers need to ask themselves about a particular interactive governance project (Edelenbos et al. 2006: 31–32). Edelenbos et al. (2006) apply their model to eight concrete cases and find that the possibilities for genuine influence are severely limited. This is because they are either designed out from the outset, or the results reached

Interacting with Governance  •  39

by citizen participation are not adopted by formal government institutions after the process is completed. The main reason behind this is the unhappy marriage between the direct forms of democracy that citizen participation entails, and the system of representative democracy surrounding it (Edelenbos et al. 2006: 72, 78, 87–89, 106–7, 111–12); something that has been observed more often (Hertting and Kugelberg 2017; Klijn and Skelcher 2007; Mayer, Edelenbos and Monnikhof 2005; Newman et al. 2004; Røiseland and Vabo 2016). Although there are theories of ‘post-­ liberal’ or ‘deliberative democracy’ that see citizen participation as a necessary supplement to representative democracy (Dryzek 2007; Esmark 2007; Hajer and Wagenaar 2003b; Klijn and Skelcher 2007: 594–96; Sørensen and Torfing 2005: 200 and 2007a, 2007b; 2009), there is a danger of creating a ‘democratic deficit’ when citizen participation and representative democracy are combined. Torfing et al. give several reasons for this. Participants are often unrepresentative and unelected ‘usual suspects’ who work outside the reach of public scrutiny and therefore evade accountability. As there is no limit to the number of issues they can potentially deal with, they decrease the public sphere (Torfing et al. 2012: 187–88). Although they are enthusiastic about post-­liberal theories of democracy, Torfing and Sørensen state that these can only apply if citizen participation is firmly ‘democratically anchored’. According to these authors, there are four ‘anchorage points’ participatory projects need to be connected to (Sørensen and Torfing 2005; Torfing et al. 2012: 195–202). To quote them literally, such projects have to: 1. [be] monitored y democratically elected politicians 2. represent the membership basis of the participating groups and organizations; 3. [be] accountable to a territorially defined citizenry; 4. facilitate negotiated interaction in accordance with a commonly accepted democratic grammar of conduct. (Torfing et al. 2012: 191)

The authors elaborate on their anchorage points and provide sets of questions for each point (Sørensen and Torfing 2005; Torfing et al. 2012). These questions can be used to assess whether they have succeeded in diminishing the democratic deficit. There is also a family of evaluation criteria, which can be used for this purpose; Leach’s framework is the best known (Leach 2006). A different example is Torfing (2006b: 127). Of course, we would do well to be realistic about the level of participation that is desirable and possible. Not every project requires the same level of attention, nor does everyone need to participate to the same degree. In the words of Cornwall:

40 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

different kinds of participation imply significantly different levels of engagement. Information can be made available to every one, although whether it actually reaches people is another matter. But involving everyone in planning would be a logistical nightmare. Monitoring takes time and might only involve a dedicated few; implementation might involve only particular kinds of ‘beneficiary’; consultation exercises can only ever reach a small proportion of the population and might aim for representation rather than coverage. (Cornwall 2008b: 280)

One might also ask, as some political philosophers do, what is meant by ‘representation’. Is it always necessary to have citizen participants sociologically mirror the people affected by the policy they are deciding on? Is it enough (O’Neill 2001)? Moreover, we should remain aware of the fact that citizens and government officials are not the only groups interacting on the citizen participation form of interactive governance. A third group that often plays a role are the experts, to whom heritage scholars have devoted much attention (Hølleland and Skrede 2019; Silberman 2014; Smith 2006). According to Edelenbos, Van Buuren and Van Schie, these three groups represent different kinds of knowledge – ‘expert knowledge’, ‘administrative knowledge’ and ‘stakeholder knowledge’ – that compete with each other. The groups form coalitions, and which kinds of knowledge ultimately prevail is thus a political question (Edelenbos, Van Buuren and Van Schie 2011: 676; Van Buuren and Edelenbos 2008). Often they do not stand neatly opposite to one another but form what Sabatier has called ‘advocacy coalitions’, each consisting of representatives from all three groups. The reason these coalitions fight each other has to do with incommensurable value conflicts (Sabatier and Jenkins-­Smith 1993; Van Buuren and Edelenbos 2004). Heritage scholars and practitioners, confronted with this situation, might want to take a look at what Public Administration scholars have written about the strategies used in public administration to enable policymaking in spite of the incommensurability of values (Grotenbreg and Altamirano 2019; Steenhuisen 2009; Stewart 2006; Thacher and Rein 2004). A final word on the scope of citizen participation. In the above, it has been tacitly applied to every phase in the policy cycle, from agenda-­setting to implementation, and to every possible subject the participants could decide on. Among Public Administration scholars, though, at present, research on the ‘co-­production’ and ‘co-­creation’ of services is evolving into a separate field of interest. Heritage scholars engaging with services would do well to be aware of this (Bovaird and Loeffler 2016; Brandsen, Steen and Verschuere 2018; Nabatchi, Sancino and Sicilia 2017; Voorberg, Bekkers and Tummers 2015).

Interacting with Governance  •  41

Governing the CPR The problem with bottom-­up closed forms of interactive governance, ‘governing the CPR’, is famously illustrated by Garrett Hardin in his parable of herdsmen sharing a common pasture. For individual shepherds, the rational course of action would be to let their flock grow as large as possible. Yet, should every herdsman do so, the common p ­ asture – a­ lso called ‘common pool resource’ (CPR) – would be rapidly depleted. So what is rational for the individual shepherd is irrational for the collective of all herdsmen: individual and collective rationality clash. Because the herdsmen individually reap the rewards of augmenting their flocks but the costs of doing so are borne by the collective, individual rationality defeats collective rationality. The inevitable result of this is that the CPR is destroyed: ‘the tragedy of the commons’. Solutions to this problem are government interference, Hardin states, or the creation of private property. The shepherds themselves can never solve it (Hardin 1968). Ostrom, who has studied communities governing CPRs all over the world, however, finds that they often do manage to govern their commons. She has constructed a methodology to study them systematically and finds that they are able to work out ways of solving their ‘collective action problem’ if their governing structures conform to eight design principles (Ostrom 1990). Bottom-­up organized heritage communities can be seen as groups that govern a CPR, and there is a small body of Heritage Studies literature that views them in this way by applying Ostrom’s design principles (e.g. Zhang 2012). After all, overuse of a CPR is a phenomenon that occurs in the heritage world as well. If heritage is spatial, it has a maximum carrying capacity that can be overstretched. If intangible heritage becomes too popular with tourists, it runs the risk of being altered to suit the tourists’ tastes, losing authenticity in the process (Buzio and Re 2012: 184). That Ostrom’s work has been adopted by Heritage Studies scholars is not surprising, as it is a well-­known and powerful framework. There are, however, more ways of looking at bottom-­up closed forms of interactive governance. Brandsen rightly remarks that there is a second strand of Public Administration research studying such structures. It is the body of literature that takes Putnam’s ideas about civil society organizations as a starting point (Brandsen 2016: 344). Introducing nowadays familiar concepts like ‘bonding and bridging social capital’, Putnam observes that voluntary bottom-­up organizations are essential for the economic success of a society, the preservation of its democracy, and good governance (Putnam 1993, 2000). Examples of the use of his ideas in PA are Van Dam, During and Salvera (2014) or Dekker and Uslaner (2001). These ideas are making

42 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

inroads in Heritage Studies as well (e.g. Tuinder and Broers 2017). In Public Administration, they have resulted in research on bottom-­up ‘community initiatives’, dealing with the motivations to participate in them, their representativeness, effectiveness and factors for success, and with new inequalities caused by the fact that some communities may lack the resources to successfully self-­organize (Denters 2016; Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2016; Igalla, Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2019; 2020; Nederhand, Bekkers and Voorberg 2016).

Governing the Public Good Around 1995, a new type of commons, the so-­called ‘knowledge commons’, inspired by phenomena that had recently appeared on the Internet, gained scientific attention (Hess and Ostrom 2007: 4; Hess 2008: 2–3). Kollock, who was among the first to study these commons, found they differed from the ‘natural commons’ described by Ostrom in that they were organized around a ‘public good’ rather than a CPR. A ‘public good’, Kollock explained, differs from a CPR in that it lacks ‘excludability’ and ‘rivalry’. For example, it is not possible to exclude people from reading Usenet posts, as Kollock illustrates. Nor do they decrease from use, hence the lack of ‘rivalry’. This has important consequences. If no one can be excluded from using the Usenet, there is a risk of ‘free riding’: many people might consume its posts without ever contributing themselves. This in its turn might lead to collective action problems similar to the tragedy of the commons. The danger this time is not overuse, as there is no ‘rivalry’. It becomes underproduction, as potential contributors to Usenet might refuse to contribute if other users do not post messages in return. Coordination also becomes more difficult. Kollock then asks what motivates users to contribute nonetheless and suggests a few incentives (Kollock and Smith 1996; Kollock 1999), which other scholars have later added to (e.g. George 2007). According to Hess, Kollock’s study belongs to a new strand in commons research, which she calls the ‘new commons’ literature. She has made a ­classification of these new commons, wherein knowledge c­ ommons – ­but also the cultural commons we covered in the previous ­section – ­form a part (Hess 2008: 2–3, 5). Contrary to Kollock, though, she does not see them as organized around a public good but rather around a CPR (2008: 37, 39). Hess makes it convincingly clear that cultural commons are not always lacking in rivalry. She illustrates this with the example of the annual cheese rolling competition in Gloucester, which grew so popular that it had to be cancelled in 2010, thus clearly constituting a CPR that could be overstretched (Hess 2012: 19). Kollock, too, acknowledges that classic examples of public

Interacting with Governance  •  43

g­ oods  – h ­ e mentions lighthouses and fireworks ­displays – ­in ­principle do know rivalry yet cannot be easily overused. However, this does not apply to the digital commons he has studied. These are pure forms (Kollock 1999). Zhang solves the puzzle by explaining that the heritage at the heart of cultural commons can have either CPR, public good or ‘club good’ features (Zhang 2012: 159). In this section, we turn our attention to cultural commons that exhibit public good characteristics. And it is with the term ‘club goods’ or ‘toll goods’ (Hess and Ostrom 2007: 9) that we really enter the realm of dangers threatening cultural commons. That they may suffer from collective action problems has already become clear. Hess observes that many who write about cultural commons see ‘enclosures’ as another menace. Private parties might be able to seize and commodify cultural commons, and thus demand a fee for their use (Hess 2008: 14–15; 2012: 27–28; Bertacchini et al. 2012b: 3), transforming them into ‘toll goods’. Since many supposedly public goods are in reality state owned, as Garnett notes (Garnett 2011), there is also a risk that government will do so. In the previous section, we have seen how this might jeopardize the carrying capacity or authenticity of a particular heritage (Buzio and Re 2012: 184). But the reverse might be more problematic. So far we have discussed the degree to which a cultural commons is open to users, but what really sets the management of this type of resource apart from the other forms of interactive governance is its openness to producers (Madison, Frischmann and Strandburg 2010: 694–96). The fact that it is difficult to prevent people from participating in the creation of a public good entails major risks, especially pollution. George has looked into the ways Wikipedia deals with this (2007: 16–20). Heritage scholars Fiorentino and Friel have done a similar exercise for Italian futurism and Milanese design (2012).

Consequences for the Community Heritage Discourse As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, the reason behind Critical Heritage Studies’ desire to use interactive governance is the empowerment of communities, enabling them to articulate their own ‘community heritage discourse’. Next, we looked at what Public Administration scholars have to say about interactive governance. How does what they say relate to the participatory ambition of Critical Heritage Studies? From the study of Public Administration literature, it becomes clear that ‘stakeholder participation’ often consists of a jumble of heterogeneous participants involved in complicated politicking. Representatives of the ‘community’, assuming that such a thing even exists (Waterton and

44 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Smith 2010: 8), can easily be crushed in this process, together with their heritage discourse. ‘Citizen participation’, the second form of interactive governance we have discussed, often entails large government influence and therefore ample opportunities for furthering the AHD. Even when that does not happen, the representatives of the community taking part in it may consist of elite ‘usual suspects’, who could push their own AHD. CPRs run the risk of being overused, often for touristic reasons, which can lead to the dominance of commercial AHDs. A similar danger looms for public goods, in the case of enclosure by government or private parties. They are also threatened by another collective action problem; namely, underproduction. In cases where they are ­produced – ­Kollock has shown that there is an incentive structure that makes this ­possible – ­we must realize a relatively small group of public good producers can serve a large group of consumers. This production elite could very well be using the opportunity to further an AHD in the process. But, for now, most of this is still theoretical speculation. In the remainder of this book, several of the authors will address whether the dangers to the community heritage discourse we described based on theory also occur in practice. First, however, as promised in the introduction, we will pay attention to the machine language underlying much thought on interactive policymaking: Habermasian notions of the ideal speech situation. Dr Pieter Wagenaar is an assistant professor at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His research interests are the history of administration and the administration of history. At present, he is focused on interactive governance in the heritage sector. He is involved in the HERILAND project: a pan-­European research and training network on cultural heritage in relation to Spatial Planning and Design. Jeroen Rodenberg has an MA in Medieval History and a MSc in Public Administration (Leiden University). He is a lecturer and Ph.D. candidate at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, with research interests in heritage governance and policy and the history of public administration. He is involved in the pan-­ European research and training project on heritage planning HERILAND. Currently, he is completing his dissertational research on competing heritage policy discourses in decision-­making processes.

Interacting with Governance  •  45

NOTES 1. For a genealogy of this trinity, see Provan and Kenis (2008: 232); for the exact differences between the modes: Sørensen and Torfing (2005: 197–98). 2. Kahane et al. (2013) calls this ‘citizen participation’ as opposed to ‘stakeholder participation’; Bingham (2011: 386) makes a distinction between ‘collaboration with and among organizations’ and ‘collaboration with the public’; Røiseland and Vabo speak of ‘citizen-­induced and government-­induced interactive governance’ (2016: 121); Van Stokkom of ‘citizen forums’ versus ‘stakeholder committees’ (2005: 389). 3. The ladder is also known amongst heritage studies scholars, e.g. Jackson and Schmisseur (2016: 258).

References Agranoff, R. 2006. ‘Inside Collaborative Networks: Ten Lessons for Public Managers’, Public Administration Review 66: 56–65. ———. 2007. Managing Within Networks: Adding Value to Public Organizations. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press. Agranoff, R., and M. McGuire. 2001. ‘Big Questions in Public Network Management Research’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 11(3): 295– 326. Alonso González, P., D. González-­Álvarez and J. Roura-­Expósito. 2018. ‘ParticiPat: Exploring the Impact of Participatory Governance in the Heritage Field’, PoLAR: Political and Legal Anthropology Review 41(2): 306–18. Ansell, C., and A. Gash. 2008. ‘Collaborative Governance in Theory and Practice’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 18(4): 543–71. Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24. Bertacchini, E. et al. (eds). 2012a. Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham/Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing. ———. 2012b. ‘Defining Cultural Commons’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham/Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 3–18. Bingham, L.B. 2011. ‘Collaborative Governance’, in M. Bevir (ed.), The SAGE Handbook of Governance. London: SAGE Publications, pp. 386–401. Börzel, T.A., and T. Risse. 2010. ‘Governance without a State: Can it Work?’, Regulation & Governance 4(2): 113–34. Bovaird, T., and E. Loeffler. 2016. ‘What Has Co-­Production Ever Done for Interactive Governance?’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 254–77. Brandsen, T. 2016. ‘Governments and Self-­Organization: A Hedgehog’s Dilemma’, in J.  Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive

46 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 337–51. Brandsen, T., T. Steen and B. Verschuere (eds). 2018. Co-Production and Co-Creation: Engaging Citizens in Public Services. New York, NY/Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. Brandsen, T., W. Trommel and B. Verschuere. 2017. ‘The State and the Reconstruction of Civil Society’, International Review of Administrative Sciences 83(4): 676– 93. Brisbois, M.C., and R.C. de Loë. 2016. ‘Power in Collaborative Approaches to Governance for Water: A Systematic Review’, Society & Natural Resources 29(7): 775–90. Buzio, A., and A. Re. 2012. ‘Cultural Commons and New Concepts Behind the Recognition and Management of UNESCO World Heritage Sites’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham /Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 178–93. Caspersen, O.H. 2009. ‘Public Participation in Strengthening Cultural Heritage: The Role of Landscape Assessment in Denmark’, Danish Journal of Geography 109: 33–45. Castells, M. 1996. The Rise of the Network Society: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture Vol. I. Cambridge, MA/Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. ———. The Power of Identity: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture Vol. II. Cambridge, MA/Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. ———. 1998. End of Millennium: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture Vol. III. Cambridge, MA/Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Chirikure, S. et al. 2010. ‘Unfulfilled Promises? Heritage Management and Community Participation at Some of Africa’s Cultural Heritage Sites’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 30–44. Chitty, G. (ed.). 2017. Heritage, Conservation and Communities: Engagement, Participation and Capacity Building. New York: Routledge. Cornwall, A. 2008a. Democratising Engagement: What the UK Can Learn from International Experience. London: Demos. ———. 2008b. ‘Unpacking “Participation”: Models, Meanings and Practices’, Community Development Journal 43(3): 269–83. Cortés-­Vázquez, J., G. Jiménes-­Esquinas and C. Sánchez-­Carretero. 2017. ‘Heritage and Participatory Governance: An Analysis of Political Strategies and Social Fractures in Spain’, Anthropology Today 33(1): 15–18. Crooke, E. 2010. ‘The Politics of Community Heritage: Motivations, Authority and Control’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 16–29. Dekker, P., and E.M. Uslaner (eds). 2001. Social Capital and Participation in Everyday Life. London/New York: Routledge. Denters, B. 2016. ‘Community Self-­Organization: Potentials and Pitfalls’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: SelfOrganization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 230–53. Donahue, J.D., and R.J. Zeckhauser. 2012. Collaborative Governance: Private Roles for Public Goals in Turbulent Times. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Interacting with Governance  •  47

Dryzek, J. 2002. Deliberative Democracy and Beyond: Liberals, Critics, Contestations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dryzek, J.S. 2007. ‘Networks and Democratic Ideals: Equality, Freedom, and Communication’, in E. Sørensen and J. Torfing (eds), Theories of Democratic Network Governance. Basingstoke/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 262–96. Edelenbos, J., and I. van Meerkerk. 2016. ‘Introduction: Three Reflecting Perspectives on Interactive Governance’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 1–28. Edelenbos, J., P.J. Klok and J.P.M. van Tatenhove. 2009. ‘The Institutional Embedding of Interactive Policy Making: Insights from a Comparative Research Based on Eight Interactive Projects in the Netherlands’, The American Review of Public Administration 39(2): 125–48. Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs [Citizens as policy advisors]. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek. Edelenbos, J., A. van Buuren and N. van Schie. 2011. ‘Co-­Producing Knowledge: Joint Knowledge Production between Experts, Bureaucrats and Stakeholders in Dutch Water Management Projects’, Environmental Science & Policy 14(6): 675–84. Emerson, K., T. Nabatchi and S. Balogh. 2012. ‘An Integrative Framework for Collaborative Governance’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 22(1): 1–29. Esmark, A. 2007. ‘Democratic Accountability and Network ­Governance – ­Problems and Potentials’, in E. Sørensen and J. Torfing (eds), Theories of Democratic Network Governance. Basingstoke/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 274–96. Farrington, J. et al. 1993. Reluctant Partners: Non-Governmental Organisations, the State and Sustainable Agricultural Development in Latin America. London: Routledge. Fiorentino, P., and M. Friel. 2012. ‘Structure and Evolution of Two Cultural Commons: Italian Futurism and Milanese Design’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham /Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 107–28. Fredheim, L.H. 2019. ‘Sustaining Public Agency in Caring for Heritage: Critical Perspectives on Participation through Co-­Creation’, Ph.D. thesis. University of York. Fung, A. 2006. ‘Varieties of Participation in Complex Governance’, Public Administration Review 66(1): 66–75. ———. 2015. ‘Putting the Public Back into Governance: The Challenges of Citizen Participation and Its Future’, Public Administration Review 75(4): 513–22. Fung, A., and E.O. Wright (eds). 2003. Deepening Democracy: Institutional Innovations in Empowered Participatory Governance. London: Verso. Garnett, N.S. 2011. ‘Managing the Urban Commons’, University of Pennsylvania: Law Review 160: 1995–2027. George, A. 2007. ‘Avoiding Tragedy in the Wiki-­Commons’, Virginia Journal of Law and Technology 12(8): 1–23. Gould, P. 2018. Empowering Communities through Archaeology and Heritage: The Role of Governance in Economic Development. London: Bloomsbury.

48 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Graham, H., and J. Vergunst (eds). 2019. Heritage as Community Research: Legacies of Co-Production. Bristol: Bristol University Press. Grotenbreg, S., and M. Altamirano. 2019. ‘Government Facilitation of External Initiatives: How Dutch Water Authorities Cope with Value Dilemmas’, International Journal of Water Resources Development 35(3): 465–90. Gulick, L. 1937. ‘Notes on the Theory of Organization’, in L. Gulick and L. Urwick (eds), Papers on the Science of Administration. New York: Institute for Public Administration, pp. 1–46. Hajer, M.A., and H. Wagenaar (eds). 2003a. Deliberative Policy Analysis: Understanding  Governance in the Network Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2003b. ‘Introduction’, in M.A. Hajer and H. Wagenaar (eds), Deliberative Policy Analysis: Understanding Governance in the Network Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–30. Hardin, G. 1968. ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, Science 162: 1243–48. Hertting, N., and C. Kugelberg (eds). 2017. Local Participatory Governance and Representative Democracy: Institutional Dilemmas in European Cities. London: Routledge. Hess, C. 2008. ‘Mapping the New Commons’, SSRN. Retrieved 20 May 2021 from http://​ dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.1356835. ———. 2012. ‘Constructing a New Research Agenda for Cultural Commons’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham / Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 19–35. Hess, C., and E. Ostrom. 2007. ‘Introduction: An Overview of the Knowledge Commons’, in C. Hess and E. Ostrom (eds), Understanding Knowledge as a Commons: From Theory to Practice. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 3–26. Hølleland, H., and J. Skrede. 2019. ‘What’s Wrong with Heritage Experts? An Interdisciplinary Discussion of Experts and Expertise in Heritage Studies’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 25(8): 825–36. Huxham, C. 2003. ‘Theorizing Collaboration Practice’, Public Management Review 5(3): 401–23. Huxham, C., and S. Vangen. 2005. Managing to Collaborate: The Theory and Practice of Collaborative Advantage. London/New York: Routledge. Huxham, C. et al. 2000. ‘The Challenge of Collaborative Governance’, Public Management an International Journal of Research and Theory 2(3): 337–58. Ianniello, M. et al. 2019. ‘Obstacles and Solutions on the Ladder of Citizen Participation: A Systematic Review’, Public Management Review 21(1): 21–46. Igalla, M., J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk. 2019. ‘Citizens in Action, What Do They Accomplish? A Systematic Literature Review of Citizen Initiatives, Their Main Characteristics, Outcomes, and Factors’, Voluntas: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations 30(5): 1176–194. ———. 2020. ‘What Explains the Performance of Community-­ Based Initiatives? Testing the Impact of Leadership, Social Capital, Organizational Capacity, and Government Support’, Public Management Review 22(4): 602–32. Jackson, S., and A. Schmisseur. 2016. ‘SPAB Maintenance Co-­ops: A Move Towards

Interacting with Governance  •  49

Meaningful Participation?’, in G. Chitty (ed.), Heritage, Conservation and Communities. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 254–66. Jessop, B. 2002. The Future of the Capitalist State. Cambridge: Polity Press. Kahane, D. et al. 2013. ‘Stakeholder and Citizen Roles in Public Deliberation’, Journal of Public Deliberation 9(2). Klijn, E.-H. 2016. ‘The Managerial Aspect of Interactive Governance’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: SelfOrganization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 425–43. Klijn, E.-H., and J.F.M. Koppenjan. 2015. Governance Networks in the Public Sector. Abingdon, Oxon/New York: Routledge. Klijn, E.-H., and C. Skelcher. 2007. ‘Democracy and Governance Networks: Compatible or Not?’, Public Administration 85(3): 587–608. Klijn, E.-H., B. Steijn and J. Edelenbos. 2010. ‘The Impact of Network Management on Outcomes in Governance Networks’, Public Administration 88(4): 1063–82. Kollock, P. 1999. ‘The Economies of Online Cooperation: Gifts and Public Goods in Cyberspace’, in M.A. Smith and P. Kollock (eds), Communities in Cyberspace. London: Routledge, pp. 220–39. Kollock, P., and M. Smith. 1996. ‘Managing the Virtual Commons: Cooperation and Conflict in Computer Communities’, in S. Herring (ed.), Computer-Mediated Communication: Linguistic, Social, and Cross-Cultural Perspectives. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, pp. 109–28. Korostelina, A.V. 2019. ‘Understanding Values of Cultural Heritage within the Framework of Social Identity Conflicts’, in E. Avrami, S. Macdonald, R. Mason and D. Myers (eds), Values in Heritage Management: Emerging Approaches and Research Directions. Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, pp. 83–96. Lähdesmäki, T. 2019. ‘Conflicts and Reconciliation in Postmillennial Heritage-­Policy Discourses of the Council of Europe and the European Union’, in T. Lähdesmäki, L. Passerini, S. Kaasik-­Krogerus and I. van Huis (eds), Dissonant Heritages and Memories in Contemporary Europe. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 25–50. Landorf, C. 2009. ‘A Framework for Sustainable Heritage Management: A Study of UK Industrial Heritage Sites’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 15(6): 494–510. Leach, W.D. 2006. ‘Collaborative Public Management and Democracy: Evidence from Western Watershed Partnerships’, Public Administration Review 66(SUPP/1): 100–10. Lennox, R. 2016. ‘Heritage and Politics in the Public Value Era: An Analysis of the Historic Environment Sector, the Public, and the State in England since 1997’, Ph.D. thesis. University of York. Li, J. et al. 2020a. ‘Community Participation in Cultural Heritage Management: A Systematic Literature Review Comparing Chinese and International Practices’, Cities 96: 1–9. Li, J. et al. 2020b. ‘State-­of-­the-­Practice: Assessing Community Participation Within Chinese Cultural World Heritage Properties’, Habitat International 96: 1–11. Madison, M.J., B.M. Frischmann and K.J. Strandburg. 2010. ‘Constructing Commons in the Cultural Environment’, Cornell Law Review 95(4): 657–710. Marcussen, M., and H.P. Olsen. 2006. ‘Transcending Analytical Cliquishness with

50 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

Second-­ Generation Governance Network Analysis’, in M. Marcussen and J. Torfing (eds), Democratic Network Governance in Europe. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 273–92. Mayer, I., J. Edelenbos and R. Monnikhof. 2005. ‘Interactive Policy Development: Undermining or Sustaining Democracy’, Public Administration 83(1): 179–99. McLaverty, P. 2011. ‘Participation’, in M. Bevir (ed.), The SAGE Handbook of Governance. London: SAGE Publications, pp. 402–18. Mouffe, C. 1999. ‘Deliberative Democracy or Agonistic Pluralism?’, Social Research 66(3): 745–58. Nabatchi, T., A. Sancino and M. Sicilia. 2017. ‘Varieties of Participation in Public Services: The Who, When, and What of Coproduction’, Public Administration Review 77(5): 766–76. Neal, C. 2015. ‘Heritage and Participation’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 346–65. Nederhand, J., V. Bekkers and W. Voorberg. 2016. ‘Self-­Organization and the Role of Government: How and Why Does Self-­Organization Evolve in the Shadow of Hierarchy?’, Public Management Review 18(7): 1063–84. Newman, J., M. Barnes, H. Sullivan and A. Knops. 2004. ‘Public Participation and Collaborative Governance’, Journal of Social Policy 33(2): 203–23. Onciul, B., M.L. Stefano and S. Hawke (eds). 2017. Engaging Heritage, Engaging Communities. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. O’Neill, J. 2001. ‘Representing People, Representing Nature, Representing the World’, Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy 19(4): 483–500. Ostrom, E. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Patterson, K.L. et al. 2016. ‘Public Engagement, Governance and the Pursuit of Equity in Contemporary Urban Revitalization: Community Benefits Agreements (CBAS) with Public versus Nonprofit Developers’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 317–36. Perkin, C. 2010. ‘Beyond the Rhetoric: Negotiating the Politics and Realising the Potential of Community-­Driven Heritage Engagement’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 107–22. Prangnell, J., A. Ross and B. Coghill. 2010. ‘Power Relations and Community Involvement in Landscape-­Based Cultural Heritage Management Practice: An Australian Case Study’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 140–55. Provan, K.G., and P. Kenis. 2008. ‘Modes of Network Governance: Structure, Management, and Effectiveness’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 18(2): 229–52. Putnam, R. 1993. Making Democracy Work. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ———. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. London: Simon and Schuster. Rittel, H., and M. Webber. 1973. ‘Dilemma’s in a General Theory of Planning’, Policy Sciences 4(2): 155–69.

Interacting with Governance  •  51

Robertson, P.J., and T. Choi. 2012. ‘Deliberation, Consensus, and Stakeholder Satisfaction: A Simulation of Collaborative Governance’, Public Management Review 14(1): 83–103. Røiseland, A., and S.I. Vabo. 2016. ‘­Interactive – o ­ r ­Counteractive – G ­ overnance? Lessons Learned about Citizen Participation and Political Leadership’, in J.  Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: SelfOrganization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 120–45. Sabatier, P.A., and H.C. Jenkins-­Smith. 1993. Policy Change and Learning: An Advocacy Coalition Approach. Boulder, CO: Westview. Salamon, L. 2002. ‘The New Governance and the Tools of Public Action: An Introduction’, in L. Salamon (ed.), The Tools of Government: A Guide to the New Governance. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 1–47. Scharpf, F.W. 1997. Games Real Actors Play: Actor-Centered Institutionalism in Policy Research. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Schauppenlehner-­ Kloyber, E., and M. Penker. 2016. ‘Between Participation and Collective Action: from Occasional Liaisons towards Long-­Term Co-­Management for Urban Resilience’, Sustainability 8(7). Silberman, N. 2014. ‘Changing Visions of Heritage Value: What Role Should the Experts Play?’, Ethnologies 36(1–2): 433–45. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Sørensen, E., and J. Torfing. 2005. ‘The Democratic Anchorage of Governance Networks’, Scandinavian Political Studies 28(3): 195–218. ———. 2007a. ‘Introduction: Governance Network Research: Towards a Second Generation’, in E. Sørensen and J. Torfing (eds), Theories of Democratic Network Governance. Basingstoke/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1–21. ———. 2007b. ‘Theoretical Approaches to Democratic Network Governance’, in E. Sørensen and J. Torfing (eds), Theories of Democratic Network Governance. Basingstoke/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 233–46. ———. 2009. ‘The Politics of Self-­Governance in Meso-­Level Theories’, in E. Sørensen and P. Triantafillou (eds), The Politics of Self-Governance. Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, pp. 43–59. ———. 2016. ‘Political Leadership in the Age of Interactive Governance: Reflections on the Political Aspects of Metagovernance’, in J. Edelenbos and I. van Meerkerk (eds), Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance: Self-Organization and Participation in Public Governance. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 444–66. Steenhuisen, B. 2009. ‘Competing Public Values: Coping Strategies in Heavily Regulated Utility Industries’, Ph.D. thesis. TU Delft. Stewart, J. 2006. ‘Value Conflict and Policy Change’, Review of Policy Research 23(1): 183–95. Thacher, D., and M. Rein. 2004. ‘Managing Value Conflict in Public Policy’, Governance 17(4): 457–86. Thomson, A.M., J.L. Perry and T.K. Miller. 2009. ‘Conceptualizing and Measuring Collaboration’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 19(1): 23– 56. Torfing, J. 2006a. ‘Introduction: Democratic Network Governance’, in M. Marcussen

52 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

and J. Torfing (eds), Democratic Network Governance in Europe. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1–22. ———. 2006b. ‘Discursive Governance Networks in Danish Activation Policy’, in M. Marcussen and J. Torfing (eds), Democratic Network Governance in Europe. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 111–29. Torfing, J. et al. 2012. Interactive Governance: Advancing the Paradigm. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tuinder, M., and B. Broers. 2017. Vrijwilligers & erfgoed in Noord-Brabant: een verkenning van de dynamiek van lokale erfgoedgemeenschappen [Volunteers and heritage in Noord-­Brabant: An exploration of the dynamics of local heritage communities]. Tilburg: het PON. Van Buuren, A., and J. Edelenbos. 2004. ‘Why is Joint Knowledge Production Such a Problem?, Science and Public Policy 31(4): 289–99. ———. 2008. ‘Kennis en kunde voor participatie: dilemma’s voor legitimiteit in de participatiemaatschappij’ [Knowledge and skills for participation: Dilemmas for legitimacy in the participation society], in G. Alberts, M. Blankesteijn, B. Broekhans and Y. Tilborgh (eds), Burger in uitvoering: Jaarboek Kennissamenleving 4. Amsterdam: Aksant, pp. 184–213. Van Dam, R.I., R. During and I.E. Salvera. 2014. ‘Strategies of Citizens’ Initiatives in the Netherlands: Connecting People and Institutions’, Critical Policy Studies 8(3): 323–39. Van Gool, B. 2008. ‘Waarom beleidsparticipatie door “gewone” burgers meestal faalt: een reconstructie van de oorzaken van participatieve verdamping’ [Why participation by ‘ordinary’ citizens usually fails: A reconstruction of the causes of participatory evaporation], Res Publica: politiek-wetenschappelijk tijdschrift van de Lage Landen 50(1): 31–59. Van Stokkom, B. 2005. ‘Deliberative Group Dynamics: Power, Status and Affect in Interactive Policy Making’, Policy & Politics 33(3): 387–409. Van Tatenhove, J., J. Edelenbos and P.J. Klok. 2010. ‘Power and Interactive Policy-­ Making: A Comparative Study of Power and Influence in 8 Interactive Projects in the Netherlands’, Public Administration 88(3): 609–26. Verschuere, B. et al. 2018. ‘Democratic Co-­Production: Concepts and Determinants’, in T. Brandsen, T. Steen and B. Verschuere (eds), Co-Production and Co-Creation: Engaging Citizens in Public Services. New York and London: Routledge, pp. 244–45. Voorberg, W.H., V.J.J.M. Bekkers and L.G. Tummers. 2015. ‘A Systematic Review of Co-­ Creation and Co-­Production: Embarking on the Social Innovation Journey’, Public Management Review 17(9): 1333–57. Waterton, E., and L. Smith. 2010. ‘The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 4–15. Zhang, Y. 2012. ‘Heritage as Cultural Commons: Towards an Institutional Approach of Self Governance’, in E. Bertacchini, G. Bravo, M. Marrelli and W. Santagata (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 153–77.

8 CHAPTER 3 From ‘Democratic Turn’ to ‘Agonistic Approach’ Understanding Participation from the Perspective of Mouffe’s Agonistic Pluralism Jarik Chambille

Introduction In discussing the nature and idea of heritage, Laurajane Smith (2006) argues for a shift in attention away from material objects traditionally identified as ‘heritage’ because of their assumed inherent monumental and aesthetic value to the discursive construction of heritage and the cultural and social processes that are undertaken at and around heritage sites. She notices a dominant discourse in constructing heritage and heritage practices. This ‘Authorized Heritage Discourse’ (AHD) is criticized by her for ‘granting’ mainly experts (archaeologists, museum curators, resource managers …) the sole right to decide on the interpretation and meaning of heritage. Smith shows how this leads to the exclusion of cultural communities from heritage practices. By emphasizing the ‘universality’ of some specific and mainly Western cultural heritage values and claiming scientific objectivity, the AHD renders public debate on interpretation and meaning of heritage almost impossible. However, in recent years this pattern appears to be changing. A policy rhetoric on the importance of diversity and social inclusiveness has entered the heritage sector (see, for example, the Delhi Declaration on Heritage and Democracy, ICOMOS 2017). There seems to have been a ‘democratic’ turn in cultural governance in general that also extends to the heritage sector and that can be seen as ‘a reaction to the highly centralized and expert-­based

54 • Jarik Chambille

approaches that dominated the past’ (Cortés-­Vázquez, Jiménez-­Esquinas and Sánchez-­Carretero 2017: 15). An important aspect of this ‘democratization’ trend in the heritage sector is the growing use of interactive governance. Although these participatory initiatives are based on good intentions, they are not above justified criticism. Neal (2015) draws attention to the possibility that interactive heritage governance can provide the appearance of a democratization, and Smith (2006) remarked that top-­down efforts to realize more inclusion in heritage governance often resulted in alternative heritage ideas being assimilated instead of integrated. Such initiatives should be qualified as forms of gestural politics or tokenism instead of genuine participation (Arnstein 1969). I want to take a step back from concrete cases of interactive heritage governance in this contribution and examine the notions of ‘participation’ and ‘inclusiveness’ in a heritage context on a conceptual level: what would more social inclusion through participation actually mean in heritage practices? To answer that question, I will apply the political philosophy of Chantal Mouffe (2000, 2005, 2013) as a perspective. Mouffe is among the leading theorists in what is known as the agonistic approach to democratic politics. The core of this approach is the value attributed to political conflict as a reflection of the democratic vitality significant for generating social change. Following this approach, one has to regard the political community as one that cannot fully include all in the form of a consensual ‘we’ but instead will always be structured ­by – ­sometimes dormant – ‘us/them’ divides. Mouffe’s position is called ‘agonistic pluralism’. These notions go against those of deliberative thinkers such as Jürgen Habermas and John Rawls, who believe instead that full social inclusiveness can be achieved in the form of a rational consensus between the different participants in a political association. They value this rational search for consensus as the central normative ideal of democratic politics. A vital democracy, according to them, needs to overcome societal oppositions and avoid conflict. In the last two decades of the twentieth century, this deliberative approach became the norm in political theory about democracy and participation (Kohn 2000). I will argue, instead, that the agonistic approach to democratic politics offers a more promising perspective than the more accepted deliberative approach for an effective democratization of heritage practices. Successful participation in heritage ­governance – ­that is, an actual ‘redistribution of power that enables the have-­nots, presently ­excluded … ­to be deliberately included in the future’ (Arnstein 1969: 216) – requires participants to formulate an opponent and gain the opportunity to politicize heritage issues if necessary. Since deliberative thinking does not offer any incentive in this

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  55

direction, its approach to democratic politics will probably fall short when used as a model for interactive heritage governance. In this contribution, I will elaborate on the above reasoning step by step. First, I will analyse the current political context of the heritage sector, using mostly the insights of Laurajane Smith (2006). I will conclude this first part of the argument by formulating three typical features of heritage practices that constitute potential problems for interactive governance. In the second part, I will reflect on the solutions the deliberative approach might offer regarding these three potential problems, and I will argue that it falls short in each of them. In the last part of the argument, I will discuss the agonistic approach of Chantal Mouffe and show that her reasoning offers a viable correction to these deliberative shortcomings and proposes a more realistic framework to reflect on interactive heritage governance and the democratization of heritage practices.

Heritage and Politics What is inherent to heritage that makes it, in a sense, political? This is not an easy question to answer, and because of the limited space, I will not try to answer it completely. Instead, I will briefly explain how I perceive the notions of politics and heritage respectively and then touch upon the relations between them. The result of that undertaking is the characterization of heritage practices on the basis of three features that constitute potential problems for interactive heritage governance. Collin Hay (2002), in defining the notion of politics, distinguishes between a broad process approach and a narrower locus approach to the term. Politics understood from a locus approach is delimited by a specific physical place. It only concerns those practices occurring in the formal governmental arena. In the process approach, however, ‘all events, processes and practices which occur within the social sphere [have] the potential to be political’ (Hay 2002: 3). In political philosophy, this ‘potential’ is often labelled as ‘the political’. According to Van der Zweerde (2007: 151), ‘the political’ is not something substantial or thing-­like but exactly that feature that makes something political, political. He agrees with Hay that everything in the social sphere can be politicized. There is a ‘ubiquitous p ­ ossibility … o ­ f real conflict’ in everything social (2007: 151).1 This results from the fact that ‘there is an element of decision in everything human’, and ‘If a decision is recognized as … somebody’s decision (rather than as divine intervention or as belonging to the order of nature), the political that is dormant in it can (but must not) be articulated’ (2007: 151). I will follow Hay and Van

56 • Jarik Chambille

der Zweerde and interpret politics as a process that is not delimited by a specific arena but instead can occur in the entire social sphere. It expresses the possibility of conflict that is immanent in all human decisions, as they, by definition, always exclude at least one other a­ lternative – ­an exclusion that, as it cannot be based on something divine or absolute, is always open to contestation. Regarding the notion of heritage, I will follow Laurajane Smith (2006), who interprets heritage not so much as a ‘thing’ but instead as something that people do – an act or social process engaged with remembering and meaning making. Heritage objects and concrete sites are, in her vision, merely cultural tools that help facilitate these social processes. Heritage is also a process of using (and controlling) the past with the intention and effect of regulating cultural and societal tensions in the present. Smith argues that there is an unequal distribution of this power to control the past, mostly in favour of the experts and professionals working from within the AHD framework. She argues that the exclusion of ‘non-­experts’ from the power to use and control their past is not harmless, as heritage touches upon one of the most fundamental aspects of human beings: the ability to control their own sense of identity and the recognition of their social and cultural experiences by others. Authorized heritage is mostly focused on national narratives in which marginalized or subaltern groups cannot recognize themselves. According to Smith (2006: 36), this is problematic, ‘as it discounts the historical legitimacy of the experiences of these communities and thus the social, cultural and/or political roles they play in the present are ignored or trivialized’. It is important to note, however, that Smith describes these ‘subalterns’ not as passive and defenceless actors. They actively and self-­consciously invoke ­heritage – f­or example, different indigenous communities around the ­world – ­to contest the power position and interpretations of the dominant AHD: ‘heritage thus becomes not only a tool of governance, but also a tool of opposition and subversion’ (Smith 2006: 52). As the process of using the past seems to involve human d ­ ecisions – ­e.g. selections and choices between different interpretations of the ­past – ­it can become the source of contestation and conflict. This reflects the notion of politics as a process defined above. Conflict in heritage practices is mostly apparent in what is called ‘dissonant heritage’. Smith (2006: 191) notices that dissonance ‘must be understood as integral to all expressions of “heritage”, as heritage in expressing identity is inherently an expression of not only who you are but also who others are not, and this will always provoke opposition and, at times, confrontational exchanges between groups …’. I consider this conflictual element a first feature of heritage practices that could form a potential problem for interactive heritage governance.

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  57

The AHD, however, systematically ‘works’ to conceal this conflictual element by materializing all heritage and employing a ‘neutral’ scientific language (Smith 2006). This scientification of heritage depoliticizes it, serving to make it manageable for professionals. The ‘universal’ values of the AHD simply deny ‘the possibility of dissonance’ (Smith 2006: 110). The already mentioned privileged position of experts in the AHD plays an important role in these depoliticization processes. On the role of experts in general, Scott (2001: 108) states: ‘The apparent neutrality of expertise obscures its character as ­power … ­Expert knowledge works this way because of the knowledge-­gap between experts and those who depend on them’. Heritage experts indeed seem to mediate, to a certain degree, conflict but at the same time obscure the multivocality of many heritage values and meanings (Smith 2006). I consider knowledge gaps, though partly compensating for the conflictual element of heritage, a second feature of heritage practices that could be an obstacle for more inclusive participation in heritage governance. The critique on the AHD can be placed in a broader trend in Heritage Studies, known as the discursive turn. The essence of this turn can be concisely summarized by the following statement of Smith (2006: 11): ‘There is, really, no such thing as heritage’. What remains are on the one hand objects with no innate value (‘Stonehenge, for instance, is basically a collection of rocks in a field’ (Smith 2006: 3)) and on the other discourses that frame these objects. Subsequently, these objects can only be known and qualified as ‘heritage’ from specific discourses. ‘Smith’s Uses of Heritage has been pivotal to the development of this critique, creating a boundary moment after which any claims for the inherent value of objects became suspect’ (Waterton and Watson 2015: 9). The politicization that this turn puts in motion is, at first sight, a welcome response to the professionalized and scientized influence of the dominant AHD. The discursive turn draws attention to the fact that there seems to be no privileged vantage point from which to access the ‘essence’ of h ­ eritage, as Waterton (in Smith 2006: 105), for example, makes clear by stating that ‘conservation values and responsibilities are of course [just] another set of “cultural values” as much as community values are’. However, by emphasizing the plurality of heritage values and positions, the question of relativism arises. This brings me to a third and final feature of heritage practices that I want to discuss. By outlining a field where different discourses about heritage exist, the discursive turn in heritage studies at the same time illuminates the existence ­of – ­sometimes even ­insurmountable – ­cultural barriers between these discourses (Smith 2006).2 If one adopts the theoretical position on which the discursive turn is founded, from a more pragmatic perspective this will inevitably have certain consequences

58 • Jarik Chambille

for mutual understanding and by that can create problems for interactive governance. In what follows, I will reflect further on the idea of interactive heritage governance given the three features of heritage practices formulated above. The central question henceforth: how to envision interactive governance in these practices given that they are characterized by (1) dissonance and conflict, (2) knowledge gaps and (3) discursive barriers? In the next two parts, I will try to answer that question from a deliberative and an agonistic point of view respectively.

The Deliberative Approach – and Its Shortcomings for Interactive Heritage Governance How would the deliberative approach to democratic politics deal with these three features? Before reflecting on that question, it is first useful to define what is meant by the notion ‘deliberative democracy’. Important to note is that it is not a single and coherent idea but rather represents a collection of different overlapping positions (Held 2006). Kohn (2000: 408) argues, however, that all the approaches that fall under the label of ‘deliberative democracy’ share ‘the assumption that the rational consensus engendered through discussion should serve as the normative guide for democratic politics’. When I reference the deliberative approach to democratic politics, it is with this fundamental assumption in mind. In this part, I will specify the deliberative approach using the communicative model of Jürgen Habermas. According to this model, democratic decisions are legitimate as long as they represent an impartial standpoint that is in the interest of all. In other words, a consensus or standpoint that ‘nobody [who is] motivated to establish an uncoerced and informed agreement could reasonably discard’ (Held 2006: 240). How to reach this? Habermas argues that the quality of decisions (their ‘impartiality’) will increase if, ideally, all the participants in decision-­making communicate intensively and follow a certain procedure: the ‘ideal speech situation’. Following that ideal, a decision is impartial as long as the communicative process that leads to it is inclusive and open (not strategic nor manipulative), free from coercion and power relations (not determined by preordained social status), argumentative (not a one-­way exchange of partisan viewpoints) and transformative (not a simple aggregation of already existing viewpoints but instead the shaping of them) (in Hendrik 2006: 133). These idealizing prescriptions for intersubjective communication need to be seen as regulative for actual interactions (Habermas 2020: 225; Kohn 2000: 409). For example, in real-­life participatory practices, these ideals are

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  59

approximated by deliberative polls and citizen panels (see, for example, Fishkin in Held 2006). The most attractive aspect of this deliberative model is that it seems only to prescribe the procedural conditions under which deliberative participation in decision-­making should take place and thereby not exclude any prior substantial ideas. This suggests that the ideal speech situation is open to everyone (Mouffe 2000). To what extent does this approach offer solutions to the three potential problems of interactive heritage governance? And why might these solutions fall short when viewed from a more conflict-­oriented agonistic perspective?

The Deliberative Solution to (1) Dissonance and Conflict To begin with, deliberative t­hinkers – H ­ abermas ­included – d ­ o not deny that modern society is pluralistic and in so doing acknowledge the possibility of dissonance and conflict (Held 2006). However, from this they do not infer that it is impossible to transform, through a process of impartial reasoning, partial standpoints into a universal consensus. To reach that, intersubjective communication must be freed from coercion and power relations. Following the deliberative approach to democratic politics, it is essential to draw a distinction between legitimacy as mere ‘acceptance’ (a compliance that is based on tradition, ideology or subordination) and legitimacy as ‘rightness’ (a coercion-­free compliance that is based on what participants consider as right or just after deliberation) (Held 2006). But is it possible to establish policymaking procedures that are fully freed from coercion and power relations? Here it is important to note that the model Habermas and other deliberative thinkers propose is based on an optimistic anthropology, rooted in Enlightenment, that presupposes that everyone has the ability to act and think empathetically and is driven by feelings of reciprocity. They see conflict and exclusion as archaic social phenomena that can and need to be transcended (Mouffe 2005). Mouffe (2005) criticizes this idealized view of human nature and proposes a different and more realistic anthropology instead: human sociability is in essence ambivalent, and every political theory should also take the irrational aspects of social life such as emotions, passions and violence seriously. Moreover, the deliberative approach is in fact not at all able to transcend the ‘archaic’ state of social exclusion and conflict. What in fact happens in deliberative procedures, Mouffe (2005) argues, is that under the guise of a ‘consensus’ and ‘impartial’ oriented politics new exclusions are created. These new forms of exclusion are more problematic than those they try to overcome, as they are formulated not in political but moral categories: the dispute between legitimate political adversaries degenerates into a moral distinction of ‘good’ versus ‘bad’. The deliberative approach implicitly

60 • Jarik Chambille

creates an ‘us’ that includes all the ‘legitimate’ participants who are reasonable enough to comply with, for example, the ideal speech standards. This ‘us’ is placed in opposition to the ‘illegitimate’ participants who are not able (or unwilling) to transcend their affective dispositions, cultural background and particular interest during the deliberative process. Tully (in Held 2006: 243) formulates this critique as follows: ‘If impartialism is oriented to a consensus produced by “the force of the better argument”, then some voices will be dismissed as weak, uninformed or irrational, and silenced along the way’. It can be expected that as both the AHD and the deliberative notion of ‘impartial reasoning’ are rooted in Enlightenment rationalism, the standards of the ideal speech situation will fit the experts, curators and managers in the heritage sector operating from within the AHD framework better than spokespersons or representatives of subaltern groups standing outside it. From a general historical perspective, indeed mostly those who wanted to change the status quo were treated as ‘uninformed’ or ‘irrational’ and were silenced as a consequence: ‘Thus the very standard of impartiality which is supposed to guarantee equal access to forums for public reasoning could serve to marginalize and exclude certain participants’ (Kohn 2000: 419).

The Deliberative Solution to (2) Knowledge Gaps What kind of solutions does the deliberative approach offer regarding the possibility that knowledge gaps between experts and non-­experts lead to the silencing of some voices in interactive heritage governance? As already noted, the ideal speech situation prescribes a form of intersubjective communication that should be free from coercion and power relations. This means that no participant in deliberation should be able to claim the last word simply by the fact of his or her social position as, for example, an ‘expert’ on a certain matter. Knowledge gaps between participants in deliberation are thus, as an effect, not a problem as long as these differences are not used as instruments to exert power. All that should matter is ‘the force of the better argument’ (Habermas in Held 2006: 238). But again, how realistic are these notions? As Kohn (2000: 408) argues: ‘Discursive democracy’s emphasis on communication as the universal basis of democratic politics hides the fact that even linguistic competence is hierarchically distributed and implicated in the reproduction of dominant exclusions.’ Frank Fischer (2004), advocate and at the same time critic of a deliberative democracy, criticizes the theoretical notion of impartial reasoning for not taking actual levels of social and communicative inequality seriously enough. For that reason, he argues, referring to Mouffe, deliberative democrats ‘should focus more on political conflict and difference than

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  61

on consensus and agreement’ (2004: 25). He advocates a modified version of deliberative participation that takes the form of a ‘political pedagogy process’. According to him, professional experts should fulfil the role of a facilitator, empowering participants and communities ‘to think about ways that problematic institutions and practices can be resisted, contested, and transformed’ (2004: 25).

The Deliberative Solution to (3) Discursive Barriers Finally, how would the deliberative approach deal with cultural and discursive barriers that can arise between participants in interactive heritage governance? The absence of mutual understanding is fatal for an approach aimed at consensus. However, following the deliberative approach, the idea is that impartial reasoning will show that most of these cultural barriers are only apparent, based on tradition or false ideology. As long as participants let themselves be guided by the universal force of the better argument, as long as they are reasonable, then cultural, ideological and social backgrounds can be transcended. This is part of a moral learning process that participants in the ideal speech situation will undergo. Participants need to create what is called a ‘moral viewpoint’: ‘individual points of view need to be tested in and through social encounters which take account of the point of view of others’ (Held 2006: 233). However, the essential question is whether it is indeed possible to transcend one’s cultural, ideological and social background. The ideal speech situation suggests a strict separation between a neutral procedure on the one hand and substantial commitments on the other. As already said: the ideal speech procedure suggests that it is open to everyone, and no substantial views will be excluded beforehand. Mouffe (2000: 97) criticizes this rationalist idea that a neutral procedure is possible, referring to what Wittgenstein called ‘forms of life’: ‘It is because they are [already] inscribed in shared forms of life and agreements in judgements that procedures [such as the ideal speech situation] can be accepted and f­ollowed … ­Procedures always involve substantial ethical commitments, and there can never be such a thing as purely neutral procedures.’ The fact that substantial commitments are already implicated in deliberative procedures means that there is space for contestation and politics. This is essential for participants to realize when trying to claim an equal stake in decision-­making: ‘Reciprocity and ­equality … ­must be fought for rather than assumed. Dialogue itself cannot achieve its own necessary preconditions, i.e., the equality and reciprocity which are prior to any truly mutual exchange. For this we need another definition of politics, rooted in contestation, struggle and resistance’ (Kohn 2000: 417).

62 • Jarik Chambille

The Corrections of the Agonistic Approach – and Its Application to Heritage Practices The agonistic approach of Chantal Mouffe (2000, 2005, 2013) disputes the deliberative assumption that democratic politics should be aimed at creating a consensus through rational discussion. Instead, Mouffe emphasizes the conflictual nature of democratic politics that expresses itself in ‘us/ them’ oppositions. In her approach, she distinguishes between ‘antagonism’ – which she understands as an untamed (potentially violent) social ­conflict – ­and ‘agonism’ – which she uses to indicate conflict that is democratically dealt with. Agonism is tamed antagonism. Antagonism exists between enemies, agonism between adversaries. Central to Mouffe’s argument is that the possibility of antagonism is ineradicable: it is an intrinsic part of a society in which people with different notions of the good life live together. For that reason, she argues that the most important task of democratic politics is the channelling of potential antagonism into agonism. One needs to create democratic institutions and practices in which potential antagonism can legitimately be expressed in the form of agonism. When these avenues for legitimate expression are absent, so the argument of Mouffe (2005) goes, antagonism will manifest itself more and more in hostile and violent ways. In the following, I will attempt to show how Mouffe’s agonistic approach can be fruitfully applied to heritage practices and how it compensates the shortcomings of the deliberative approach with regard to the three potential problems for interactive heritage governance. In the discussion, I will refer to two cognate research domains of Heritage Studies in which the agonistic approach is already conceptually used: ‘agonistic memory’ (in Memory Studies) and ‘agonistic planning’ (in Urban Planning Theory).

The Agonistic Answer to (1) Dissonance and Conflict In agonistic thinking, the mere presence of political conflict, in the sense of opposing notions of the good life, is not seen as an ‘archaic’ phenomenon that can, or needs to be, eradicated. The opposite claim could be made. Conflict and exclusion are part of the democratic process and form the conditions in which marginalized groups can contest the status quo: ‘… no radical politics can exist without challenging existing power relations and this requires defining an adversary’ (Mouffe 2005: 59). A rational and impartial consensus without dissent, a fully inclusive ‘us’ without a ‘them’, a win-­win situation, all this is according to Mouffe dangerous to assume, as every ‘we’ always presupposes an outside that is not included: ‘… it is vital for democratic politics to acknowledge that any form of consensus is the

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  63

result of a hegemonic articulation, and that it always has an “outside” that impedes its full realization’ (Laclau and Mouffe 2014: XVIII). Applying this to the heritage sector, one realizes the importance of lively agonistic practices in which different p ­ ositions – o ­ n heritage, identity, history and commemorating the ­past – c­ an be placed in front of each other. In this context, it is interesting to briefly discuss what in a related field to Heritage Studies, Memory Studies, is called by Bull and Hansen (2016) an ‘agonistic mode of remembering’. These authors use Mouffe’s notion of agonism to rethink ways to collectively remember and commemorate the past. The authors see agonistic memory as a viable mode of remembering that can sustain an agonistic democracy and differentiate it from two other modes of remembering: an ‘antagonistic’ ­mode – ­rooted in early European modernity and linked to nationalism and ­territory – ­and a ‘cosmopolitan’ ­mode – d ­ ominant in late-­modernity and linked to transnational forms of belonging. While the antagonistic mode is based on a politics of exclusion and an essentialized collective sense of ‘we-­ness’ opposed to ‘they-­ness’, the cosmopolitan mode relies on an abstract sense of a universal ‘Humanity’ – a fully inclusive ‘we’ à la Habermas. Bull and Hansen (2016) argue that the emphasis by a ‘nomadic’ and ‘exterritorial’ elite on the depoliticized and rationalized cosmopolitan mode, in which political emotions and passions are tabooed, paved the way for populist and neo-­nationalistic movements to create counter-­memories for a ‘settled majority’ in which the older antagonistic mode, with its emphasis on traditional boundaries and exclusionary politics, is reconstructed. The authors conclude that an agonistic mode of remembering is a third way between these extremes that instead ‘would rely on a multiplicity of perspectives in order to bring to light the socio-­ political struggles of the past and reconstruct the historical context in ways which restore the importance of civic and political passions’ (2016: 401).3

The Agonistic Answer to (2) Knowledge Gaps Following Mouffe (2005), it would be a conceptual impossibility to imagine a deliberative process in which power inequalities between participants, resulting, for example, from knowledge gaps, would disappear as a result of a fully neutral procedure. Power plays a role in all forms of social objectivity, as ‘the social could not exist without power relations through which it is given shape’ (Mouffe 2005: 25). This means that also notions such as a ‘total’ or ‘absolute democracy’, in which all vertical relations would be horizontalized, are ‘post-­political’ illusions. Social divisions cannot be overcome totally but instead ‘can only be institutionalized in different ways, some more egalitarian than others’ (Mouffe 2013: XIV). Knowledge gaps and

64 • Jarik Chambille

their resulting power inequalities are intrinsic elements of sociopolitical processes, not problems that can be ‘solved’ rationally via a neutral deliberative procedure. However, what is possible is for all participants, including experts, to be more aware of and open about their political standpoints instead of claiming to be ‘impartial’, so that contestation can more easily take place. What would this mean for heritage practices and interactive heritage governance? Smith (2006: 38) notices how difficult it is for heritage practitioners to adopt an overt political agenda, given the dominance of the AHD demanding them to be ‘impartial’: ‘The overt political nature of supporting (or otherwise) community and other interests is viewed as particularly problematic within the bureaucratic processes of heritage management and conservation, based as they are on the ideologies of the impartiality of expertise.’ For a way out of this, heritage practitioners can probably learn something from what the Urban Planning theorist Pløger (2004) called ‘agonistic planning’. He argues for a specific ‘art of governance’: ‘the art of strife’. He understands ‘strife’ (the expressive form of agonism) in planning practices as ‘the ongoing dispute about words, meaning, discourses, visions or “the good life”’ and argues that it should be central to planning processes (2004: 73). Professionals in urban planning projects rather tend to view strife resulting from public participation and empowerment initiatives as a form of ‘antagonism’ (i.e. as illegitimate conflicts) that need to be ‘solved’ via legal interventions or rational consensus-­steering instead of as legitimate agonistic conflicts between adversaries. The effect is that participation as a bottom-­up movement becomes powerless. Pløger (2004: 73) remarks that ‘if the goal is to empower citizens and enhance their capabilities to participate in politics or planning processes’, planning professionals should learn to work with strife and agonism. To make agonism productive, Pløger (2004: 87) concludes that what is needed in public participation is, among other things, ‘openness, temporality (temporary solutions), respect of difference, and the need to live with inconsistencies and contingency’. This is a political and planning ethos that, although it needs yet to be developed, is according to Pløger realizable.

The Agonistic Answer to (3) Discursive Barriers As unbridgeable cultural or discursive ­barriers – t­hat is, the absence of universal u ­nderstanding – ­ are fatal for deliberation aimed at consensus, deliberative democrats need to present these barriers as only apparent and surmountable through a neutral procedure of decision-­ making. However, as already mentioned above, Mouffe (2013) envisages

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  65

political decision-­making as never taking place on a neutral terrain. For that reason, politics is also very much about negotiating the terrain and the corresponding ‘rules of the game’ themselves. In game-­theoretical terms, agonistic politics implies neither a zero-­sum nor a pure win-­win game in which participants only must compete or deliberate with each other. It is instead more like a ‘hegemony-­game’ in which ‘the rules and players are never fully explicit’ (Laclau and Mouffe 1985: 177). Agonistic politics is concerned with creating new divisions, new rules and new schemes of signification (a counter-­hegemony). This does not mean, however, that democracy should accept a ‘total pluralism’ in which everything can become the locus of a conflict: ‘… some limits need to be put to the kind of confrontation which is going to be seen as legitimate in the public sphere’ (Mouffe 2000: 93). In order to channel antagonism effectively into agonism, one needs to have some basic unity, ‘a common symbolic space among opponents who are considered as “legitimate enemies”’ (Mouffe 2005: 60). This common symbolic space is what Mouffe calls a ‘conflictual consensus’. This means consensus on ‘the ethico-­political values of liberty and equality for all’ but dissensus on the interpretation of these values (Mouffe 2005: 131). She contrasts this conflictual consensus with the rational consensus of Habermas: what we need, she says, is ‘Einstimmung, [a] fusion of voices made possible by a common form of life’ and not ‘Einverstand, product of reason’ (Mouffe 2000: 70). What could Mouffe’s agonistic pluralism mean for interactive heritage governance and heritage practices in which discursive barriers between participants arise? Following the agonistic approach, participants should tolerate the other as a ‘legitimate opponent’, or what Mouffe likes to call a ‘friendly-­enemy’ and respect its position though it may be fundamentally irreconcilable with their own. From this perspective, then, it is not essential that cultural or discursive barriers are rationally transcended. Fischer (2004: 26) formulates this idea as follows: ‘Through conflict citizens can learn new ways of seeing that simultaneously generate respect for people with different views. Instead of taking pluralism to be problematic, the task is to dialectically draw knowledge out of it. Conflict and disagreement, as such, are taken to be preconditions rather than barriers to the development of social understanding.’ During every political debate or conversation, be it a deliberative dialogue or an agonistic one, it remains, however, necessary that political disputes (may it be temporarily) come to a c­ lose – i­n a democracy mostly through a (simple or qualified) majority vote. In that context, there is another obvious added value that the agonistic approach has compared to the deliberative alternative. As the main function in agonistic politics is not to search for consensus but to give legitimation to the different positions

66 • Jarik Chambille

that exist, participants only need to give in temporarily instead of being assimilated into a fully inclusive ‘consensus’. Elias Canetti (in Mouffe 2005: 30) has powerfully expressed this logic as follows: ‘The member of an outvoted party accepts the majority decision, not because he has ceased to believe in his own case, but simply because he admits defeat.’

Conclusion In this contribution, I have tried to show that, on a conceptual level, an agonistic approach to democratic politics has a better answer than the deliberative alternative to a couple of potential problems that might arise during interactive heritage governance. If interactive governance in the heritage sector will be modelled on the principles of the deliberative approach, it faces the risk that in aiming to reach full social inclusiveness in the form of a universal ‘consensus’ subaltern groups will be silenced during the deliberative process and assimilated in the dominant discourse as a consequence. As heritage practices are characterized by high levels of dissonance and conflict, what is needed instead is a democratic perspective in which social tensions and conflict can be expressed legitimately without being neutralized (through ‘impartial’ procedures) on the one hand or risking the danger of becoming unleashed (into antagonism) on the other. When conflict is democratically institutionalized and is taking place between friendly-enemies that – although they can have fundamentally different opinions – share a common symbolic space, inclusion without assimilation is possible. By discussing agonistic memory (in Memory Studies) and agonistic planning (from Urban Planning Theory), I hope to have inspired heritage research to look in a similar direction, as Mouffe’s theory of agonism also has a lot to offer Heritage Studies. Of course, it is still a long way from this abstract reflection to actual interactive heritage governance structured on agonistic principles. However, it is a worthwhile direction to investigate further. Jarik Chambille completed his first master’s degree in Public Administration at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam in 2019. His master’s thesis focused on the role of participatory policymaking in the heritage sector. In 2022 he completed a second master’s degree in Philosophy of Political Science at the Radboud Universiteit Nijmegen.

From ‘Democratic Turn’  •  67

NOTES 1. He warns, however, about reductionism: ‘If everything social is always-­also political, one should add that nothing is ever only or purely political: both the idea of something being “free from politics” and the idea of “pure politics” are to be rejected’ (Van der Zweerde 2007: 151). 2. For example, visible in tensions between the more Western-­oriented AHD and non-­Western conceptions of heritage and related notions and values. The Western paradigm is inclined to differentiate between the ‘real’ (science) and the ‘supernatural’ (religion); the ‘present’ and the ‘past’; ‘culture’ and ‘nature’; the ‘tangible’ (as something ‘objective’) and the ‘intangible’ (as something ‘subjective’) – differences not recognized or made, for example, by different indigenous communities (Smith 2006). 3. Tensions between an ‘exterritorial elite’ and a ‘settled majority’ were also analysed by Pendlebury and Veldpaus (2018) in the context of Brexit. In reflecting on the role of heritage in a post-­Brexit divided nation, they considered the possible productive effect that an agonistic approach might have: ‘Alternatively we might consider an institutional design that acknowledges divisions and fault lines through a creative process of agonism, using heritage to debate the various claims made over the past …’ (2018: 451).

References Arnstein, S. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24. Bull, A., and H. Hansen. 2016. ‘On Agonistic Memory’, Memory Studies 9(4): 390–404. Cortés-­Vázquez, J., G. Jiménez-­Esquinas and C. Sánchez-­Carretero. 2017. ‘Heritage and Participatory Governance: An Analysis of Political Strategies and Social Structures in Spain’, Anthropology Today 33(1): 15–18. Fischer, F. 2004. ‘Professional Expertise in a Deliberative Democracy: Facilitating Participatory Inquiry’, The Good Society 13(1): 21–27. Habermas, J. 2020. Over democratie. Amsterdam: Boom. Hay, C. 2002. Political Analysis. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Held, D. 2006. Models of Democracy. Cambridge: Polity. Hendriks, F. 2006. Vitale democratie. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS). 2017. ‘Delhi Declaration on Heritage and Democracy’. Delhi. Kohn, M. 2000. ‘Language, Power and Persuasion. Toward a Critique of Deliberative Democracy’, Constellations 7(3): 408–29. Laclau, E., and C. Mouffe. 1985. Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics. London: Verso. Mouffe, C. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London: Verso. ———. 2005. Over het politieke. Kampen: Klement. ———. 2013. Agonistics: Thinking the World Politically. London: Verso. Neal, C. 2015. ‘Heritage and Participation’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The

68 • Jarik Chambille

Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Studies. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 346–65. Pendlebury, J., and L. Veldpaus. 2018. ‘Heritage and Brexit’, Planning Theory & Practice 19(3): 448–53. Pløger, J. 2004. ‘Strife: Urban Planning and Agonism’, Planning Theory 3(1): 71–92. Scott, J. 2001. Power. Cambridge: Polity. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Van der Zweerde, E. 2007. ‘Friendship and the Political’, Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 10(2): 147–65. Waterton, E., and S. Watson. 2015. ‘Heritage as a Focus of Research: Past, Present and New Directions’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1–17.

PART II

8 TOP-DOWN CLOSED INTERACTIVE HERITAGE GOVERNANCE Stakeholder Participation

8 CHAPTER 4 Building a Community of Practice in a Roman Heritage Landscape Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

Introduction: Hadrian’s Wall in British Culture, Identity and Landscape The monumental complex known as Hadrian’s Wall was built across the Tyne-­Solway isthmus of northern England at the behest of the Roman emperor Hadrian c. AD 120 (Map 4.1). It provided a mural barrier and the linear focus of a larger frontier landscape at the northern periphery of the Roman Empire, which was occupied by a professional military garrison until at least the early fifth century AD (see Collins and Symonds 2019 for a recent bibliography of Wall studies). The Wall has remained a significant regional landmark since the Roman era. It became a prominent feature of antiquarian interest from the sixteenth century, with wider public and visitor interest from the middle of the nineteenth century (Birley 1961; Hingley 2012). In modern times, it has been a popular attraction, with the Wall and its attendant structures legally designated as Scheduled Monuments under UK law and inscribed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site (WHS) in 1987. It is well-­ nigh impossible to separate the Wall from its landscape (Illustration 4.2), and the image of the Wall winding across romantic windswept crags is iconic. However, the clifftop position of the Wall is limited to less than 20 per cent of its total length, with the majority of the monument cutting through gently rolling farmland and lying underneath the modern conurbations of Tyneside (the greater Newcastle area) in the east and Carlisle in the west. As a result, there are a number of challenges associated with management, research and participatory activities on this Roman frontier monument, not least of which are the diversity of modern

Map 4.1. The line of Hadrian’s Wall and its principal forts, crossing the narrow isthmus from the North Sea in the east to the Irish Sea in the west. © Rob Collins.

Building a Community of Practice  •  73

(A)

(B)

(C)

Illustration 4.1. Hadrian’s Wall: (A) The iconic view of Hadrian’s Wall at Walltown Crags, Northumberland, where the Wall runs along the forward edge of the crags of the geological formation known as the Whin Sill. (B) A historic farm with its northernmost structures built on top of the Wall and immediately to the south, with the Wall visible running to the east (left) and west (right) at Willowford, Cumbria. This positioning of historic farms is typical along the Wall. (C) The Wall is visible in a short length of consolidated masonry in the lower right foreground of the image, with the line of the Wall demarcated running east into Newcastle by the broad line of West Road. © Rob Collins.

74 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

administrative structures, local ecological considerations and contemporary social communities. The management needs and social engagement with the Wall in urban Newcastle and Carlisle are strikingly different from the agricultural communities and estates that lie along its line beyond the cities. In this regard, the WHS is part of a ‘working landscape’ comprising diverse local communities whose engagement with the Wall is essential for the maintenance and survival of its setting in the landscape. Visitor attractions along the Wall consist of historic sites like the forts at Housesteads and Vindolanda, museums such as the Great North Museum: Hancock and Tullie House Museum, and areas with natural environment designations; for example, the Solway Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and Northumberland National Park. Visitor engagement is essential to sustained management of the monument, with visitors consisting of those coming from long distances nationally and internationally as well as those more proximal from the regions of North East and North West England. Local societies, including the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne (founded 1813) and the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society (founded 1866), have historically contributed to the exploration of the historic monument and provided forums such as lectures and publications for their members (see more below). In this regard, the Wall WHS should be considered a complex heritage ecosystem consisting, as it does, of numerous organizations of varying scale (local, regional and national), attractions and supporting businesses, legal designations and diverse audiences (Stone and Brough 2014). The enduring interest in the Wall is a testament to its resonance with contemporary societies. The diversity and plurality of interest in the Wall means its character as heritage is dynamic and intangible (Witcher et al. 2010). Community archaeology and engagement in heritage has grown consistently over the past 20 years in the UK, but the Wall has historically always benefited from a broader public interest and engagement, both with local and long-­distance audiences. It is notable that the Wall has been depicted on maps of Britain since at least the thirteenth century (Shannon 2007), and a tradition of decennial ‘pilgrimage’ along the Wall was instituted by John Collingwood Bruce in 1849 with the purpose of viewing and understanding the implications of the newest discoveries relative to each Pilgrimage (Breeze 2020). This long-­term engagement of local communities with the Wall has been essential to its enduring attractiveness, adapting to changing definitions and perceptions of engagement as well as seeking to embrace more diverse audiences and communities. Hadrian’s Wall was the first WHS in the UK to produce a Management Plan (Young 1996), but it was not until the Management Plan for 2008–2014 that the social value of the WHS was

Building a Community of Practice  •  75

explicitly said to be ‘… valued by those who live and work in the area as part of their geographic and social identity’ (HWH 2008: 30). Consultation for the 2015–2019 Management Plan highlighted a strong public interest and willingness to be further involved in the actual management of the Wall (Norman and May 2014). In consequence, the ‘Hadrian’s Wall Community Archaeology Project’ (hereafter WallCAP), a community-­ focused project, was designed to build on this long tradition of broad public engagement and participation with the Wall and its landscape. It is this project that in this chapter we examine through the frame of governance network theory as outlined in the works of Klijn and Koppenjan (2012). Although WallCAP was not explicitly designed or created in the context of any particular governance or participation theory, and neither the Wall nor its stakeholders have previously been characterized in this way, nonetheless the lexicon and framing of actors and relationships via governance network theory in retrospect can provide important insights. They provide a framework within which to assess the project and to view and understand the heritage management of the Hadrian’s Wall WHS and the relationships between stakeholders.

Theoretical Framework Governance network theory has already been summarized in this book’s opening chapter. Ultimately, WallCAP’s aims and activities negotiate the complexities of the management, ‘ownership’ and future use of Hadrian’s Wall. Here the insights offered by Klijn’s and Koppenjan’s (2016: 64–66) three categories of complexities are most helpful: • ‘Substantive complexity’, in this case of WallCAP arising from the complexity and scale of the Wall zone itself and of the managerial issues that arise from it, including the many different ways of valuing and perceiving it, from the antiquarian and academic, to the social, to the purely economic (in terms of land use and exploitation and tourism) and the wicked ‘problems’ this provides. • ‘Strategic complexity’, in this case the many different (sometimes competing) aims, objectives and concerns of the many dimensions of stakeholding (often overlapping too in any one individual or organization) and the resultant unpredictability of responses to, for example, proposals for change; this only adds additional depth to the wicked problems that already arise. • ‘Institutional complexity’, caused by individual organizations’ and groups’ past experiences and histories, by their embodied, often largely

76 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

by now unexamined assumptions and principles, and their sedimented practices and reactions; as explained above, the history of the institutional complexity of how the Wall is managed and valued is already several centuries long. The range of activities to which governance theory, participation initiatives and networking are most frequently applied is wide, but they tend to focus mostly on issues such as decision-­making (frequently in the spatial planning and infrastructure provision context), implementation of decisions and service delivery. In this chapter, we look at some public governance issues in a different c­ ontext – t­hat of heritage management and use. In Europe, at least, there is a long tradition of what is today called heritage management, but it is a tradition that for many decades throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries created a process that was top-­down, selective and exclusive, and focused on authoritative regulatory control; at times it even veered towards isolating archaeological sites and buildings from the activities of the wider s­ ociety – o ­ ften the community most local to the object in ­question – r­ ather than encouraging the recognition of common shared uses and values. The processes of ­selection – ­whereby tiny fragments of the past that survived into the present day (the ‘historic environment’) were deemed most significant from a (usually) national vantage point sometimes overlooked the very things that local communities of place and of interest sought to value most (e.g. Lekakis and Dragouni 2020; Waterton 2005). After about 1950 and during the ensuing post-­war acceleration of development and renewal, communities of interest learnt, in Britain at least, how to scale up and influence the top-­down governance processes so their particular aspects of heritage were given some recognition. Citizen associations, academic or practice-­based societies and pressure groups were founded to speak up for the material heritage of many ‘new’ types of heritage, in every period from early prehistory to contemporary times. Many continue to pursue ‘advocacy’ as a key function (e.g. the Council for British Archaeology; the Prehistoric Society; the Association for Industrial Archaeology). In this long process, however, each ‘new’ (or, rather, newly acknowledged) subgenre of heritage had to struggle for acceptance. But all the small individual victories were, however, simply added into an accepted canon of ‘heritage’ and traditional ideas of heritage as a thing to be protected. This, indeed, also demonstrated how much the governance structures fell into traditional public administrative approaches (to follow the term used by Klijn and Koppenjan 2016: table 1.1, 9–10), an example of the institutionalization of multiple and complex approaches in and between different stakeholders and inter-­actors.

Building a Community of Practice  •  77

In contrast, attempts were made to reimagine the very idea of heritage from the 1980s and 90s. On reflection, these early attempts can be seen to have been reaching towards some of the precepts of network governance. Some of these changes were formalized in the early twenty-­first century in the field labelled ‘critical heritage’, seeking among other aims to democratize heritage. The spatial turn in heritage and related environmental ­fields – ­most successfully formulated within the evolution of concepts of landscape as an overarching set of human and non-­human relationships operating on the cultural, social and ­ecological – ­is still best summarized in the ELC and in the ‘landscape approach’ (Council of Europe 2000; Fairclough 2018; Fairclough et al. 2020; Shuttleworth 2018). One important aspect of this reimagining of heritage contains the idea that the remains of the past – ‘heritage’ in less than precise ­shorthand – ­are valued, cherished, repurposed or rejected as a continually changing resource, in a continually shifting societal dialogue and not as a static asset, and that its use-­value (defined as widely as possible) is central. Users include those who may not see the object in question as heritage but as something else entirely. There is an aspiration too that increased use in itself becomes a way to enhance social value and thus foster greater conservation and care. Most importantly for the present purpose, the underlying characteristic of this more recent reappraisal of heritage is a strong sense of shared and common ownership and access to the actual act of heritage at a wide-­ranging and inclusive civic level: the notion that wider-­ranging participation in the creation, enjoyment, use and management of heritage is a key component of the definition of heritage (Council of Europe 2005, 2009).

Our Case Study: An Empirical Study of WallCAP The wide diversity of the land-­use of the Hadrian’s Wall s­ite – ­and the various modes of management along its c. 100 km-­long run, the physical complexity of the Wall itself, and the vast amounts of information at various levels that is available for ­interpretation – ­has served to create and perpetuate several more or less distinct ‘constituencies’ of interest, influence and engagement. This has been an iterative and reciprocal process, as those communities have at the same time created the diversity of valuation and management. WallCAP seeks to bring these constituencies together in new active networks that maximize their interrelationships and shared concerns so as to facilitate further the communal and collective use of heritage and create a range of social and cultural benefits. The Wall, its management, the stakeholders responsible for this management, and the various related interest groups can all be characterized as

78 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

‘complex’ in agreement with the categories provided by Klijn and Koppenjan (2016: 64–66) discussed above. There is complexity, for example, in the discrepancy between professional researchers and management practitioners on the one hand and experts from engaged local communities on the other. Such groups possess a wide range of expertise about the Wall, its fabric and its history; its current role in fostering identities; its economic importance in terms of tourism; its place in rural enterprise and agriculture; and its future story. Such a very broad societal interest in the Wall zone, involving different communities and groups with widely varying aspirations, and with diverse claims of ‘ownership’, brings new dimensions to the concept of community participation. This was clear even in the early 1990s, when the first WHS management plan was drawn up as a collegiate and combined effort by what was then deemed to be a comprehensive range of ‘stakeholders’ – even if from today’s perspective they seem insufficiently broad and too strongly top-­down. WallCAP was consciously constructed to broaden the WHS management approach of the 1990s and to address contemporary priorities for the Wall. Plans were formulated from about 2015 to create community-­ based and, as far as possible, community-­led initiatives linked to the Wall. Funded by the United Kingdom’s National Lottery Heritage Fund (NLHF, formerly the Heritage Lottery Fund), a nine-­month development phase in 2017/18 allowed the WallCAP team to begin consultation with local communities, professional and governmental bodies (institutional stakeholders) and researchers to identify overlapping priorities and concerns of these different constituencies. Motivated individuals and community groups desired opportunities to make a meaningful contribution to the WHS as well as to enjoy and share its various affordances; heritage managers were concerned about deterioration and threats to the physical condition of the monument that were not adequately understood; researchers indicated that despite decades of investigation, there was still much to learn about the Wall. This phase of consultation resulted in a project designed to deliver activities between January 2019 and December 2021 that would address these overlapping priorities, draw a wider cross section of society into active work and collaboration revolving around the Wall, and strengthen the interconnectivity of these audiences for long-­term mutual benefits. It is worth noting that while WallCAP had drawn on concerns and priorities captured in the WHS Management Plan 2015 (HWPB 2015) and research framework (Symonds and Mason 2009), these documents themselves were built upon consultation processes that were not wholly driven or even informed by the agendas of the initiating organizations but by a broader-­based range of participants and contributors.

Building a Community of Practice  •  79

WallCAP pursued two core strands of work. The ‘Heritage at Risk’ (HAR) strand focused on the physical condition of the monument, undertaking investigation to examine any threats to the monument at particular locations and, where feasible, resolution of the problem(s) through conservation and/or consolidation work. In parallel, a ‘Stone Sourcing and Dispersal’ programme delivered activities to facilitate understanding of local landscapes, exploring the pathways in which stone was quarried from the ground and used to build the Wall and subsequently reused to build the post-­Roman castles, churches, farms and villages at the heart of communities in the WHS today (Illustration 4.2). Furthermore, these strands of work had to include public participants and have clear public benefit, not only as a key condition of support from the NLHF but also to meet the aim of creating more inclusive management of the WHS. To that end, WallCAP organized an extensive activity programme supporting the work of the two strands, providing opportunities to gain new knowledge, learn new skills and contribute to the ongoing legacy of the project. These activities took the form of in-­person and digital sessions that focused on archaeological and geological principles, archaeological survey and excavation, interpretation of information and results. In participating in these activities, volunteers and local communities learned new skills and built up their knowledge and awareness of local heritage, allowing them to better understand how heritage contributes to larger networks and agendas. Reciprocally, although perhaps asymmetrically in some respects, the professional team that formed the core of WallCAP gained discrete bodies of local k­ nowledge – f­or example, about local history or ­folklore – ­and the cultural values that have been attached to or drawn from the Wall over the past centuries; the team also developed a stronger understanding of the level and direction of local and non-­specialist interest in the Wall more generally; in effect, they gained a better understanding of why and how the Wall is valued. The strategic aim was to engage and empower a larger section of the local communities with the heritage of the Wall, both locally and regionally, through participation in the project, such that upon the project’s completion, those local communities could continue to observe, safeguard, or interact with the Wall in an informed and beneficial fashion as confident contributors and actors in the complex ecosystem (or network) of the Wall. This process of community-­led activity is currently evolving, though it is too soon to determine its success and sustainability.

80 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

Illustration 4.2. WallCAP volunteers recording fabric at Thirlwall Castle, Northumberland, built in the thirteenth century and located approximately 150 m north of Hadrian’s Wall. The castle was built almost entirely from stone reused from the Wall. Subsequently, stone from the castle was robbed to build neighbouring farmhouses and barns. © Rob Collins.

Building a Community of Practice  •  81

Analysis The Complexity of the Stakeholder Landscape Hadrian’s Wall WHS has more than 700 direct stakeholders (including many hundreds of private landowners). WallCAP also attempts to further embed consciousness of that heritage into the wider local communities, and so this figure can be rapidly multiplied when we consider the populations of the villages, towns and cities located directly on or adjacent to the Wall. In this regard, it is not feasible to quantify the actual number of interactors with the Wall’s heritage. This is itself an aspect of substantive complexity, but it is also a contributor to and a direct cause of both strategic and institutionalized complexity. Many of the primary actors in the WHS are professional heritage practitioners employed by local or national government organizations and charities, such as Historic England, the National Trust, Northumberland National Park Authority, Cumbria County Council or the Vindolanda Trust, not to mention the more generalist actors in municipal authorities at various levels with a wide range of public functions. Each of those organizations has their own particular way of working, specific ambitions and aspirations and in many cases distinctive disciplinary standpoints, from the combination of which arise much of the strategic and institutionalized complexity facing coordinated management and use of the Wall. Even though most of these key institutionalized ‘heritage-­focused’ stakeholders and actors welcome and actively include volunteers within their organizations, it would be fair to characterize these interactions as top-­ down and institutionally complex; they are often perceived within a political context, and this can be particularly significant in terms of establishing a sense of trust between actors. In governance network terms, the underlying institutional complexity creates a barrier for any actors external to the organization, and this barrier is replicated across multiple organizations and further exacerbated by strategic complexities (Klijn and Koppenjan 2012). The strategic complexities are recognized and understood by professional practitioners and researchers within the Wall network but not necessarily by individuals and communities lacking professional experience (those that may be considered in-­expert), for whom the priorities and decisions of stakeholder organizations may appear incomprehensible (at best), farcical or even alienating (at worst). In contrast, WallCAP is based in an academic institution, Newcastle University, specifically within Archaeology (in the School of History, Classics and Archaeology) and the McCord Centre for Landscape. While universities of course have their own institutional and strategic peculiarities,

82 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

WallCAP’s university position has been advantageous to it, given that higher education is generally understood to be more participatory and arguably less politically motivated (or ensnared) than, for example, local council initiatives. Though it cannot be quantified, WallCAP team members have observed that the association with the university and the desire of the project to encourage further learning as well as participation ‘makes sense’, as it aligns with public expectations of what a university ‘does’.

Actors/Interactors within WallCAP There are seven paid staff (most of them part-­time) working specifically on the WallCAP team, each with roles that coordinate and enable different facets of the project. The Project Manager/Research Coordinator has the dual responsibility for administrative management and internal coordination of the project team and activities alongside the need to guide the research aims of the project and ensure that project results are disseminated to research and professional practitioner audiences. The Volunteer Coordinator/Community Liaison Officer directly reaches out and engages new and existing audiences while also coordinating volunteer engagements and interactions with the project. An Assistant Volunteer Coordinator supports this latter role and also facilitates the administration of activities; for example, processing volunteer expenses and purchase orders. A Community Archaeologist and a Community Geologist each provide subject and method expertise for teaching and training of volunteers and coordinate and lead the activities for volunteers and other audiences. A Project Support Officer and a Digital Heritage Officer provide essential infrastructural support to the project, as well as contribute to volunteer training. The WallCAP team does not adhere to a more typical university-­based research project, in that it is not structured to meet the aims of discrete work packages. While all the team members can be considered experts on the basis of their education and experience, it is important to underscore that the team is not composed entirely of academics or researchers. Job roles inter-­relate across the various tasks and goals of the wider project, such that the team functions both in coordinating and enabling capacities for multiple audiences engaged with the project. Thus, the Project Manager/Research Coordinator is an academic oriented toward traditional research audiences, while the Community Archaeologist and Geologist are professionally aligned with participatory and cooperative research. All the roles in the team are essential, but the most fundamental in terms of the project’s goals and philosophy is that of the Volunteer Coordinator/Community Liaison Officer; this role has been the key to ensuring and expanding participation of volunteers and communities and has strongly shaped the execution of project activities to

Building a Community of Practice  •  83

ensure that participation is at the heart of project work. To support these goals, a bespoke digital Volunteer Portal was commissioned to facilitate the coordination of volunteers, as well as to identify skills, experiences, and networks that volunteers bring to the project, supplementing the skills of the paid team members. The ­portal – ­in which any individual (or even organization) from anywhere in the world can ­register – provides a structured foundation for engagement with volunteers, which is subsequently enhanced through a range of activities and engagements. Formally registered volunteers have been the primary participants in WallCAP outside the project team. As of submission of this paper, 310 volunteers have registered with WallCAP. During 2019 and 2020, a total of 73 events were organized for registered volunteers, resulting in a total of 833 individual attendances. In the same period, 111 events were coordinated that were available to volunteers and the broader public, attended by 1,564 individuals. Such events consist of a mix of themes, topics and subjects that were determined by WallCAP to support the goals and needs of the project, as well as those requested by volunteers. In this fashion, WallCAP is able to provide a linear structure of skills and knowledge progression while also being sensitive and responsive to the wants and interests of volunteers. Consultation in advance of an activity and feedback following an activity is a regular practice embedded throughout the project team.

Interactions beyond WallCAP Engagement with those who currently own the land on which Hadrian’s Wall stands has been essential to the project, not least because landowner permission is required for access to locations along Hadrian’s Wall for the project to undertake research or conservation work. Providing access to land is entirely voluntary on the part of landowners, and due to often fractious relationships in more recent history between landowners and (in particular) state actors/representatives, permission to access the monument on privately owned land is not always guaranteed. In all cases, direct outreach by members of the WallCAP team resulted in permission granted by landowners, and efforts were always made to ensure that landowner concerns were explicitly acknowledged and addressed. This resulted in changes to proposed activities in some instances; for example, due to concerns about implications for arable and pastoral farming practice. In this regard, landowners were engaged on a voluntary basis but could be perceived as being ‘drawn into collaboration somewhat less intentionally’(see Huxham and Vangen 2005: 7–8). In two or three instances, landowners themselves approached the WallCAP team, indicating a desire to work with the project in a more proactive fashion.

84 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

Stakeholder organizations have had varying levels of involvement and informal partnership with WallCAP. The national government agency Historic England, for example, has regularly provided advice to the project in its role as the government advisory body for heritage in England. Legal permissions to undertake work on sites designated as Scheduled Ancient Monuments have also been granted by them following a formal submission process. Other organizations, such as English Heritage and the National Trust, have provided access to parts of the monument in their guardianship. In this regard, the engagement of stakeholder organizations with WallCAP can be perceived initially as participatory, as the engagements responded to the agenda established via WallCAP rather than with the stakeholder. In some instances, however, the relationship is more fairly characterized as collaborative, in which both WallCAP and the stakeholder have worked together to resolve an issue, such as fabric degradation of the monument. While a range of different actors have engaged with WallCAP, it is perhaps more significant to note that WallCAP has functioned as an intermediary between stakeholder organizations, professional practitioners, researchers, landowners and volunteers or local communities. The positioning and framing of WallCAP in this way was intentional. It enabled the construction of a network across audiences and actors that utilized the resources of WallCAP, not least the team members, to support the activities necessary to undertake the work that reinforces such networks. In essence, the expertise, experience and budget of WallCAP was able to engage and foster the interest and trust of volunteers and public participants while also providing the essential access to the monument via stakeholders and landowners. The project has therefore enabled various actors to design and work together in activities, leading to a diverse range of benefits. For example, WallCAP has undertaken capital conservation of c. 660m2 of degrading or collapsed fabric of the Wall, which has resulted in applications for three sites to be removed from the ‘Heritage at Risk’ register maintained by Historic England. This work has addressed a key policy priority for HE whilst also meeting desired fieldwork and participation activities for hundreds of volunteers and other stakeholders.

Participation WallCAP is not a formally or consciously conceived governance network, but it functions in a similar fashion to what Klijn and Koppenjan (2012: 589, table 1) characterize as a managing network, notably through establishing horizontal interactions between multiple organizational, collective and individual actors. At a foundational level, WallCAP fulfils an educational and community engagement mission, providing training and opportunities

Building a Community of Practice  •  85

Table 4.1. A schematic of barriers to the heritage of Hadrian’s Wall. Awareness

People are not aware: • of the heritage itself or of its extent, dimensions and characteristics •  of opportunities to get involved in the heritage

Knowledge

People do not know: •  what organizations do and how they differ •  how much is already known about the Wall •  how to answer these questions/gaps in knowledge

Accessibility

People may be Aware and/or Knowledgeable but cannot access: • the knowledge, e.g. educational barriers in understanding; physical or digital access to resources not feasible • the opportunities, e.g. financial constraints prevent engagement due to time lost to work, travel or other participation costs • the space – engagement impacted by e.g. differing physical abilities or by travel distances •  prohibitive timing, e.g. for working adults or school-age children

for individuals and communities to carry out archaeological and geological fieldwork that addresses explicitly defined research and heritage management agendas. It is also relevant to note that many activities that are not strictly structured as training or fieldwork are designed to promote collaboration across organizations and mutual understanding of institutional and strategic complexities (Huxham and Vangen 2005). Examples include update meetings; celebration events; an Annual Networking Day; a book club; a film club; and monthly tea mornings. These all provide fora in which different actors can ask each other questions and share knowledge, insights and ­understanding – ­the ‘access to others’ resource. Participation becomes a key factor in the network, and as such it is essential to identify perceived and real barriers. WallCAP has attempted to address known barriers and identify new ones, which can be categorized as Awareness, Knowledge and Accessibility, and which are all inter-­related (Table 4.1; Norman and May 2014). In this regard, WallCAP is well served by the underlying philosophy of its prime funding body, the National Lottery Heritage Fund, which endeavours to increase participation and public value in all the projects it supports. This has allowed WallCAP to schedule events and activities at various times to allow opportunities for working adults and school-­aged children to participate. Digital provision of activities, further necessitated by the Covid-­19 pandemic, provided accessibility to those who were physically unable to travel to venues in the WHS. Dissemination of knowledge was enhanced

86 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

by expertise available from the WallCAP team as well as the participation of ‘external’ experts, who aimed to make all that knowledge accessible to non-­expert audiences and participants. Budget was also provided to cover expenses incurred by volunteers and external providers. This has allowed WallCAP to maximize inclusivity, even if the idealized model of universal participation cannot be achieved (Table 4.2). One area in which WallCAP falls short of, or differs from, a governance network is that it does not have an explicit, simple or strong policy orientation. This is not to say that there are no policy shortcomings or conflicts; indeed, transport infrastructure in the WHS is a recurring public concern, and such policy concerns are only made more complex in the WHS as it runs across multiple administrative boundaries. In essence, the heritage management of Hadrian’s Wall WHS could be classified as a ‘wicked problem’ (Ferlie et al. 2011) due to the strategic and institutional complexities around national-, county- and local-­level authority and implementation, exacerbated by fluctuating resources underpinning such activities. WallCAP, however, sidesteps the wicked problem by broadening the range of citizen participation and involvement in the areas of use, sense of ownership and responsibility, not to mention recognition value and identity. By linking its aims to agendas and actions explicitly identified in the Hadrian’s Wall Management Plan 2015–2020 (HWPB 2015) and the Hadrian’s Wall Research Framework (Symonds and Mason 2009), WallCAP signposts to participants across networks and communities the many ways in which individuals and groups can become involved with the Wall. It seeks to propose behaviour change, not only among the actors in the network but among those in the local community with whom they interact during the WallCAP activities. Many of the skills learnt in WallCAP are obviously transferable to other contexts as well. In WallCAP, it can be argued, is a landscape forum in which citizen science/participation meets governance networks, and thereby influences policy in a highly generalized manner. Thus we can regard WallCAP as an attempt to deliberately c­ reate – o ­r more precisely establish the conditions for the auto-­creation ­of – ­the type of network society in which ‘authority, knowledge, and means are distributed across a large number of a­ ctors … ­go(ing) beyond the institutional boundaries of organizations, public and private sectors, and administrative units’ (Klijn and Koppenjan 2016: 13). This does not, however, mean that, in Klijn’s and Koppenjan’s words again, ‘hierarchical relations lose relevance’. Such relations exist out with the networks and structures of WallCAP, beyond the ‘reach’ of the project itself. But as with wicked problems, the networked and collaborative actions and achievements of WallCAP render the boundaries of the hierarchy more visible, better understood, more permeable, and thus possible to approach and engage with more successfully.

Building a Community of Practice  •  87

Table 4.2. Participation and testimonials of WallCAP engagements from 2019 and 2020. Skills learned

Volunteer comments

Geophysical survey; topographic survey; archaeological excavation; standing buildings survey; archaeological illustration; IT skills; photography

‘[I learned] how to decide whether a particular site should be investigated and how to determine exactly where to focus and the best method to carry out further work – even knowing that nothing is there is useful!’

Geological fieldwork/ training Attendees: 323

Rock identification; geological formation; quarrying techniques; masonry techniques

‘Signed up to a geology training course that I wouldn’t have known about if it wasn’t for WallCAP.’

Interpretation and management Attendees: 722

Source assessment; critical reasoning; outcome-based communication; audience interests and bias; professional practice

‘I was surprised to learn all the different processes involved in planned a new gallery at the Roman Carlisle event. We analysed the current gallery, discussed at length what we liked and also what we thought didn’t work. Naturally, none of us agreed, so a fascinating discussion followed. It was quite an insight to hear other people’s views on the gallery.’

Wellbeing and inclusion Attendees: 179

Mindfulness; appreciation of place; position of heritage in communities

‘It’s had a massive impact; I would have gone into real deep depression without it.’

Archaeological fieldwork/ training Attendees: 416

‘Discovery of local previously unknown (by me) interesting sites to visit and share with family.’

‘Learning about the different types of stone, how quarried etc. Adding to my overall picture of Roman and other life on the Wall.’

Theme of sessions

‘I work full time so struggle to get along to digs and other archaeological events and activities. As such the GIS project offered flexibility, in particular given home working due to Covid-19.’ ‘I appreciated the opportunity to take part in an indoor activity as I sometimes worry my fitness may let me down during outdoor sessions.’

88 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

‘Collaboration’ – the internal action that ultimately holds together ­networks – i­s one way of characterizing both the structure, methods and even aims of WallCAP. These include the pursuit of indirect and as well as direct benefits from access to ‘resources’ held (owned, possessed, controlled) by other people, whether by that we mean landholders, government bodies such as the National Park Authority, or regulatory administration of various types. Such resources include the Wall itself and its related features, its hinterland and identity, but also citizen or expert knowledge, data, expertise and ability to act. Motives for collaboration in business contexts vary, but some of them are relevant to initiatives like WallCAP, notably perhaps the desire to learn more, and moral or ethical imperatives such as stewardship, sustainability, social interaction, neighbourliness and community. It is perceived by many WallCAP actors as intrinsically ‘good’ to jointly ‘look after’ or simply to ‘enjoy’ the Wall, and thus increase the societal level of value. A wider outcome of the collaborative and participative aspects of WallCAP can be said to also include the generation of participation in the actual practice of archaeology and its related disciplines, activities and studies. In other words, perhaps, is it a part-­reversal of the post-­1970s professionalization of archaeology and a return to (or a revival/modernization of ) the mid-­twentieth century situation in Britain in which ‘doing’ archaeology was very substantially an ‘amateur’ (citizen) as much as an academic or governmental and rarely a professional (until the later 1960s) pursuit.

Discussion and Conclusion This analysis of one heritage community project, WallCAP, has revealed its engagement with all three types of c­ omplexity – s­ ubstantive, strategic and ­institutional – ­that are recognized as being present in governance network approaches and has provided some insights into how a diverse range of actors and participants are involved in heritage management, or rather in the societal use of heritage. It has demonstrated a form of public participation in heritage that goes beyond the questions of management and protection, which are often considered as the main issues in which participation needs to be enabled and expanded. Such ­questions – ­for example, which parts of a heritage complex should be protected and whether new roads, housing or wind turbines should be allowed nearby, or whether agricultural activity should be directed or ­constrained – ­are most frequently the sort of issue for which demands for public consultation or participation are made (but arguably are rarely fully met). Taking ‘heritage’ in its broader (and still, at least in popular awareness, emergent) meanings as a process

Building a Community of Practice  •  89

or a series of actions and relationships between society and landscape, between people and place, suggests another way of seeing participation in heritage: participation in the process and use, enjoyment and comprehension of heritage. There can be problematic issues surrounding ‘lay’, or non-­expert, involvement in some aspects of the practice of fieldwork and research, especially with the growing scientific/technical directions of many archaeological techniques, and the ethos of non-­intervention in finite resources, but they need not be insurmountable. Participation can also extend beyond a mere consumption of professionally produced research results to taking part in hands-­on management, influencing narratives and definitions of significance, while being helped to develop feelings of ownership and commonality through landscape. These are all aspects of heritage participation, and it is at this level that WallCAP has been operating. Sometimes designation as heritage can have the effect of ‘othering’ the monument in question, but fences around monuments do not need to be physical affairs. The public participation that WallCAP sought to engender aimed to ‘un-­other’ heritage by locating it more fully in everyday life. Indeed, hands-­on participation of this sort can further a sense of social inclusion and a democratization of heritage practices and is perhaps even a step towards filling the participative/democratic deficit and loss of trust that has long been deplored (for example, Klijn and Koppenjan 2012: 595; Nelson, Robbins and Simonsen 1998). WallCAP may look to outsiders like a ‘top-­down closed participatory governance/participation’ project because of its location in a university and because academics initiated it and then invited others to join. There is little doubt that preceding initiatives such as the first WHS management plan in the 1990s and even its early twenty-­first-­century successors were to a then-­unusual extent consultative, but they remained essentially extremely top-­down processes. But as explained above, WallCAP was a careful attempt to move away from such processes and towards a horizontal approach to networking, collaboration and action. The project’s design process itself was participatory, and the actual execution of the project is horizontal as far as possible. Metaphorically speaking, if the primary actors and stakeholders are conceived of as stone blocks, WallCAP has not sought to change or reposition the blocks but rather to provide a mortar than fits between the blocks, binding the actors and stakeholders together to create a stronger sense of heritage for Hadrian’s Wall. The performance of WallCAP has made it behave in open ways, even though its work rarely touches on decision-­making about land use or spatial planning. The range of actions that WallCAP has so far been capable of regenerating is of course constrained by private ownership and most of all by

90 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

the layers of regulations that surround this important set of monuments, from local/regional spatial planning through national heritage protection to international restrictions of the UNESCO rules. Nonetheless, WallCAP is influencing how the heritage component of the Wall is being managed and appreciated. In particular, WallCAP has been fostering a collaborative (and participative in the sense of co-­working) ‘exploitation’ or use of the Wall, for a wide variety of reasons and by a broad section of society, and to some extent it is in the process of creating (or at least enriching and making more visible) a sense of the Hadrian’s Wall landscape as a ‘common resource’. WallCAP is thus creating a community of practice as a sort of commons, or at least as a commonly valued and commonly used resource, a resource that creates and boosts feelings of ‘ownership’ and moves towards a greater democratization of such a visible heritage as the Wall is. This cannot be separated either from the development of new, more inclusive concepts of identity. It might even be creating, as our chapter title suggested, a community of practice that can act as the manager of common pool resources, in turn creating and boosting different notions of ‘ownership’ and democratizing access and utilization. Dr Rob Collins is a Senior Lecturer in Archaeology at Newcastle University (UK) specializing in Roman frontiers, material culture and public archaeology. He is currently the project manager for the Hadrian’s Wall Community Archaeology Project and worked for the Portable Antiquities Scheme prior to joining Newcastle. Graham Fairclough is an archaeologist specializing in heritage and landscape in the McCord Centre for Landscape at Newcastle University (UK). Since 2012, he has been co-­editor of the journal Landscapes. He currently participates in the European HERILAND project and in ‘Devastation’, a joint research project of Newcastle and Heidelberg universities. Dr Sam Turner is a professor of Archaeology at Newcastle University (UK), where he directs the interdisciplinary McCord Centre for Landscape. His research is focused on the medieval archaeology and historic landscapes of Britain, Europe and the Mediterranean. He is also interested in the challenges of managing landscape as a type of heritage, as well as the potential of historic landscapes to support strategies for future living that are sustainable for people and nature.

Building a Community of Practice  •  91

References Birley, E. 1961. Research on Hadrian’s Wall. Kendal: Wilson. Breeze, D.J. 2020. The Pilgrimages of Hadrian’s Wall 1849–2019: A History. Kendal: Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society/Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne. Collins, R., and M. Symonds. 2019. Hadrian’s Wall 2009–2019. Kendal/Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne/Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society. Council of Europe. 2000. European Landscape Convention. European Treaty Series 176 (Florence Convention). Strasbourg: Council of Europe. ———. 2005. Council of Europe Framework Convention on the Value of Cultural Heritage for Society. Council of Europe Treaty S ­ eries – ­No. 199. Faro. Strasbourg: Council of Europe. ———. 2009. Heritage and Beyond. Strasbourg: Council of Europe. (Available online). Fairclough, G. 2018. ‘Landscape and Heritage: Ideas from Europe for Culturally Based Solutions in Rural Environments’, Journal of Environmental Planning and Management 62(7): 1149–65. Published online, 11 June 2018. Fairclough, G. et al. 2020. ‘The CHeriScape Project, 2014–2016: Key Messages from ­CHeriScape – ­Cultural Solutions for Cultural Problems’, Journal of European Landscapes 1: 31–36. DOI: 10.5117/JEL.2020.1.47037. Ferlie, E. et al. 2011. ‘Public Policy Networks and “Wicked Problems”: A Nascent Solution?’, Public Administration 89(2): 307–24. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.14679299.2010.01896.x. Hadrian’s Wall Heritage (HWH) Ltd. 2008. Frontiers of the Roman Empire World Heritage Site. Hadrian’s Wall Management Plan 2008–14. Hadrian’s Wall Partnership Board (HWPB). 2015. The Hadrian’s Wall Management Plan 2015–2020. Retrieved 1 April 2021 from https://hadrianswallcountry.co.uk/hadri​ ans-­wall-­management-­plan. Hingley, R. 2012. Hadrian’s Wall: A Life. Oxford: OUP. Huxham, C., and S. Vangen. 2005. Managing to Collaborate: The Theory and Practice of Collaborative Advantage. London: Routledge. Klijn, E.-H., and J.F.M. Koppenjan. 2012. ‘Governance Network Theory: Past, Present and Future’, Policy & Politics 40(4): 587–606. http://dx.doi.org/10.1332/030557312X 655431. ———. 2016. Governance Networks in the Public Sector. London: Routledge. Lekakis, S., and M. Dragouni. 2020. ‘Heritage in the Making: Rural Heritage and its Mnemeiosis at Naxos Island, Greece’, Journal of Rural Studies 77: 84–92. https://doi​ .org/10.1016/j.jrurstud.2020.04.021. Nelson, L.S., M. Robbins and B. Simonsen. 1998. ‘Introduction to the Special Issue on Governance’, The Social Science Journal 35(4): 477–91. DOI: 10.1016/ S0362-3319(98)90021-0. Norman, K., and S. May. 2014. Hadrian’s Wall WHS Consultation Report. London: UCL. Shannon, W. 2007. Murus Illes Famosus (That Famous Wall): Depictions and Descriptions of Hadrian’s Wall before Camden. Kendal: CWAAS. Shuttleworth, S. 2018. ‘Key Findings and Recommendations from the HERCULES

92 • Rob Collins, Graham Fairclough and Sam Turner

Research Project, and the Need for a Landscape Approach to Environmental Governance’, Landscape Research 42(8): 819–30. Stone, P., and D. Brough (eds). 2014. Managing, Using, and Interpreting Hadrian’s Wall as World Heritage. New York: Springer. Symonds, M., and D. Mason. 2009. Frontiers of Knowledge: A Research Framework for Hadrian’s Wall, Part of the Frontiers of the Roman Empire World Heritage Site. Durham: Durham County Council. Waterton, E. 2005. ‘Whose Sense of Place? Reconciling Archaeological Perspectives with Community Values: Cultural Landscapes in England’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 11(4): 309–25. DOI: 10.1080/13527250500235591. Witcher, R.E., D.P. Tolia-­Kelly and R. Hingley. 2010. ‘Archaeologies of Landscape: Excavating the Materialities of Hadrian’s Wall’, Journal of Material Culture 15(1): 105–28. Young, C. 1996. The Hadrian’s Wall World Heritage Site Management Plan 1996–2001. London: English Heritage.

8 CHAPTER 5 Crafting Castella Why Interactive Governance Led to Success in Reconstructing a Castellum in Utrecht but Not in Leiden Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

Introduction Two Castella Nearly two millennia ago, the Dutch part of the Rhine was studded with Roman fortresses. Although their vestiges were erased by time, remnants remained preserved beneath the soil. Over the past decade, reconstruction at numerous locations led to a range of newly built monuments stretching from the North Sea to the German border and beyond. This chapter focuses on the reconstructions of two such Roman castella, Park ‘Matilo’ in Leiden and ‘Castellum Hoge Woerd’ in Utrecht. Matilo consists of an earthen rampart with watchtowers and works of art, reflecting its Roman past. Near the castellum, there are historically themed gardens, a reconstruction of a Roman canal, a bridge, a road and a boat. Hoge Woerd is a far more elaborate reconstruction, comprised of more facilities. A museum boasts the largest and most complete Roman barge ever excavated north of the Alps, as well as a theatre, and a restaurant provided for by an organic farm. Both castella were created through interactive governance. Although these governance processes were similar, their outcomes have been quite different. Whereas Castellum Hoge Woerd has become a facility of national importance, attracting 100,000 visitors a year, supported by a host of volunteers (Graafstal, forthcoming), Matilo remains mainly a local phenomenon with hardly three visitors a day from outside

94 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

the neighbourhood. Nor has it managed to involve local residents to participate in its operation.1 In this chapter, we attempt to identify an explanation for this disparity.

Interactive Governance Heritage policy in the Netherlands, especially when there is a spatial component, is largely top-­down and AHD-­driven. Yet, there is also some interactive governance involved (Renes et al. 2014; Vandenbussche 2020: 110–11). In the second chapter of this book, we distinguished four forms of this: stakeholder participation, citizen participation, governing the CPR and governing the public good. Matilo and Castellum Hoge Woerd have both been created using citizen and stakeholder participation. In the case of Castellum Hoge Woerd, a third form of interactive governance was added. The reconstructing of a castellum met with so much opposition from some of the local residents that they decided to fight it in court, creating a common pool resource to be able to do so. Whilst these different interactive governance processes coincided in both our cases, they can be clearly distinguished from each other, as each had its own dynamics and unique participants. If we want to know why one of these combinations of modes of interactive governance has been successful and the other has not, we will first need to define ‘success’. But, as already suggested in the second chapter of this book, that is easier said than done. The different participants in interactive governance processes all have their own goals, and so their notions of ‘success’ differ too. Moreover, these goals inevitably shift during the process, making ‘success’ an elusive concept (Klijn, Steijn and Edelenbos Table 5.1. Three forms of interactive governance in the two cases under study. INITIATIVE

OPENNESS

Top-down

Bottom-up

Closed

Stakeholder participation: Hoge Woerd Park Matilo

Governing the CPR: Hoge Woerd

Open

Citizen participation: Hoge Woerd Park Matilo

Governing the public good

Crafting Castella  •  95

2010; Provan and Kenis 2008), even in retrospect (Torfing et al. 2012: 171– 72). Although, as we have seen, there are sets of evaluation criteria to assess ‘success’ nonetheless (e.g. Leach 2006), applying them implies the risks of departing from goals that none of the participants actually had. Therefore, in this chapter, we prefer a more elementary approach, where ‘success’ simply means that the initial goals set by the initiators of the project have been attained: to create monuments with more than just local significance, with enough value to local people that they would maintain them voluntarily (Amsing 2015: 26–27, 54; Gemeente Leiden 2008: 7, 14; 2009: 1–5; 2010: 1–3; Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 292; Projectbureau Leidsche Rijn 2007: 6–20).2 Now what could be the cause of these goals being attained or not achieved? The four modes of interactive governance we distinguish are each studied, using very different bodies of theory, with their own lists of characteristics that determine success and failure (e.g. Agranoff 2007; Bingham and O’Leary 2008; Boedeltje 2009; Connelly, Zhang and Faerman 2008; Donahue and Zeckhauser 2012; Oh and Bush 2016; O’Leary and Vij 2012: 510–11; Termeer 2009 etc.). Taken together, they would result in a list of factors so numerous that they could never be empirically tested. We solve this by proceeding in a grounded theory-­like fashion, in which we let our theory ‘emerge’ from our data in an inductive way (Strauss and Corbin 1998). Yet, we do depart from theory in the sense that the tools we use to map the interactive governance processes we study are derived from it. The citizen participation processes in both Matilo and Castellum Hoge Woerd are studied with the use of Edelenbos et al.’s 9-­cell matrix (2006), discussed in the second chapter of this book. Table 5.2. 9-cell model. Source: Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek, p. 23. PHASE

DIMENSION

Architecture

Actions

Results

Content

framework

input stakeholders

substantive results

Process

design of process

process evolution and process management

degree of agreement and conflict

Power

access and decisionmaking mechanisms

use of resources, powering

degree of influence

96 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

For the analysis of the stakeholder participation at both sites, we use Salamon’s ‘POSDCORB’, which, as we have shown in the second chapter, consists of ‘activation’, ‘orchestration’ and ‘modulation’ (Salamon 2002: 16–18). The data for the research was gathered by document study and interviewing. The interviews were conducted on two instances. Amsing did the bulk of the empirical work in 2015, interviewing 23 people (Amsing 2015; 2017). Renes, Rodenberg and Wagenaar revisited the subject in 2020, conducting another 13 interviews. Amsing also participated in one. The language used was Dutch. In the next section, we first discuss the ‘multilevel governance’ structures and processes that formed the context through which the castella came into being. The interactive governance processes themselves are the subject of the final two sections of this chapter.

Governing the Empire’s Border on Multiple Levels The ‘Limes’ The Latin word ‘Limes’, which originally referred to a road along a frontier, nowadays denotes the border of the Roman Empire (Lendering and Bosman 2012: 87). The section discussed in this chapter formed part of the empire’s northern frontier on the European continent. Construction was started around 40 AD, in connection to emperor Caligula’s attempt to invade Britain (Mols and Polak 2020: 118). Towards the end of the first century AD, it slowly developed into a proper border defence (Chorus 2020: 169). The part in the present-­day Netherlands stretched along the Rhine from Lobith in the east to Katwijk in the west and would eventually be 140 kilometres in length (Van Dinter 2020: 137). Most of it was guarded by castella, in essence fortified barracks, on average measuring 120 by 80 meters in length, placed some 15 kilometres apart (Chorus 2020: 157–58), housing ‘cohorts’ of roughly 500 soldiers (Lems and Van Gelder 1995: 54). Originally wooden constructions in the period around 160–180 AD, the castella were rebuilt in stone (Chorus 2020: 157, 169). In between them watchtowers were erected. Towards the end of the third century AD, the castella were abandoned. Reasons included the collapse of the Empire’s northern border but also drainage problems, caused by increased silt; a consequence of deforestation upstream (Pierik 2017; Van Dinter 2017; Van Ginkel and Vos 2018: 210–11). The ruins of the castella remained visible for centuries. Over the course of the Middle Ages, they all but disappeared from the visible landscape. The rising interest in Roman history and heritage caused a surprising reappearance in the landscape during the early twenty-­first century. Between 2007–2016, visualizations of the Limes were

Crafting Castella  •  97

constructed in Leiden, Zwammerdam, Woerden, Utrecht Leidsche Rijn, Bunnik and Arnhem-­Meinerswijk (Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 283). The reconstruction of the two Roman army camps that we focus on in this chapter was not a purely local phenomenon. It should be seen from the perspective of nominating the Lower German part of the Roman Limes as a transnational world heritage site by the Netherlands and Germany, to be an extension of the British and German sites that had already been listed. This process was completed in 2021. In 2011, the Lower German Limes was added to the tentative list of world heritage, to be officially submitted in 2018 (Expertgroep Beoordeling Werelderfgoednominaties 2015: 43; Zwart 2017: 44). The final decision by the UNESCO World Heritage Committee was taken in July 2021.

Multilevel Governance of Heritage The administrative design underlying this nomination is characterized by ‘multilevel governance’. This means that multiple actors, all representing different levels of government, are needed to solve a policy issue (Hooghe and Marks 2002; Hooghe, Marks and Schakel 2020). In this section, we first discuss the main administrative actors at national, regional and local level. Then, we will discuss the appointment process and how these actors have cooperated with each other. To complete the context of the interactive governance of Matilo and Hoge Woerd, we also briefly discuss related policies for these processes. It is important to bear in mind that the Dutch heritage system as a whole is currently in transition, striving towards a more integrated manner of policymaking. The Monuments Act of 1988 has been reformed into The Heritage Act, in effect since 2016, focusing on the preservation and management of monumental buildings and movable heritage, and into a new Spatial Planning Act (the ‘Omgevingswet’).3 As the latter has not yet been implemented, the Monuments Act of 1988 continues to regulate management and conservation of spatial heritage. Both laws assign competencies to a range of administrative actors at all levels. At the central level, the Minister of Education, Culture & Science and the Minister of Infrastructure and Water Management have the authority to designate buildings and ensembles (‘town- and villagescapes’) and archaeological sites as National Monuments (Heritage Act 2016), as well as exercise control over the heritage policy of lower authorities (Monument Act 1988). With regard to the nomination of world heritage sites to UNESCO, it is the Council of Ministers, and on its behalf the Minister of Education, Culture & Science, who submits the nomination dossier, as was the case with the Limes (Nederlandse Limes Samenwerking n.d.).

98 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

The RCE (Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel ­Erfgoed – ­Dutch Cultural Heritage Agency) is responsible for the preservation and conservation of national heritage on behalf of the Minister of Education, Culture & Science. It advises local authorities on the management and preservation of cultural heritage and implements the Dutch Heritage Act. With regard to the implementation of world heritage policy, the RCE is the formal contact ­point – ­a so-­called ‘focal point’ – for the UNESCO World Heritage Centre in Paris. For the Limes nomination dossier, the RCE also acted as an expert advisor with substantive contributions to the dossier and advice on the process (Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed n.d).4 Provinces still play an important role with regard to spatial and archaeological heritage, due to competencies and tasks assigned to them by the Monuments Act of 1988 and the new Spatial Planning Act (Omgevingswet). The way in which they are required to deal with heritage that has a spatial impact within their boundaries is stipulated in the mandatory provincial structural vision (Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed 2017). Provinces often have their own heritage visions or memorandums; for instance, an archaeological value map. At this level, we also find ‘heritage support centres’: autonomous bodies, with the legal form of foundations, which provide regional and local authorities with substantive advice on heritage policy. In the provinces where Matilo and Hoge Woerd are located, these are the provincial heritage centres of the provinces of Zuid-­Holland and Utrecht (Erfgoedhuis Zuid-­Holland and Landschap Erfgoed Utrecht, respectively) (Erfgoedhuis Zuid-­Holland n.d.; Landschap Erfgoed Utrecht n.d.). At the local level, municipalities regulate their approach to spatial cultural heritage similarly: in municipal structural plans, sometimes supplemented by heritage plans. The Limes runs through the provinces of Zuid-­Holland, Utrecht and Gelderland, encompassing no less than twenty-­six municipalities (Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes 2014). This makes governing the heritage of the Roman border a prime example of multilevel heritage governance that necessitates close coordination structures.

Coordination Structures Various administrative actors are involved in shaping the management and conservation of the Dutch Limes. In addition, there is a range of semi-­ public actors at both the local and regional levels.5 To coordinate actions, an elaborate governance structure was set in place. The first moves towards shaping cooperation between actors at the national and regional levels began shortly after a committee tasked with selecting possible future world heritage sites delivered its report in 2011.

Crafting Castella  •  99

This committee did not include the Limes in its tentative list, because it allegedly lacked regional and local support (Zwart 2017: 61). Dissatisfied with this decision, the Limes provinces South Holland, Utrecht and Gelderland hastily drew up an agreement with the RCE to cooperate, in order to have the Limes designated as a world heritage site (Erfgoedstem 2011). That same year, the Limes was placed on the tentative list. On 27  January 2014, the Ministry of Education, Culture & Science, the RCE, the three Limes provinces and twenty-­six Limes municipalities signed a Declaration of Intent (Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes) nominating the lower German Limes as a world heritage site. The signatories committed themselves to making the necessary preparations for the nomination (Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes 2014: 1; Zwart 2017: 63). This Declaration of Intent also set out the political-­administrative structure of the preparations for the nomination. It consisted of the ‘Stuurgroep Limes’ (Limes Steering Committee), three ‘Bestuurlijke tafels’ (political consultation forums), the ‘Werkgroep Limes’ (Limes Working Group) and the ‘ambtelijke Limes overleg’ (Administrative Limes Consultation) (Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes 2014: 7). The Limes Steering Committee, comprising the three provinces and the RCE, was tasked with drawing up the nomination dossier and submitting it to the Minister of Education, Culture and Science. To this end, it received input from the three political consultation forums: for each province, separate consultations took place between the Limes municipalities and provincial government. The Workgroup Limes comprised of official representatives from the three provinces, and the RCE was charged with drafting the nomination dossier. Finally, the Administrative Limes Consultation, consisting of the three provinces, the Limes municipalities and the RCE, was in charge of preparing the Administrative Tables and the Steering Group. Each of the three provinces integrated the Limes into their existing heritage policies, which were, however, very different. Zuid-­Holland organized ‘heritage round tables’, in which the province consulted various heritage stakeholders. This resulted in a provincial focus on seven heritage ‘lines’, of which the Zuid-­Holland Limes is one. The province of Utrecht chose to incorporate the Limes into its regular provincial heritage policy, whereby the focus is on visitor activities and much is left to the municipalities (Provincie Zuid-­Holland 2020). The third province, Gelderland, is not relevant to our present case studies.

Figure 5.1. Visualization of the multilevel governance arrangement of the Limes. Source: Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes 2014 [Declaration of Intent World Heritage Nomination Roman Limes], p. 7.

Crafting Castella  •  101

Multilevel Governance of Matilo and Hoge Woerd Even before the Limes was nominated a world heritage site, policies were already being formulated for castella Park Matilo and Hoge Woerd. After all, the national, provincial and municipal governments were obliged to do so under the 1988 Monuments Act. Naturally, the nomination process influenced these existing policies.6 A total of six hubs were selected as attractive ‘Limes opportunities’, including castellum Park Matilo in the municipality of Leiden and castellum Hoge Woerd in the city of Utrecht. This resulted in extra funding7 but also greater involvement of the RCE. Local government was ultimately responsible for creating the visitor hubs. To complicate an already labyrinthine story even further, interactive governance was used to bring this about.

Interactive Governance: Castellum Hoge Woerd Castellum Hoge Woerd,8 now situated in the new western extension of the city of Utrecht named Leidsche Rijn, was founded in 40–41 AD (Van Ginkel and Vos 2018: 68). Archaeological finds were already described in the early nineteenth century, and the first archaeological excavation took place in 1830. A number of excavations followed from 1940 onwards, including one in 1982, when a local alderman succeeded in obtaining permission to build a house with a basement housing an indoor swimming pool on the site of the castellum. The hole he dug in the castellum destroyed this part of the site and could therefore later be used to build the present museum (Kalee 1982). In 1998, the castellum became a listed monument on the national level. From that moment on, it was no longer possible to build on the site or to do large-­scale excavations. Plans for reconstructing the castellum emerged gradually when the site became surrounded by the new Leidsche Rijn housing estate (Amsing 2015: 52). One of the driving ideals behind it was the wish to provide the new residential area with a (spatial) identity (Amsing 2015: 52, 57, 67, 86, 88, 100, 149, 160),9 which, at the time, was quite an innovative idea (Renes 2017). The basic plans for the reconstruction of the castellum were ready in 2007 (Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 290). The initiator was the municipal archaeologist Erik Graafstal, who had been harbouring the plan since 2000 (Amsing 2015: 63, 154). The kick-­off had been in 2006, with a large place-­making project. In 2007, the municipal council had approved the ideas for reconstruction (Projectbureau Leidsche Rijn 2007), and building began in 2013. Two years later, the castellum was finished (Amsing 2015: 53). Ambitions had been high from the start, as Leidsche Rijn is the country’s largest new housing estate and

102 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

the castellum its biggest archaeological excavation (Amsing 2015: 149, 151).

Stakeholder Participation Four actors were involved in the stakeholder participation process that resulted in the reconstruction of the castellum: a theatre, a restaurant, an organic farm-­cum-­nature education centre and a museum housing the large Roman barge found near the site (Amsing 2015: 54–55). These four stakeholders formed the project team, together with landscape architects, personnel from the municipal real estate organization, the RCE in an advisory role, and a project manager (Amsing 2015: 72). The first project manager, Ernest Pelders, was confronted with the situation that ‘the story underneath the soil’ needed to be made visible but that there was no budget for doing so. Luckily, the terrain under which the remnants were still present was for the most part already in possession of the municipality. Together with archaeologist Erik Graafstal, Pelders needed to draw up a business case and find partners. After obtaining the RCE’s permission to use part of the site for building houses, he managed to acquire the necessary millions. He used the aforementioned place-­making ­project – ­in which a lot of local parties were i­nvolved – t­ o find out whether there was support for the plans among the local residents.10 When Jurjen van Keulen succeeded Pelders as project manager in 2007, some of the stakeholders were already involved. Erik Graafstal and his plans for the museum and the organic farm had been there from the start. A theatre and a restaurant still had to be contracted. The theatre, which was the first to join, was given a full say in the project but was able to withdraw without consequences.11 This was, of course, a very attractive condition. The municipality obviously set great store by the project and to this day invests in it heavily. The restaurant has to support itself, but the other partners are subsidized. This is one of the reasons they did not merge into one organization (Amsing 2015: 57–58).12 When we look at this process from the lens of Salamon’s POSDCORB (Salamon 2002: 16–18) we see that the project team was very successful in ‘activation’, identifying and encouraging stakeholders. ‘Orchestration’, the diplomatic activity necessary for rallying stakeholders behind a common goal, also went well. All stakeholders were part of the project team and cooperated with each other admirably. Yet, in ‘modulation’: the provision of the right incentives to stakeholders, the municipality might have overdone things a bit. It clearly really needed this project to be a success.

Crafting Castella  •  103

Citizen Participation ‘Citizen participation’, the second type of interactive governance used in creating Castellum Hoge Woerd, took various forms and allowed for different degrees of influence. ‘M3T’, an interest group representing the inhabitants of the four streets adjacent to the castellum, was invited to focus group sessions, together with a representation of the local historical society. During these it managed to exercise quite a bit of influence, protesting against the height of a reconstructed watchtower and the size of the castellum and (unsuccessfully) suing when its wishes were not granted. The municipality made the concession to turn the castellum 180 degrees around its axis and to plant more hedges in its vicinity. That this group held regular meetings with the project team at first was unknown to the other inhabitants of Leidsche Rijn. Once these found out about it, during protests against changes in the zoning plan, a larger number of inhabitants was involved (Amsing 2015: 68, 72–73, 165, 174).13 In addition to the focus group meetings, two hearings were organized for all of the residents. These were intended for providing information mainly, but during the ­last – ­tumultuous – session, the municipality made important concessions. Then there were tours to inform the inhabitants about the castellum, a website and newsletters, and, as we have already seen, there was a placemaking project that ran from 2006 to 2013. In this project, many local partners were involved, including a historical society and a shop for agricultural products. They provided tours, offered an educational programme, ran a shop and built reconstructions of a watchtower, a Roman bath and a barge (Amsing 2015: 73–75).14 All these different activities created a certain degree of enthusiasm for the castellum, although, as we have seen, there were also protests. When the Roman barge was excavated, in 2003, a representation of the inhabitants of Leidsche Rijn had already asked the town council to exhibit it locally (Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 289–91). The return of the barge to Leidsche Rijn in 2015, after being restored, created a media event that would prove to be larger than that surrounding the opening of the castellum itself, and would cause the protests to give way to enthusiasm. At the time of opening, the castellum already had a hundred volunteers at its disposal, all of whom would stay. Some 6–7,000 visitors attended the event.15 The fact that the castellum restaurant got its start-­up capital from local crowdfunding is, of course, also significant (Amsing 2015: 66). Using Edelenbos et al.’s 9-­cell matrix to analyse the citizen participation processes (2006), we find that citizens hardly had any influence on their ‘architecture’. The many activities undertaken by the project team were intended to inform and enthuse, but not so much to confer decision-­making

104 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

Table 5.3. Hoge Woerd: Citizen involvement during the three phases. PHASE

DIMENSION

Architecture

Actions

Results

Content

framework

input stakeholders

substantive results

Process

design of process

process evolution and process management

degree of agreement and conflict

Power

access and decisionmaking mechanisms

use of resources, powering

degree of influence

power. In principle, this seriously limited the citizens’ ability to influence the next phase of the process, but by adopting an assertive stance they still managed to put forward their demands. The significant changes to the plan they demanded then made it through the final phase and were thus actually implemented.

Governing the CPR However, a number of citizens demanded even greater participation. A year before the opening of the castellum, the municipality decided to change the zoning plan because at the time it did not yet allow the open-­air performances the theatre needed. When a group of residents heard about this, they feared that this would open the door to large-­scale dance concerts, which could potentially become a considerable nuisance for the borough. In January 2015, they founded a protest group called ‘Residents’ Interests Hoge Woerd’ (Bewonersbelang Hoge Woerd), which acted as a kind of umbrella organization over the other neighbourhood associations, and started filing proposals for changes to the zoning plan (Amsing 2015: 67). They succeeded in getting each street to send representatives to the meetings, who were authorized to make decisions. On several occasions, this group met with representatives of the municipality (Amsing 2015: 170),16 yet this proved to be no solution. It is true that the project team managed to work out a compromise with the majority of the residents, and that the responsible alderman managed to reassure many others during a meeting in the theatre, but another part of the interest group would proceed to a law suit against the municipality, crowdfunding the costs. The latter eventually lost its court case before the Council of State.17 Yet, this was not the end

Crafting Castella  •  105

of the story. In 2016, the protest group institutionalized itself. It has since become a foundation that monitors noise pollution and takes action when this exceeds the norms laid down in the zoning plan.18 In retrospect, some members of the project team feel that the problem was communication. Initially failing to inform residents about a change in the zoning plan, and then doing so during the holiday period, had caused a lot of distrust (Amsing 2015: 58–59, 64, 67–68,73, 76–77, 79–80, 82, 91, 102).19 All’s well that ends well, however. The municipality of Utrecht invested more than 15 million euros in the project20 and would continue to subsidize it. In return, it obtained an archaeological reconstruction of far more than local significance (Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 289–91), with a host of volunteers to run it (Amsing 2015: 59–60).

Interactive Governance: Park Matilo In all likelihood, castellum Park Matilo was built at about 70 AD, in response to the so-­called ‘Batavian Revolt’, a local rebellion against Roman rule. In 196–8 AD, it was rebuilt in stone, to be abandoned between 240–260 AD (Brandenburgh and Hessing 2014: 17, 26–27, 34, 36). Excavations of the castellum started in 1927 and resumed in 1970. In 1976, it was declared a national monument, making full-­scale excavations impossible, although far more limited research made the exact location clear (Lems and Van Gelder 1995: 29–30, 71–72). In the 1960s, a new housing estate called ‘Meerburg’ was built near the castellum. In the first decade of this century, another housing estate, ‘Roomburg’, was added. This new addition has about one thousand houses and is therefore much smaller than its Utrecht counterpart, which was discussed in the previous section (Brandenburgh and Hessing 2014: 96–97). As in Utrecht, a reconstruction of the castellum was planned, intended to provide the newly built borough with an identity (Amsing 2015: 26).21 Construction started in 2008 to be completed in 2013. Ernest Pelders, whom we already met in castellum Hoge Woerd, was also project manager of Matilo during the first phase. He would later be succeeded by Joyce Langenacker. Other members of the project team included a landscape architect, representatives of a housing corporation, and heritage specialists from the municipality and the RCE. The reconstruction was intended to have a more than local appeal, attract people from outside Leiden, promote the integration of Meerburg and Roomburg by means of a much-­needed common park, and provide identity to these boroughs. Of course, it was part of provincial Limes plans as well (Amsing 2015: 24, 26–27, 88).

106 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

It had a bumpy start. Prior to 2008, the municipality had purchased land at the site of the monument with the intention of creating a park, but it stopped doing so when costs kept rising. Shortly after the first plots in the projected new housing estate were sold, it became known that the municipality intended to build an asylum centre on the monument, instead of a park. Yet, because this coincided with a resignation from the municipal executive, the plans were soon to change again. A new alderman, Jan-­Jaap de Haan, was appointed; he would become the driving force behind the reconstruction of the castellum. Plans for an asylum centre were called off, and relations with the RCE, who had not been keen on the idea of building one on top of a national monument, and the neighbourhood were restored.22 De Haan then drew up a modular plan for the rebuilding of the castellum. It consisted of four phases that could be scaled up or down, depending on financial parameters (Amsing 2015: 33–34).23 Ultimately, some five million euros would be spent on it (Amsing 2015: 127).

Stakeholder Participation The actors the alderman involved in this project are very similar to the actors that cooperated on the place-­making project in Leidsche Rijn: local parties that were already active near the castellum. They were invited to create facilities on the civic part of the monument but not on the site of castellum itself. Important were the city gardens and the school gardens (Amsing 2015: 31, 38–39, 40–41). Prior to the construction of the park, people had held allotments on the site. Some of these could remain, albeit in a different, far more stylized form and were now accessible to the public. Something similar was applied for the new school gardens. They would soon be joined by an art collective, social welfare work, an organization for assisted living, and a wine growers’ club. Towards the end of the project, the alderman also succeeded in attracting scouting group ‘St. Jozef ’. Since the municipality had allotted money for the construction of the park but not initially for its maintenance, it was vital to have these partners on board.24 But, unfortunately, more important than the stakeholders who were involved were the ones who were not. Leiden is home to the country’s most important museum of antiquities, which has finds from Matilo in its collection. Although they tried, De Haan and Pelders did not succeed in involving the museum in the project.25 Pelders also tried to attract archaeological theme park ‘Archeon’, some 15 kilometres from Matilo, and a local cinema operator to organize open-­air film screenings, but in vain. He intended it to be a facility for sport and culture, the ‘stage of the city’, but this never materialized.26 The same goes for facilities that could have

Crafting Castella  •  107

been realized more easily, such as a mooring jetty for canal boats and the power points and taps necessary to accommodate events.27 A large part of the problem was that, unlike in Utrecht, no structural funds had been allotted to the project. It was therefore difficult to get potential partners interested but also to realize the visitor centre that was needed to accommodate them (Amsing 2015: 123–25). The fact that the project manager and the alderman did not stay on until the end of the project was an additional complication.28 If we analyse this stakeholder participation process from the lens of Salamon’s POSDCORB (Salamon 2002: 16–18), we find that the problem bedevilling the project team started right at the beginning, during the ‘activation’ phase. Encouraging stakeholders proved to be enormously difficult, as the means for ‘modulation’ were lacking. Contrary to what had happened in Utrecht, there simply were not sufficient financial means to provide attractive incentives to draw suitable stakeholders able to turn Matilo into a site of more than merely neighbourhood significance. The fact that in Matilo no genuine archaeological artifacts are visible adds to the problem. Leidsche Rijn has its barge. In Matilo, a Roman cavalry mask has been found that is at least as spectacular,29 but only a replica is visible at the site. The original is in the nearby National Museum of Antiquities.

Citizen Participation The process of citizen participation, which was applied in the reconstruction of Park Matilo, was very similar to that of Castellum Hoge Woerd. There were focus groups in which the boards of the two neighbourhood associations participated. In addition, a number of residents were selected to be interviewed about their wishes. The neighbourhood associations then passed these on to the project team.30 Three hearings were also organized to which all residents were invited, after the boards had requested this from the project team. As in Castellum Hoge Woerd, the hearings were primarily intended to provide information, but the residents also used them as an opportunity to make their wishes known. ­And – ­just as in ­Utrecht – ­they were quite successful in getting their way. City gardens were planted on the site of the allotments, a bicycle path was laid in a different place than originally intended, and, during the first hearing, the residents succeeded in getting project management to build a football field. When the residents remarked that the shape of the watchtowers reminded them of ‘Schindler’s List’, the design was altered (Amsing 2015: 41–49).31 In addition to the design of the site, there was of course the question of its use. During the final hearing, a foundation, ‘Beautiful Matilo’ (Stichting Mooi Matilo), was presented. It is a volunteer organization consisting of the

108 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

two neighbourhood associations, the school gardens, the scouting group and archaeologist Tom Hazenberg, and is intended to make the Roman past of the castellum ‘experienceable’ (Amsing 2015: 41–49).32 As in Utrecht, many activities were organized to sell the plans to the residents. For example, there was a quarterly newsletter called ‘Matilo Magazine’, an excursion to Leidsche Rijn for the presidents of the neighbourhood associations, and a place-­making event in which these organizations participated (Amsing 2015: 41–49).33 However, these have not had the effect that their Utrecht counterparts enjoyed. The parts of Matilo that can be called a success are those demanded by the residents: the football field, the gardens and the scouting home. All of these are located outside the castellum, though (Amsing 2015: 28–29). The neighbourhoods are willing to invest in the facilities they have actually asked for, and they organized a fundraising campaign to renovate the football field when it deteriorated through use.34 They also organize a yearly festival together and publish a joint newsletter (Amsing 2015: 139).35 Yet, despite the existence of ‘Mooi Matilo’, the residents have the feeling that the castellum itself was simply transferred to them after its creation, without it being clear who was responsible for maintenance and the organization of activities (Amsing 2015: 41–49).36 The ‘Mooi Matilo’ foundation has done its utmost to fill the gap by organizing activities with a Roman theme. For instance, five to ten times a year there have been ‘Roman Sundays’, with a tent, guided tours, theatre, films, food, children’s activities and slide shows. The foundation has participated in ‘Open Monument Day’, the ‘Archaeology Day’ and ‘Roman Week’ but with very little success. Currently, the foundation is trying to establish cooperation with external stakeholders and is setting up a visitor centre for activities, with a small coffee shop, in the hope that this will attract visitors. It has managed to raise the necessary funds for this and has also set aside a considerable sum of money for organizing activities aimed at involving the local community. For a long time, not many volunteers were available, and the foundation even had difficulty finding enough members for its board. There is now hope that this may change in the near future.37 When we analyse the citizen participation processes using the 9-­cell matrix of Edelenbos et al. (2006), we find that citizens have had slightly more influence on their ‘architecture’ than in Leidsche Rijn. Neighbourhood associations successfully demanded hearings where all the residents were welcome. As in Utrecht, the project team informed and tried to enthuse, but the decision-­making power of citizens was limited; although the interviews with individual citizens were a nice touch. As in Utrecht, the citizens compensated for their lack of influence by assuming an assertive stance in the next phase. The demands they managed to submit passed through the final phase and were implemented. What happened next is interesting: only

Crafting Castella  •  109

Table 5.4. Aspects of citizen participation in the construction of Park Matilo varied during the three phases. PHASE

DIMENSION

Architecture

Actions

Results

Content

framework

input stakeholders

substantive results

Process

design of process

process evolution and process management

degree of agreement and conflict

Power

access and decisionmaking mechanisms

use of resources, powering

degree of influence

those parts of the plan that the citizens themselves proposed were used and maintained by the two boroughs. As a result, the reconstruction of the castellum itself never became that which the initiators had hoped for.

Discussion Both Park Matilo and Castellum Hoge Woerd are reconstructions of Roman castella, which are so large and costly they could never have been created without government involvement. In both cases, government used two different interactive governance processes to bring them about: citizen and stakeholder participation. In Utrecht, the citizen participation process proved to be difficult. Some residents felt so excluded that they took the municipality to court in order to have their objections taken seriously. A skilfully executed communication offensive proved sufficient to largely undo the damage. In Leiden, it was precisely the stakeholder participation process that ran into trouble. It proved impossible to ‘activate’ the relevant parties, with the result that the project lacked the facilities to have given it more than local importance. The lack of these also meant that it was not possible to attract local volunteers to partake in activities on the castellum itself. There simply was not enough for them to participate in. It appears, therefore, that damage to the stakeholder part of the process is less easily compensated than inadequate citizen participation, and also negatively affects the latter. This is perhaps the most important lesson to be drawn from our two case studies. Why did the stakeholder process fail in Leiden? Part of the explanation has to do with the investment the municipality was prepared to make. Leidsche

110 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

Rijn is a new housing estate, much larger than Roomburg, which lacked facilities at the time of construction. Therefore, the Utrecht city council was prepared to spend enormous amounts of money on the reconstruction of the castellum and the facilities it contained. For the construction and especially the maintenance of Matilo, far fewer resources were available. This made it more difficult to attract partners. The fact that Roomburg is relatively close to the inner city of Leiden, which houses all imaginable facilities, including the country’s most important museum of antiquities; that there is an archaeological theme park on cycling distance; and that no real archaeological remains are visible in Matilo probably contributed to the difficulties. Then there are other contingent factors. As Hazenberg, Graafstal and Pelders rightly point out, government is the only party that can bring about this kind of stakeholder participation (Graafstal and Hazenberg 2020: 292).38 If, as happened in Leiden, the responsible alderman and the project leader leave before the project is completed, and their successors never become as involved as they were, this can have dire consequences (compare Michel and De Graaf 2010: 484). We would like to conclude with a word on multilevel governance. Both interactive governance projects described in this chapter are situated in an administrative environment that includes all levels of government. At the national and provincial level in particular, the governmental structures involved are so labyrinthine that they evade d ­ escription – a­ s the reader may have noticed. It is striking that ­this – t­ o use a Dutch expression – ‘administrative spaghetti’ is only marginally concerned with the local level. It had hardly anything to do with the interactive governance processes that led to the Castella Matilo and Hoge Woerd and was mainly involved with the nomination of the Limes as world heritage. This in itself is not surprising. The Netherlands are a decentralized unitary state, which means that the various tiers of government have their own spheres of influence, to some extent. But if we compare it to the German intergovernmental power struggle that Zwegers describes in his chapter in this book, the difference is striking. Perhaps the fact that Dresden is a case of delisting instead of listing is an explanation. After all, delisting is accompanied by a loss of national prestige. If actions at the local level threaten to cause this, interference from higher layers of government is inevitable. Eline Amsing is a historian and archaeologist. She obtained her master’s degree from Leiden University, the Netherlands, in 2015, specializing in heritage and participation. Since then, she has worked as a heritage consultant and process manager in the fields of archaeological and built heritage conservation and sustainable urban development.

Crafting Castella  •  111

Dr Pieter Wagenaar is an assistant professor at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His research interests are the history of administration and the administration of history. At present, he is focused on interactive governance in the heritage sector. He is involved in the HERILAND project: a pan-­European research and training network on cultural heritage in relation to Spatial Planning and Design. Jeroen Rodenberg has an MA in Medieval History and a MSc in Public Administration (Leiden University). He is a lecturer and Ph.D. candidate at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, with research interests in heritage governance and policy and the history of public administration. He is involved in the pan-­ European research and training project on heritage planning HERILAND. Currently, he is completing his dissertational research on competing heritage policy discourses in decision-­making processes. Dr Hans Renes (b. 1954) retired in 2021 as historical geographer at Utrecht University (Faculty of Geosciences) and professor of heritage studies at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam (Faculty of Humanities), the Netherlands. He has published on many different aspects of landscape history of the Netherlands and Europe as well as on the relation between landscape heritage and planning. He is co-­editor of the Tijdschrift voor Historische Geografie (Dutch language) and the recently launched Journal of European Landscapes.

NOTES  1. Interview 4 May 2020.  2. Interview 17 March 2020; interview 19 March 2020; interview 4 May 2020.  3. The scheduled ‘Omgevingswet’ incorporates several older acts on spatial planning, cultural heritage and the environment, based on the administrative idea of integrated policy. Implementation is problematic, has been delayed several times and is now foreseen in 2022.  4. Interview 12 March 2020.  5. Interview 12 March 2020.  6. Interview 18 March 2020.  7. Interview 18 March 2020.  8. According to local historians, the original Roman name may have been Fletio. It is true that the name Fletione is shown on the Peutinger map, but at the site of another fortress, east of Utrecht, it was named Fectione (the name is recorded on a local inscription) and is still nowadays known as Vechten. It is possible that both names were confused by the mapmaker.

112 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

Interview 6 May 2020. Interview 1 May 2020; interview 6 May 2020. Interview 6 May 2020. Interview 7 April 2020. Interview 6 May 2020. Interview 6 May 2020. Interview 6 May 2020. Interview 2 April 2020; interview 2 April 2021. Interview 7 April 2020; interview 6 May2020. Interview 2 April 2021. Interview 2 April 2020. Interview 18 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020; interview 17 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 1 May 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 4 May 2020. Interview 4 June 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 19 March 2020. Interview 17 March 2020. Interview 4 May 2020; interview 6 July 2021. Interview 4 May 2020; interview 1 May 2020.

References Agranoff, R. 2007. Managing Within Networks: Adding Value to Public Organizations. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press. Amsing, E. 2015. ‘Assessing All Values and Interests: Stakeholder Engagement in the Development of Archaeological Site Parks in the Netherlands’, MA thesis. Leiden University. ———. 2017. ‘Assessing Stakeholders’ Values and Interests for Archaeological Park Matilo and Castellum Hoge Woerd, the Netherlands’, INTER-SECTION 3: 37– 42. Bingham, L.B., and R. O’Leary (eds). 2008. Big Ideas in Collaborative Public Management. New York: Routledge. Boedeltje, M. 2009. ‘Draagvlak door interactief bestuur: fictie of feit’ [Support for Interactive Governance: Fact or Fiction]. PhD thesis. University of Twente.

Crafting Castella  •  113

Brandenburgh, C., and W. Hessing. 2014. Matilo-Rodenburg-Roomburg: De Roomburgerpolder: van Romeins castellum tot moderne woonwijk [The Roomburgerpolder: From Roman Castellum to Modern Housing Estate]. Leiden: Primavera Pers. Chorus, J. 2020. ‘De forten langs de Rijn in Romeins Nederland’ [The Fortresses along the Rhine in the Roman Netherlands], Lampas 53(2): 157–73. Connelly, D.R., J. Zhang and S. Faerman. 2008. ‘The Paradoxical Nature of Collaboration’, in L.B. Bingham and R. O’Leary (eds), Big Ideas in Collaborative Public Management. New York: Routledge, pp. 17–35. Donahue, J.D., and R.J. Zeckhauser. 2012. Collaborative Governance: Private Roles for Public Goals in Turbulent Times. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs [Citizens as Policy Advisors]. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek. Erfgoedhuis Zuid-­Holland. n.d. Over Erfgoedhuis Zuid-Holland [About Erfgoedhuis Zuid-­Holland]. Retrieved 24 May 2021 from https://www.erfgoedhuis-­zh.nl/over​ -­erfgoedhuis/. Erfgoedstem. 2011. Interprovinciale samenwerking voor de Limes [Inter-­provincial Cooperation for the Limes]. Retrieved 24 May 2021 from https://www.erfgoedst​ em.nl/interprovinciale-­samenwerking-­voor-­de-­limes. Expertgroep beoordeling Werelderfgoed nominaties. 2015. Bitter en Zoet: Advies van de Expertgroep beoordeling werelderfgoednominaties. [Bitter and Sweet: Advice of the Expertgroup Evaluation of World Heritage Nominations. [s.l: s.n]. Gemeente Leiden. 2008. Archeologisch Park Matilo: Plan van aanpak, versie 3 [Archaeological Park Matilo: Action Plan, Version 3]. Leiden. [s.n.] ———. 2009. Raadsvoorstel 09.0042 [Proposal to the City Council]. Leiden [s.n.]. ———. 2010. Raadsvoorstel 10.0006 [Proposal to the City Council]. Leiden [s.n.]. Graafstal, E. (forthcoming). ‘Castellum Hoge Woerd (Utrecht-­NL): A Revived Roman Fort Based in the Local Community’, Public Archaeology. Graafstal, E., and T. Hazenberg. 2020. ‘De nieuwe kleren van de keizer’? De lange weg naar een aantrekkelijk werelderfgoed’ [‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’? The Long Way to an Attractive World Heritage], Lampas 53(2): 282–93. Hooghe, L., and G. Marks. 2002. ‘Types of Multi-­Level Governance’, Les Cahiers européens de Sciences Po 3: 3–31. Hooghe, L., G. Marks and A. Schakel. 2020. ‘Multilevel Governance’, in D. Caramani (ed.), Comparative Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 193–211. Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes. 2014 [Declaration of Intent World Heritage Nomination Roman Limes]. Kalee, C.A. 1982. ‘Opgravingen op de Hoge Woerd in De Meern, 1830–1973’ [Excavations at Hoge Woerd in De Meern, 1830–1973], Officieel orgaan van de Historische Vereniging Vleuten, De Meern, Haarzuilens 2: 59–80. Klijn, E.H., B. Steijn and J. Edelenbos. 2010. ‘The Impact of Network Management on Outcomes in Governance Networks’, Public Administration 88(4): 1063–82. Landschap Erfgoed Utrecht. n.d. Over Landschap Erfgoed Utrecht [About Landschap Erfgoed Utrecht]. Retrieved 24 May 2021 from https://www.landschaperfgoedut​ recht.nl/over-ons/. Leach, W.D. 2006. ‘Collaborative Public Management and Democracy: Evidence from

114 • Eline Amsing, Pieter Wagenaar, Jeroen Rodenberg and Hans Renes

Western Watershed Partnerships’, Public Administration Review 66(SUPP/1): 100–10. Lems, E., and H. van Gelder. 1995. Op zoek naar Matilo: sporen van de Romeinen in Leiden [Looking for Matilo: Traces of the Romans in Leiden]. Leiden: Gemeente Leiden, Dienst Bouwen en Wonen. Lendering, J., and A. Bosman. 2012. Edge of Empire: Rome’s Frontier on the Lower Rhine. Rotterdam: Karwansaray Publishers. Michels, A., and L. de Graaf. 2010. ‘Examining Citizen Participation: Local Participatory Policy Making and Democracy’, Local Government Studies 36(4): 47791. Mols, S., and R. Polak. 2020. ‘De Romeinse Limes in Nederland’ [The Roman Limes in The Netherlands], Lampas 53(2): 113–23. Nederlandse Limes Samenwerking. n.d. Nominatie [Nomination]. Retrieved 24  May 2021 from https://www.limeswerelderfgoed.nl/nominatie. Oh, Y., and C.B. Bush. 2016. ‘Exploring the Role of Dynamic Social Capital in Collaborative Governance’, Administration & Society 48(2): 216–36. O’Leary, R., and N. Vij. 2012. ‘Collaborative Public Management: Where Have We Been and Where Are We Going?’, The American Review of Public Administration 42(5): 507–22. Pierik, H.J. 2017. ‘Past Human-­ Landscape Interactions in the Netherlands: Reconstructions from Sand Belt to Coastal Delta Plain for the First Millennium AD’, Ph.D. thesis. Utrecht University. Projectbureau Leidsche Rijn. 2007. Castellum Hoge Woerd: Stedenbouwkundig plan [Castellum Hoge Woerd: Urban Plan]. [s.l: s.n]. Provan, K.G., and P. Kenis. 2008. ‘Modes of Network Governance: Structure, Management, and Effectiveness’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 18(2): 229–52. Provincie Zuid-­Holland. 2020. ‘Zeven erfgoedlijnen en het verhaal van Zuid-­Holland’ [Seven Heritage Lines and the Story of Zuid-­Holland]. Retrieved 24 May 2021 from https://www.zuid-­holland.nl/actueel/nieuws/december-­2020/zeven-­erfgoedlijn​ en-­verhaal-­zuid-­holland. Renes, J. 2017. ‘Heritage in New Town Extensions: Recent Dutch Experiences in the Use of Heritage in Large New Building Estates’, Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 108(6): 786–804. Renes, J. et al. 2014. Character Sketches; National Heritage and Spatial Development Research Agenda; Part 1 Research Agenda [s.l]. Netwerk Erfgoed & Ruimte/Cultural Heritage Agency. Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed. n.d. ‘Wie zijn betrokken bij het Nederlands Werelderfgoed?’ [Who are Involved with Dutch World Heritage?]. Retrieved 24 May 2021 from https://www.cultureelerfgoed.nl/onderwerpen/werelderfgoed​ /wie-­zijn-­betrokken-­bij-­het-­nederlands-­werelderfgoed. Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed. 2017. ‘De erfgoedmonitor. Provinciaal erfgoedbeleid- cultuurhistorie in de ruimtelijke ordening’ [The Heritage Monitor: Provincial Heritage P ­ olicy – H ­ eritage in Spatial Planning]. Retrieved 24  May 2021 from https://www.erfgoedmonitor.nl/indicatoren/provinciaalerfgoedbeleid-cultuurhistorie-de-ruimtelijke-ordening. Salamon, L. 2002. ‘The New Governance and the Tools of Public Action: An

Crafting Castella  •  115

Introduction’, in L. Salamon (ed.), The Tools of Government: A Guide to the New Governance. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 1–47. Strauss, A., and J. Corbin. 1998. Basics of Qualitative Research: Techniques and Procedures for Developing Grounded Theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Termeer, C.J. 2009. ‘Barriers to New Modes of Horizontal Governance: A Sense-­Making Perspective’, Public Management Review 11(3): 299–316. Torfing, J. et al. 2012. Interactive Governance: Advancing the Paradigm. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vandenbussche, L. 2020. ‘Relational Fluidity in Collaborative Governance: Unveiling Stakeholders’ Relating Dynamics and Their Connection to Issue Framing Dynamics in Collaborative Governance Processes’, Ph.D. thesis. Erasmus University Rotterdam. Van Dinter, M. 2017. ‘Living along the Limes: Landscape and Settlement in the Lower Rhine Delta during Roman and Early Medieval Times’, Ph.D. thesis. Utrecht University. ———. 2020. ‘Limes en landschap: de samenhang tussen het landschap en de Romeinse forten in de Rijndelta’ [Limes and Landscape: The Relation Between Landscape and Roman Fortresses in the Rhine River Delta], Lampas 53(2): 137–45. Van Ginkel, E., and W. Vos. 2018. Grens van het Romeinse Rijk: de limes in Zuid-Holland [Border of the Roman Empire: The Limes in Zuid-­Holland]. Utrecht: Matrijs. Zwart, H. 2017. ‘Terug naar de grens: kansen en knelpunten van erfgoed beheer en nationale beeldvorming rond de Romeinse Limes in Nederland’ [Back to the Border: Opportunities and Bottlenecks for Heritage Management of the Roman Limes in The Netherlands], MA thesis. Utrecht University.

8 CHAPTER 6 Participatory Heritage Planning Policy in Coastal Europe Lessons from the HERICOAST Project Linde Egberts

Introduction The restoration of monuments has long been the domain of heritage experts in most parts of Europe. Heritage management has become a highly professionalized and institutionalized sector, from local levels to the world heritage stage. Over the past decades, however, voices from academia and society have been calling for more dialogue between heritage experts and other groups, as the choices made by experts on behalf of society favour specific interpretations of the past and thus exclude others, like the heritage of minorities, women or others outside canonical history. This criticism is now leading to many initiatives to try and make heritage management, planning and policy more inclusive at many different levels ( Janssen et al. 2017; Smith 2006). Many in Europe support this development, which is much more in line with its ideology of unity in diversity. One way of doing so is by supporting regional administrations in developing new knowledge and skills related to heritage management. What is absent so far is reflection as to how participatory heritage management is understood and put into practice in this context. On the one hand, the bulk of critical heritage studies scrutinizes the way heritage experts deal with these issues.1 On the other hand, there is governance theory on how participatory governance and planning works, but it is hardly applied in cultural heritage management (see Chapter One and Two of this volume). In this chapter, I therefore want to reflect on

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  117

the experiences of European regions that are learning how to make their heritage policies more inclusive for citizens and other stakeholders. I use the HERICOAST project as a case study, as it is a recent project in different parts of Europe that pioneers participatory heritage management on a regional level. My involvement in this project as an academic advisory partner offered me unique insights into the learning process and access to all project partners and their heritage. The central question for this chapter is an evaluative one, in which I apply several key concepts in governance theory to the practice of regional heritage management: In what way has the HERICOAST project contributed to making regional heritage management policy more participatory? This research highlights various issues related to inclusiveness in heritage management. Not only does it make clear how inclusiveness is understood and implemented, but it also raises questions about democracy and how much stakeholder participation is enough. Reflections on this topic invite academics and policymakers alike to remain critical about topics, including those that have now become politically correct and seem ‘the right thing to do’. Before returning to these issues above, I will discuss the theoretical starting points for this chapter, followed by the research approach. The analysis of the case study is divided into three more or less chronological phases, each of which demonstrate different aspects inherent to regional participatory heritage management in Europe.

Participatory Heritage Management and Policy in Theory Cultural heritage management is traditionally regarded as a responsibility of experts (Olsson 2008). This means that the involvement of non-­experts in heritage decisions is far from self-­evident (Smith 2006). However in the past few decades, there has been a growing awareness among experts and academics themselves that decisions about what to retain, how to preserve it, and what to give up should not be left to them alone. In academia, it was the critical turn in heritage studies that made issues of power distribution central. With the concept of Authorized Heritage Discourse, Smith addressed the dominant role of experts in heritage management, who apply a national identity ideal when deciding what is heritage and what is not. She argues that their scientifically based judgments are by no means value-­ free but often inadvertently exclude other interpretations of the past; for instance, minorities are often left out of preservation, funding and public attention (2006). In heritage management and legislation, this growing awareness of a lack of inclusiveness has also emerged and been reflected in the European

118 • Linde Egberts

Landscape Convention (2000) and the FARO convention (2005). The broadening of World Heritage categories to move away from the predominant focus on ‘fabric’ of heritage and to include landscapes and intangible heritage can also be understood in this light (Winter 2013). At the local level, there is a growing awareness in heritage management and planning of the heterogeneity of place-­based communities. This implies that the representation of citizens by local politicians and policymakers seems to be increasingly problematic (Olsson 2008). However, cultural heritage can be an important carrier of identity and a binding factor for social cohesion, if dialogues about what heritage is and who owns it are openly discussed. It comes as no surprise that inclusivity of heritage management is now high on political agendas. For example, national governments jointly finance international cooperation and knowledge exchange on this issue through programmes such as the Joint Programming Initiative on Cultural Heritage. And the national government of the Netherlands has targeted their heritage policy on accessibility for all (Ministry for Education, Culture and Science 2018) and started to put the Faro principles into practice (Dutch Agency for Cultural Heritage 2020). The European Union also supports the inclusiveness of public policies, including the heritage sector. The Interreg Europe programme (2015–2018) aimed to support regional governments in improving policy by stimulating knowledge exchange between governmental bodies on how to involve stakeholders in their policy development processes. With stakeholders, I mean ‘to refer both to the participation of citizens as individuals and to the participation of organized groups’ (Ansell and Gash 2008: 546). In theory, this could contribute to more inclusive heritage policy and management, meaning that the ideas of what is heritage and how it should be managed can be broadened by involving nongovernmental actors in the policy development process. Critical heritage theory and case studies would predict a shift away from a focus on heritage objects and materials (such as buildings or museum artefacts), as these tend to fall outside Authorized Heritage Discourses in most European countries. Instead, stories, memories and traditions could be added to the heritage spectrum by more inclusive practices, although it is not always said that conflicts between experts and non-­expert are about tangible versus intangible heritage aspects. But how can participatory heritage management be understood and organized? Olsson (2008) stresses how participatory heritage management and planning are part of a planning ideal that relies on collaboration and communication with stakeholders, experts and citizens. This ideal is the alternative to the more traditional planning ideal, that being a field of expert knowledge and decisions made by the elected representatives of

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  119

communities. Communicative planning is more focused on the process of consensus building between various parties. This collaborative governance, as Ansell and Gash (2008) call it, is a messy field, emerging from local desire to move away from traditional planning practices and do things differently. They defined collaborative governance as ‘a governing arrangement where one or more public agencies directly engage non-­state stakeholders in a collective decision-­making process that is formal, consensus-­oriented, and deliberative and that aims to make or implement public policy or manage public programs or assets’ (2008: 544). Ansell and Gash make a clear distinction between expert-­based decision-­ making, in which stakeholders could have been consulted, and collaborative governance, where stakeholders are engaged in actual decision-­making. In practice, however, these two forms of governance are very often mixed. This has drawn critical responses that accuse public bodies of using participation as window dressing, or ‘tokenism’, rather than really handing over part of the decision-­making power to stakeholders outside the public domain. In order to make clear what is actually meant with citizen participation, and to distinguish real participation from tokenism, Sherry R. Arnstein (1969) developed the public participation ladder. In her typology, she points out several forms of participation and the way they range from empty rituals to real citizen power (see Figure 6.1). Power is thus a central concern in any participation process, but it is not usually discussed explicitly. Arts and Van Tatenhove define power as ‘the organizational and discursive capacity of agencies, either in competition with one another or jointly, to achieve outcomes in social practices, a capacity which is, however, co-­determined by the structural power of those social institutions in which these agencies are embedded’ (2004: 347). Three different stages can be discerned in interactive policy projects, in which the distribution of power varies (Van Tatenhove et al. 2010). In the first stage, the negotiations of power distribution take place as part of the set-­up of a project, in which the institutional setting, rules and content are crucial context factors. The second stage applies to the project itself, in which actors interact and use their resources to work towards a certain output. The final decision-­making process can be viewed as the third stage, in which project results are translated into formal decisions (Van Tatenhove et al. 2010). Most literature on participatory planning is not written with heritage in mind. That raises the question of whether heritage projects are any different from other spatial planning projects. An essay by Bazerman, Tenbrunsel and Wade-­Benzoni (2008) suggests that in participatory projects and negotiations some issues could be called ‘sacred’, which means that stakeholders are not prepared to make any compromises or trade-­offs

120 • Linde Egberts

Figure 6.1. Ladder of participation. Source: Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24, see 217. concerning these topics. Moreover, sacred issues may have transcendental or infinite value. Cultural heritage can be as a sacred issue in participatory projects, rendering negotiations and decision-­making different from other types of projects. The ideal of participatory governance has also received some criticism in recent years, as it is sometimes ‘celebrated as part of the trajectory towards a democratic nirvana’ (Carpentier 2016: 70). Arnstein’s model has been critically scrutinized for being uncritically pro-­participation and ignoring normative questions about the desirability of participation in governance (Carpentier 2016). Moreover, Arnstein could be reproached for oversimplifying multi-­stakeholder processes by putting them into crude categories and creating a dichotomy of citizens versus government (us versus them), thereby escalating rather than reducing the contradiction between actors. Considering the period in which Arnstein wrote her publication and the objectives she had in mind, this critique might be overly harsh. Nevertheless, questions about the applicability of her model in different contexts are in order. More recent governance literature does acknowledge the complexity

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  121

of multiple stakeholder processes in their societal, political and economic context (e.g. Arts and Van Tatenhove 2004; Olsson 2008; Van Tatenhove et al. 2010). Citizens are not the only group of stakeholders that need to be taken into account. This is also true for heritage governance, as owners, investors and users of heritage are in most cases businesses, foundations and other organizations, which by law have a substantial say in how heritage is maintained and used. Indeed, the complexities of present-­day planning compels governments to reconsider the notion that heritage, planning and policy are the exclusive domains of democratically chosen politicians and their experts. However, the opposite situation should also be questioned: how representative are participating citizens and stakeholders for the wider society outside the expert world? Arnstein’s explicit message is that more participation is better, as participation equals power, but participation is only beneficial if it equalizes power imbalances (Carpentier 2016). The practice of participation cannot be effective without a sense of engagement, as ‘the feeling of being invited, committed and/or empowered, but also the positive inclination towards the political (and the social)’ are essential components (Carpentier 2016: 73). Moreover, not every project might be as suitable as the next for participatory projects, and it has become increasingly clear that participation, or interactivity in general, does not increase democracy in governance. The circumstances under which the stakeholder interaction takes place is crucial (Torfing et al. 2012). In the context of heritage management and policy, small-­scale, local planning decisions could literally be ‘closer to home’ than abstract, large-­scale and long-­term policies. If potential changes in the living environment are a salient issue to residents, this might trigger active involvement for those who are unsatisfied (Verschuere et al. 2018). It could thus be the case that some heritage management projects benefit more from participation than others.

Research Approach Due to their complexity, participatory processes are not easy to analyse, and consensus on how this should be done is lacking (Carpentier 2016). Moreover, participatory processes in heritage management are still an undertheorized field. Since we need a starting point for this endeavour, I decided to use the work of Edelenbos, Klok and Van Tatenhove (2006) and Van Tatenhove, Edelenbos and Klok (2010) as a framework. Their three stages of power allow me to disentangle various aspects of the case study, supported by their conceptual groundwork in governance studies. I will thus describe the power relationships between the stakeholders across the

122 • Linde Egberts

Table 6.1. Factors that shape power inequalities per project stage, according to Edelenbos et al. (2006). 1. Architecture

2. Negotiations between stakeholders and regional administrations

3. Decision-making and implementation of outcomes

What rules are used for including some stakeholders and excluding others, and what are the conditions on which they are accepted into the process?

Who actually partakes, and how selective or representative is this group?

Which actors have been able to influence the project’s outcomes with their viewpoints?

Who has the ability to invite others?

Who actually makes use of opportunities to participate?

To what degree have the actors been able to influence the project’s outcomes with their viewpoints?

What are the power relationships outside the project?

How are the power resources actually used?

What differences in funding and skills are also factors in power inequalities? What rules are used for decision-making, such as veto rights, or the parts of projects in which citizens have a say and parts where they do not?

six partner regions for each phase. Throughout the chapter, I will reflect on whether any sacred aspects of heritage played a role in the project’s various stages. The author of this chapter was involved in HERICOAST as an advisory partner, responsible for conceptualizing, organizing and facilitating the knowledge exchange between the regional governments that were partners in this project. I was therefore not directly involved in each regional policy development process and had incidental contact with the stakeholders in the six regions. However, I was in direct contact with the regional governments that were working on their action plans and with the stakeholders involved.

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  123

This research is based on the documents developed during the HERICOAST project between April 2016 and June 2020. These were supplemented by an oral interview via ZOOM with the representatives of each partner region in the project, to gather more in-­depth knowledge of how each region worked with their stakeholders and what happened with regard to regional cooperation during the project. I was also able to visit almost every region during the course of the project and make first-­hand observations of the heritage and stakeholder interaction. Thus, this research mainly presents an image of participatory heritage management through the eyes of the regional officials involved in the project and does not take into account the perceptions of other stakeholders in each region. Despite these shortcomings, I believe that understanding the project through a heritage and participation lens described above offers valuable insights into how participatory heritage activities are understood and applied in practice.

Stage 1: Architecture of the HERICOAST Project The HERICOAST Project The HERICOAST project took place from 2016 to 2021 and was financed by the Interreg Europe programme, a funding scheme of the European Regional Development fund, and focuses on policy learning for local and regional governments. Through the funding, it stimulates knowledge exchange between these authorities on several themes or ‘priority axes’. HERICOAST focused on ‘Protecting the environment and promoting resource efficiency’. It was aimed at improving heritage policies in coastal and fluvial landscapes. Each region then brought in their specific challenges, but they also had many commonalities that made cooperation worthwhile (see Egberts et al. 2019 and Table 6.2). The lead partner was the regional government of Vest Agder in Norway. It initiated the project as it wanted ‘to improve the management of some specific cultural environments in cooperation with the municipalities’ (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). It refers to the historic outports (Uthavn) that are scattered along the Norwegian south coast, which are now under pressure from over-­tourism. Other partners that joined the project were Donegal (Ireland), Lea-­Artibai (Spain), Molise (Italy) and Tulcea (Romania). The latter joined the project because ‘it came as an opportunity for us to generate know-­how, how to approach this ­rehabilitation … ­and to ­involve … ­the community as much as possible’ (Artamon 2020). The Spanish region Castilla y León also joined the project, even though it is not a coastal landscape. The regional junta, however, was aiming to ‘obtain a sustainable management of cultural heritage and

124 • Linde Egberts

Table 6.2. Aims of action plan per partner region. Source: HERICOAST regional action plans, 2018. Agder

The action plan of Vest-Agder County Council aims to impact the regional development policy instrument strategy for the cultural heritage sector in Vest-Agder (2014–2020). The policy instrument is managed by Vest-Agder County Council and was adopted by the county council in 2014. The strategy describes eight thematic priorities. One is the historical outports on the archipelago of Agder. The strategy recognizes the unique heritage value of these small townscapes as defining elements of the coastal landscape. As this ensemble of coastal heritage is spread over two neighbouring counties and fourteen municipalities, the legal responsibility for protection of this heritage is divided between multiple public authorities, both local, regional and national. Consequently, the differences in how the individual outports are managed is considerable. These stem from different management traditions, professional and financial resources and differences in type and content of the development plans put into use by the municipalities. This diversity in public management is a key challenge for the protection of these heritage assets as part of the larger cultural landscape when faced with an intense demand for redevelopment of the landscape for recreational purpose. Any improvement of the heritage management must be developed in close cooperation with all relevant stakeholders, both public and non-public, in order to be efficient, durable and sustainable in the long term.

Castilla y León

The objective of this action plan is to provide an answer to a need identified in the policy instrument (ERDF 2014–2020 for Castilla y León) regarding participatory and sustainable management.

Donegal

The objectives of the Action Plan are set out to respond specifically to the gaps in policy that have been identified and to inform future policymaking and implementation. At a local level, this will be achieved through the policy instruments of the County Development Plan and in the forthcoming Buncrana Local Area Plan, which is currently under review by Donegal County Council. It is envisaged that the actions will inform future regional policy through the Regional Social and Economic Strategy prepared by the North Western Regional Assembly, which is in draft form at present, and the North West Metropolitan Area Spatial Plan, which is being prepared jointly by Donegal County Council and Derry City and Strabane District Council on a cross border basis. It is further envisaged that the action plan will inform the forthcoming Marine Spatial Plan. This Plan will be prepared on a national basis by the Department of Marine, following consultation among all county and regional authorities.

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  125

Table 6.2 (cont.) LeaArtibai

The goals of the Action Plan respond to the policy gaps identified and are deployed into different governance levels, target policy instruments and actions: – to define and implement integrated Coastal Heritage valorization strategies with the coordination of stakeholders; – to increase entrepreneurship and business support services in Coastal Heritage Tourism.

Molise

The main objectives of the Action Plan are: On local level (objective 1): To improve management of ROP through development and implementation of local projects for preservation of the Natura 2000 network and of the cultural heritage of Molise region.   On the regional level (objective 2): to improve the management of ROP through improved governance based on development of a new governance network and system for enhanced communication with end users.

Tulcea

The objective of the Action Plan will pursue the objective set for improving the Regional Operational Program 2014–2020 policy instrument by implementing two new projects. This is divided into three sub-actions: Sub-action 1: Restoration, conservation and modernization of the Old Lighthouse of Sulina and the Museum of Ethnography and Folk Art in Tulcea. Sub-action 2: Promotion of awareness of the Old Lighthouse of Sulina and the Museum of Ethnography and Folk Art in Tulcea and their inclusion in the tourist circuit. Sub-action 3: Disseminating project results and improving knowledge amongst regional policymakers and other relevant stakeholders.

to better preserve the cultural landscape’ together with local and regional stakeholders (Cuevas Ortiz 2020). It wanted to develop a ‘participatory model’ for branding the Castila Waterway, a 207 km-­long canal dating from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that was intended to connect the Spanish inland regions with the Gulf of Biscay for transport of goods. Even though the region is ‘landlocked’ and not coastal, the partners considered their involvement relevant due to the focus on a water infrastructure. Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam (represented by the author of this chapter) and CIVILSCAPE took on the role of advisory partners.

The Interreg Europe Programme The Interreg Europe call for funding was strictly structured, meaning that any consortium that applied for funding had to adhere to a predetermined

126 • Linde Egberts

Table 6.3. Regional and inter-regional learning activities throughout the HERICOAST project.

Phase 1 (3 years)

Regional activities

Inter-regional learning activities

Identification and analysis of heritage and territorial situations

Inventory of expertise and learning points by means of an online questionnaire and partner discussion

Stakeholder analysis

Establishment of themes for knowledge exchange

Identifying and describing good practices

Exchanging good practices per theme

Finalizing action plan

Developing general principles and tools per theme in inter-regionally formed working groups Writing and publishing Toolbox for Coastal Heritage Management (Egberts et al. 2018)

Phase 2 (2 years)

Implementation of regional action plans

Bilateral exchange between regions on best practice examples

Implementation of pilot action in Vest-Agder Monitoring of the implementation through contact with stakeholders

Sharing outcomes on final conference

set of steps and activities to address a certain problem. This implied that partners in a project agreed to work on improvement of their policy by working through several pre-­scripted activities in a two-­phase project. For HERICOAST, the partners translated them into a set of activities that were set up as part of the project’s application for funding (Table 6.3). Interreg Europe required involvement of stakeholders at an early stage in the regional policy development project, a top-­down decision that was responded to by the regional partners in the application for funding. HERICOAST can thus be seen as a learning trajectory for European regions to regionally implement stakeholder participation in policy development for heritage and landscape policy. However, the programme did not specify what stakeholders are, how they should be invited or what role they should take within the regional projects. These decisions were left to the applying consortia of regional governments to decide. Interreg, however, stipulate that regional administrations and incidental advisory partners were eligible for funding. That also implies that regional stakeholders could be

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  127

involved but were expected to invest their own resources in the project, particularly in the form of labour. Budgets for meetings, travel and dissemination were available to them from the funding scheme. However, the regional administrations were the coordinators of these budgets, which implies that they could decide who could participate in meetings, field trips and events. The partner regions were thus entitled to invite the stakeholders they considered relevant for the project. In some cases, these decisions were both practical and strategic: For example, the working relation with the different municipalities could be an argument for involving them, either that we are having a good cooperation with them, so let’s continue that, or we don’t have very much cooperation with that municipality, so we need an excuse to have a better dialogue with them and this project ­was … ­such an excuse. (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020)

From the interviews overall, it appeared that this set-­up was a conventional one, as the representatives of Lea-­Artibai mentions: ‘we always take the initiative in the actions developed and to try to impulse the participation’ (Irusta 2020). For Donegal region, this also made sense, as their action plan was aimed at high-­level policy that was seen as less suitable for participation: ‘initially we had identified the targeted stakeholders and they were basically high level. … Others were approached and targeted and we would have used them as ­consultees … ­the kind of project that we were dealing with, it was just too huge …’ (Greene 2020). On the one hand the detailed requirements of the Interreg call demanded stakeholder involvement in regional policymaking but on the other hand only ‘rewarded’ regional administrations for including them. For HERICOAST, this resulted in a project application that focused on stakeholder involvement, but only at the execution stage of the project, not necessarily in its conceptualization. This indicates an imbalance in power and resources in the ‘power architecture of the project’ (Ansell and Gash 2008).

Stage 2: Negotiations between Stakeholders and Regional Administrations The second stage of the project covers the time period in which the regional policy development process took place, during which the negotiations between the regional administrations and the stakeholders occurred (April 2016–June 2020). Although budgets were only allocated to the partner regions, the central aim of this phase was to use them for

128 • Linde Egberts

participatory policy processes. The partner regions invited a limited number of stakeholders in the initial phase of the project and included these in the compulsory ‘stakeholder analysis’ (see Table 6.4), but they allowed others to join the project when this was useful. In the case of Donegal, this was done as the project evolved from a high-­level policy project to one that also included more local initiatives, around which stakeholders and owners were engaged (Greene 2020). In Agder, this meant that gradually the decisions about whom to involve were more often taken by the group of stakeholders instead of the regional government alone (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). In the various regions, no representatives of citizen groups were directly involved, probably because the partner regions felt that the scale of the policies was too high for meaningful citizen involvement (Greene 2020). Stakeholders were generally involved in periodic meetings aimed at finding consensus, as was the case in Molise: ‘During the project for the writing of the action plan we involved the stakeholders, for example the University of Molise, involved them in the writing of the action plan. It was more than to inform them. The same was done with the other stakeholders’ (Colagiovanni et al. 2020). Also in Tulcea, the main aim of the collaboration was to get approval and support from the stakeholders in the area: ‘So, we tried to consult ­them … ­and to make a relevant approach to establish the[se] objectives, to be approved by each of these groups’ (Artamon 2020). In most cases, the stakeholders gathered during recurring stakeholder meetings and would sometimes join the regional partners in attending the project’s workshops, hosted by other partner regions. Only Agder formalized the engagement of the stakeholders further but formed a regional steering group with what they considered to be key representatives (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). For some project partners, the participatory process was merely a continuation of long-­standing relationships with their stakeholders, as was the case in Castilla y León and Lea-­Artibai. However, the latter partner noticed that ‘we have s­ een … a­ n increase in the involvement, commitment and participation of all the stakeholders, especially after the final event’ (Irusta 2020). In other cases, such as in Molise and Tulcea, the project provided a new way of working and thus engaging stakeholders in policy processes they had previously not been part of (Artamon 2020; Colagiovanni et al. 2020). Consensus between the regional governments and their stakeholders was not always easy to achieve, and the discussion points varied greatly among the regions. Some of these were about relationships and commitment and prioritization between stakeholders and the regional government (Molise, Donegal and Lea-­Artibai), how to access additional funding (Tulcea), and

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  129

Table 6.4. Overview of stakeholders per region in 2018. Source: HERICOAST regional action plans. Region

Public stakeholders

(Representatives of ) private stakeholders

Agder

SKMU Sorlandets Kunstmuseum; Vest-Agder County Council; Aust-Agder County Council.

USUS, a network devoted to enterprises operating in the travel, experience and culture industries in the Agder and Telemark.

Castilla y León

Duero river Hydrographic Confederation; General Directorate for budget and statistics of the Regional Ministry of Economy and Treasure; Provincial Government of Palencia City Councils of Medina de Rioseco, Paredes de Nava, Frómista, Herrera de Pisuerga, Alar del Rey and Villaumbrales; ADECO and SIRGA Associations and Consortium; University of Valladolid; Territorial Department for Culture in Palencia.

The Wine Route of Cigales; Consortium of the Castilla Waterway.

Donegal

The Heritage Council; Fáilte Ireland; Donegal Tourism (now integrated within DCC); North Western Regional Assembly; Western Development Commission; Letterkenny Institute of Technology; Local Enterprise Office; Irish Landscape Institute; Marine Institute; Public Participation Network.

LeaArtibai

Leartibai Development Agency; Lea-Artibai Municipalities of Lekeitio, Ondarroa, Mutriku, Berriatua, Basquetour; Public Agents Work Table; Basque Government, Cultural Heritage Department; Basque Government, Ports, Fisheries and Aquaculture Department; Azaro Foundation; Leartiker Research Center; Lea-Artibai Vocational School; Lea-Artibai Coastal Tourism Work Group; Lanbide-Basque Employment Service; BEAZ.

Private operators with an interest in the definition of new products in the coastal heritage field.

130 • Linde Egberts

Table 6.4 (cont.) Region

Public stakeholders

(Representatives of ) private stakeholders

Molise

University of Molise, Department of Biosciences and Territory; Azienda Autonoma di Soggiorno e Turismo di Termoli; Molise Orientale Touristic District; Urban Area of Termoli; Coastal municipalities of Campomarino, Petacciato, Guglionesi, San Giacomo degli Schiavoni and Montenero di Bisaccia. Legambiente Molise: Nature and Environmental Protection.

Private companies interested in the promotion and protection of coastal heritage, like hotels and restaurants owners, travel and tourism operators.

Tulcea

‘Gavrila Simion’ Eco-Museum Research Institute in Tulcea; Tulcea County Directory for Culture; Sulina City Territorial Administrative Unit; Tulcea Municipality; Ministry of Regional Development and Public Administration/South-East Regional Development Agency; CeRaHes Cultural Association; National Association for Cultural, Rural and Ecological Tourism; Murighiol, Sarichioi, Jurilovca and Sf. Gheorghe Communes.

how to continue the participatory character of the project after the financing period (Castilla y León). In many cases, the regional partners made an effort to shape policy in such a way that it would be close to the day-­to-­day reality of the stakeholders (all interviews). In Agder and Tulcea, some disagreements were about heritage. In Tulcea, minority groups feared that the project’s attention to their heritage would attract tourists to their living area. Exhibiting their heritage was something they tried to avoid (Artamon 2020). This resonates with the idea that heritage can have a certain sacred value (Bazerman et al. 2008) that stakeholders are unwilling to compromise on despite the economic opportunities that tourism offers for communities that struggle to make ends meet. Similar conflicts were expressed in Agder, where house owners had difficulties with promoting the historic outports for tourism (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). The current visitor numbers are already causing issues; for example, because the villages lack public space, and tourists use footpaths adjoining private property.2

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  131

Nevertheless, most project partners look back on the cooperation positively. For example, they were pleasantly surprised to find that the proposal writing, workshops and final conference were significant occasions to draw regional attention and support for their activities (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020; Irusta 2020). Furthermore, the regional partners stated that the project improved their tools for working with stakeholders by seeing the examples of the other regions (Artamon 2020; Cuevas Ortiz 2020; Greene 2020; Irusta 2020). Of course, the Covid-­19 crisis drastically affected the stakeholder engagement process from spring 2020 onwards. When the regional partners were interviewed in June, some of them had for the most lost contact with their colleagues and stakeholders (Greene 2020), whereas other partners were very optimistic about the opportunities that the emancipation of digital communication brought to cooperation with stakeholders in their sparsely populated regions (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020) The uncertainty created by the crisis, particularly the impact on travel tourism and the economy, is a serious concern (Artamon 2020), but some partner regions see opportunities for coastal destinations that are off the beaten track and thus may be seen as safer holiday destinations than the more popular sites (Colagiovanni et al. 2020; Irusta 2020). Overall, at the time of the interviews, it was too early to predict more specifically what the impact of the Covid-­19 crisis would be on both the use of heritage and stakeholder involvement in the partner regions. Overall, stakeholders were actively involved in the actual execution of the HERICOAST project in all regions. Finding consensus and shaping policy that would be close to the stakeholders’ day-­to-­day reality were core aspects of the cooperation process. These participatory ways of shaping heritage policy will, according to the regional partners, outlast the HERICOAST project (Colagiovanni et al. 2020; Cuevas Ortiz 2020; Greene 2020; Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). However, decision-­making power was not formally shared.

Stage 3: Decision-Making and Implementation of Outcomes The third project stage is when final decisions are being made and implemented. At the time of writing of this chapter, the final decision-­making process and implementation of the action plans is still ongoing. However, it is already clear that ‘in the end, it will be the regional government taking the final decisions’ (Kristiansen and Martinsen 2020). In none of the partner regions do the stakeholders have an official say in the implementation of the regional action plans to which they contributed.

132 • Linde Egberts

Illustration 6.1. The historic outport Ny-Hellesund was one of the focal areas of the HERICOAST project.© Linde Egberts. Since, at this phase, there are legal responsibilities of democratically elected regional governments, it is logical that the Interreg programme cannot influence whether the project’s regional action plans will ultimately be accepted and implemented. The commitment being sought is a financial one that is embedded in the programme’s financing structure. Namely, regional governments commit to matching the European funding with their own (and national) resources, between fifteen (EU countries) and 50 per cent (Norway) of the project’s budget. These are significant sums, which indicates a need for regional applicability of the project’s outcomes (HERICOAST 2016).

HERICOAST on the Participation Ladder Having described the power relationships and forms of participation at each stage of the HERICOAST project, I want to interpret them in the context of governance theory on participatory policymaking (Edelenbos et al. 2006). In the architecture stage, the Interreg eligibility rules and ex-­ante programme requirements created a significant inequality in power between regional administrations and stakeholders in their regions. This makes

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  133

sense, as the Interreg programme aimed at improving the knowledge and skills of regional policymakers. Only regional governments were eligible for funding and were expected to take a leading role in the development of regional policy. The regional partners responded by setting conditions for participation. Overall, they invited fellow government bodies and, to a lesser extent, representatives of civil organizations. Citizens were hardly involved at all. At the stage of negotiations between stakeholders and regional administrations, stakeholders were given a more prominent role in the project. Those who were invited to advise and bring forward their own ideas and agendas were in many cases heard. The regional administrations maintained a leading role and sought ways to build consensus on how best to align policies with the day-­to-­day realities of their stakeholders. At the stage of decision-­making and implementation of outcomes, regional partners argued that stakeholders were quite influential in shaping the outcomes of the policy process but that final decision-­making remained in their own hands. Stakeholders were subsequently informed of final decisions and implementation, but it is uncertain whether their engagement will continue and whether the outcomes of the regional policy development will, in fact, benefit them. Looking at the HERICOAST regional policymaking processes through the lens of Arnstein’s ladder of citizen participation (1969), most processes can be placed on the fifth rung, placation, because although stakeholders were heard and actively involved in the policymaking process, they were selectively invited by the government bodies and had no assurance that their contributions would affect the outcome of the project. In overall terms, the HERICOAST project actively involved stakeholders in gaining public support for governmental decisions rather than in policymaking. The power inequalities were partially criticized during the Interreg call for funding, and the regional partners in the project responded by inviting others into their policymaking process. This was time- and energy-­consuming but also revealed new forms of dialogue. Although the regional partners did not relinquish control over decision-­making, for most of them this was an innovative approach to policymaking.

134 • Linde Egberts

Table 6.5. Power relationships at each stage of the HERICOAST project, after Edelenbos et al. (2016). 1. Architecture

2. Negotiations between stakeholders and regional administrations

3. Decision-making and implementation of outcomes

What rules are used for including some stakeholders and excluding others, and what are the conditions on which they are accepted into the process?

Who actually partakes, and how selective or representative is this group?

Which actors have been able to influence the project’s outcomes with their viewpoints?

Public organizations were much more often involved than citizens and entrepreneurs.

Overall, stakeholders have been relatively successful in influencing policy, by bringing in the expertise of their day-to-day reality.

Who actually makes use of opportunities to participate?

To what degree have the actors been able to influence the project’s outcomes with their viewpoints?

These rules were partially decided by the Interreg programme; previous working relationships and networks were important in the selection process. Additionally, regional partners made the rules, some rather top-down; others left more room for including evolving networks in the course of the project. Who has the ability to invite others? The regional partners mainly invited other stakeholders from their network, who then were less likely to invite others.

Difficult to judge from the researcher’s perspective, but from the resistance that project partners experienced, it seems that at least some stakeholders actively used their involvement to oppose decisions on the project’s process and outcomes.

Achieving consensus was an important goal for most partner regions, in which stakeholders have been able to influence the policymaking throughout the project, even though the final decision-making was done by the regional administrations.

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  135

Table 6.5 (cont.) 1. Architecture

2. Negotiations between stakeholders and regional administrations

What are the power relationships outside the project?

How are the power resources actually used?

Regional authorities have long-standing power relationships with the stakeholders.

3. Decision-making and implementation of outcomes

Stakeholders were mostly responding to initiatives, invitations and questions from the regional partners, who in their turn consulted stakeholders mainly to generate broader support

What differences in funding and skills are also factors in power inequalities? Regional administrations received funding for their leadership, others were hosted but not paid for their involvement. What rules are used for decision-making, such as veto rights, or the parts of projects in which citizens have a say and parts where they do not? Regional stakeholders were consulted for approval and had some input in the HERICOAST project design and application.

Discussion and Conclusions The HERICOAST project was generally seen by project participants as successful in its efforts to make regional heritage policy development more inclusive. It seems that the strictly prescribed Interreg policy development process has indeed stimulated contact and exchange between regional

136 • Linde Egberts

administrations and stakeholders in regard to their heritage policies. In most respects, the partner regions implemented collaborative governance as defined by Ansell and Gash (2008). However, none of the regions involved stakeholders directly in decision-­making, even though the policy development processes generally aimed at consensus-­ based decision-­ making among stakeholders. The project analysist was divided into three project stages, following the example of Van Tatenhove et al. (2010). Each phase was easily identified within the project structure and clearly marked a different level of participation. While the first and last stage showed rather few participatory aspects, the course of the project itself was indeed far more ‘inclusive’. Stakeholders were engaged in joint policymaking; they were consulted, and the processes were geared towards consensus building. This fits well with existing literature on other policy projects aimed at generating public support (Van Tatenhove et al. 2010). In the eyes of the project partners, this process has led to satisfying results. Looking at the project from Arnstein’s point of view, however, it went no further than ‘tokenism’ (1969), where public administration consults others but has the freedom to act on the outcomes as it sees fit. This, however, brings me back to some ethical questions that arose earlier. The most important is the representativeness of participants in participatory processes, an issue that Arnstein does not address. Even though regional authorities may not be representative of the complex communities they serve, they are democratically chosen. Granting decision-­making power to participating stakeholders demands a solid answer to the question of how these stakeholders represent communities better than the representatives of the administrations elected by them. This implies that more participation does not always mean more democracy; it is not ‘a stairways [sic] to (political-­democratic) heaven’ (Carpentier 2016: 77). Interactive forms of government ‘are neither intrinsically undemocratic nor intrinsically democratic’ (Torfing et al. 2012:186). Rather, the democratic functioning of governance ­networks – ­such as the HERICOAST partnership and its ­stakeholders – a­ lso depends on democratic deliberation, in which actors jointly strive for ‘rough consensus’ (Sørensen and Torfing 2005: 213). Another factor is the ways in which democratically elected politicians exercise control over governance networks by designing, framing and participating in them (Sørensen and Torfing 2005). However, these other factors are not within the scope of this research. A closing factor that warrants mention here is the matter of scale. Project partners found that the more concrete and local their activities are, the more sense it made for them to include other nongovernmental stakeholders. Projects on a larger scale have different kinds of complexities and

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  137

require different knowledge than most citizens ­have – ­particularly about the political and policy contexts of these plans. Moreover, they feed into different agendas than those of most stakeholders, as it is assumed that citizens and entrepreneurs are mostly concerned about their local living environment (Greene 2020). This is problematic in terms of inclusivity, as it seems that higher-­scale heritage policy processes remain the domain of experts alone. Future research could shed light on the legitimacy of such decisions of exclusion, which has not received much attention in the field of heritage policy and management so far. Even though Arnstein’s ladder of participation helps to understand real-­ life policy projects, much of the complexity involved in multiple stakeholder heritage processes is lost in this type of analysis. Governance theory that builds on the work of Arnstein and others has developed in relative isolation from heritage studies, and as a result participation in relation to heritage remains rather under-­theorized (Adell et al. 2015). This is remarkable given that the critical turn has put participation high on the agenda of both heritage scholars and public administration, as I have already mentioned. This chapter addressed inclusivity in heritage policymaking processes but has not addressed the ways in which inclusive practices maintain or are able to contest and overcome long-­standing, canonized interpretations of the past. Lessons about what works and what does not, particularly in the context of heritage-­related projects, have yet to find their way into both the heritage policy arena and academia. Dr Linde Egberts is Assistant Professor in Heritage Studies at the Faculty of Humanities of Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Her research explores the role of heritage in landscapes in the context of climate change. Linde is programme leader at the interfaculty research institute CLUE+. She also coordinates the master’s programme in Heritage Studies and the Dutch-­taught minor Erfgoed en Ruimte.

NOTES 1. For examples, see the International Journal of Heritage Studies. 2. Based on author’s observations and conversations during a visit to Agder in 2016.

138 • Linde Egberts

References Published Sources Adell, N. et al. (eds). 2015. Between Imagined Communities and Communities of Practice: Participation, Territory and the Making of Heritage. Göttingen: Göttingen University Press. https://doi.org/10.4000/books.gup.191. Ansell, C., and A. Gash. 2008. ‘Collaborative Governance in Theory and Practice’, Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory: J-­Part, 18(4): 543–71. Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24. Arts, B., and J. van Tatenhove. 2004. ‘Policy and Power: A Conceptual Framework between the “Old” and “New” Policy Idioms’, Policy Sciences: Integrating Knowledge and Practice to Advance Human Dignity 37(3–4): 339–56. https://doi.org/10.1007​ /s11077-005-0156-9. Bazerman, M.H., A. Tenbrunsel and K. Wade-­Benzoni. 2008. ‘When Sacred Issues Are at Stake’, Negotiation Journal 24(1): 113–18. Carpentier, N. 2016. ‘Beyond the Ladder of Participation: An Analytical Toolkit for the Critical Analysis of Participatory Media Processes’, Journal of the European Institute for Communication and Culture 23(1): 70–88. doi.org/10.1080/13183222.2016.114​ 9760. Dutch Agency for Cultural Heritage. 2020. Erfgoedparticipatie Faro. Retrieved 9  September 2020 from https://www.cultureelerfgoed.nl/onderwerpen/erfgoed participatie-faro. Edelenbos, J. et al. 2006. Burgers als beleidsadviseurs. Amsterdam: Instituut voor publiek en politiek. Egberts, L.R. et al. (eds). 2018. Toolbox for Coastal Heritage Management: Interreg Europe Policy Learning Platform. Retrieved 18 September 2020 from https://issuu​ .com/hericoast-­interreg/docs/hericoast_toolbox. HERICOAST: Management of Heritage in Coastal Landscapes. Approved application to the Interreg Europe Call for Funding 2016. Janssen, J. et al. 2017. ‘Heritage as Sector, Factor and Vector: Conceptualizing the Shifting Relationship between Heritage Management and Spatial Planning’, European Planning Studies 25(9): 1654–72. Ministry for Education, Culture and Science. 2018. De betekenis van erfgoed voor de samenleving. Policy brief. The Hague: Ministry for Education, Culture and Science. Olsson, K. 2008. ‘Citizen Input in Urban Heritage Management and Planning: A Quantitative Approach to Citizen Participation’, The Town Planning Review 79(4): 371–94. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Sørensen, E., and J. Torfing. 2005. ‘The Democratic Anchorage of Governance Networks’, Scandinavian Political Studies 28(3): 195–218. Torfing, J., B.G. Peters, J. Pierre and E. Sørensen. 2012. Interactive Governance: Advancing the Paradigm. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Tatenhove, J.P.M., J. Edelenbos and P.J. Klok. 2010. ‘Power and Interactive Policy-­ Making: A Comparative Study of Power and Influence in 8 Interactive Projects in the Netherlands’, Public Administration 88(3): 609–26.

Participatory Heritage Planning  •  139

Verschuere, B. et al. 2018. ‘Democratic Co-­production: Concepts and Determinants’, in T. Brandsen, T. Steen and B. Verschuere (ed.), Co-Production and Co-Creation: Engaging Citizens in Public Services. New York and London: Routledge, pp. 244–45. Winter, T. 2013. ‘Clarifying the Critical in Critical Heritage Studies’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 19(6): 532–45. DOI: 10.1080/13527258.2012.720997.

Regional Action Plans Agder County Council. 2019. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 25 September 2020 from https://www.interregeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload/tx_tevprojects/library/fi​ le_1547715017.pdf. Castilla y León Regional Government. 2018. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 25  September 2020 from https://www.interregeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload​ /tx_tevprojects/library/file_1550147689.pdf. Donegal County Council. 2018. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 25  September 2020 from https://www.interregeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload/tx_tevprojects/lib​ rary/file_1547213707.pdf. Leartibai Development Agency. 2018. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 25  September 2020 from https://www.interregeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload/tx_tevprojects​ /library/file_1556092585.pdf. Molise Region. 2018. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 5  July 2022 from chromeextension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://projects2014-2020.inter​ regeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload/tx_tevprojects/library/file_1547213662​ .pdf. Tulcea County Council. 2019. Regional Action Plan. Retrieved 25 September 2020 from https://www.interregeurope.eu/fileadmin/user_upload/tx_tevprojects/library/fi​ le_1547719306.pdf.

Interviews Artamon, Leonid-­Silviu, on behalf of Tulcea County Council, 5 June 2020 via ZOOM. Colagiovanni, Adolfo, Mariaphina Izzo and Annunziata Di Niro on behalf of Molise region, 18 June 2020 via ZOOM. Cuevas Ortiz, Laura, project manager at Castilla y Léon Regional Government, Castilla y Léon region, 2 June 2020 via ZOOM. Greene, Alana, Executive Planner at Donegal County Council, Donegal region, 19 June 2020 via ZOOM. Irusta, Nekane, on behalf of Leartibai Development Agency, 9 June 2020 via ZOOM. Kristiansen, Kåre, Interreg project leader on behalf of Agder County Council, and Hege Kristin Martinsen, project manager at Agder County Council, 2  June 2020 via ZOOM.

PART III

8 TOP-DOWN OPEN INTERACTIVE HERITAGE GOVERNANCE Citizen Participation

8 CHAPTER 7 Go On, I Dare You! Heritage, Archaeology and Meaningful Participation in the UK Cath Neal

Introduction In the UK, and within Europe more generally, policy directives link archaeological inquiry and heritage practice together, and they are often conflated within research seams and scholarship. Despite decades of critique of this conflation (Smith 2006; Smith and Waterton 2009), archaeological investigations, and in particular community archaeology projects, remain part of a suite of heritage practices in the UK that are expected, and to some extent feted, by historic environment professionals. This chapter explores how we understand public participation within the UK heritage sector, through the lens of community archaeological practice. Examining the context of practice and policy guidance, and exploring some of the impediments to meaningful community participation, will allow us to offer some strategies for improving inclusion and partnership, using multidisciplinary case studies and new approaches. Too often archaeology is justified in terms of being in the public interest and for the common good, yet this position is without a clear understanding of what ‘the people’ think about the discipline or what they themselves value in it (Karl 2012). We do know that cultural heritage in and of itself is not simply for the ‘public good’; on the contrary, at many points in history it has been the basis for conflict and division, where it has become an emblem for expressing difference and sometimes a tool of resistance (Vícha 2014). Earlier definitions of heritage and exploration of participation will not be revisited here but do provide

144 • Cath Neal

a potential starting point (Neal 2015; Pendlebury 2015; Waterton and Watson 2015).

Community Archaeology as Heritage Practice In 2009, Smith and Waterton asked if archaeology could realistically contribute to a critical understanding of heritage given that archaeological theory and practice works to exclude or include other forms of knowledge and experience, and that many ideas of heritage sit outside the existing dominant frameworks (Smith and Waterton 2009: 2). Where we see the conflation of archaeology and heritage practice this tends to maintain the legitimacy of the more dominant archaeological knowledge and values to the detriment of other ways of knowing about things (Smith and Waterton 2009: 2). There have been explicit challenges to Western heritage debates, coming from indigenous communities who question the legitimacy of archaeological knowledge and the primacy of the professional voice, and with the rise of community groups contesting heritage discourse across Europe, unproblematized, narrow in scope, archaeological definitions of heritage have limited utility (Smith and Waterton 2009: 3). In the UK, heritage policy focuses on inheritance and a conservation ethic including ownership, and the central concept for discussing participation is the Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD). This concept sees the dominant and prevalent Western view of heritage performing a hegemonic role in maintaining the status quo and in diminishing other ways of knowing and understanding the past (Smith 2004, 2006). Regulatory practice by legitimate government-­ sanctioned spokespersons helps to reinforce this dominant view where objects, sites and places are revered (Smith 2004). So-­called ‘neutral’ approaches to heritage that protect the accomplishments of society forebears are only neutral in their failure to interrogate intentions and power in the past (Fredheim 2017: 629). This does not mean simply to keep (or discard) everything, rather it helps us to reflect on how we can manage the historic environment and also promote flexibility (Fredheim 2017: 628). The heritage debate has been fully underway for around forty years now, and conventional approaches to heritage emphasize it as a ‘done deal’, as an inherently good thing (Waterton and Watson 2015: 27). The temporality of heritage and its historic imperative reveals that it is in fact a process rather than a material ‘static analysis’ (Waterton and Watson 2015: 27). Heritage has been recognized as giving meaning within moments of engagement, so individuals experience it as moments in time rather than chronology (Waterton and Watson 2015: 30). The examination of successful participatory research co-­design and co-­production undermines that archaeological

Go On, I Dare You!  •  145

sites and heritage places/spaces can be simply revealed and identified in chronological sequence; in taking a phenomenological approach, different senses of the past (present and future) can be explored and time durations perceived in terms of experience, place and memory (Vergunst and Graham 2019). Thus, heritage practice can be described as distinctive engagement imbued with political and social/contextual meaning. Implementation of the Faro Convention aims to consolidate ‘Council instruments for the protection of member states’ archaeological and architectural assets’, allying archaeology, architecture and heritage together, and as part of this process citizen participation is both an ethical obligation and a politically expedient necessity (Council of Europe 2020: 6). Focusing on the significance of heritage related to human rights and democracy, emphasis is placed on a cooperative framework to engage civil society, and a range of stakeholders, in historic environment management and decision-­making processes (Council of Europe 2020: 6). The identification of shared values and priorities is essential to successfully work with voluntary organizations and nongovernmental bodies (Council of Europe 2020: 8). Action planning can help to put principles into practice using field-­based knowledge and expertise, and case studies help to support the requirement of member states and adherents to ‘take concrete actions’ to achieve the convention goals (Council of Europe 2020: 20). NEARCH (2014–18) is a programme of work funded to explore the extent of public participation within contemporary archaeology and new ways of collaborating, essentially using archaeology as a means to help people develop a sense of ‘European belonging’ (European Commission 2020). Sixteen partners across ten countries worked to deliver NEARCH, but the project website does not seem to identify innovative practice, and the section on involving other people includes the phrase ‘informing and involving people’, elaborating on exchanging information, disseminating results and circulating documents. This language is standard archaeological fare, which does nothing to explore concepts of power-­sharing or co-­design. Furthermore, these terms form a clear part of Sherry Arnstein’s participatory ladder representing tokenism, where ‘the public’ are informed or consulted rather than the transformative ‘partnership or delegated power or citizen control’ being adopted (1969). Suggestions that governments already work collaboratively with local communities regarding heritage issues (Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2018: 324) are called into question, considering Arnstein’s ladder; we must ask ourselves whether these practices are truly collaborative or merely consultation with the wider public, and if government actors lead the partnership then one party, the regulator, is in a position of considerable power. When we consider the expectations placed upon professionals and any pressure from funding issues, publication

146 • Cath Neal

requirements and professional practice, it is critical that we also explore the assumptions that professional archaeologists make about how participation works within archaeology; as a process, it is often seen as a sop to a ‘passive, grateful audience’ who lack professional grounding, education or, in short, expertise (Richardson and Almansa-­Sánchez 2015: 200).

Current State of the Sector The UK trend towards participatory planning and ‘placemaking’ began in the 1990s and was linked to the strategy of sustainable development and allied to government policy, seeking to enhance social capital by encouraging community-­based events within the arts (Clark 2019: 72). The main driver for the change to heritage practice at this time was the creation of the Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF, relaunched with a new strategy as NLHF in 2019) in 1994, a non-­departmental body which provided new revenue streams from the money raised by the UK National Lottery (up to £300 million per annum). Significantly, the HLF was a funder, not a regulator, and this allowed the freedom to be distinctively different when compared to the other national heritage funding bodies, and the exploration of a wider range of heritage settings, including archives, biodiversity, industrial landscapes and intangible heritage assets, using non-­traditional approaches (Clark 2019: 72). A robust procedure for guiding successful projects developed and included evaluation, sustainability and the engagement of a wide group of people who were not ‘audiences’ per se but participants. Research explored the needs of audiences, and instead of focusing on the protection of property and high status sites, the HLF asked communities to articulate the heritage asset/projects that were relevant to them, which allowed varied heritage stories to emerge and revealed sites that had felt forgotten or marginalized (Clarke 2019: 72). The HLF process drew on guidance from sources such as the Burra Charter but adapted it, encouraging enquiry about the value of places in addition to the usual concept of significance. Community values were part of a process of decision-­making that challenged the usual power base of heritage practice, but there were, and are, critics who have been concerned about the question of stewardship and protection. Clark suggests the combination of values and fabric are the core issues (2019: 73). Understanding values allows us to respect that common spaces have multiple values, understandings and connections and that heritage is part of the fabric of society rather than detached from it (Clark 2019: 80). Although a values approach helps to include more people, different communities and diverse understanding, research has found that those who benefitted from HLF participation were from within a narrow section of society. Men and women were equally represented, but 99% of

Go On, I Dare You!  •  147

volunteers were white and exceptionally well educated, with 66% educated to at least level 4 (diploma-­level qualifications). The results of a 2009 study indicated that HLF volunteers had approximately three times the level of educational attainment measured against the general public (BOP 2009: 2). The volunteers were predominantly from the most affluent parts of the country, with just 3% from the 10% most deprived areas, and 53% from the 30% most affluent areas, although some targeted work did also take place (BOP 2009: 2). This situation was generally replicated for those visiting heritage sites, in the Taking Part Survey (Historic England 2019: 10) and inequity of access is also borne out by research into urban heritage commissioned by the National Trust (BOP 2018: 1). The greatest source of public-­ facing archaeology is currently the NLHF, but there is also local authority funding, local charities, UK Higher Education and developer-­led archaeology companies; however, the majority of volunteer projects fund themselves, and there has been a concomitant increase in crowdfunded projects since this concept began around 2012 (Ellenberger and Richardson 2018). Archaeologists are generally felt to be ambivalent towards economic development; however, it does enable significant amounts of employment and research to be undertaken, and within the UK, the HLF had contributed 14 billion pounds to GDP and towards the creation of 373,000 jobs related to cultural heritage and archaeology (Gould 2017: 2). There is a positive thrust towards participatory and collaborative research by UK public funding bodies including the Arts and Humanities Research Council, which has enabled projects within humanities and social science heritage research and resulted in community case study material focused on collaboration and legacy, brought together by Graham and Vergunst (2019). A review of community archaeology in the UK in 2018 utilized a self-­ administered online survey. The results from 866 respondents revealed that 50% of respondents were aged 60 years or over, with around 6% aged 17–21 years and just 3% 16 and under (Frearson 2018: 13). The ethnic origin of community archaeology participants was heavily weighted, with 96.44 % white British and 1.69% identified as a different ethnic group (Frearson 2018: 26). The reasons for participation included to learn new skills (17%), as a hobby (23%) and 10% stated that it also helped their mental health (Frearson 2018: 23). Other reasons included ‘being part of a group’ and sharing skills, which tallies with some small-­scale research we undertook (using a non-­archaeological external facilitator) to identify what was important to our participants. In our case, this included ideas related to a sense of belonging, concerns over ownership and ideas about memory and landscape (Neal and Roskams 2013: 149). The Council for British Archaeology (CBA), who undertook the 2018 research, noted that in the

148 • Cath Neal

current economic climate training had declined, that the participants’ age was unevenly spread and that the ethnic diversity of participants remained low (Frearson 2018: 4). Sometimes it is simply not possible to engage target partners, and at Whitehawk Camp (Neolithic site), despite 3,500 volunteering hours, including a huge 72% who had not previously volunteered in a heritage project, there was no success in recruiting BME (Black and Minority Ethnic) or disabled volunteers (Orange 2015: 13). A review of two different HLF projects successfully highlighted some of the benefits and challenges of working with community volunteers, but the following passage gives some insight into the perceived misalignment of HLF and professional objectives: ‘HLF priorities lie with ensuring that projects fulfil their responsibilities to the people involved and the community which is being served, whereas for professional archaeologists, the non-­renewable archaeological record often takes priority’ (Mitchell and Colls 2020: 31). At the HLF-­funded DIG Manchester, a key part of the community archaeological process was evaluation, and this included a formal impact study. The project considered who the archaeology was being done for, and the focus was on benefits not for organizations but for individual participants, also termed ‘grassroot benefits’ (Nevell 2015: 46). However, not all parts of the historic environment sector are equally well-­engaged with the public, and Matt Law (2019) has explored the relationship of environmental archaeology to community participation, with this specialty being perceived as extractive and niche. Scientific samples are taken, and the results are seldom fed back to communities. Although there is enthusiasm from the professionals surveyed to work with local communities, there are obstacles, and surveying community groups provoked a disappointing response (Law 2019). My own auger survey and archaeomalacology research on behalf of a community group in 2007 (reported by O’Connor 2016: 131) revealed issues with expectations of the method, which was therefore difficult to co-­design, and the sheer physicality of the work involved meant that the local community observed but did not physically participate in sample collection. Archaeology initiatives in support of mental wellbeing in the UK include Operation Nightingale, managed by the Ministry of Defence (MoD) since 2011. Hundreds of military personnel have worked on archaeological fieldwork projects, and it has provided cultural heritage opportunities to veteran volunteers, contributing to their wellbeing and also to the MoD stewardship responsibilities (Sotheran 2019). Originally an educational programme for soldiers returning from Afghanistan to ease them back into civilian life, the archaeological process was potentially restorative. Testimony from excavations in Normandy, France revealed an unbroken link between past and present veterans, with all the military personnel volunteering to stay

Go On, I Dare You!  •  149

overnight to secure the site and protect the (German) human remains. With mental health specialists on site, the participants were able to work through the discovery of fallen enemy soldiers and this contributed to their recovery from traumatic war experiences (Sotheran 2019). The traditional approach of the EU towards the Faro Convention implementation draws on the participatory governance document (European Union 2018), which uses similar language about resources and ‘involvement’. The ambition of the document (workplan) is to change participatory governance of cultural heritage from an abstract or theoretical concept into an action plan, this underpinned by presenting the workplan as a handbook rich with working examples (European Union 2018: 7). The need to work from the ‘bottom-­up’ instead of the regular ‘top-­down’ is emphasized, with people and values centre stage rather than the usual materials, objects and buildings (European Union 2018: 12). The working group and invited experts (forty-­five in total) who put together the plan are weighted towards conservation experts, museum experts, government inspectors, development representatives, consultants/project managers, architects and archaeologists, with a single representative of intangible heritage. Participatory governance of cultural heritage must involve the public and private sector at all points of the decision-­making process, and although cultural heritage can be owned, it should also be treated as ‘commons’ – that is, held in common. A framework is therefore needed that allows collective governance that represents the views and values of multiple stakeholders (European Union 2018: 17). The report/framework is addressed towards professionals because personnel will need to make changes in relation to sharing knowledge and experience and transforming the environment to provide a more participatory and inclusive endeavour. Taking Ostrom’s ‘commons’ research further, it provides a counterargument to the idea that collective goods and resources are best managed by governments and instead proposes collective management by local communities; this model is successful where communities also have the authority to create rules and monitor compliance, resolving any conflicts relating to the resource (Gould 2019: 60). Caution is needed using the model for heritage assets/archaeological sites, but nevertheless there is growing consensus that this is the best approach for heritage management (Gould 2019: 61). Traditional commons have included, for example, irrigation systems and grazing practices, but a new commons conception could perhaps encompass the arts or sciences, with the success of the approach depending to some extent on the social and cultural context; this approach would necessarily recognize the socially constructed nature of heritage practice (Gonzáles 2017: 154).

150 • Cath Neal

Impediments to Community Participation within Heritage Projects Despite growing awareness of the AHD and the use of values to give more equity within the planning/governance sphere, there remain impediments to meaningful participation in the historic environment. The increase in localism (a device of central government policy) offers the vague sense of ‘something good’ for local communities and yet is set against the reality of service reduction. This same vagueness can be levelled against other terms, including neighbourhood, community and ­engagement – ­they seem connected to the common good but provide no meaningful definition, detail or clarification. If we consider professional expectations, the English Heritage Planning Policy Statement No 5 (DCLG 2010: 40) (in force 2010–15 but used as guidance thereafter) advises professionals to ‘make investigative works open to, and interpreted for, the public’, an unambitious goal, considering the socially embedded practice that many of us aspire to. If we accept that heritage management and practice is inherently political and that governments tend to shape and utilize heritage discourse (Smith 2004; Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2018; Waterton 2010) then what are the mechanisms to diffuse potential cultural conflicts? Rodenberg and Wagenaar (2018: 320) suggest that governments can mitigate contestation by utilizing participative decision-­making processes from the outset (if the stakeholders are identified), or can create the open and flexible narratives often seen in new or emerging states/countries, or create safe spaces for dialogue that are mediated by actors seen as ‘impartial’ or contribute to inclusive dialogues arising from safe space discussion. Despite case studies exploring the role of governments in diffusing cultural contestation, it remains a challenge; genuine intent from all stakeholders is needed, and the process itself can result in emerging contestation (Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2018: 320). Government agents/stakeholders or stewards are often given the freedom to follow their own interests, but the state also has an interest that often arises from another government sector and can result in ‘administrative fragmentation’ and potential conflict (Rodenberg and Wagenaar 2018: 321). Moreover, the expectation that governments can both control, regulate and protect heritage ‘assets’ whilst at the same time empowering local communities is contradictory, and whether government actors really can impartially mediate without bringing their professional expertise to bear is unclear. Heritage policy is imposed via governance structures, and this is predicated on the basis of expert knowledge (Pendlebury 2015: 437). The role of UK experts has been challenged, most notably in 2017 with Michael Gove (then Lord Chancellor) declaring ‘I think the people of this country have had enough of experts with organizations, with acronyms saying that

Go On, I Dare You!  •  151

they know what is best and getting it consistently wrong’ (Portes 2017). This statement gained traction during the Brexit debate, particularly with those whose agenda was to discredit the so-­called ‘experts’. The continued rise of the participatory turn within heritage is exemplified by the edited volume Who Needs Experts? (Schofield 2014), which outlines the work taking place locally, at the margins, and which challenges the expert view. There are many European partnerships, but there are differences in cultural heritage management (CHM) implementation, which can cause conflict and hinder joint working partnerships (Benetti and Brogiolo 2020: 187). The conflicting systems between countries appear to emphasize this important dichotomy where you can either protect archaeology or reinforce participation (Benetti and Brogiolo 2020: 187). Archaeology can be used to help remedy economic, social or political issues, but it is a professional obligation to understand who the practice is benefiting and those who may be excluded (Gould 2016). Current evaluation methods range from the assessment of learning outcomes to the examination of the impact on wellbeing indicators, socio-­economic profiles of visitors to the collation of visitor numbers, or the collection of anecdotal comments (Ellenberger and Richardson 2018). These methods are not robust, lack disciplinary representation and do not meet the aspirations of the sector; however, where formal evaluation is undertaken, it is frequently inaccessible or not aggregated and often driven by funding reporting requirements (Ellenberger and Richardson 2018). Only robust methodologies can generate the data necessary to identify good practice and demonstrate accountability. Where the benefits of projects are outlined to local communities, there is a professional obligation to understand how the benefits might be most effectively delivered (Gould 2016). Despite the prevalence of historic landscape sites across the UK, there are limits to our understanding of the different mechanisms by which such places/sites impact community wellbeing. A synthetic review identified sixty-­seven UK-­based case studies (including community archaeology) to assess the ‘evidence base’ (Pennington et al. 2019). The places reviewed ranged from monuments to terraced houses, heritage was defined broadly as ‘inherited resources’, and the ONS definition of wellbeing was similarly broad and included socio-­environmental determinants of health (Pennington et al. 2019: 7). Evaluation methods were mixed but provided consistent evidence that historic places/spaces have beneficial impacts for physical, mental and social health (Pennington et al. 2019: 74). The methodological quality of the current evidence base was low, and well-­ designed longitudinal studies are needed to help simplify a complex data set (Pennington et al. 2019: 75). Analysis of the studies identified a concerted

152 • Cath Neal

effort by institutions/professionals to target interventions towards marginalized groups (forty-­five studies in total) (Pennington et al. 2019: 76). The recommendations include a more robust conceptual framework to underpin interventions, the meaningful empowerment of communities to enable them to shape policies and interventions, and a ‘systematic and coordinated approach’ to raising the methodological quality of the evidence base (Pennington et al. 2019: 80). It would be interesting to hear the response of Historic England and the NLHF to this strategic need, as they commission and support many projects. One recommendation by the All-­ Party Parliamentary Group on Arts, Health and Wellbeing (2017: 154) is the pressing need for the formation of a strategic national centre to support good practice, collaboration and dissemination. This requires commitment from leaders within the arts, health and social care sectors. A survey of 436 historic environment professionals, in 2015, heard that approximately one quarter of the respondents found public engagement unhelpful in their day-­to-­day work, with 15% suggesting it was counterproductive to archaeology (Richardson, Hoggard and Rocks-­Macqueen 2018). Community funding and participation was felt to sometimes ‘distort archaeological priorities’, with one respondent describing public engagement as a ‘red herring’ allied to ‘The Big Society’ (UK government domestic policy advocated by David Cameron) (Richardson, Hoggard and Rocks-­Macqueen 2018). Other respondents felt that community engagement and public benefit were essential to good practice, indicating some polarization of professional views of working in partnership. This reinforces EU research suggesting that obstacles can arise when communities work with professionals as the latter may be reluctant to take part in truly participatory partnerships (European Union 2018: 40). Demographic research undertaken on behalf of the Chartered Institute for Archaeologists reveals that the profession is 99% white (UK workforce 13% BAME backgrounds), that 54% of the workforce is male, with 20% in possession of a Ph.D., 47% master’s degree and 93% are graduates (Richardson and Almansa-­Sánchez 2015). This leads us to consider the absence of class within historic environment research. Class has been identified as something that is rarely acknowledged or explored (Dicks 2015: 367). Social class is both pervasive and controversial, and its inarticulation allows politicized history to be presented as an historical asset but manages to depoliticize what is presented to the public. Within sociological research, social class remains an important tool, but analysis confirms that within cultural representation it is rarely referred to or acknowledged (Dicks 2015: 369). One of the problems of social inclusion can be assimilation, where disenfranchised groups become assimilated into the dominant discourse at the expense of their own connections, values and beliefs (Smith 2006; Waterton 2010).

Go On, I Dare You!  •  153

Ensuring that professionals are equipped with the necessary skills is vital, especially in terms of being able to provide realistic estimates of the time needed for meaningful dialogue and develop confidence/trust between professionals and participants (European Union 2018: 40). It has been predicted that staff working in institutions concerned with cultural heritage will require ‘substantial training’ to develop and implement meaningful participatory working, but there is a wealth of valuable networking and experience amongst staff that must also be allowed to flourish (European Union 2018: 43). Schofield (2015: 417) has described the cultural heritage agenda as being driven by ‘thinkers’, people who make scientific decisions about heritage assets, resources and process, and they do this by using well-­ defined systems. Increasingly, there are calls by academic scholars, and to some degree from the governance process too, to emphasize the social and community value of heritage practice, heritage as ‘social action’ with an attachment to mundane places, everyday places and lived experience. Invariably, the process of curation and maintenance is systems led, and most employment opportunities within the heritage sector relate to the facilitation and management of the system, which naturally requires a level of organization (Schofield 2015: 423). Those who choose to be heritage professionals need a different skill set to the curatorial/process-­driven staff and are described as ‘feelers’– being more focused on empathy and engagement (Schofield 2015: 422). Key challenges to public participation for the EU (2018) are the ‘decision-­ making chain’ and the desire to share this with all participants; this takes us back to Arnstein’s ladder of participation and whether the desire for partnership is authentic. Loss of professional control is a factor in the failure of archaeologists to share with others and has been explored in depth particularly by scholars working with indigenous communities (Smith 2004, 2006; Zimmerman 1994). There remain structural contradictions in archaeological practice; we are interested in people in the past, but we also have obligations to people in the present. We have professional motives to acquire ‘data’ and access materials that do not belong to us (Zimmerman 1994: 66). The sharing of power and of control over materials from the past with other communities is essential but requires the acceptance of other world views and an ability to move beyond the claims of ‘science’ and ‘objectivity’ so frequently seen within archaeological discourse (Zimmerman 1994: 66). The issues of contestation are writ large when working with descendent or indigenous communities, but they are still operating in everyday archaeological practice in the UK. Community archaeology as a social programme of inclusivity and empowerment has recently been challenged by a group of academics who perceive ‘the people’ as an archaeological invention, claiming that archaeologists have created the subjects

154 • Cath Neal

they desire as an ethical-­political expectation of both liberals and Marxists, and also by archaeologists who are ‘longing to empower the unempowered’ (González-­Ruibal, González and Criado-­Boado 2018) in a turn that has been characterized as epistemic populism (common sense over and above expert knowledge). A rebuttal from Smith and Campbell (2018) recommends the authors consider in detail the privileged role of expert opinion regarding the past. ‘Experts’ have methodological/technological skills and rigor in their approaches to the past (all useful for engaging with popular concepts of the past), but there is an enduring sense of discomfort in confronting popular uses of the past, and it is this discomfort that González-­Ruibal et al. exhibit and that undermines them (Smith and Campbell 2018: 522). Smith and Campbell are ‘stunned’ by the authors’ lack of engagement with the relevant discourse and find their equivalence of popular practice with reactionary politics further evidence of promoting archaeological expertise at the expense of community-­based knowledge and experience (2018: 522). There has been criticism that the HLF (and now NHLF) system can result in community-­driven projects without prior consultation on methodology or outputs, and this can result in problems satisfying planning conditions (Mitchell and Colls 2020: 32). This can create issues of a professional ethical nature, so it is suggested that professional oversight is needed throughout, but examples are not given. Through attracting volunteers, projects often meet NLHF requirements, but it is proposed that professionals are needed to undertake and cost bid-­writing (Mitchell and Colls 2020: 33). Successful community archaeology projects may result in training the ‘next generation of archaeologists’ (Mitchell and Colls 2020: 19), and this view exemplifies perfectly Smith and Waterton’s concerns regarding self-­referential professionals and the primacy of expertise. In this modern society, we experience a scale of interconnectivity and interdependence coupled with rapid change that we have not seen previously, and this raises fundamental questions about competence and governance because traditional organizational models are frequently inadequate to deal with such challenges; this situation has been described as a ‘conceptual emergency’ (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 5). To cope with this emerging challenge, stress is placed on the need for cross cutting partnerships and alliances (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 18). To move forward with cultural practice, the bridging of different disciplinary silos is essential along with the need to bridge the theory and experience gap that is so often evident (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 22). Leaders must feel comfortable with many beliefs/truths and realities, with exploring other people’s worldviews (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 8). They must be able to understand the essence of subjectivity as both legitimate and essential (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 14) and be able to take insightful action, which relies on

Go On, I Dare You!  •  155

the ability to make judgements in challenging circumstances, using critical insight and reflective cycles of learning from experience (Leicester and O’Hara 2009: 16).

Positive Change and Good News Stories Unsurprisingly, the environments (built and natural) within which people live have a significant impact on their wellbeing, and participatory arts projects provide an arena for co-­production with people who use health and social services (All Party Parliamentary Group on Arts Health and Wellbeing 2017: 11). The evidence base for the positive impact of art and cultural activities on health and wellbeing is stacking up (Chatterjee and Noble 2013; Staricoff 2004), and recent experiments have used participatory action research (PAR) to test the range of benefits from arts interventions with refugees (Clini, Thomson and Chatterjee 2019). Utilizing an existing London refugee charity, a collaborative study involved observation, focus groups and in depth semi-­structured interviews with refugees/ asylum seekers, volunteers and charity staff (total cohort 31 individuals). Participants identified positive impacts from activities relating to skills, social engagement and personal emotion. Thematic analysis revealed that the participants felt the artistic and cultural activities helped them to find their voice, to create supportive networks and to learn practical skills for finding work (Clini, Thomson and Chatterjee 2019). In addition to exploring the effects on psychosocial wellbeing, the study also altered the often negative perceptions of refugees and asylum seekers by focusing on the arts, wellbeing and forced displacement (Clini, Thomson and Chatterjee 2019). As part of the EU Horizon 2020 research fund, the issue of resilience in cultural heritage practice across Europe was examined using cases concerning cultural representation, training, post-­disaster recovery, rural development, migration and museums, and gender and art (Alfarano et al. 2019). In terms of resilience, culture is an essential component that draws upon traditions and helps people to imagine change. The bottom-­up approach is alert to the needs of local populations and fully understands the relationships of people to places, but a top-­down approach may be complementary as it can give primacy to the needs of marginalized groups and might draw attention to poorly recognized heritage (Alfarano et al. 2019). Although making changes to cultural policies, and the institutions that create them, is complex, by using suitable engagement strategies, it is possible to increase inclusion (Alfarano et al. 2019). The inclusion of stakeholders who have been marginalized is not new, but concepts of marginalization have expanded to include those who are

156 • Cath Neal

not only geographically remote but living between different jurisdictions. Those who live in remote border areas, boundaries or cross-­borders are marginalized, and a project between Italy and Slovenia (the Alps and the karst) was devised to make a collaborative inventory as part of a longer-­ term ethnographic project (Ledinek Lozej 2020: 121). This project used a participation approach in the design and implementation phase, and brought together multiple experts (ethnographers, anthropologists, folklorists, linguists) along with museums, educational institutions and six local communities across this transnational boundary. Thirty-­four cultural heritage collections were assessed, 15 from Slovenia and 19 from Italy, and of these 21 were privately owned, with the remainder held in public associations (Ledinek Lozej 2020: 123). The scope of participation was broad and included the co-­creation of project goals, collaboration in establishing the network and in the content contribution to the digital inventory (Ledinek Lozej 2020: 124). When reading about the project, it is clear that the process or journey was significant in developing trust and mutual understanding. The review of a long-­r unning community project at Roman Caistor explores, in some detail, the possibility of such projects reinforcing traditional power structures (Bowden 2020: 10). The reviewer identifies astutely how the management of this project has evolved over time to allow more community management and questions whether the volunteers have any desire to ‘disrupt’ the existing power relation/structures. Bowden (2020) suggests that volunteers require the validated standards such projects adhere to, but he demonstrates a flexible approach in managing the process. Digital heritage is a rapid growth area and includes methods for engaging with the public either by using web-­based or mobile-­based technology, which can include social media applications and methods of online mediation (Richardson 2013: 4). A world away from the curated websites with pages of hyperlinks, it is now possible to harness new technologies to generate public interest and activity on social media and allow people in a wide range of locations and from different backgrounds to ‘experience’ all stages of archaeological fieldwork in a variety of ways (Richardson 2013: 4). The internet offers great potential to guide and support individuals and communities to express their own archaeological ­voices – ­a multivocal approach to the past, and one that professionals must understand in order to use it effectively (Richardson 2013: 8). There is a caveat, however, to the democratizing benefits of digital heritage, as research has revealed that professionals now use aliases on digital forums because up to a third of them have been subject to online abuse (Richardson, Hoggard and Rocks-­Macqueen 2018). Considering the cultural challenges, complexity and conflicts of modern life, O’Hara and Leicester (2012) explore the required competencies to be an effective leader, drawing on their extensive experience within the arts,

Go On, I Dare You!  •  157

educational and cultural sector. They describe ‘psychological literacy’ as a threshold competency, and it involves the ability to appreciate multiple truths, choose the right organizational setting and ‘blow an uncertain trumpet’ (a demeanour of respectful humility). Leaders must be flexible in their actions and responses whilst being simultaneously responsible and ethical; future leadership requires humility and balance. In thinking about changing behaviour within cultural teams and individuals, it is useful to consider what have been termed ‘small acts of creative transgression’. Cultural leadership should provide a nod or prompt, as the smaller the intervention the easier it is for others to follow and be creative (O’Hara and Leicester 2012). Being able to stimulate these ‘small acts’ requires cultural imagination coupled with astute political awareness, but such leadership can be transformative, as many of O’Hara and Leicester’s examples demonstrate.

Conclusion This chapter has explored the ways that UK professionals have seized opportunities to increase participation within community archaeology, but it has also highlighted the many impediments to true partnership. Whilst participation can increase democratization and social inclusion, too often the benefits are felt within a narrow section of society in spite of professional attempts to address this. Digital heritage offers a great deal in terms of democratization, but accessibility and poverty impacts need further exploration. Some of the barriers come from within the sector personnel themselves. Both Schofield (2015) and the European Union (2018) describe some of the challenges to historic environment personnel, who need the skills to transform partnerships. Some of these challenges can also be met by working across teams/disciplines to allow personnel to flourish in the areas where they excel, and the examples from Ledinek Lozej (2020) and Clini et al. (2019) highlight this. Understanding the views of practitioners, and disentangling their views from their subsequent actions, is needed whilst recognizing (as also suggested by O’Hara and Leicester 2012 and by Graham and Vergunst 2019) that small actions can have significant impacts on engagement (Richardson, Hoggard and Rocks-­Macqueen 2018). The recent pandemic has brought fresh impetus to the notion of resilience within cultural heritage practice. At times like this, the value of the creative sector is felt more urgently and uses different methods to achieve connection, so the need for continued resilience in the sector cannot be overstated (Alfarano et al. 2019). To develop historic environment participatory practice in the future requires more than the skills, approaches and

158 • Cath Neal

resources from personnel; it also requires strategic leadership in the challenging environment ahead. To overcome the current inequity of access, the tension between regulation and empowerment and the variable skill/experience base within the sector, we need leaders with clear vision to develop a framework for practice that can address some of the most pressing issues. As practitioners, we must be bold and have the confidence to share both our knowledge and our power with wider audiences. Dr Cath Neal is a freelance heritage consultant and archaeomalacologist, previously employed as Associate Lecturer/Lecturer in Archaeology at the Universities of York and Hull, UK. Her research explores the interface between natural and cultural landscapes and approaches to palaeoenvironmental reconstruction. Cath recently co-­authored a thematic review of the Vale of York landscape that resulted from a long-­term rescue and community project funded by the University of York and the Heritage Lottery Fund.

References Alfarano, N. et al. 2019. ‘RE-­ designing Access to Cultural Heritage for a Wider Participation in Preservation, (Re-)Use and Management of European Culture’. REACH website. Retrieved 1  December 2020 from https://www.reach-culture​ .eu/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/REACH-D3.2-Selection-of-projects-and-map​ ping-of-clustered-research-findings.pd. All-­Party Parliamentary Group on Arts, Health and Wellbeing. 2017. ‘Creative Health: The Arts for Health and Wellbeing’. Inquiry Report, 2nd edition. Retrieved 1 December 2020 from http://www.artshealthandwellbeing.org.uk/appg-inquiry/. Arnstein, S. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–22. Benetti, F., and G.P. Brogiolo. 2020. ‘Polar Opposites: The Legislative Management of Archaeological Research in Italy and England and the Challenge of Public Participation’, Public Archaeology 17(4): 176–92. BOP Consulting. 2009. ‘Assessment of Social Impact of Participation in HLF-­ Funded Projects’. BOP Consulting website. Retrieved 4  February 2015 https://​ www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/research/social_impact_vol unteering_2009. ———. 2018. ‘The Trends and Future of Urban Heritage Final Report, for the National Trust’. BOP Consulting website. Retrieved 10 January 2020 from https://www.bop​ .co.uk/reports/urban-­heritage-­report. Bowden, W. 2020. ‘What is the Role of the Academic in Community Archaeology? The Changing Nature of Volunteer Participation at Caistor Roman Town’, Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 8(2): 1–12. Chatterjee, H., and G. Noble. 2013. Museums, Health and Wellbeing. Farnham: Ashgate.

Go On, I Dare You!  •  159

Clark, K. 2019. ‘The Shift toward Values in UK Heritage Practice’, in E. Avrami, S.  Macdonald, R. Mason and D. Myers (eds), Values in Heritage Management: Emerging Approaches and Research Directions. Los Angeles: Getty Conservation Institute, pp. 66–82. Clini, C., L.J.M. Thomson and H.J. Chatterjee. 2019. ‘Assessing the Impact of Artistic and Cultural Activities on the Health and Well-­Being of Forcibly Displaced People Using Participatory Action Research’, BMJ Open 9: e025465. Council of Europe. 2020. Faro Convention: The Way Forward with Heritage. Council of Europe, Strasbourg website. Retrieved 1  December 2020 from https://www.coe​ .int/en/web/culture-and-heritage/faro-action-plan Dicks, B. 2015. ‘Heritage and Social Class’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 366–81. Ellenberger, K., and L.-J. Richardson. 2018. ‘Reflecting on Evaluation in Public Archaeology’, AP: Online Journal in Public Archaeology 8: 65–94. English Heritage. 2009. Heritage Counts. London: English Heritage. English Heritage and Department for Communities and Local Government (DCLG). 2010. ‘Planning Policy Statement No. 5, Planning for the Historic Environment’. English Heritage website. Retrieved 2012 from www.english-heritage.org.uk. European Commission. 2020. ‘Participatory Governance’. European Union website. Retrieved September 2020 from https://ec.europa.eu/culture/cultural-heritage​ /eu-policy-cultural-heritage/participatory-governance. European Union. 2018. Participatory Governance of Cultural Heritage. Luxembourg European Union. Frearson, D. 2018. ‘Supporting Community Archaeology in the UK: Results of a 2018 Survey’. CBA Report York. Fredheim, H. 2017. ‘Endangerment-­Driven Heritage Volunteering: Democratisation or “Changeless Change”’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(6): 619–33. González, P.A., A.M. Vázques and J. Fernández. 2017. ‘Governance Structures for the Heritage Commons: La Ponte-­Ecomuséu-­Ecomuseum of Santo Adriano, Spain’, in P.G. Gould and K.A. Pyburn (eds), Collision or Collaboration: Archaeology Encounters Economic Development. Cham: Springer, pp. 153–70. González-­Ruibal, A., P.A. González and F. Criado-­Boado. 2018. ‘Against Reactionary Populism: Towards a New Public Archaeology’, Antiquity 92(362): 507–15. Gould, P.G. 2016. ‘On the Case: Method in Public and Community Archaeology’, Public Archaeology 15(1): 5–22. ———. 2017. ‘An Introduction’, in P.G. Gould and K.A. Pyburn (eds), Collision or Collaboration: Archaeology Encounters Economic Development. Cham: Springer, pp. 1–13. ———. 2019. Empowering Communities Through Archaeology and Heritage: The Role of Local Governance in Economic Development. London: Bloomsbury. Graham, H., and J. Vergunst (eds). 2019. Heritage as Community Research: Legacies of Co-Production. Bristol: Bristol University Press. Historic England. 2019. Heritage and Society. Historic England website. Retrieved 20  January 2021 from https://historicengland.org.uk/content/heritage-­ counts​ /pub/2019/heritage-­and-­society-­2019.

160 • Cath Neal

Karl, R. 2012. ‘The Public? Which Public?’, in N. Schuker (ed.), Integrating Archaeology: International Conference on the Social Role, Possibilities and Perspectives of Classical Studies. Frankfurt am Main: Römisch-­Germanische Kommission, pp. 23–28. Law, M. 2019. ‘Beyond Extractive Practice: Bioarchaeology, Geoarchaeology and Human Palaeoecology for the People’. Internet Archaeology 53. https://doi.org/10​ .11141/ia.53.6. Ledinek Lozej, Š. 2020. ‘Collaborative Inventory: A Participative Approach to Cultural Heritage Collections’, in J. Nared and D. Bole (eds), Participatory Research and Planning in Practice. Cham: Springer Open, pp. 121–31. Leicester, G., and M. O’Hara. 2009. Ten Things to Do in a Conceptual Emergency. Aberdour: Triarchy Press International Futures Forum. Ministry of Defence. 2019. ‘Operation Nightingale’. UK Government website. Retrieved 15 January 2021 from https://www.gov.uk/guidance/operation-nightingale. Mitchell, W., and K. Colls. 2020. ‘An Evaluation of Community-­Led Archaeology Projects Funded through the Heritage Lottery Fund: Two Case Studies’, Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 7(1): 17–34. Neal, C. 2015. ‘Heritage and Participation’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson. (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 346–65. Neal, C., and S. Roskams. 2013. ‘Authority and Community: Reflections on Archaeological Practice at Heslington East, York’, The Historic Environment; Policy and Practice 4(2): 139–55. Nevell, M. 2015. ‘The Dig Manchester Project, 2005–2009: Redefining Community Archaeology?’, in M. Nevell and N. Redhead (eds), Archaeology for All: Community Archaeology in the Early 21st Century: Participation, Practice and Impact. Salford: University of Salford, pp. 35–46. O’Connor, T.P.O. 2016. ‘Wetlands: Freshwater and Slum Communities’, in M. Allen (ed.), Molluscs in Archaeology: Methods, Approaches and Applications. Oxford: Oxbow, pp. 127–41. O’Hara, M., and G. Leicester. 2012. Dancing at the Edge: Competence, Culture and Organisation in the 21st Century. Axminster: Triarchy Press. Orange, H. 2015. ‘An Evaluation Report to the Heritage Lottery Fund on the Outcomes of the Whitehawk Camp Community Archaeology Project’. Unpublished report. Science Open website. Retrieved 1 January 2021 from scienceopen.com/document​ ?vid=f5fdaadf-1f47-4800-9613-9b93825d2fa0. Pendlebury, J. 2015. ‘Heritage and Policy’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 426–37. Pennington, A. R. Jones, A.-M. Bagnall, J. South and R. Corcoran. 2019. ‘The Impact of Historic Places and Assets on Community W ­ ellbeing – ­A Scoping Review’. What Works Centre for Wellbeing. Repository for Arts and Health Resources website. Retrieved 1 June 2020 from https://www.artshealthresources.org.uk/docs/herita​ ge-and-wellbeing-the-impact-of-historic-places-and-assets-on-community-wellbe​ ing-a-scoping-review/. Portes, R. 2017. ‘I Think the People of this Country Have Had Enough of Experts’. London Business School website. Retrieved 15  January 2020 from https://www​ .london.edu/think/who-­needs-­experts.

Go On, I Dare You!  •  161

Richardson, L. 2013. ‘A Digital Public Archaeology?’, Papers from the Institute of Archaeology 23(1): 1–12. Richardson, L., and J. Almansa-­Sánchez. 2015. ‘Do You Even Know What Public Archaeology Is? Trends, Theory, Practice, Ethics’, World Archaeology 47(2): 194–211. Richardson, L., C. Hoggard and D. Rocks-­Macqueen. 2018. ‘What Do UK Archaeologists Think of Public Engagement?’ Landward Research Occasional Paper 002. Landward Research website. Retrieved 1 January 2021 from https://landward.eu/wp-­content​ /uploads/2018/09/LRop002_Richardson-­etal_2018.pdf. Rodenberg, J., and P. Wagenaar. 2018. ‘Conclusion: Roles Governments Play in Shaping the Symbolic Landscape’, in J. Rodenberg and P. Wagenaar (eds), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 315–25. Schofield, J. 2015. ‘Thinkers and Feelers: A Psychological Perspective on Heritage and Society’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 417–23. Schofield, J. (ed.). 2014. Who Needs Experts: Counter-Mapping Cultural Heritage. Abingdon: Routledge. Smith, L. 2004. Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage. Abingdon: Routledge. ———. 2006. Uses of Heritage. Abingdon: Routledge. Smith, L., and G. Campbell. 2018. ‘It’s Not All about Archaeology’, Antiquity 92(362): 521–22. Smith, L., and E. Waterton. 2009. ‘Heritage and Archaeology’, in L. Smith and E. Waterton (eds), Taking Archaeology out of Heritage. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, pp. 1–6. Sotheran, A. (MoD). 2019. ‘Band of Brothers at Bullecourt: An Outsider’s View of a Century Long Military Bond’. You Tube. https://youtu.be/yDS1a7kYnsk, and pers comm January 2021. Staricoff, R.L. 2004. ‘Arts in Health: A Review of the Medical Literature’ (Research Report 36). Arts Council England website. Retrieved 4 February 2015 from www​ .artscouncil.org.uk. Vergunst, J., and H. Graham. 2019. ‘Introduction’, in H. Graham and J. Vergunst (eds), Heritage as Community Research: Legacies of Co-Production. Bristol: Bristol University Press, pp. 1–24. Vícha, O. 2014. ‘The Concept of the Right to Cultural Heritage within the Faro Convention’, International and Comparative Law Review 14(2): 25–40. Waterton, E. 2010. Politics, Policy and the Discourses of Heritage in Britain. London: Palgrave. Waterton, E., and S. Watson. 2015. ‘The Ontological Politics of Heritage: Or How Research Can Spoil a Good Story’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 21–36. Zimmerman, L.J. 1994. ‘Made Radical by My Own: An Archaeologist Learns to Accept Reburial’, in R. Layton (ed.), Conflict in the Archaeology of Living Traditions. London: Routledge, pp. 60–67.

8 CHAPTER 8 Barriers to Public Participation in Memorialization Processes Evidence from the Dutch Holocaust Memorial of Names Alana Castro de Azevedo

Introduction Scholars in the fields of heritage, urban studies and cultural policy laud the active participation of citizens in heritage planning, decision-­making and management. A central tenet of the enthusiasm accorded to participation is the belief that such an approach can lead to heritage strategies that are responsive to local needs and contribute to the sustainable management of heritage in the long term (Bandarin and Van Oers 2012; Court and Wijesuriya 2015). In recent years, these claims have been extended to the planning, design and interpretation of monuments and memorials. The use of participatory techniques is understood as paramount to achieving consensus, gaining a broader acceptance of memorial works and avoiding destructive outcomes such as planning delays, litigation and public contestation (Bickford 2014; Brett et al. 2007; Gurler and Ozer 2012; Stevens, Franck and Ware 2013; Stevens 2019; Tsai and Robins 2018; UNESCO 2018; UNHRC 2014). Nonetheless, sites of memory, which include memorials and monuments, are an arena of persistent dissent where different parties pursue various visions of appropriate ways of remembering the past (Alderman and Dwyer 2009: 54; Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996: 21). Planning a memorial can lead to difficult negotiations among complex aggregates of interest groups and within varying decision-­making hierarchies (Stevens, Franck and Ware

Barriers to Public Participation  •  163

2013; Stevens 2019). Consequently, there is a need to address the multiple agendas, conflicts and negotiations that often characterize processes of memorialization (Forest, Johnson and Till 2004). Furthermore, a consideration of the literature reveals that debates around memory and memorials tend to be marked by emotional appeals and affective investments that, in many cases, are seen as an obstacle to dialogue (Bull and Hansen 2016; Donofrio 2010; Doss 2010; Flesher Fominaya and Barberet 2018; Hajer 2005; Lowe 2020; Parr 2008; Paliewicz and Hasian 2017; Sturken 1997; Young 2016). This is due in part to the sensitivity of the issues that are the substance of debate (Bull et al. 2018: 612) and, as I shall argue, because of the way in which the debate is staged and conducted in conventional planning. According to Agger and Larsen (2007: 5), planners and decision-­makers tend to favour forms of communication based on reason. Clearly, this poses a challenge for memorial planning processes, in which individuals or groups use personal memories, emotional narratives, metaphors and storytelling to deliberate (see Flesher Fominaya and Barberet 2018; Hajer 2005). For instance, Erika Doss (2010: 15) has already noted that the Habermasian ‘ideal speech’ conditions do not apply to memory work, because of the emotional content of experiences that people bring into the deliberative sphere. Similarly, various literature on collaborative planning (see Allmendinger and Haughton 2012; Bäcklund and Mäntsyalo 2010; Flyvbjerg 1998; Hillier 2003; McAuliffe and Rogers 2018, 2019; McGuirk 2001; Mouat et al. 2013; Pløger 2001, 2004; Rogers et al. 2017) asserts that the ideals of communicative rationality, consensus-­formation and inclusive dialogue are rarely achieved. As Jean Hillier pointed out (2003: 41), contemporary modalities of citizen engagement, drawn from Habermas (1984), often fail to address the plurality of values and unequal power relations that underpin planning processes. Also, there is an established and wide-­ranging critique of participatory approaches in Public Administration theory, which I will not repeat in full here (see discussion of ‘citizen participation’ in the introductory chapter). But, by way of summary, one of the key concerns is the finding that such an approach is no guarantee that either democracy, legitimacy, effectiveness or efficiency will be ­achieved – ­let alone all of them (Van der Heijden and Ten Heuvelhof 2012: 187). Therefore, this chapter explores a new conceptual approach to democratic engagement in processes of memorialization that responds to contemporary critiques of participation both in planning and decision-­ making. Drawing on Chantal Mouffe’s theory of agonistic pluralism (1993, 2000, 2005), I suggest that ‘agonism’ offers helpful ways of understanding seemingly intractable disputes, and especially disputes within processes of memorialization. Mouffe argues that civil society is not harmonious or

164 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

unitary but rather characterized by pluralism of values and conflicts that she terms ‘antagonisms’. Thus, the goal of pluralist democracy is to change from a politics of antagonism, where the opponent is perceived as an enemy, to a politics of agonism, where the opponent is perceived as an adversary (Brand and Gaffikin 2007: 292). In the following, I present a reading of a controversial case: the National Holocaust Memorial of Names in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. The memorial has become the object of an intractable dispute at the local level that ultimately led to a legal battle to block the siting of the memorial in Amsterdam’s Plantage neighbourhood. Although the initiative originated from a private actor, the main responsibility of involving citizens in the planning process lay with the local government. This ‘top-­down pathway’ to collaboration (Van Meerkerk 2019) gave rise to different challenges in and outside the limits of the formal participatory process. In this context, this chapter addresses the following questions: What kinds of spaces for participation were made available, how and when? What were the consequences of these participatory arrangements for planning outcomes? And how far did these participatory practices align with ‘agonistic’ ideals? To present this case, three sections structure the remainder of this chapter. The first section outlines a brief description of the empirical case study. This is followed by a section discussing the formal opportunities to participate in the planning process. Finally, I contrast the research findings with debates on the ‘technical’ and ‘functional’ aspects of participation (Van der Heijden and Ten Heuvelhof 2012) and insights from critical theories of collaborative planning (Mouffe 1993, 2000, 2005; Pløger 2004).

The Initiative and the Course of Events In 2006, the Dutch Auschwitz Committee (hereafter the ‘initiators’) took the initiative to create a central memorial site in Amsterdam. The committee wished to pay tribute to the 102,000 Dutch Holocaust victims (including Jews, Roma and Sinti groups). In contrast with other similar ­memorials – ­such as the wall of names in the Hollandsche Schouwburg and the digital Jewish ­Monument – ­the Holocaust Memorial of Names would be a unique and unprecedented initiative in the country’s capital: each victim would be remembered by name. They therefore appointed the world-­renowned architect Daniel Libeskind to design something worthy of the strength of the emotions they felt. After six years lobbying the city council for permission to display their memorial in public,1 the initiators were eventually granted a prime plot of land. The plans were set for a location next to other highly symbolic sites within Amsterdam’s former Jewish neighbourhood, such as

Barriers to Public Participation  •  165

the Jewish Historical Museum, the Portuguese Synagogue, the Hollandsche Schouwburg, the National Holocaust Museum (opened in 2016) and numerous Second World War memorials.2 The memorial would be erected in the Wertheimpark, to the right side of Dutch artist Jan Wolkers’ Auschwitz memorial, the site of the annual Holocaust commemoration. In principle, the Holocaust Memorial of Names was an initiative with a strong mandate, backed with support from the government and a promise of funding. However, the memorial quickly became a controversial political issue, especially at the local level. No sooner had the plans been announced than people began questioning its necessity. Critics claimed that no public funds should be spent on another memorial, as the Wertheimpark is already home to the Auschwitz memorial. Adding another commemorative monument would turn the Plantage into a ‘war neighbourhood’. For the immediate neighbours of the Wertheimpark, the plans seemed to be at odds with their desire to preserve the green spaces and current uses of the park. The design, they said, was obtrusive and too large for the available area. This would disrupt the entire character of the park. There were also serious questions about how the memorial had been commissioned. According to critics, the idea was never discussed or debated in the public arena. It had not been presented to Dutch experts, and there was not enough consultation with local stakeholders. The fact that a group of residents opposed the construction of the ­memorial in the Wertheimpark, combined with some articles in the press, was cause for concern. In response to the opponents, the initiators attempted to link up the events to NIMBY (‘Not in my Backyard’) arguments. Tempers flared, and accusations flew back and forth. Some protesters were accused of being ‘antisemite’ and ‘holocaust deniers’ (see Wiegman 2019). The initiators were accused of seeking only personal gains. Eventually, after several heated meetings and political pressure, the mayor backed down. It was necessary to first reach a compromise between opponents and the initiators. The municipality then decided to look out for alternative locations. This time, they wished to ensure careful site selection, based on technical criteria and in co-­operation with all stakeholders concerned. Nonetheless, the most significant interventions in the plans were from the Dutch Auschwitz Committee. The initiators successfully lobbied for their preferred ­location – t­he Weesperplantsoen, also in the former Jewish ­neighbourhood – ­and shaped the evaluation criteria according to their vision for the memorial.3 Unsurprisingly, these changes triggered strong reactions. Some residents angrily protested the government’s failure to comply with its promises. Nevertheless, by June 2016, the City Council decided to move the plans to Weesperplantsoen and give the go-­ahead.

166 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

In response to the Council decision, protesting residents heavily engaged in informal actions, which included a petition, letters to newspapers, press releases and other types of publications.4 When the environmental and building permits were granted, in December 2016, they immediately contested the decision and launched a lawsuit against the municipality: it was also ‘their’ memorial, ‘their’ city, and they did not feel properly consulted. The protesters were backed by intellectuals and public figures frustrated by the government’s refusal to engage with any criticism of the plans. Two Dutch visual artists decided to take matters into their own hands. Since they seemed unable to influence what the official memorial would look like, they decided to design one of their own.5 The disputes among the initiators, the municipality and protesting residents did not end. In the years to follow, the municipality would be legally accused of rushing into decisions without considering all the interests at stake. For critics, the plans have never been seriously discussed in the public arena. Neither was the contract for building the memorial put out to tender, and there was no kind of competition to find the most outstanding design. In other words, the whole project was seen as the result of a top-­down decision, rushed through by the municipality and the initiators and imposed on the Amsterdam cityscape without public scrutiny. The plans for the memorial, which had seemed so promising, were brought to another standstill by all the criticism. Although the government supported the plans, it would be another four years before the first stone of the Holocaust Memorial of Names would be laid in the Weesperplantsoen (Pen 2020).

Research Design This chapter reports on a study carried out between May and December 2020 and uses a two-­step approach for data collection and validation of findings. In order to gain insight into the overall development of this project over the last fourteen years, I undertook an extensive analysis of policy documents, internal memoranda, minutes of meetings, project proposals, institutional websites and local newspapers. Based on this review, I built a storyline (Vennesson 2008) and topic list of issues that appear to have had a major impact on the plans. The storyline consisted of a chronological overview of the process: the decisions made, the actors involved, the critiques expressed and the reports published. In the second stage, I performed fifteen in-­depth sequential interviews (Small 2009) using the video conferencing tool Zoom (Archibald et al. 2019; Krouwel, Jolly and Greenfield 2019; Powell and Van Velthoven 2019; Sullivan 2012). I selected respondents through purposive sampling (Patton

Barriers to Public Participation  •  167

1990) in order to include the major players in the area: the initiators (2), local residents (2), civil servants from the national government (2), civil servants from the local government (3), local politicians (2), and representatives from cultural organizations and other actors (4). A checklist of topics based on the storyline was used to invite the respondents to talk about the plans for the memorial, formal meetings, planning and decision-­making processes. Also, the respondents were invited to bring up other topics that they felt were interesting and relevant. Analysis of the qualitative data collected was undertaken using the data analysis software NVivo 12. The transcribed interviews were subject to a flexible coding approach (Deterding and Waters 2018) guided by sensitizing concepts suggested by my review of the literature on collaborative planning and decision-­making and inductive codes, as I was also looking for themes emerging from the interviews that I had not necessarily anticipated.

A Summary of the Participation Process In order to allow us to put the developments that occurred around the memorial into perspective, the section below provides a brief outline of the formal interactions among politicians, civil servants, the initiators, local residents and other interest groups. Although the memorial has been presented as a bottom-­up initiative, championed by a private organization, a closer look reveals ambivalence at the core of this project. As I shall argue, the municipality initiated the participation process, thus deciding when, who and how people would get involved.

Invited Spaces for Participation Between 2006 and 2016, the municipality and local district undertook a number of meetings with stakeholders, independent studies and a survey to help contribute to their decisions. These different platforms within the local democratic structure created very different opportunities to engage with stakeholders. In this chapter, I only examine government-­led forms of participation taking place between 2013 and 2016. 2013 was chosen as the starting point for reconstructing stakeholders’ relating dynamics because it can be seen as a ‘rupture point’ (LeGreco and Tracy 2009). By the end of 2012, the Municipal Executive agreed to support this project and in doing so set up a collaboration with the Dutch Auschwitz Committee. After that decision, the plans for the memorial entered the political decision-­making

168 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

arena and started to be subject to public scrutiny. The time frame for this analysis ends in 2016, understood here as another point of rupture. From 2016 onwards, protesting residents only engaged through informal actions that were extraneous to the government’s formal participatory planning process.

Consultation Meeting – the Mayor, Civil Servants, the Initiators and Interest Groups On 19 June 2013, city officials and the initiators installed a multi-­stakeholder platform to discuss the plans with interest groups. This consultation was a follow-­up to closed-­door negotiations held between 2006 and 2012.6 The multi-­stakeholder platform was set up to generate support and help to secure funding (Respondent from Centre District, 6  November 2020). Representatives of major research and remembrance organizations, such as the National Committee for 4 and 5 May, the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation (NIOD), the Anne Frank Foundation, the Hollandsche Schouwburg and the Sinti and Roma working group were invited to participate in the platform. The accounts of this meeting are rather ambiguous. There was little consensus on the need to build an ex novo memorial, as a wall with 6,700 family names already exists in the Hollandsche Schouwburg (Van Hazel 2017: 50). As reported by respondents, the plans for the memorial also triggered ambivalent positions within the board of the Hollandsche Schouwburg. At that time, they were planning to develop a National Holocaust Museum, also in the former Jewish neighbourhood. Both initiatives, dealing with the same topic, soon found themselves competing for public resources and attention (Respondent from Jewish Historical Museum, 17 August 2020). Nevertheless, during the meeting of June 2013, the Dutch Auschwitz Committee and the Hollandsche Schouwburg finally reached an agreement and decided to cooperate (Van Hazel 2017: 50). After all, an integrated and coherent approach to place-­making could be beneficial for both organizations.

Information Meeting – Civil Servants and Local Residents The city also organized information and consultation meetings with residents to share information on the plans, during which they could voice their opinions. However, these meetings only took place once the Mayor and the City Council had already decided to cooperate with the initiators. The first discussion on the memorial took place on 26 June 2013. However, the topics of this meeting were the ongoing renovations to the Plantage Middenlaan street.7 The plans for building a memorial in the Wertheimpark

Barriers to Public Participation  •  169

emerged as a peripheral subject, and participants were invited to form a Working Group to advise the municipality.

Working Group – Civil Servants and Local Residents As mentioned above, a Working Group (hereafter the ‘WG’), composed of six local residents alongside district civil servants, was established to discuss the plans. The WG met four times between August and November 2013 and remained in contact with the initiators, who attended some meetings. The WG meetings resulted in a report containing criticisms and recommendations put forward by the inhabitants,8 yet the ultimate decisions would be made by the authorities. At the time, there were no explicit conflicts between parties, and the WG meetings had taken place in a collaborative and cordial atmosphere (Respondent from Dutch Auschwitz Committee, 15  December 2020; Respondent from Centre District, 6 November 2020). This is further supported by the inhabitants’ willingness to participate in the WG, contribute to the plans and make proposals. For instance, the group identified potential sites where the memorial could be erected and recommended their assessment. There were, indeed, concerns about the choice of location, but in the eyes of residents, these could be resolved through dialogue and co-­ operation. In fact, one of their main requests was the implementation of a joint consultation in order to balance the interests of inhabitants and the initiators.

Consultation Meeting – Civil Servants and Local Residents A second meeting with local residents took place on 16  April 2014, one month after the Municipal Executive had decided to place the memorial in the Wertheimpark. The aim of this consultation was to allow residents and interested groups to express their opinions and provide input to the decision-­making process. About forty people, representing a variety of organizations and groups across the neighbourhood, attended the meeting, which was structured around the presentation of the plans and then followed by discussions among participants. The meeting report reflects participants’ concerns and reluctance to changes in the visual, social and physical character of the park. They also claimed that the timing of the consultation was incorrect in many respects. It seemed to them that the government had already decided to locate the memorial in the Wertheimpark. In addition, they stressed that this decision was illogical because neither the government nor the immediate neighbours of the park knew what Daniel Libeskind’s design would look

170 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

like. Other participants questioned the whole idea of erecting an ex novo memorial in the neighbourhood. In this regard, the district emphatically pointed out that this matter was not open for discussion, as this had already been agreed at the national and local level: ‘… this is a national monument, and the interests of the nation are more important than the interests of the neighbourhood.’9

Participation in Public Hearing – Councillors, Civil Servants and Local Residents On 3  June 2014, the local district committee met for the first time after the municipal elections to discuss issues related to the management of the Plantage neighbourhood, including the plans for the memorial. As reported by a local newspaper (Meershoek 2014), a group of residents went to the meeting. Their overall aim was to call a temporary halt to the plans and convince the committee to place the memorial outside the Wertheimpark. Both the outcome of the consultation meeting and public hearing seem to have influenced the subsequent decisions. On 17 June 2014, the Centrum District Committee passed a motion calling for the Municipal Executive to ratify or reconsider its decision of placing the memorial in the Wertheimpark.

Conversation with Local Residents – the Mayor, Civil Servants and Local Residents On 2 July 2014, the municipality organized an informal meeting to deal with the public unrest among the residents of the Plantage neighbourhood. The mayor met with fifteen residents who had been opposing the plans. During this meeting, the city and the local district committed themselves to search for solutions to the objections. These included a two-­phase selection procedure, consisting of the investigation and assessment of alternative locations, and a final consultation with all relevant stakeholders.

Multi-Stakeholder Platform – Civil Servants, the Initiators and Developers Following the conversation with residents, the local district commissioned environmental and social studies to assess the suitability of the Wertheimpark.10 The results pointed out various negative impacts on the environment and a prominent lack of support for the plans. This prompted the municipality to initiate a search for other locations. In June 2015, an independent consultancy firm published a report containing fifteen available sites across the city (Royal HaskoningDHV 2015), later complemented by

Barriers to Public Participation  •  171

the addition of the Weesperplantsoen, at the suggestion of the initiators. On 25 November 2015, the municipality organized a consultation with the developers and initiators. This meeting was aimed at discussing the studies’ results and refining the criteria that were to be applied to the site evaluation. Nevertheless, in the eyes of the initiators, neither the criteria nor the two-­phase selection procedure were tailored to their own preferences (De Vries 2015).

Consultation Meetings – Civil Servants, the Initiators, Developers and Stakeholders The views of the initiators prevailed over those of local residents, who wanted to open up the decision-­making process, and the municipality chose to skip a step in the procedure to speed up the process. Between December 2015 and March 2016, the municipality commissioned a number of studies in preparation for constructing the memorial in the Weesperplantsoen (i.e. soil testing and tree survey) and organized meetings with different departments and private companies to assess the impacts of the building on underground structures nearby (i.e. underground transport system, cables and pipes). In the meantime, the initiators held an informal meeting with representatives of the Protestant Diaconie, who owns the site adjacent to the Weesperplantsoen, to discuss the future management of tourist flows in the area. By the end of March 2016, the Royal HaskoningDHV published a final report11 in which the sixteen locations were evaluated using a weighted score method. Weesperplantsoen obtained the highest score, as one of the main conditions was ‘to be situated within the former Jewish neighbourhood’. Shortly after the announcement of the results, the district requested the City Planning and Sustainability department to carry out a feasibility study in the Weesperplantsoen (Klarenbeek et al. 2016) and to set up the planning pre-commencement conditions.

Information Meeting – Civil Servants, Local Residents and Interest Groups On 31 May 2016, the local district held an information meeting with residents and interested parties. This meeting was the last formal step before an official decision, and it was structured around a presentation on the results of studies, followed by participants’ comments. Residents used this meeting to show their dismay towards the municipality and the initiators. They questioned various aspects of the project, precipitating debate. There were concerns about social safety, tree preservation, boundaries and integration of the memorial within the urban fabric. Unsurprisingly, participants also

172 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

raised a number of unsolved issues, such as the need for a competitive tendering process and an open call for artists. One participant even suggested we contract out an opinion poll as to whether the monument should remain or not (Ligtelijn 2016: 2). In response to the opposition, the municipality reiterated that these issues were not open to discussion. After this meeting, local residents and the municipality did not formally meet again.

Discussion Although the project originated as a private initiative, the main responsibility of involving citizens in planning lay with the local government. As Howlett and Ramesh (2016: 307) pointed out, the role of the government in any governance arrangement may vary considerably, but it remains a central player in governance whether it chooses to play that role or not. As the organizers of participation, the municipality decided who would participate, when and how. This ‘top-­down pathway’ to collaboration (Van Meerkerk 2019) gave rise to different kinds of challenges for civil servants, the initiators, participating residents and other interested groups. In what follows, I identify some of them, notably: (1) the limited participation of residents in the planning process, (2) a mismatch between expectations and level of influence, (3) and a clash of values.

Limited Participation in Planning The nature of participants’ contribution to the planning process may vary, as they can participate in the policymaking and policy implementation, evaluation, management or maintenance phase (Uittenbroek et al. 2019: 2533). Many researchers argue that the later participants are included in the planning process, the less influence they are likely to have because substantial decisions have already been taken (Boonstra and Boelens 2011; Howlett 2009; Newig et al. 2018; Reed 2008). In the initial phase of this project, in which the initiators had to convince the municipality of their idea, only politicians and civil servants discussed whether and where to establish a memorial in Amsterdam. The scope of participants involved in the plans was slightly broadened once the municipality decided to collaborate with the initiators. However, the first formal consultation floated around a subset of actors, including representatives of victims’ groups and specialized institutions (such as museums, memorials and documentation centres). In this context, substantial decisions had already been made by the time the inhabitants had the opportunity to

Barriers to Public Participation  •  173

participate, at the site-­selection stage. As put by the former alderman for the city centre: ‘because we [the municipality] were in charge of the territory, we could involve [the inhabitants] in the [decision about the] location’ (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020). But as representatives of one local neighbourhood association reported: ‘it seemed like it was all set and dealt with before the local community got involved’ (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 4 November 2020). Interviews with civil servants and local politicians emphasized that the ­municipality – a­ s well as residents and other interested g­ roups – c­ ould not interfere with the preferences of the initiators on the grounds that this was a private initiative: So, [it was] ‘the architects’ ‘who would build it’, [who would decide] ‘how it would look …’, so it was not a question for the city. So, there was no public debate possible about ‘what kind of monument do you want to have?’. And the question [about] whether there would be a monument or not, that was the first decision, and I was not involved. But, because it’s a private initiative, there was no public debate about … ‘how it would be’, ‘Libeskind or another architect’, or ‘how do you give form to a monument?’ There was no debate because it was the initiative of a private organization. (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020)

Residents also spoke of ‘being informed’ about the plans rather than being asked to contribute ideas. In this sense, participation was felt to be a ‘tokenistic’ (Arnstein 1969) attempt to comply with local planning regulations: People were informed, but they weren’­t … ­there was no discussion, no discussion was possible. Later on, the Council said, ‘well, it was a meeting where ­people … c­ ould have their say’, but that wasn’t felt by the people who were there. (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 4 November 2020)

In the Netherlands, citizen participation is an official policy in spatial planning processes. This means that some level of participation, at least in terms of information provision, is mandatory. However, the local government has much freedom as to how to implement participation and deals with it in different ways depending on their objectives (Uittenbroek et al. 2019: 2534). In my findings, it remained unclear whether the municipality had a clear objective in mind or whether the design of public participation was more iterative. The former alderman for the city centre, however, emphasized the deliberate role of the municipality in deciding how participation should take place: If you as a government, as a city, are in formal procedures like [issuing] a ‘building permit’, it’s logical ­that … i­t’s also by law that you have to give people the

174 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

opportunity to say what they think about it, and ­where … a­ nd h ­ ow … ­about how it is transformed in a building permit. So, that’s also a legal procedure you have to go through. So, they have a legal procedure, which is a small debate so to say, and you can make it as big as you want as a city. (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020)

Mismatch between Expectations and Actual Level of Influence The interview data indicates that from the very moment the plans were publicly announced, there was scepticism about the memorial and whether the voices of immediate neighbours would be heard by the municipality. One representative from the neighbourhood association said: ‘we were quite aware and quite closely following the whole procedure because we were convinced it wouldn’t be done p ­ roperly … ­we were afraid it wouldn’t be done properly’ (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 4  November 2020). As Pierson (1993) notes, governments need to be aware of possible policy feedback. Earlier negative policy or participation practices can have an effect on upcoming participation practices and fuel vicious cycles of distrust (Sztompka 1999). This might explain, at least in some part, the negative attitude of some residents, as they had already experienced setbacks when addressing other issues in the neighbourhood (e.g. the reconversion of a nursing home into short-­stay apartments). Despite being wary, some residents wanted to be involved and attended the participation meetings. However, they were soon disappointed because they had the impression that everything had already been decided: ‘I think we are still convinced that it was all decided even when procedures still had to be followed’ (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 4 November 2020). As mentioned earlier, protesting residents successfully managed to cancel the plans for erecting the memorial in the Wertheimpark. But subsequently, the municipality choose to skip a step in the new site selection procedure, which was a source of great frustration for some: I thought it would be different, really different. The mayor said they [the municipality] would do it, that it would be a good process and people would be involved. And then, at a certain moment, it appeared that this was not going to happen. That was the moment I stepped in again. I don’t want to be lied to, certainly not in this subject. (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 29 July 2020)

When residents’ expectations were not met, this negatively impacted their trust in the government, thereby fuelling protest again. Conversely, the continued opposition affected some politicians’ and civil servants’

Barriers to Public Participation  •  175

trust in local residents. As reported by the former alderman for the city centre, he became suspicious of residents who opposed the plans to erect the memorial in the Weesperplantsoen, in 2016. In his eyes, none of the arguments put forward by them were ‘convincing’: ‘… in the second location, Weesperstraat,12 the objections were not as decisive, not very convincing’ (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020). The state advisor on architecture and urban design dismissed critics on the grounds that technical problems could be solved by technical means. From his perspective, concerns about traffic, tree preservation and the aesthetics of the memorial itself should not stand in the way of such an important project: ‘the importance of the monument is so much bigger than a complaint like “what’s happening with the traffic?” The traffic we can organize; this is not a reason to block [the] monument!’ (Respondent from national government, 26  August 2020). Furthermore, with the escalation of opposition, some civil servants felt that increased resident participation was disadvantageous rather than advantageous for the memorialization process: Whatever the direction we would have chosen, there would have been opposition. And the proof is that even a location such as the Weesperstraat, a sort of nowhere land, [raised] big opposition. (Respondent from Centre District, 6 November 2020)

Another interesting finding is that in the eyes of civil servants and politicians, residents had a huge influence in the implementation phase of the project cycle. For instance, protesting residents managed to cancel the first location and pressured the municipality to invest in more participatory practices. As the former alderman for the city centre said: People had an influence on the project, yeah, they did! Because that location [the Wertheimpark] was cancelled, and because of the participation, because they had points, [we’ve said] ‘ok, alright!’. (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020)

Another respondent added that after the contestation of the Wertheimpark, in 2014, the municipality decided to professionalize the entire project, which also led to improvements: They professionalized the process and all kinds of things. So, more people, more civil ­servants … ­and they sort of started the project again with research about the locations, you k­ now – a­ ll kinds of things were investigated. (Respondent from Centre District, 6 November 2020).

However, there was a clear mismatch of expectations of residents and their actual level of influence on decision-­making. Scholars have already

176 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

pointed out that inviting citizens and stakeholders to contribute to public policy raises expectations about having their input taken seriously (Edelenbos and Van Meerkerk 2016; Irvin and Stansbury 2004). In the Amsterdam case, residents expected that after having a personal conversation with the mayor in 2014 they would participate more in the selection of another location and be consulted about the design ideas, which proved not to be the case.

Clashing Values One argument in favour of a move to democratic governance is that actors involved in deliberation are subject to self-­ transformation during the process, as a result of having to listen directly to others whose positions are different from their own (Griggs and Howarth 2007; Warren 1992; Young 2000). In the Amsterdam case, such a transformation did not materialize. In fact, some actors concluded very quickly that this was not feasible. There is evidence that some actors were unwilling to engage with others, whether through formal participation processes or more informal platforms. For instance, the initiators appeared to have an antagonistic position, demonstrated in their reluctance to speak with the group of protesters. As one member of the committee said: ‘I don’t want to get into that kind of discussion with people; I don’t want to do t­ hat – ­that makes me very sad’ (Respondent from Dutch Auschwitz Committee, 8 December 2020). In addition to this, another respondent cited the absence of ‘feelings’ amongst the opponents as grounds for questioning the authenticity of their interest in the memorial: That’s very difficult to argue about because that’s something of the heart; that’s not something of the mind, and the people with the alternative plan don’t have any feeling for ­it … ­because they’re looking at it in a very, very rational way. (Respondent from Public Relations firm ‘Yardmen’,13 6 November 2020)

The resistance demonstrated by the members of the Dutch Auschwitz Committee somehow mirrors the emotional significance of the issues that were the substance of debate. For instance, the initiators reported that they have strong affective bonds with the topic of commemoration: ‘it’s more than just work or [a] project; there’s an important extra level added to ­that … ­if you’re involved in the family, that’s a totally different story’ (Respondent from Public Relations firm ‘Yardmen’, 6  November 2020). Indeed, such emotions provided the motivational basis for political action ( Jasper 1998) but also propelled them to engage in the construction of antagonistic positions.

Barriers to Public Participation  •  177

In line with Chantal Mouffe’s (1998, 2003) conceptualization of antagonistic politics, the initiators tended to frame the politics around the memorial as an incursion of ‘enemies’. In some cases, they referred to their disputes with the opposition as a zero-­sum ‘fight’ or ‘battle’: All these years that we were fighting and waiting, waiting is the worst thing; you have to w ­ ait … t­ hey took us to court, and then you have to wait a­ gain … s­ o many, many months and then go to court again and then wait. All the times I thought ‘Why? Why do people do this?’.

He further added: They took us to the Supreme Court, and we won! And that’s very important, so important. To me personally, it’s unbelievable. I really could cry about it, that the Supreme Court said, ‘I’m sorry, but you lost your trial’ and they told us to go on and build this monument. (Respondent from Dutch Auschwitz Committee, 8 December 2020)

These antagonisms were heightened during public meetings in which the initiators and local residents had to ‘fight’ for their interests and standpoints. The interview data indicates that the memorial as well as the meanings attached to it was often framed as a non-­negotiable ‘moral value’ rather than just another planning issue. One representative from the neighbourhood association reported that he felt it was really difficult to challenge decisions already taken. He said that the initiators demonstrated resistance to most, if not all, criticisms against the plans: Any objection to the location was framed as an objection to the monument as a whole or even as an antisemitic act, and that made the discussion very difficult. So, we had to really [do] what we call ‘walk on egg shells’; we had to be very careful about how we expressed ourselves. (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 4 November 2020)

Philip Tetlock’s (2000) definition of ‘sacred values’ may be particularly useful for understanding the initiators’ antagonistic position. Sacred values are ‘any value that a moral community implicitly or explicitly treats as possessing infinite or transcendental significance that precludes comparisons, trade-­offs, or indeed any other mingling with founded or secular values’ (Tetlock et al. 2000: 853). As Morgan Marietta further explains, ‘sacredness is the sense in which some things are inviolable, such that it is offensive to weigh them against other considerations or perhaps even to question their validity’ (2008: 767). In contrast, protesting residents hold on to what Milton Rokeach (1979) calls ‘terminal values’, which refer to beliefs or conceptions about ultimate

178 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

goals or desirable end states of existence that are worth striving for. Some residents appropriated the language of ‘democracy’ to legitimate their struggle and ‘fight’ the plans. For them, the opposition signified a political desire to change the terms of engagement between citizens and government. As one participant stated plainly: ‘I was involved in that because in my thinking it is not just this monument but how this government has related to the people, and it didn’t’ (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 29 July 2020). The central issue remained the lack of governmental transparency, accountability and inclusiveness:14 The town is my town, it is your town, it is our town! They should protect the interests, and the positions, and the rights of the people who live ­there … ­they have to listen to them; they have to weight interests; they have to look carefully at the decisions they ­make – ­and then think whether ‘we’ consider it as a decent governmental position. They have a legal obligation; they have the duty; they have the responsibility; they have the task to make visible how they weight interests, and that has not happened. (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 29 July 2020)

As Marietta observes (2008: 777), political domains involving sacred values can be ‘single-­sided’ or ‘double-­sided’ depending on whether only one or both sides of the issue have sacralized the underlying values in question. In the Amsterdam case, the conflicts around the memorial seem to be ‘single-­sided’, as some residents expressed an ‘agonistic commitment’ (Rogers et al. 2017: 51) to a negotiated outcome through the formal participation process. For example, protesting residents pointed out that there was room for potential compromises, such as relocating the memorial to another area or redesigning the entire commissioning process in an open and democratic fashion. In theory at least, bringing single-­sided groups into engagement with groups with a more nuanced position could lead to a shift from narrowly defined values towards an acceptance of plural values. According to Rogers et al. (2017: 60), this is an essential move in the transition from antagonism towards agonism. Nevertheless, this was not evident in this case, with some participants resisting the recognition of the plurality of voices and insisting that their position was the ‘right’ position. For instance, one member of the Dutch Auschwitz Committee made an active decision not to participate in meetings with protesting residents, since he felt that their confrontational attitude did not fit with his own expectations and disposition (Respondent from Dutch Auschwitz Committee, 15 December 2020). Another important point to mention is that public meetings and discussions did not conform to the deliberative democracy ideal of sequential, rational, dialectical debate and the power of the best argument. In fact,

Barriers to Public Participation  •  179

there were frequent references in interviews to passionate and emotionally charged debates. Some civil servants and politicians involved in this process found the emotional input from participants very hard to handle. One civil servant retrospectively described his time working on this project as a ‘nerve-­ wracking’ experience (Respondent from Centre District, 6 November 2020), and the former alderman for the city centre observed that public meetings were often characterized by vociferous participants: I’ve had very emotional meetings with people, but this was very special; yeah, it’s a delicate question. For some people, it was dealt with by all the principles they have in their body, and sometimes they crossed the line, I thought. (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020)

These emotive aspects of participation resonate with scholarship on ‘passionate participation’ (Barnes et al. 2004; Barnes 2008; Martin 2011; Young 2000). Among other things, these authors have drawn attention to the dissonance between the norms of conduct adopted by participants and those expected by the actors managing deliberative processes (Barnes 2008: 472; Martin 2011: 167). For instance, the politician quoted above found that some participants overstepped the bounds of what is acceptable at public meetings. When referring to protesting residents’ behaviour, he said that they ‘crossed the line’: I thought they crossed a line in the way they reacted to the plan, and also crossed a line against the Auschwitz Committee. It was too harsh, ­too … ­it was not [an] appropriated [behaviour] for a few people. (Respondent from Centre District, 16 September 2020)

In addition to this, participants were unable to compromise and find solutions for previously intractable problems. One artist that attended the meetings said that civil servants largely refrained from taking positions and discussing substantial issues: ‘We would really notice that no one within the government of the city was willing to, let’s say, touch the idea’ (Artist and memorial expert, 18  September 2020). In this context, some participants felt frustrated because they were unable to effect change through the formal process of participation. For instance, the respondent quoted above also reported that making use of legal proceedings appeared to be the most effective way of influencing decisions: There was no way that the city or the Auschwitz Committee were open for debate. So, the only way that was possible ­to … ­how to say that? … to protest against it was formally. So, this committee [of local residents], they ­organized … ­they had lawyers, and they organized all kinds of possibilities to frustrate the process, you know, like cutting the trees and all [kinds of things], you know, and

180 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

that was the only ­way … ­that was the only way that might be influential in this situation, and they used that way. I didn’t like it, but in the end it seemed to be the only way. (Artist and memorial expert, 18 September 2020)

When residents realized the limitations of the formal process, they decided to operate antagonistically outside the invited spaces of participation. Through actions in the media, informal political lobbying and legal proceedings, protesting residents worked with whatever political tools they could pull together to bring about change.

Concluding Remarks In this chapter, I have concentrated on issues related to the procedural aspects of citizen participation in memorial planning, as well as on the agonistic potential of such a process. Admittedly, this is still a preliminary analysis, and much work still lies ahead. Yet, it offers some interesting insights into how participatory techniques may impact the outcomes of the memorialization process as well as the people involved. Although it remained unclear whether the municipality designed the participation process with a precise objective in mind, my initial findings indicate that participation was more oriented towards gaining support for decisions already established. All respondents recognized that the municipality had decided, even before the start of the participation phase, to support the memorial. Thus, from the very beginning, some participants felt that they were merely going through bureaucratic motions to justify an established decision (e.g. extensive use of closed-­door meetings, exclusion from the early stage of planning). The involvement of citizens and stakeholders as early as possible in planning and decision-­making is frequently cited as essential if participatory processes are to lead to more meaningful decisions (Boonstra and Boelens 2011; Howlett 2009; Newig et al. 2018; Reed 2008). In the Amsterdam case, citizen participation only occurred at the implementation phase of the project cycle and was condensed to information provision and consultation. The subsequent difficulties faced by the ­municipality – ­and in particular the accusation of a lack of sufficient ­participation – w ­ ere in part a product of the late involvement of residents in planning. A closer look at the formal participation process also shows that civil servants determined what could be discussed during the meetings. Many respondents emphasized that certain issues were out of deliberative bounds. For instance, there is evidence that the only topic open to discussion was ‘where to locate a memorial in Amsterdam’. More conflictual issues were

Barriers to Public Participation  •  181

not part of the debate with local residents, such as whether to establish a memorial, what type of memorial it was going to be, or how the process of arriving at decisions should take place. In addition to this, civil servants seemed to avoid contentious issues in different informal ways; for instance, by claiming ‘this is not on the agenda’ or ‘this is a private actor initiative’. After an initially bad start, the municipality sought to win residents’ confidence by committing themselves to a more participative process. Yet, many of the ideas put forward by residents were not taken into account in planning, be it because civil servants found that they were not realistic, or because the initiators found that these ideas did not fit in with the vision they had for the memorial. It was therefore not surprising that some residents felt that their voices were not sufficiently heard. Later on, this mismatch between residents’ expectations and their level of influence turned to mistrust, anger and organized opposition, as the outcomes of the planning process did not reflect their preferred courses of action. Other issues related to the democratic quality of the interactive process, suggesting that processes of memorialization are poor candidates for participatory initiatives anchored in communicative (or collaborative) ideals. In particular, the data from this study shows that many of the actions taken by the initiators and residents were motivated by the plural values they brought into the deliberative sphere. At times, these values ensured persistent antagonism mired in a moral framing of the memorial as a ‘non-­ negotiable’ issue. Some critiques of participatory planning argue that for a shift from an antagonistic stance actors need to be open to other interest positions (McAuliffe and Rogers 2019; Mouat et al. 2013; Rogers et al. 2017). Indeed, some residents expressed a desire to engage with other actors during participation and to open up the decision-­making processes. Yet some also felt they were not able to effect change because the initiators expressed no desire to work towards a negotiated agreement. Consequently, the existing disagreements between stakeholders were not solved during participation. Instead, they were displaced to other arenas, such as the media and, subsequently, the legal arena. Further research is needed to make our understanding of this case more critical. Hence, some issues still need to be addressed, such as how these different actors sought to influence the planning from beyond the formal structures of participation, how successful these different approaches were, and the ways that informal processes interfaced with the formal planning system. Finally, it is also important to consider the specificity of conflict dynamics within processes of memorialization. Although an emerging literature on post-­politics and planning deals with ‘antagonistic’ and ‘agonistic’ interactions between various stakeholders, not so much attention is paid to

182 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

‘antagonisms’ based on ‘sacred values’ (Tetlock et al. 2000). Thus, another important contribution to this debate can be made by interrogating other cases of seemingly intractable disputes in planning. The understanding of the different regimes of value that underpin contestation can provide new ways of dealing with antagonisms in processes of participation in planning.

Acknowledgements This project was supported by funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under the Marie Sklodowska-­ Curie grant agreement No 813883 within the framework of the HERILAND Consortium. Alana Castro de Azevedo is a Ph.D. Candidate in Social Sciences at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and a HERILAND Marie Curie ITN Fellow at the same university. She has a background in Cultural Heritage Studies and Anthropology, and her research interests revolve around the fields of heritage governance, public participation, emotional public policy and politics of memory. Currently, her research is focusing on citizen involvement in processes of memorialization. She is particularly interested in the relationships between recognition struggles and the policy process. NOTES  1. In 2009, Amsterdam’s then mayor, Job Cohen, rejected the idea of creating an ex novo memorial. The plans for the memorial only started to gain traction in 2010, with the nomination of Eberhard van der Laan for the position of mayor (Van Hazel 2017: 50).  2. For a description of several nearby memorials, see David Duindam, ‘De dynamiek van de herinnering: vijf oorlogsmonumenten’, Auschwitz Bulletin, 2012.  3. The Dutch Auschwitz Committee set four concrete guidelines that should be conveyed in the site selection: (1) the monument must be located within the former Jewish neighbourhood; (2) it must have status (National importance); (3) the names must be able to be touched (full name, date of birth, age); (4) it needs to be publicly accessible (see De Vries 2015).  4. See ‘Bedenkt eer gij herdenkt: Kritische geluiden over het geplande Holocaust Namenmonument’ (Catz, De Swaan and Vuijsje 2019).  5. For a description of the alternative proposal, see ‘Presentatie alternatief Namenmonument’ (2018).  6. In the early stages, the discussions focused on refining the memorial mission statement and deciding which groups of victims would be commemorated. In 2006, for instance, there was intense discussion about whether to include members of the

Barriers to Public Participation  •  183

‘Dutch resistance’ on the memorial. This idea was later rejected by representatives of the former resistance movement, who had plans to create their own commemorative monument (see Van Hazel 2017: 48).  7. Plantage Middenlaan is one the main streets of the Plantage neighbourhood.  8. See report ‘Onderzoek inpassing Holocaust Namenmonument in het Wertheimpark’ (Gemeente Amsterdam 2013: 4).  9. Translated by the author, original quote: ‘… het hier een nationaal monument betreft en dat een nationaal belang het buurtbelang overstijgt’ (Lagendijk 2014: 6). 10. The international engineering consultancy firm Royal HaskoningDHV conducted a quick survey of the potential impacts of the construction on Wertheimpark; and the Motivaction International B.V carried out an investigation into the current uses of the park (Van Aar 2014; see also Schaafsma, Piest and Kay 2014). 11. See report ‘Locatieadvies Holocaust Namenmonument in Amsterdam (Definitief Rapport), 23 maart 2016’ (Van Aar 2016). 12. Weesperstraat and Weesperplantsoen refer to the same location. 13. Yardmen handles fundraising and public relations for the Dutch Auschwitz Committee. 14. Protesting residents put forward other types of claims, including ‘antagonistic’ ones. For instance, a resident with a Jewish background framed her motivations to participate in terms of ‘ownership’: ‘it is also my monument, my dead family is also my history’ (Respondent from local neighbourhood association, 29  July 2020). However, these claims were rather mobilized to counteract accusations of ‘antisemitism’ and did not emerge as their main reason for protest.

References Agger, A., and J.N. Larsen. 2007. ‘Public Deliberation, Community Capacity and Neighbourhood Dynamics’, EURA 10th Anniversary Conference, 12–14 September 2007. Glasgow: University of Glasgow. Alderman, D.H., and O.J. Dwyer. 2009. ‘Memorials and Monuments’, in R. Kitchin and N. Thrift (eds), International Encyclopedia of Human Geography, vol. 7, Oxford: Elsevier, pp. 51–58. Allmendinger, P., and G. Haughton. 2012. ‘Post-­Political Spatial Planning in England: A Crisis of Consensus?’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 37(1): 89–103. Archibald, M.M. et al. 2019. ‘Using Zoom Videoconferencing for Qualitative Data Collection: Perceptions and Experiences of Researchers and Participants’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods 18: 1–18. Arnstein, S.R. 1969. ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation’, Journal of the American Institute of Planners 35(4): 216–24. Bandarin, F., and R. van Oers. 2012. The Historic Urban Landscape: Managing Heritage in an Urban Century. Chichester, England: Wiley-­Blackwell. Bäcklund, P., and R. Mäntysalo. 2010. ‘Agonism and Institutional Ambiguity. Ideas on Democracy and the Role of Participation in the Development of Planning Theory and ­Practice – ­The Case of Finland’, Planning Theory, 9(4): 333–350.

184 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

Barnes, M. 2008. ‘Passionate participation: Emotional experiences and expressions in deliberative forums’, Critical Social Policy 28(4): 461–481. Barnes, M., J. Newman and H.C. Sullivan. 2004. ‘Power, Participation, and Political Renewal: Theoretical Perspectives on Public Participation under New Labour in Britain’, Social Politics: International Studies in Gender, State and Society 11(2): 267–279. Bendix, R.F., A. Eggert and A. Peselmann. 2012. Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Göttingen. Bickford, L. 2014. ‘Memoryworks/Memory Works’, Transitional Justice, Culture, and Society: Beyond Outreach, 490–527. Boonstra, B., and L. Boelens. 2011. ‘Self-­Organization in Urban Development: Towards a New Perspective on Spatial Planning’, Urban Research & Practice 4(2): 99–122. Brand, R., and F. Gaffikin. 2007. ‘Collaborative Planning in an Uncollaborative World’, Planning Theory 6(3): 282–313. Brett, S. et al. 2007. ‘Memorialization and Democracy: State Policy and Civic Action’. International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. Retrieved 13 February 2021 from www.ictj.org/sites/default/files/ICTJ-Global-Memorialization-Demo cracy-2007-English_0.pdf. Bull, A.C., and H.L. Hansen. 2016. ‘On Agonistic Memory’, Memory Studies 9(4): 390–404. Bull, A. et al. 2018. ‘War Museums as Agonistic Spaces: Possibilities, Opportunities and Constraints’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 25(6): 611–25. Catz, P., A. de Swaan and H. Vuijsje (eds). 2019. Bedenkt eer gij herdenkt: kritische geluiden over het geplande Holocaust Namenmonument. Eindhoven: Lecturis. Church, K. 1996. ‘Beyond “Bad Manners”: The Power Relations of “Consumer Participation” in Ontario’s Community Mental Health System’, Canadian Journal of Community Mental Health 15(2): 27–44. Cortés-­Vázquez, J., G. Jiménez-­Esquinas and C. Sánchez-­Carretero. 2017. ‘Heritage and Participatory Governance: An Analysis of Political Strategies and Social Fractures in Spain’, Anthropology Today 33(1): 15–18. Court S., and G. Wijesuriya. 2015. ‘People-­Centred Approaches to the Conservation of Cultural Heritage: Living Heritage’. Retrieved 13 February 2021 from http://www​ .iccrom.org/wp-­content/uploads/PCA_Annexe-­2.pdf. De Vries, L. 2015. Verslag op hoofdlijnen van het over de locatiekeuze Holocaust Namenmonument van 25 november 2015. Gemeente Amsterdam. Deterding, N.M., and M.C. Waters. 2021. ‘Flexible Coding of In-­depth Interviews: A  Twenty-­first-­century Approach’, Sociological Methods & Research 50(2): 708– 39. Donofrio, T. Ann. 2010. ‘Ground Zero and Place-­Making Authority: The Conservative Metaphors in 9/11 Families’ “Take Back the Memorial” Rhetoric, Western Journal of Communication 74(2): 150–69. Doss, E. 2010. Memorial Mania: Public Feeling in America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Edelenbos, J., and I. van Meerkerk. 2016. Critical Reflections on Interactive Governance. Elgar Online website. Retrieved 11 July from http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781783​ 479078.

Barriers to Public Participation  •  185

Flesher Fominaya, F., and R. Barberet. 2018. ‘The Right to Commemoration and “Ideal Victims”: The Puzzle of Victim Dissatisfaction with State-­Led Commemoration after 9/11 and 3/11’, Critical Studies on Terrorism 11(2): 219–42. Flyvbjerg, B. 1998. Rationality and Power: Democracy in Practice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Forest, B., J. Johnson and K. Till. 2004. ‘Post-­Totalitarian National Identity: Public Memory in Germany and Russia’, Social & Cultural Geography 5(3): 357–80. Forester, J. 1992. ‘Envisioning the Politics of Public Sector Dispute Resolution’, in S. Silbey, and A. Sarat (eds), Studies in Law, Politics and Society, vol. 12. Greenwich CT: JAI Press, pp. 83–122. Fung, A. 2006. ‘Varieties of Participation in Complex Governance’, Public Administration Review 66(1): 66–75. ———. 2007. ‘Democratic Theory and Political Science: A Pragmatic Method of Constructive Engagement’, American Political Science Review 101(3): 443–58. Gemeente Amsterdam. 2013. ‘Onderzoek inpassing Holocaust Namenmonument in het Wertheimpark’. Stadsdeel Centrum. Amsterdam. Griggs, S., and D. Howarth. 2007. ‘Airport Governance, Politics and Protest Networks’, in M. Marcussen and J. Torfing (eds), Democratic Network Governance in Europe. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.Gurler, E.E., and B. Ozer. 2013. ‘The Effects of Public Memorials on Social Memory and Urban Identity’, Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences 82: 858–63. Habermas, J. 1984. The Theory of Communicative Action, vol. 1. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Hajer, M.A. 2005. ‘Rebuilding Ground Zero: The Politics of Performance’, Planning Theory & Practice 6(4): 445–64. Haldrup, N.O. 2015. ‘Agreement Based Land ­Consolidation – ­In Perspective of New Modes of Governance’, Land Use Policy 46: 163–77. Hillier, J. 2003. ‘Agon’izing over Consensus: Why Habermasian Ideals cannot be “Real”’, Planning Theory 2(1): 37–59. Howlett, M. 2009. ‘Governance Modes, Policy Regimes and Operational Plans: A Multi-­Level Nested Model of Policy Instrument Choice and Policy Design’, Policy Sciences 42(1): 73–89. Howlett, M., and M. Ramesh. 2016. ‘Achilles’ Heels of Governance: Critical Capacity Deficits and Their Role in Governance Failures’, Regulation & Governance 10(4): 301–13. Irvin, R.A., and J. Stansbury. 2004. ‘Citizen Participation in Decision Making: Is It Worth the Effort?’, Public Administration Review 64(1): 55–65. Jasper, J.M. 1998. ‘The Emotions of Protest: Affective and Reactive Emotions in and around Social Movements’, Sociological Forum 13(3): 397–424. Klarenbeek, I. et al. 2016. ‘Holocaust Namenmonument haalbaarheidsstudie locatie Weesperstraat’. Gemeente Amsterdam website. Ruimte en Duurzaamheid. Retrieved 8 July 2021 from https://www.amsterdam.nl/nieuwsarchief/persberich​ ten/2016/persberichten/holocaust/?fbclid=IwAR1O7VLn9TuCXHnZFjYRlYmT8​ DGd28da6tDwcsjRjaZGJDEcuTV-­RD86L6I. Krouwel, M., K. Jolly and S. Greenfield. 2019. ‘Comparing Skype (Video Calling) and in-­Person Qualitative Interview Modes in a Study of People with Irritable Bowel

186 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

­yndrome – ­ S An Exploratory Comparative Analysis’, BMC Medical Research Methodology 19(1): 219. Lagendijk, R. 2014. Notulen informatie – en inspraakbijeenkomst Holocaust, Gemeente Amsterdam. LeGreco, M., and S.J. Tracy. 2009. ‘Discourse Tracing as Qualitative Practice’, Qualitative Inquiry 15(9): 1516–43. Ligtelijn. 2016. Conceptverslag Informatieavond Locatie Namenmonument Weesperstraatstrook 31 mei 2016. Unpublished internal document. Lowe, K. 2020. Prisoners of History: What Monuments to World II Tell us About our History and Ourselves. London: William Collins. Marietta, M. 2008. ‘From My Cold, Dead Hands: Democratic Consequences of Sacred Rhetoric’, The Journal of Politics 70(3): 767–79. Martin, G.P. 2011. ‘Public Deliberation in Action: Emotion, Inclusion and Exclusion in Participatory Decision Making’, Critical Social Policy 32(2): 163–83. McAuliffe, C., and D. Rogers. 2018. ‘Tracing Resident Antagonisms in Urban Development: Agonistic Pluralism and Participatory Planning’, Geographical Research 56(2): 219–29. ———. 2019. ‘The Politics of Value in Urban Development: Valuing Conflict in Agonistic Pluralism’, Planning Theory 18(3): 300–18. McGuirk, P. 2001. ‘Situating Communicative Planning Theory: Context, Power, and Knowledge’, Environment and Planning A 33(2): 195–217. McQuarrie, M. 2013. ‘No Contest: Participatory Technologies and the Transformation of Urban Authority’, Public culture 25(1:69): 143–75. Meershoek, P. 2014. ‘Holocaustmonument komt er ondanks woedende Wolkers’, Het Parool, 4 June 2014. Mouat, C., C. Legacy and A. March. 2013. ‘The Problem Is the Solution: Testing Agonistic Theory’s Potential to Recast Intractable Planning Disputes’, Urban Policy and Research 31(2): 150–66. Mouffe, C. 1993. The Return of the Political. London and New York: Verso. ———. 1998. ‘Hearts Minds and Radical Democracy’, Red Pepper website, 1 June 1998. Retrieved 13 February 2021 from https://www.redpepper.org.uk/hearts-­minds-­a​ nd-­radical-­democracy/ ———. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London and New York: Verso. ———. 2005. On the Political. New York: Routledge. ———. 2013. Agonistics: Thinking the World Politically. London and New York: Verso. Newig, J. et al. 2018. ‘The Environmental Performance of Participatory and Collaborative Governance: A Framework of Causal Mechanisms’, Policy Studies Journal 46(2): 269–97. Paliewicz, N.S., and M. Hasian. 2017. ‘Popular Memory at Ground Zero: A Heterotopology of the National September 11 Memorial and Museum’, Popular Communication 15(1): 19–36. Parr, A. 2008. Deleuze and Memorial Culture: Desire, Singular Memory and the Politics of Trauma. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Patton, M.Q. 1990. Qualitative Evaluation and Research Methods, 2nd edn. Newbury Park, CA: Sage.

Barriers to Public Participation  •  187

Pen, H. 2020. ‘Eerste steen Namenmonument gelegd door hartsvriendin Anne Frank’, Het Parool, 23 September 2020. Pierson, P. 1993. ‘When Effect Becomes Cause: Policy Feedback and Political Change’, World Politics 45(4): 595–628. Pløger, J. 2001. ‘Public Participation and the Art of Governance’, Environment and Planning B: Planning and Design 28(2): 219–41. ———. 2004. ‘Strife: Urban Planning and Agonism’, Planning Theory 3(1): 71–92. Powell, J., and M. van Velthoven. 2019. ‘Digital Data and Online Qualitative Research’, in C. Pope and N. Mays (eds), Qualitative Research in Health Care, 4th edn. Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. ‘Presentatie alternatief Namenmonument’. 2018. Bewonersraad Nieuwmarkt Groot Waterloo website, 18 March 2018. Retrieved 13 February 2021 from https://www​ .bewonersraad1011.amsterdam/alternatief-­namenmonument/. Quintero, M.V. 2020. ‘La participación en patrimonio y sus protagonistas: Límites, contradicciones y oportunidades’, revista PH 101: 122–45. Reed, M.S. 2008. ‘Stakeholder Participation for Environmental Management: A Literature Review’, Biological Conservation 141(10): 2417–31. Renn, O. et al. 1993. ‘Public Participation in Decision Making: A Three-­Step Procedure’, Policy Sciences 26(3): 189–214. Rogers, D. et al. 2017. Resident Involvement in Urban Development in Sydney: The New Politics of the City. Sydney: Henry Halloran Trust. Rokeach, M. 1979. Understanding Human Values: Individual and Societal. New York: Free Press. Royal Haskoning DHV. 2015. Vooronderzoek Locatiekeuze Holocaust Namenmonument in Amsterdam (Definitief concept), 16 juni 2015. Amsterdam: Royal Haskoning DHV. Schaafsma, S., J. Piest and G. Kay. 2014. Bezoekersonderzoek Wertheimpark. Amsterdam: Motivaction International B.V. Small, M.L. 2009. ‘How Many Cases Do I Need? On Science and the Logic of Case Selection in Field-­Based Research’, Ethnography 10(1): 5–38. Stevens, Q. 2019. Public Space Design and Social Cohesion: An International Comparison. New York: Routledge. Stevens, Q., K. Franck and S. Ware. 2013. ‘Contested Decision Making in Commemorative Planning and Regulation’, 6th State of Australian Cities Conference, Sydney, 26–29 November 2013. Sydney: Australia. Sørensen, E., and J. Torfing. (eds). 2007. Theories of Democratic Network Governance. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar. Sturken, M. 1997. Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, the AIDS Epidemic, and the Politics of Remembering. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Sullivan, J.R. 2012. ‘Skype: An Appropriate Method of Data Collection for Qualitative Interviews?’, The Hilltop Review 6(1): 54–60. Sztompka, P. 1999. Trust: A Sociological Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tetlock, P.E. et al. 2000. ‘The Psychology of the Unthinkable: Taboo Trade-­Offs, Forbidden Base Rates, and Heretical Counterfactuals’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 78(5): 853–70. Tsai, J., and S. Robins. 2018. Strengthening Participation in Local-Level and National

188 • Alana Castro de Azevedo

Transitional Justice Processes: A Guide for Practitioners. New York: International Coalition for Sites of Conscience. Tunbridge J.E., and G.J. Ashworth. 1996. Dissonant Heritage: The Management of the Past as a Resource in Conflict. Chichester: John Wiley. Uittenbroek, C.J. et al. 2019. ‘The Design of Public Participation: Who Participates, When and How? Insights in Climate Adaptation Planning from the Netherlands’, Journal of Environmental Planning and Management 62(14): 2529–547. UNESCO. 2018. Interpretation of Sites of Memory. Technical Report. Paris: UNESCO. United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC). 2014. Report of the Special Rapporteur in the Field of Cultural Rights. Geneva: Human Rights Council. Van Aar, U. 2014. Studie Effecten Holocaust Namenmonument in het Wertheimpark Amsterdam, Definitief concept, November 24, 2014. Amsterdam: Royal Haskoning DHV. ———. 2016. ‘Locatieadvies Holocaust Namenmonument in Amsterdam (Definitief Rapport), 23 maart 2016’. Amsterdam: Royal Haskoning DHV. Van der Heijden, J., and E. ten Heuvelhof. 2012. ‘The Mechanics of Virtue: Lessons on Public Participation from Implementing the Water Framework Directive in the Netherlands’, Environmental Policy and Governance 22(3): 177–88. Van Hazel, A. 2017. ‘Calling Names’, MA Thesis. UvA Heritage & Memory Studies. Van Meerkerk, I. 2019. ‘Top-­ Down versus Bottom-­ up Pathways to Collaboration between Governments and Citizens: Reflecting on Different Participation Traps’, in A. Kekez, M. Howlett and M. Ramesh (eds), Collaboration in Public Service Delivery, Northampton: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp 149–67. Vennesson, P. 2008. ‘Case Study and Process Tracing: Theories and Practices’, in D. della Porta and M. Keating (eds), Approaches and Methodologies in the Social Sciences: A Pluralist Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 223–39. Warren, M.E. 1992. ‘Democratic Theory and Self-­Transformation’, American Political Science Review 86(01): 8–23. Wiegman, M. 2019. ‘Hoe kon de strijd over het Namenmonument zo uit de hand lopen?’, Het Parool, 25 May 2019. Retrieved 7 July from https://www.parool.nl/nieuws/hoe​ -­kon-­de-­strijd-­over-­het-­namenmonument-­zo-­uit-­de-­hand-­lopen~bb82fba1/. Young, I.M. 2000. Inclusion and Democracy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, J.E. 2016. The Stages of Memory: Reflections on Memorial Art, Loss, and the Spaces Between. Amherst and Boston: University of Massachusetts Press.

8 CHAPTER 9 Delisting Dresden Bridging Local Interests and International Obligations Bart Zwegers

Introduction In 2009, the UNESCO World Heritage Committee struck ‘Dresden Elbe Valley’ off the World Heritage List. The reason for this drastic step was the construction of a motorway bridge in the core zone of the site. Debates about this so-­called Waldschlößchen bridge took place at different levels of government varying from the municipality of Dresden to the state of Saxony and the German federal authorities. Private organizations, civil movements and German intellectuals were also engaged in the discussions. The planning of the bridge and the subsequent public debate about the consequences of its construction exemplify what political scientists call ‘network governance’ (Klijn and Koppenjan 2016: 10). More specifically, the case provides an example of ‘multi-­level governance’ (Hooghe and Marks 2002). This theory conceptualizes the vertical power relations between different layers of government, as well as the horizontal interactions between governmental and nongovernmental actors and organizations. According to this theory, public policymaking is no longer the exclusive domain of national governments but the outcome of interactions between a variety of governmental and nongovernmental actors and organizations at subnational, national and supranational levels. Gary Marks and Liesbeth Hooghe, who developed this theory in the 1990s, argue that over the past decades we have witnessed a ‘dispersion of authority away from central ­government  – ­upwards to the supranational level, downwards to subnational jurisdictions, and sideways to public/private networks’ (2002: 3).

190 • Bart Zwegers

Increasing interdependency between actors, organizations and institutions at different levels forces them to collaborate and form alliances. Multilevel governance theory stresses the importance of coordination between stakeholders at different levels. In the case of the Waldschlößchen bridge, the number of stakeholders and the interests they represented became so vast that coordination was nearly impossible. There were numerous misunderstandings and conflicts between local, national and supranational authorities, as well as between governmental and nongovernmental actors. One of the reasons for this was the persistent lack of clarity about which authority was formally in a position to make decisions. In part, this can be traced back to Germany’s constitution, according to which the federal authorities are responsible for foreign relations (including all matters related to UNESCO) while the states (called Länder) are responsible for heritage preservation. As a result, the federal government lacks means to ensure that Länder comply with UNESCO’s conventions. In other words, the upward and downward dispersion within and beyond the national state has led to a situation in which it is unclear where authority and responsibility precisely lie. This chapter will analyse the governance network around the Waldschlößchen bridge, focusing on the interactions and alliances between the actors involved. In doing so, it will demonstrate the complexities of incorporating UNESCO’s guidelines in the multilayered German bureaucratic context, as well as shed light on various forms of public participation.

Dresden’s Inscription on the World Heritage List In 1999, Dresden and the Elbe Valley were placed on Germany’s tentative list. A tentative list is a shortlist of sites that a UNESCO member state intends to put forward for inclusion on the World Heritage List. The actual nomination file was completed in 2002. The proposed site included the city centre and a 19.5 kilometre-­long strip of land along both sides of the Elbe. Instead of nominating individual buildings or ensembles, this application focused on the relationship between the area’s natural and cultural elements and the way this ‘harmonious interplay’ had co-­shaped an exceptional ‘cultural landscape’ (Boccardi and Kilian 2008: 7). The application was supported by most city leaders and c­ ouncillors – ­although some were more sceptical and feared that UNESCO would try to freeze all development. After the dossier was submitted, the World Heritage Centre checked its completeness and forwarded it to ICOMOS for a content evaluation. The evaluation included a visitation of the proposed site by the Finnish heritage expert Jukka Jokilehto. He acknowledged that as a reconstructed city

Delisting Dresden  •  191

Dresden would not be eligible for listing under any conventional category of cultural heritage but would qualify as a cultural landscape (ICOMOS 2004: 3). During his field trip, Jokilehto discussed the envisioned management of the site with civil administrators of Dresden’s planning and heritage departments. The management of a ‘cultural landscape’ is generally considered a challenge because it involves a variety of heritage elements and potentially affects a wide variety of stakeholders. It could be argued that the existing policy frameworks did not meet UNESCO’s demands regarding ‘cultural landscape’ management. For instance, Saxonian heritage law only oversaw the protection of smaller conservation areas, individual buildings and ensembles. The Waldschlößchen bridge was planned outside existing conservation areas and did not affect any individually protected monuments. Construction of the bridge was thus not in conflict with the Saxonian heritage legislation. Dresden’s leaders therefore simply assumed that as a ‘developing cultural landscape’ the city was free to grow without restrictions other than those to which it was already subjected under state law and local regulations. Similar misassumptions regarding ‘cultural landscape’ management existed at the level of the state (Rößler 2003). The local and regional authorities’ misrepresentation of what the preservation of a ‘cultural landscape’ entails worried ICOMOS experts. In a letter to the ambassador of the permanent German delegation to UNESCO, representatives of ICOMOS expressed their concern about the lack of a coherent management plan (ICOMOS 2003). Despite this concern, the World Heritage Committee enlisted the site during its 28th annual session. According to the committee: ‘the value of this cultural landscape has long been recognized, but it is now under new pressures for change’ (UNESCO 2004: 1). Apparently, the committee was aware of the development pressures in the area and perhaps hoped the World Heritage status could help with these challenges. During the World Heritage Site’s official inauguration ceremony, the director of the World Heritage Centre, Francesco Bandarin, reminded the local authorities of the international obligations that came with enlisting. Even though the bridge had been widely discussed in local and national media, the issue was not mentioned during the ceremony. Soon after, in a press release, the city hailed the title as something that would be beneficial in promoting Dresden to tourists and investors. It was also explained during a press conference that the status would not bring legal restrictions or obligations. However, as work on the bridge progressed, this assertion would be challenged.

192 • Bart Zwegers

‘The Citizens of Dresden Have Decided’? Plans for a bridge at the Waldschlößchen location date back to the 1900s, but it was only in 1996 that Dresden’s city council decided to turn these plans into a reality. By the time Dresden Elbe Valley was nominated for the World Heritage List, these plans were well advanced. The nomination file mentioned the Waldschlößchen bridge, especially praising public involvement in its planning: ‘The inhabitants of the city of Dresden have extraordinarily strong and emotional bonds to their town and the Elbe valley. This is shown by the vivid interest of the citizens in the traffic-­planning, town-­planning and politico-­cultural decisions of the city. The planning o ­ f… ­the Waldschlößchenbrücke [has] been accompanied by commitment and critical attitude’ (Land Sachsen 2003: 56). Up to this point, however, the government had hardly done anything with this ‘vivid interest of the citizens’. Citizens were merely being informed rather than being empowered to actively partake in planning. Construction was anticipated to start in 2000. However, little construction work took place. The city had broken the ground without having received full approval of the regional council. Planners were concerned that the bridge’s anticipated noise levels would exceed the norms; it took until 2004 before the necessary changes were made and planning approval was secured. Despite the approval, the work was further delayed by financial difficulties on the part of the municipality. After the 2004 local elections, a new City Council was formed. The majority of the council now consisted of a coalition of Socialists (SPD), Social Democrats (PDS) and Green Party members. The new council voted to postpone construction works and use the allocated funds for the refurbishment of day-­care facilities. Those in favour of the bridge sought ways to force the city to proceed with the plans. The Christian Democratic Union (CDU), the Free Democratic Party (FDP) and the German Automobile Club (ADAC) collectively started a petition for the organization of a referendum, collecting 69,500 signatures. Especially ADAC, with some 20 million members, the largest Automobile Club in Europe, strongly promoted the Waldschlößchen bridge. As a result of the petition, the city council was legally forced to organize a referendum on the bridge. In the weeks that followed, both opponents and proponents of the project ran a campaign for their respective causes. The referendum was held on 27 February 2005. It simply asked: ‘Are you for the Waldschlößchen bridge? – including the route on the mapped depiction’ (Landeshauptstadt Dresden 2005). A small, schematic map indicating the location was attached to the question. Over 50 per cent of the electorate participated, with 67.9 per cent of the voters in favour of the bridge. A total of 134,152 votes were cast in favour of the construction, which constitutes

Delisting Dresden  •  193

34.1 per cent of the electorate. This exceeded the required threshold of 25 per cent to make the referendum legally binding (Hilbert 2013). According to critics, the referendum was not about hearing the opinion of the population; rather, it was driven by the wish to pursue the project. They argued that the map and the questions formulation predetermined the answer. Instead of asking what kind of traverse the population would prefer, it implied that the Waldschlößchen bridge was the only viable option. Moreover, critics argued, the population was not properly informed about the visual impact of the bridge or the possible loss of the World Heritage status. Especially the role of ADAC’s regional office in Leipzig was criticized by opponents of the bridge project. In their campaign, ADAC had provided wildly exaggerated estimates of the number of cars that would cross the bridge, suggesting that this was a vital and long overdue infrastructural project. One may wonder whether a referendum in which citizens are both poorly informed and possibly mislead qualifies as genuine citizen participation. Moreover, one can wonder whether the close involvement of an organization such as ­ADAC – ­which bears no political responsibility and is not subjected to democratic ­control – ­is desirable. Also, internationally, the referendum was perceived suspiciously. Especially the municipality’s omission to inform the World Heritage Centre in a timely manner about the referendum was in conflict with UNESCO’s guidelines. According to these rules, State P ­ arties – a­ nd subsequently local a­ uthorities – m ­ ust inform the World Heritage Centre about intentions to authorize major projects in a protected area. Notice should be given before making decisions that are difficult to reverse (such as the organization of a binding public vote). In spite of critique, the outcome of the referendum was considered binding, and the city began construction (Schoch 2014) – a decision that upset the World Heritage Committee. In October 2005, it became apparent that the nomination dossier contained serious errors concerning the exact location of the bridge. According to the evaluation report that was drawn up by Jokilehto, the bridge would be situated 5 kilometres down the Elbe from the city centre. In reality, however, it was 2.5 kilometres up the Elbe. It remains unclear whether this omission was the result of false information provided by the city of Dresden or an oversight on behalf of the ICOMOS experts. In any case, neither the German federal government or the city of Dresden had corrected it despite ample opportunity to do so. Therefore, the World Heritage Centre sent a letter asking for explanation. The Mayor of Dresden replied, sending documentation with a map showing the infrastructure plan of Dresden, as well as an extract from the bridge design competition that had been organized (Orosz 2005).

194 • Bart Zwegers

The error in the dossier had major consequences. It transpired that the bridge would be built in the heart of the ‘cultural landscape’ not beyond its outskirts. In order to assess whether the bridge would harm the outstanding universal value of the area, UNESCO requested a visual impact study. According to this study, conducted by the Technical University of Aachen, the bridge would indeed disturb the harmonious interplay between the city centre and its surroundings. It concluded that the bridge would obscure views of Dresden’s skyline and split the area in two (RWTH Aachen 2006). ICOMOS and UNESCO experts expressed similar concerns (ICOMOS 2006). In May 2006, a delegation of Dresden politicians visited the World Heritage Centre to meet its director and discuss possible solutions (Landeshauptstadt Dresden 2008). The meeting was unsuccessful. In July 2006, just days before the start of the World Heritage Committee’s yearly gathering, former Saxonian Prime Minister Biedenkopf (CDU) expressed his discontent about the way UNESCO and ICOMOS were handling the situation. Referring to the referendum, he noted: The citizens of Dresden have decided. And what is irritating me is the ­suggestion … ­that the citizens of Dresden could not make their own responsible decision, finding the right balance between the beauty of the meadows and the necessity of the Waldschlößchen bridge. Here is an institution that does not know Dresden at all, that claims to know better. (Biedenkopf 2006)

Biedenkopf ’s fellow party member Arnold Vaatz even went as far as to accuse UNESCO of ‘disregarding democracy’ (Vaatz 2007b). Playing the ‘democracy card’ was one of the most important strategies of the camp of bridge proponents. As many Dresdners had suffered undemocratic regimes, they were particularly sensitive to these arguments (Berthod 2013: 300–3; see also Vaatz 2007a).

Whose World Heritage? Meanwhile, UNESCO requested Germany to re-­examine the bridge project and come up with feasible solutions by February 2007. Germany, however, failed to provide any alternatives. Initially, Germany’s federal government distanced itself entirely from what it characterized as ‘an enduring conflict between the city, the Free State of Saxony and the World Heritage Committee’ (Neumann 2009: 2). After the World Heritage Committee decided to designate the site to the ‘in-­danger’ list, a federal government representative stated that the government was willing to assist in finding a solution. However, the spokesperson stressed, both the decision to apply

Delisting Dresden  •  195

for the World Heritage title and the decision to build the bridge were state matters. The federal government was reluctant to intervene. It saw merely a mediating role for itself, ensuring a smooth flow of information between the international level and the level of the Länder. At the same time, however, representatives of Saxony stressed that the federal government is UNESCO’s official ­partner – ­not Saxony. The state government had hired lawyers to study the legal implications of the Waldschlößchen bridge. They concluded that: ‘UNESCO-­treaties are not binding for the state of Saxony or its subordinate levels of government. The Federal Republic of G ­ ermany … ­may be obligated to protect and preserve World Heritage. The Free State of Saxony and its subordinate governments are, in any case, not’ (Brüggen 2006: 7). In a press release, the state government further explained: ‘There are no direct relationships between the state capital Dresden and UNESCO. The treaty partner under the UNESCO agreement is the Federal Republic of Germany. … Subsequently, there are no binding legal consequences for the capital of Dresden’ (Landesdirektion Sachsen 2006: 1–2). This assumption that the municipality had no legal obligation under the World Heritage Convention was being questioned. The federal government in turn hired a team of lawyers to investigate whether the obligations under the World Heritage Convention were then, by extension, applicable to the Länder. This team concluded that the Convention did apply to all levels of government in Germany. According to Chancellor Merkel: ‘The federal government has recently commissioned a report to clarify if the UNESCO World Heritage Convention is binding inner-­stately. It was concluded that the UNESCO World Heritage Convention already legally applies to all levels of Germany’s governmental s­ tructure – f­ederal, stately, m ­ unicipal – a­ ll to the same extent’ (Merkel 2008). The federal government’s interpretation of the binding effect of the World Heritage Convention was completely different from the interpretation of the Saxonian authorities. Apparently, this lack of clarity about who is responsible for World Heritage in Germany had not been on the agenda since Germany signed the convention in ­1976 – ­although there have been several attempts to strengthen the position of the federal government vis-­à-vis the Länder (Zwegers 2018: 41–51). What followed were various court cases at different levels of the German juridical system. Eventually, the State Administrative High Court granted permission to commence work on the bridge (Albert and Gaillard 2012: 340). It argued that the referendum expressed the will of the citizens and as such should be respected. The opinions within Germany about this decision were divided. The social democratic vice president of the federal parliament, Wolfgang Thierse, called it a sad day for Germany, while the Christian democratic Prime Minister of Saxony, Georg Milbradt, applauded

196 • Bart Zwegers

the court’s ruling. Some weeks later, the German federal court reached a similar conclusion and argued that the outcome of the referendum should prevail despite the possible negative consequences for Germany’s international reputation. It considered the referendum an ‘authentic expression of immediate democracy’. As earlier attempts to reach a compromise had failed, it was argued ‘the loss of world heritage status and the implicated loss of prestige have to be accepted’ (Bundesverfassungsgericht 2007: 35). This court ruling is remarkable because international concerns about World Heritage sites are generally given due consideration in Germany. In this case, the court as well as various politicians at local and central government level openly questioned UNESCO’s authority. Saxony’s president, Henry Hasenpflug, for example, noted that the outcome of the referendum was more important than the opinion of the World Heritage Committee: ‘We are on legally unexplored territory [, but] we have a crystal clear court ruling, and it should be executed ­immediately … ­The 2005 referendum in favour of the construction of the Waldschlößchen bridge should prevail over potential obligation under the World Heritage Convention’ (Hasenpflug 2007: 1–3). Although Hasenpflug would still have preferred a compromise, he did urge for the construction to start as soon as possible, at least before a new City Council would block the project again with a ‘simple municipal decision’. This should be avoided, he claimed, because it would harm the democratic process. He even went as far as to accuse bridge opponents of ‘demagogy and dodging the law’ (ibid.). The state’s unwillingness and inability to act, and the federal government’s constitutional limitations to intervene in Saxonian affairs, meant that the World Heritage Committee saw itself forced to take steps. Not long after the federal court’s decision, in the summer of 2007, the World Heritage Committee had its 31st annual meeting, during which it again urged Germany to find alternative solutions to the bridge. At the same session, Oman’s Arabian Oryx Sanctuary was removed from the World Heritage List. This was the first time ever that a World Heritage site was delisted. Now that the Committee had shown its willingness to take action, the German federal government became increasingly concerned. The Waldschlößchen bridge project could no longer be seen as just a local issue but a question of Germany’s obligations under international law. Federal Culture Commissioner Bernd Neumann (CDU) acknowledged the precarious situation when he noted that ‘delisting would have negative consequences not only for the “Kulturstadt” Dresden, but also for Germany’s reputation abroad’ (Neumann 2007, cited in Schoch 2014: 208). Since the State Party (i.e. the federal government) is ultimately responsible should any of its constituents fail to comply with international law, the federal government worried that Germany as a whole could be

Delisting Dresden  •  197

held responsible for Dresden’s actions. The growing international pressure reinforced existing debates regarding the marginal role of the federal government in heritage affairs. In a press conference, Chancellor Angela Merkel was asked whether she believed the federal government’s obligations under the Convention should be extended to municipalities. Although she dodged the question, Merkel did comment that it was interesting that the Länder had never ratified the World Heritage Convention. And although she reiterated the binding effect of the referendum, she did suggest that efforts should be made to create a national legal foundation that would ensure better implementation of the World Heritage Convention (Guratzsch 2007).

International Experts and Local Pressure Groups Shortly after the 2007 session of the World Heritage Committee, preparations for the Waldschlößchen bridge resumed. However, on 9  August, the Dresden Administrative Court ordered the builders to stop. Several environmental NGOs had requested this because the work endangered the ‘lesser horseshoe bat’, a protected animal species native to the area. Following this decision, various bridge opponent groups got their hopes up: ‘For three months the “lesser horseshoe bat” was a symbol of hope for everyone fighting to sustain the World Heritage title’, wrote the Frankfurter Allgemeine (Burger 2007: 1). The Saxonian Higher Administrative Court, however, overruled the decision and lifted the injunction. Over the months that followed, the foundations for the bridge heads were laid. These works also involved the felling of trees, including a 280-­ year-­ old red beech (Rosenlöcher 2008). Activists occupied the tree on 12 December, but their efforts were in vain. In February 2008, two international e­ xperts – G ­ iovanni Boccardi of the World Heritage Centre and Jaroslav Kilian of ­ICOMOS – ­visited Dresden to take stock of the situation. They were sent by the World Heritage Committee to determine whether the bridge had a negative impact on the site’s outstanding universal value. The construction of the bridge was progressing quickly, but the local authorities still hoped to maintain the World Heritage title by redesigning the bridge. Yet, according to Boccardi’s and Kilian’s report, aesthetic changes did not make much difference, because the main problem was not the bridge design but its location. The experts agreed with the points made in the earlier assessment by the Technical University of Aachen. Their official report read that the bridge would have a ‘negative and irreversible impact on the Outstanding Universal Value of the World Heritage property’ (Boccardi and Kilian 2008: 20).

198 • Bart Zwegers

However, internal correspondence between the international experts reveals a different picture of their opinion. In an email to Kilian, as well as to other UNESCO and ICOMOS colleagues, Boccardi doubted whether it made sense to write a report, since the World Heritage Committee had already made up its mind: The Committee has already said that it did not like this bridge and would have delisted Dresden if it was built, so the whole exercise [of preparing an evaluation report] appeared somewhat ­irrelevant … ­If the Committee wishes to be consistent with its previous decisions, then it should logically delete the site from the List. In any case, I foresee some uneasiness and frustration. Some committee members will surely ask Germany to take the floor to say what they think …’ (Boccardi 2008)

Moreover, Boccardi questioned whether it was even possible to fulfil the task they were asked to ­accomplish – ­namely to determine the impact of the bridge on the site’s Outstanding Universal Value: ‘Personally I don’t think such a question can be even answered, given that we admittedly do not know what Outstanding Universal Value really means. It is just a matter of degree and judgment and even this can change from year to year and person to person’ (ibid.). Furthermore, in sharp contrast to the conclusions of his official report, Boccardi notes in his email that in comparison to other sites the situation in Dresden is not that problematic at all: ‘When I compare Dresden with many Asian or Arab sites I think that the latter are in much worse conditions’ (ibid.). Kishor Rao, at the time vice director of the World Heritage Centre, also did not think the bridge had that much of an impact. ‘I had seen the drawings …’, he wrote ‘and I must say that it appears quite unintrusive visually’ (Rao 2008). Nonetheless, Boccardi and his colleagues of ICOMOS and the World Heritage Centre officially advised the World Heritage Committee to remove Dresden from the list. Local and regional politicians were furious and retorted fiercely to the experts’ conclusions. Former Premier of Saxony Georg Milbradt argued, for instance, that the way UNESCO had handled the situation ‘came close to blackmail’ (Milbradt 2008: 1). Moreover, he accused UNESCO of putting the local citizens under pressure and punishing them. The new Mayor of Dresden, Helma Orosz, also expressed her anger with the decision. She squarely contradicted the experts’ conclusions: ‘this bridge does not affect adversely the World Heritage Dresden Elbe Valley’ (Orosz 2008).

Delisting Dresden  •  199

Tunnel Vision The expert report had made abundantly clear that redesigning the bridge would not suffice. One solution that could potentially satisfy the Committee would be to build a tunnel instead of a bridge. The tunnel option had existed from the beginning of the discussions but now that the threat of delisting became substantial, it was increasingly pushed for by the federal government, the World Heritage Centre, as well as local civil movements like Bürgerbegehren Tunnel and Verkehrsfluss. Especially the federal government tried to get the tunnel option back on the agenda and even offered financial assistance to reimburse any additional costs of building a tunnel (Roth 2008). However, in a press release on 31 January 2008, the Saxonian Chamber of ­Engineers – a­ state advisory ­body – s­tated that a tunnel was technically impossible and financially unfeasible. The subtitle of the document they produced was ‘False statements of the citizens’ initiative uncovered’ (Ingenieurkammer Sachsen 2008). The arguments of the civil m ­ ovements – ­such as that a tunnel would be better for the e­ nvironment – ­were refuted one by one in the document. In early March, hundreds of Dresdners gathered in front of the city hall to protest against the bridge. Some days later, on 7 March 2008, another panel consisting of experts in architecture and construction work met at the Technical University of Dresden to discuss the tunnel option (Guratzsch 2010). In opposition to the Saxonian Chamber of Engineers, this panel concluded that a tunnel was not only feasible but that it would take less than a year to draw plans and that the tunnel could be built on the foundations that were already laid for the bridge. Meanwhile, the protests against the bridge project became fiercer. According to the Saxonian Minister of Justice, Geert Mackenroth, they were ‘gradually becoming more criminal’ and resembled a ‘bridge-­Jihad’ (Mackenroth 2008, cited in Heitkamp 2008: 1). On 11  March 2008, the Mayor received 40,000 signatures of citizens who were in favour of organizing a new referendum that would include the tunnel option. In April 2008, after several communications from the World Heritage Centre, ICOMOS and the German Chamber of Architects, another 10,000 signatures were collected. The City Council hence ruled for a new referendum. However, Mayor Vogel (CDU) appealed this motion. Despite loud protests and citizen petitions, the local administration remained inexorable in their desire to build a bridge. Neither the positive report of the panel of Dresden University, nor UNESCO’s threat to delete Dresden from the World Heritage List, or the generous financial offer made by the federal government, could persuade the local authorities to further investigate the tunnel option. The city authorities’ unwillingness

200 • Bart Zwegers

to consider alternative infrastructural solutions could be seen as a consequence of ‘path-­dependency’ and ‘go-­fever’. Now that construction could finally begin, the city was not willing to risk entering another planning procedure, despite several advantages (Berthod 2011). Many observers expected that the Committee would remove ‘Dresden Elbe Valley’ from the list. Even the director of the World Heritage Centre, Francesco Bandarin, noted ‘I don’t see why the Committee should give more time to ­Dresden … ­They will decide this year’ (Bandarin 2008). Similarly, ICOMOS chief Michael Petzet warned that delisting was inevitable if the construction would continue. When he visited the construction site in the summer of 2008, he declared to a regional newspaper: ‘I wanted to see the crime scene. The decision of the World Heritage Committee is clear. Only due to the activities of several civil groups has the title not been removed yet. The only way is to stop this construction. If the bridge is built, delisting will follow’ (Petzet 2008: 1). However, the Committee decided otherwise and still expressed its hope for a compromise. Therefore, it was decided to postpone the verdict for another year in order to continue the dialogue with other stakeholders. At the same time, the Committee made abundantly clear that the title would still be lost in 2009 ‘if the planned works on the bridge continue and the damage already done is not reversed’ (UNESCO 2008). The 33rd annual gathering of the World Heritage Committee took place in Seville, Spain between 22 June and 30 June 2009 (UNESCO 2009). Shortly before, the World Heritage Centre had advised the committee to remove Dresden Elbe Valley from the list. On June 25, Dresden’s mayor, Helma Orosz, addressed the committee, urging members to take into account Dresden’s legal situation, especially the fact the bridge project had been certified by Germany’s federal constitutional court. Orosz explained that although the city would like to keep the World Heritage title, it also had an obligation under German law. Orosz was still convinced, however, that a compromise could be reached. She stated that in the days before the meeting she had had the chance to talk to most of the committee members and had sensed that they were sympathetic towards the city’s situation (Schoch 2014: 211–12). She had sensed wrong. The day after her speech, the committee voted to delete Dresden Elbe Valley from the list.

Conclusion While connecting various parts of the city physically, the Waldschlößchen bridge has divided its ­citizens – ­and indeed the entire country. One of the most noteworthy aspects of the governance network formed around the

Delisting Dresden  •  201

Waldschlößchen bridge is the involvement of an immensely wide variety of actors and organizations driven by an equally wide variety of interests, including nature conservation, heritage, mobility and tourism. One of the consequences of this ‘administrative bustle’ was that it was not always clear which authority was formally or factually responsible (De Leeuw 1995). According to Liesbeth Hooghe, Gary Marks and Arjan Schakel, multilevel governance can ‘blur responsibility when voters lose sight of which governmental level is responsible for what. This becomes ever more problematic as policies require coordinated action by local, regional, national, and international governments’ (2019: 206). In the case of the Waldschlößchen bridge, the vast amount of actors involved, and the lack of clarity about which governmental level was responsible for what, threatened to create a situation of ‘decision paralysis’ – an endless discussion on whether the bridge should be built or not. Actors in favour of the bridge therefore tried to enforce a decision through a referendum. In the German multilevel governance system, the referendum was used strategically by local actors. The outcome of the public vote provided an additional argument to pursue the bridge project. Objections made at the national or international level could be set aside more easily, as the construction of the bridge was apparently the ‘will of the people’. Interestingly, local governmental actors actively collaborated with nongovernmental actors to prepare and organize the referendum. The organization of a referendum fits into the wider trend of decentralization described by multilevel governance theory. According to Hooghe, Marks and Schakel: ‘multilevel governance has extended the reach of democracy over the past half-­century. When authority is conveyed to subnational institutions in a democracy, there is a presumption that citizens should have some say’ (2019: 204). Referendums are a form of participation in which governments initiate or facilitate direct public engagement in decision-­making processes. Proponents of direct democracy see it as the ultimate form of local self-­determination and public participation, while critics argue that referendums close civic discussions within a governance network by reducing complex issues to simple ‘yes-­or-­no-­questions’. Another striking aspect of the controversy is the passive role of the federal government. In Germany, cultural affairs are the responsibility of the Länder. There are several federal laws concerning, for example, restoration subsidies, but most heritage policy is made at the subnational level (Brüggemann and Schwarzkopf 2001). Each Land has its own heritage agency, in most cases called Landesamt für Denkmalpflege, its own Ministry of Culture and its own legislation. With sixteen different heritage laws, sixteen different heritage agencies and as many responsible Ministries, there is a great need for coordination and harmonization, not only in order to prevent undesirable discrepancies within Germany but also

202 • Bart Zwegers

to act univocally vis-­à-vis UNESCO. According to the German delegate to UNESCO Michael Worbs, ‘that’s one of the complexities of a federal state. … I think it has advantages, but it certainly also has disadvantages, especially when it comes to international, to foreign politics, because we take more time to come nationally to a certain position’ (Worbs 2013). As the Waldschlößchen brigde case made clear, the federalized government structure of Germany sometimes places the federal government in a rather difficult position when it comes to World Heritage. On the one hand, it has the international duty to ensure proper implementation of UNESCO’s regulations. On the other hand, it depends entirely on the willingness of the Länder to incorporate these in their legislations and bureaucracies. The legal conflict between the federal- and the state-­level exemplifies what Markus Tauschek identified as a competition between different ‘bureaucratic logics’ at different government levels (Tauschek 2013: 195). Yet, few ­Germans – r­ epresentatives of the Länder and the federal government a­ like – ­will admit that the way their heritage ‘governance network’ is organized had anything to do with the Waldschlößchen bridge controversy. Instead, most claim that the system works just fine and that the dispute over the bridge was merely the result of an unfortunate course of events and simple misunderstandings. When Michael Kirsten of the Saxonian Landesamt für Denkmalpflege was asked about the complexity of the German ‘governance network’ for heritage preservation, he answered: ‘Perhaps we should introduce the Kaiserreich again. That would make things a lot clearer’ (Kirsten 2013). Although this was obviously a joke, many critics have indeed pointed to the advantage of a more centralized s­ ystem – n ­ ot unlike how heritage preservation was organized in the days of the Kaiser. Especially in relation to World Heritage, the federalized heritage system, according to these critics, proved to be vulnerable. In an open letter to the German Chancellor, Friedrich ­Darge – ­a classical musician from ­Dresden – c­ laimed that: ‘Germany is one of the most important cultural nations w ­ orldwide … Th ­ e only way to achieve full commitment to the protection of World Heritage, is a (voluntary) transformation of the articles of national law. Thus far, the Federal Republic of Germany has failed to do this. A legal gap that now backfires’ (Darge 2008). Multilevel governance theory points to the fact that policy issues need to be addressed at the right level. When an issue affects a group larger than a local or regional community, it might make sense to scale up and allocate decision-­making power to the national or supranational level in order to make the process more efficient. In other cases, downscaling might be a better solution to address specifically local policy issues and gain support of local communities. In the case of the Waldschlößchen bridge, it long

Delisting Dresden  •  203

remained unclear at which level to address the policy problem at hand. It could be argued that the bridge was a local or regional issue. However, the fact that it concerned a UNESCO World Heritage Site made it also a national or even supranational issue. In this context, it is remarkable that the federal government long remained on the sidelines. One could argue that the limited power of UNESCO should be compensated for by a strong national state that protects World Heritage within its boundaries according to the internationally set standards. This is hardly possible in a federalized country such as Germany. It could also be argued, however, that despite these constitutional limitations, the federal government could and should have done more to prevent the Dresden debacle. Its rather passive strategy of mediation and consultation clearly failed. Nationwide discussions are taking place about the sovereignty of the Länder in other policy fields. A growing number of German politicians have questioned if it is sensible to sustain, for example, a federalized education system. Many Germans doubt whether having sixteen different school curricula is desirable, and several attempts were made to homogenize the curricula. In the field of cultural heritage, however, attempts to achieve more uniformity and centralization generally meet a lot of opposition from the Länder. In the past, efforts to create national heritage legislation were blocked by the Länder (Zwegers 2018). Thus a national heritage l­aw – ­which has been talked about since the drafting of the German constitution in ­1949 – ­is unlikely to be introduced any time soon. It is conceivable that cases like the Waldschlößchen bridge will reinforce public debate about the pros and cons of working in a federalized cultural heritage system. Dr Bart Zwegers is a lecturer in political history at Radboud University Nijmegen and a lecturer in Arts and Culture at Maastricht University. His research interests include the politics and institutional history of heritage preservation, UNESCO World Heritage, industrial heritage and urban history. He is the author of Cultural Heritage in Transition: A MultiLevel Perspective on World Heritage in Germany and the United Kingdom, 1970–2020.

References Albert, M.T., and B. Gaillard. 2012. ‘The Dresden Elbe Valley: An Example for Conflicts between Political Power and Common Interests in a World Heritage Site’, in K. Taylor and J.L. Lennon (eds), Managing Cultural Landscapes. London: Routledge, pp. 325–45. Bandarin, F. 2008. ‘Interview’, Sächsische Zeitung, 12 May, n.pag.

204 • Bart Zwegers

Berthod, O. 2011. On Institutions, Paths, and Routes Set in Stone. Berlin: Berlin University Press. ———. 2013. ‘Challenging the Imperative to Build: The Case of a Controversial Bridge at a World Heritage Site’, in R.L. Henn and A.J. Hoffman (eds), Constructing Green: The Social Structure of Sustainability. London: MIT Press, pp. 285–306. Biedenkopf, K. 2006. ‘Wir haben entschieden, wir sind das Volk. Punkt’ [We have decided, we are the people. Period]. Dresdner Neueste Nachrichten, 6  July 2006, n.pag. Boccardi, G. 2008. Email from Giovanni Boccardi to Jaroslav Kilian, 25 February 2008. ICOMOS Documentation Centre Charenton-­le-­Pont, File WHC/1215. Boccardi, G., and J. Kilian. 2008. Mission Report: Reinforced Monitoring Mission to Dresden Elbe Valley World Heritage Property, 4–5 February 2008. Paris: UNESCO/ ICOMOS. Brüggemann, S., and C. Schwarzkopf. 2001. ‘Germany’, in R. Pickard (ed.), Policy and Law in Heritage Conservation. London: Spon Press, pp. 137–57. Brüggen, G. 2006. Kurzgutachten zu den verfassungsrechtlichen, planungsrechtlichen und  vergaberechtlichen Gesichtspunkten des Projekts Waldschlößchenbrücke in Dresden [Brief report on the constitutional, planning and procurement law aspects of the Waldschlößchenbrücke project in Dresden]. Dresden: Brüggen Rechtsanwälte. Bundesverfassungsgericht. 2007. ‘Beschluss vom 29. Mai ­2007 – ­2 BvR 695/07’ [Decision of May 29, ­2007 – ­2 BvR 695/07]. Karlsruhe. Burger, R. 2007. ‘Es war die Fledermaus und nicht das Erbe’ [It was the bat not the heritage], Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 7 February, 1. Darge, F. 2008. Letter from Friedrich Darge to Angela Merkel. 8 March 2008. Retrieved 20  August 2016 from http://archiv.welterbe-erhalten.de/nachrichten/zeitungs schau/28.-marz-2008---antwort-von-dr.-merkel-auf-anfrage-von-fr.-darge dresden.html#oben. De Leeuw, A.C.J. 1995. De wet van de bestuurlijke drukte. Assen: Van Gorcum. Guratzsch, D. 2007. ‘Merkel soll Brücken-­Streit schlichten’ [Merkel should settle the bridge dispute], Die Welt, 2 April, n.pag. ———. 2010. ‘Die Tunnel eine Chance’ [The Tunnel a Chance], Die Welt, 12  March, n.pag. Hasenpflug, H. 2007. ‘Der Schlüssel zur Lösung des Problems liegt nicht in Dresden’ [The key to the solution of the problem does not lie in Dresden]. Retrieved 16  October 2013 from https://www.lds.sachsen.de/?ID=955&art_param=126&​ reduce=0&search=Der%20Schl%C3%BCssel%20zur%20L%C3%B6sung%20des​ %20Problems%20liegt%20nicht%20in%20Dresden. Heitkamp, S. 2008. ‘Heiliger Krieg um die Waldschlößchenbrücke’ [Holy war for the Waldschlößchenbrücke], Die Welt, 8 May, n.pag. Hilbert, P. 2013. Die Waldschlößchenbrücke: Chronik eines Grossprojektes [The Waldschlößchenbrücke: Chronicle of a Major Project]. Dresden. Hooghe, L., and G. Marks. 2002. ‘Types of Multi-­Level Governance’, Les Cahiers européens de Sciences Po 3(2002): 3–31. Hooghe, L., G. Marks and A. Schakel. 2020. ‘Multilevel Governance’, in D. Caramani (ed.), Comparative Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 193–211.

Delisting Dresden  •  205

Ingenieurkammer Sachsen. 2008. ‘Tunnel ist keine wirkliche ­ Alternative – ­Falschaussagen der Initiative Bürgerbegehren aufgedeckt (mit Begründung)’ [A tunnel is no real alternative. False statements of the citizens’ initiative uncovered (with justification)]. Dresden. International Council on Monuments and Sites. 2003. Letter from ICOMOS to Hans-­ Heinrich Wrede, 29  October 2003, World Heritage Centre Archive Paris, File WHC/1156. ———. 2004. ‘Advisory Body Evaluation Dresden Elbe Valley (Germany) No. 1156’. Paris. ———. 2006. Statement regarding the Waldschlößchen bridge, 10 January 2006. World Heritage Centre Archive Paris, File WHC/1156. Kirsten, M. 2013. Michael Kirsten, interview with the author, Dresden, 13 October 2013. Klijn, E.H., and J.F.M. Koppenjan. 2016. Governance Networks in the Public Sector. London: Routledge. Landesdirektion Sachsen. 2006. ‘Pressemitteilungen 14. August’ [Press release of August 14]. Retrieved 15  October 2013 from http://www/lds.sachsen.de/?ID=3​ 177&art_param=345#. Landeshauptstadt Dresden. 2005. ‘Amtlicher Stimmzettel für den Bürgerentschied Waldschlößchenbrücke 27. February 2005’ [Official Ballot for the Waldschlößchen bridge referendum of February 27 2005]. Retrieved 15 October 2013 from https://​ www.dresden.de/media/pdf/onlineshop/statistikstelle/Buergeren tscheid_2005. pdf. ———. 2008. ‘Dresdner Delegation zu Gesprächen bei der UNESCO-­Zentrale in Paris’ [Dresden delegation for meetings at UNESCO headquarters in Paris]. Pressemitteilungen Landeshauptstadt Dresden, April 16, n.pag. Land Sachsen. 2003. ‘Nomination file Dresden Elbe Valley’. Dresden. Merkel, A. 2008. Letter from Angela Merkel to Friedrich Darge. 8 March 2008. Retrieved 20  August 2016 from: http://archiv.welterbe-erhalten.de/nachrichten/zeitungssc​ hau/28.marz-2008---antwort-von-dr.-merkel-auf-anfrage-von-fr.darge.dresden.ht​ ml#oben. Milbradt, G. 2008. ‘Die Dresdner rufen laut “Erpressung”’ [Dresdners shouting loudly “Blackmail”], Die Welt, 25 June, n.pag. Neumann, B. 2009. ‘Dresden ist kein Welterbe mehr’ [Dresden is no longer World Heritage], Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 25 July, 2–3. Orosz, H. 2005. Letter from Helma Orosz to the World Heritage Centre, 24 November 2005, World Heritage Centre Archive Paris, File WHC/1156. ———. 2008. ‘Dresden schlägt die “letzte Chance” aus’ [Dresden beats the “last chance”], Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 4 July, n.pag. Petzet, M. 2008. ‘Blamage für Deutschland’ [Embarrassment for Germany], Sächsische Zeitung, August 25, n.pag. Rao, K. 2008. Email from Kishor Rao to Giovanni Boccardi, 26 February 2008. ICOMOS Documentation Centre Charenton-­le-­Pont, File WHC/1215. Rheinisch-­Westfälische Technische Hochschule Aachen, Institute of Urban Design and Regional Planning. 2006. ‘Visual Impact Study (VIS) of the “Verkehrszug Waldschlösschenbrücke” on the UNESCO World Heritage Site “Dresden Elbe Valley”’. Aachen.

206 • Bart Zwegers

Rosenlöcher, T. 2008. ‘Ihr zersägt eure Enkel! Warum wir Dresdner uns noch immer gegen die Waldschlösschenbrücke wehren’ [You “saw up” your grandchildren! Way us Dresdners still resist the Waldschlösschen bridge], Die Zeit, 7 February, n.pag. Rößler, M. 2003. Letter from Matthias Rößler to Francesco Bandarin, 21 January 2003, ICOMOS Documentation Centre Charenton-­le-­Pont, File WHC/1156. Roth, K. 2008. Response of Karin Roth to parliamentary questions, 5  July 2008. Retrieved 28 November 2015 from http://www.dipbt.bundestag.de/dip21/dtp/16​ /16216.pdf#P.23452. Schoch, D. 2014. ‘Whose World Heritage? Dresden’s Waldschlößchen Bridge and UNESCO’s Delisting of Dresden Elbe Valley’, International Journal of Cultural Property 21(2): 199–223. Tauschek, M. 2013. ‘The Bureautic Texture of National Patrimonial Policies’, in R.F.  Bendix, A. Eggert and A. Peselman (eds), Heritage Regimes and the State. Göttingen: Göttingen Universitätsverlag. United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization. 2004. ‘Proceedings of the 28th Session of the World Heritage Committee’. Suzhou. ———. 2008. ‘Proceedings of the 32nd Session of the World Heritage Committee’. Quebec City. ———. 2009. ‘Proceedings of the 33th Session of the World Heritage Committee’. Sevilla. Vaatz, A. 2007a. ‘Die totalitären Eliten’ [The totalitarian elite], Die Dresdner Union, 1 April, n.pag. ———. 2007b. Letter from Arnold Vaatz to Ingo Zimmermann and Dieter Görne, 31  March 2007. Retrieved 3  March 2013 from http://archiv.welterbe-erhalten.de​ /pdf/07033 0_vaatz.pdf. Worbs, M. 2013. Michael Worbs, interview with the author, Paris, 27 September 2013. Zwegers, B.C. 2018. ‘Heritage in Transition: Global and Local Challenges in Germany and the United Kingdom’, Ph.D. dissertation. Maastricht: Maastricht University.

PART IV

8 BOTTOM-UP OPEN INTERACTIVE HERITAGE GOVERNANCE Governing the Public Good and Common Pool Resources

8 CHAPTER 10 White Lions in South Africa A Living Heritage Jason Turner and Harry Wels

‘What you have said, Credo [Mutwa], made me wonder if the White Lions are a symbol of how we might save our planet, which is in serious trouble …’ ‘They are, ma’am,’ he said simply. ‘They are a symbol.’ —Linda Tucker, Mystery of the White Lions

Introduction White lions occur endemically only in an area in South Africa called Timbavati, bordering the famous Kruger National Park, which means in the local Tsonga language ‘the place of coming down’ (Tucker 2003: 120). The story goes that long before the white people came to South Africa there was a female chief, a queen, by the name of Numbi, who was considered a Rain Mother to her people. During her reign, a star fell out of the sky and touched the ground, Timbavati, and took Queen Numbi with her in a ‘bluish glare’ (ibid.: 122). Years after this event, ‘it was observed’, Credo Mutwa tells Linda Tucker, that all the animals that stayed within that are where the mysterious object settled on the ground were giving birth to snow-­white offspring. It is said that at one time people saw many white leopards at Timbavati. … And a pride of lions had also moved into the area where the strange star had come down from the sky and it was observed that they too started giving birth to white offspring with blue eyes.

Because of it, rulers after Queen Numbi ‘declared Timbavati a sacred p ­ lace … ­where no hunting was allowed’ (ibid.: 120–23).1

210 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

What to make of this very localized discourse in more academic analytical terms in a combination and mix of organizational ethnography and public administration? A symbol can be defined as ‘a thing regarded by consent as naturally typifying or representing or recalling something by possession of analogous qualities or by association in fact or thought’ (Turner 1967, following the Concise Oxford Dictionary: 19). The symbolic power of lions is age old and widespread. The Babylonians (eighteenth century BCE) gave the name ‘lion’ (leo) to a group of stars in which the sun stood during the warmest period of the year (De Cleene and De Keersmaeker 2012: 463). The power and strength of the glowing sun was symbolically linked to the power and strength of the lion but also relates to the head of a mature male lion, with the mane surrounding his face looking like the halo around the sun (ibid.: 473). The lion symbol features in religions and societies across the globe, in legends, in stories, in emblems, in literature, in folklore, in healing and magic (ibid.). Amongst the AmaZulu in South Africa, specifically the white lion’s stature is part of a narrative about a time when ‘all of humanity suffered from disease and famine due to the “anger of Mother nature”, and the majestic White Lions helped us [humanity] to survive’ (Meyerhoff Hieronimus 2017: 90). The symbolism of the white lion is also explored in the context of Jungian psychoanalysis (see Grobbelaar 2020), an approach also strongly advocated by arguably South Africa’s most famous conservationist Ian Player (Berry 2013; Player [1997] 1999). Illustration 10.1 and 10.2 show the difference between tawny and white lions. There are more white-­coated animals around the world, like elephants, bears, buffalo and wolves, and wherever they occur they are ‘mythologized and revered by the human cultures surrounding them’ as White Spirit Animals and considered ‘important to the Earth’s well-­being …’ (Meyerhoff Hieronimus 2017: 1). Part of the reasoning behind this is that ‘each species is the hierarchical apex of their ecosystems, meaning the environments in which they live will disassemble without them’, and ‘(b)ecause they stand out, we pay more attention to them than their kin’ (ibid.). As a result, they ‘teach humanity about the species they are a member of ’. The white ‘spirit bear’ of Princess Royal Island on the north coast of British Columbia is a case in point. This white bear is also known as the Kermode bear, named ‘in honour of Francis Kermode, a former director of the Royal British Columbia Museum’ (Russell [1994] 2017: 37). Like the white lion (Turner, Vasicek and Somers 2015), the white bear ‘is the product of a double recessive gene’, and Princess Royal Island is known for its high concentration of black bears carrying that gene (Russell [1994]). Since 1987, the Valhalla Wilderness Society has been active in taking measures to protect the Kermode bear. ‘In 2006, 19 years later, after a major international campaign, the B[ritish] C[olumbia] provincial government and First Nations

White Lions in South Africa  •  211

Illustration 10.1. Tawny lioness (named Khanyezi). © Harry Wels.

Illustration 10.2. White lion (named Letaba, who passed away 2020). © Jason Turner.

212 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

protected about 1/3 of the Great Bear Rainforest including about ½ million acres in 11 different conservancies for the spirit bear. Wonderfully, about 80% of Valhalla’s original Spirit Bear ­Conservancy … ­was protected.’2 In contemporary times, Chris McBride’s lion research in the 1970s led him to stumble upon white lions in the Timbavati area. He wrote two books about them, bringing them to popular attention (McBride 1977, 1981). Chris McBride was fascinated by lions because ‘the male lion holds an unassailable position as a symbol of total power’ (McBride 1977: 20, italics added). The latest custodian of the white lions of Timbavati is probably without debate the Global White Lion Protection Trust (GWLPT, further referred to as ‘the Trust’), founded in 2002 by Linda Tucker, with Jason Turner.3 Linda Tucker is referred to as ‘Guardian of the White Lions’, a mantle bestowed on her in 1999 by Maria Khoza, a medicine woman, who, according to the narrative, saved Linda Tucker from a life-­threatening encounter with lions in Timbavati one night in 1991 (Tucker 2003: 18–24). According to the Trust’s website, their mission ‘is to ensure the flourishing of the White Lions and their natural ecosystem within UNESCO’s Kruger to Canyons Biosphere, and as a Global Heritage of great cultural and conservation importance’.4 The Trust’s strategy towards this mission is to work from within the local communities, bottom-­up, with a focus on education through the StarLion Programme:5 ‘Our ground-­breaking community-­based conservation organization places education at the centre of its efforts to protect biodiversity and cultural diversity in our important wildlife region, one of the last lion ranges on the planet’,6 and through offering leadership courses entitled ‘LionHearted Leadership’ at Camp Unicorn on one of their properties (Tucker 2017). The combination of hands-­on conservation of the white lions and working towards cultural awareness and revivalism at schools and in leadership courses suggests that the white lions of the Trust can be considered living heritage. On her own website of the Linda Tucker Foundation, she states that her ‘life’s work celebrates the White Lions as a living heritage’.7 Although in Elinor Ostrom’s terminology this ‘living heritage’ might be considered a cultural ‘common pool resource’ (CPR) (Ostrom, Gardner and Walker 1994) for the local communities surrounding it, they are physically separated from it through a double electrified fence behind which the private property is also secured (Van Schie 2018). Without being articulated in those conceptual terms, it can be argued that the Trust makes use of Ostrom’s (1990: 90) ‘design principles’ (see also introductory chapter and Tarko 2017, on the work of Elinor Ostrom, especially chapter 3) in order to try and alleviate this separation between the CPR and the local communities. For instance, with the use of clearly defined boundaries (design principle 1), which, for example, allow local communities to harvest certain

White Lions in South Africa  •  213

Illustration 10.3. Global White Lion Protection Trust logo. © Global White Lion Protection Trust. quantities of firewood from the conservancy; with conflict resolution mechanisms (design principle 6) such as dancing, singing and other rituals to smooth relations between the Trust and the communities; by providing labour opportunities in the conservancy for community members; and finally, within the conditions set by South African law, the minimal recognition of rights to organize (design principle 7), which allows communities to devise their own institutions (see Ntsebeza 2005). But arguably the most prominent initiative to counter the ‘tragedy of the commons’, in combination with Ostrom’s (1990) design principles, is their StarLion Programme through which the Trust tries to contribute to a positive change towards informal trust and cooperation (see Smets, Wels and Van Loon 1999) between the Trust and communities as neighbours, to jointly revive the living cultural heritage of the white lion in Timbavati in a context of ‘how people manage to interact to mutual advantage without the help of a state or other hierarchical coordinator’ (Ellickson 1991: 1). In order to understand the sociocultural dynamics around the conservation and cultural heritage of white lions, Ostrom’s (1990) design principles need to be combined and supplemented with Ellickson’s (1991) take on how neighbours try to build a mutually advantageous order together, without the law ‘forcing’ them to do so. What makes Ellickson’s (1991) work on settling neighbour relations informally and without the intervention of the state relevant for interpreting the social dynamics around the case of the white lions is that he built his conceptual framework on an extensive empirical case study of Shasta County in California in the United States, which is very similar to the white lion

214 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

case. In both case studies, the dispute between the neighbours was about trespassing. In Shasta County, cattle were trespassing, ‘poaching’ grass; in Timbavati, people were trespassing, ‘poaching’ meat (with the serious risk that a white lion would be caught and killed by one of the snares). Through their educational StarLion programme, emphasizing the shared living cultural heritage of the white lion in the Timbavati area, the Trust tries to build informal social norms with the neighbouring communities that will ideally help to prevent trespassing. This chapter is structured following the mission of the Trust to conserve the white lion and thus protect what is a cultural heritage. First a brief overview will be given of the various conservation efforts that the Trust has developed, after which its innovative educational StarLion Programme will be outlined. These two narratives seem very localized in the Timbavati area, but their symbolic value and reach is global, and therefore the chapter will be concluded with some reflections on what the white lions may symbolically signify for a planet that is ‘in serious trouble’ (see opening of this chapter) and argue that the concept of symbolism might enrich the theoretical frameworks of Ostrom (1990) and Ellickson (1991). This chapter is an ethnographically informed text, which means that it is principally guided by empirical data. The concepts of Ostrom (1990) and Ellickson (1991) are used as tools to make sense of and interpret the empirical data. In other words, the empirical data lead and Ostrom (1990) and Ellickson’s (1991) theoretical frameworks follow; description before prescription. The final word is to the data, and in that spirit this chapter opens and closes on that note.

The Global White Lion Protection Trust’s Conservation Efforts The conservation and protection of all-­natural heritage is critical, since the rate of global change in nature during the past fifty years is unprecedented in human history (IPBES 2019). The white lions are a natural occurrence unique to the UNESCO declared Kruger to Canyons Biosphere Region (Tucker 2003; Turner, Vasicek and Somers 2015). They were under threat of extinction until the Global White Lion Protection Trust was established. As a rare contribution to the biodiversity of the K2C Biosphere Region, and as apex predators responsible for regulating prey populations (trophic cascading), white lions play a critical role within the ecosystem. This in addition to the significant cultural importance of the white lions to local communities (see below). The Global White Lion Protection Trust therefore focuses on Lions, Land and People: a leadership model that creates

White Lions in South Africa  •  215

mutual benefits for people and the natural environment, thereby protecting white lions as a natural and cultural heritage (see below). The Global White Lion Protection Trust initiated the following goals for its conservation efforts (see Turner, Vasicek and Somers 2015): 1. Rescue of white lions of high genetic integrity from captive hunting operations 2. Rewilding of rescued white lions 3. Integration of rescued white lions with wild tawny (non-­white) lions 4. Introduction of rewilded prides of white and tawny lions to wild managed conditions (fenced conservation areas where lions hunt self-­sufficiently but the prey population may need to be replenished from time to time) 5. Birth of white and tawny cubs carrying the white gene, in a wild managed conservation area 6. Introduction of new genetic (blood) lines when necessary 7. Expansion of conservation area belonging to the Global White Lion Protection Trust to include more suitable habitat and territory for the integrated lion prides. 8. Influence, through campaigns, lobbying and partnering with other like-­ minded organizations, conservation policies in South Africa to protect white lions, and better protection of wild populations of white and tawny lions in their natural habitat by stopping captive lion hunting (so called ‘canned hunting’)8 and the trade in lion bones (Turner and Wels 2020) 9. Environmental education programme in local Tsonga and Sepedi schools (the StarLion Programme) The presence of white lions in the Kruger to Canyons Biosphere region was first documented by European eye-­witness accounts in 1938, although African oral records and Khoisan painting indicate that they predate these accounts by several centuries. The white coat colour is not due to albinism but rather a rare change in the genetic coding for hair colour known as leucism, resulting from a double recessive allele (Cruickshank and Robinson 1997). Prized for their rarity, the white lions and many ‘normal’ coloured (tawny) lions carrying the white lion gene in this region were removed from the wild for a documented six decades and put into captive breeding and hunting programmes and sent to zoos and circuses around the globe. The occurrence of white lions in the region was increasing in the 1980s, with twelve recorded sightings in nine different prides (Cruickshank and Robinson 1997). However, following further ‘forced removals’,9 the last documented birth of a white lion was in 1991, after which a period of a

216 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

Illustration 10.4. White Male lion (named Matsieng) with tawny lioness (named Tswalu). © Global White Lion Protection Trust. decade and a half passed without further recorded reoccurrences (Turner, Vasicek and Somers 2015). The Global White Lion Protection Trust therefore initiated a re-­ establishment of white lions within their natural habitat in 2004, applying and advancing lion reintroduction techniques. The wild born offspring of rehabilitated white lions were integrated with wild tawny lions from the region and released through a phased reintroduction technique and ‘soft’10 release approach. Three prides of high genetic integrity (those with known genetics and the strongest bloodline) have now been established that are hunting self-­sufficiently in their natural habitat and at a predation rate comparable to the wild tawny lions in the same habitat (Cruickshank and Robinson 1997; Turner, Vasicek and Somers 2015). For seven years, the Trust led collaborative research with five other countries, comparing the genetics of white lions with snow leopards, tigers and the white ‘Kermode’ bear of British Columbia, with the landmark discovery of the genetic marker determining the white coloration in October 2013 (Cho et al. 2013). In a strategy to help protect Panthera leo in the K2C Biosphere, the Trust is now utilizing the white lion genetic marker to ensure genetic integrity and ultimately to determine the frequency of occurrence of the rare white lion gene in the wild population. Subsequent to the scientific release programme of the Trust, white cubs started being born in the Timbavati, Klaserie and Umbabat Private Nature

White Lions in South Africa  •  217

Reserves in 2006, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015, in the neighbouring Nwanetsi Area of Kruger National Park in 2014 and 2015, and in the Ngala Lodge traversing area (Timbavati Private Nature Reserve) in 2018 and 2019, confirming that the recessive gene is still present in the wild population of the K2C Biosphere and that white lions are a natural occurrence and an important part of the biodiversity of this unique ecosystem (figures compiled and constructed over the years from various websites from wildlife areas in the Timbavati area, especially from Ngala Lodge).11 Their restoration to their endemic system has highly significant benefits for the K2C Biosphere as well as for cultural heritage. White lions are a capstone animal. In an area where the natural Kruger lion population has been negatively impacted by human interventions such as historical culling (cropping) programmes and commercial trophy hunting activities (in the neighbouring buffer reserves), along with illegal poaching and the spread of diseases such as BTB (bovine tuberculosis), ensuring the reintroduction of the white lion to their natural system is critical, being based on a restoration strategy labelled ‘trophic cascading’,12 that was applied in Yellowstone National Park in the United States to reintroduce wolves to that ecosystem (Ripple and Beschta 2012). The approach of the Trust to protect the charismatic apex predator within its greater ecosystem is also based on other successful international precedents, such as that used to protect the Kermode Bear (Ursus americanus kermodei) in British Columbia (Western Canada), whereby this rare white variant of the Black Bear (Ursus americanus) has been declared a critically endangered subspecies due to its conservation and cultural value. As with the Kermode Bear, which is being used as a capstone animal for protecting a 4000,000 ha wilderness area (Marshall and Ritland 2002), it is hoped and envisioned that protecting the white lions as a capstone animal for the K2C Biosphere will ultimately ensure that the entire lion population and all naturally occurring species within their endemic area will be protected.13 In light of the downlisting of the conservation status of lions in South Africa by the Department of Environmental Affairs (DEA) from Vulnerable to Least Concern on the list of Threatened or Protected Species (TOPS), the Trust has asserted that the survival of lions in the K2C Biosphere is likely to come under threat, and the white lion is the ideal capstone animal, and living heritage, to prevent this. The downlisting will increase the demand for wild lion trophies and especially lion bones, increasing poaching and illegal hunting and threatening the future of wild lion populations in South Africa.14 Equally, if not more concerning from a conservation perspective, is the reclassification of thirty-­two South African wild species as farm animals by the South African Government (Somers et al. 2020). The Trust continues to campaign, along with numerous other conservation

218 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

Illustration 10.5. White lion (Letaba in his younger years) after he has hunted successfully. © Global White Lion Protection Trust. and animal welfare organizations, to get the South African Government to amend this reclassification and to ban captive lion hunting, and especially the trade in lion bones (Turner and Wels 2022). The Trust and similarly aligned organizations continue to put pressure on the South African Government, but there are no indications (yet) of any change.15 In addition to the Trust’s white lion conservation efforts and to change lion conservation policies in South Africa, the Trust works bottom-­up in the area, from a ‘grass-­roots’ level, to revive the meaning of the cultural heritage of the white lion among the Tsonga and Sepedi communities and through offering environmental education to local schools and youth. Since the 1980s, the support and participation of local indigenous communities is considered essential and fundamental to any and all conservation efforts, in South and southern Africa and globally (Wels 2003). The Trust therefore established the StarLion Programme as part of its heritage programme.

The Global White Lion Protection Trust’s Heritage Efforts: The StarLion Programme As the primary aim of the Global White Lion Protection Trust is to support ecosystems and human systems to achieve a harmonious coexistence of

White Lions in South Africa  •  219

Illustration 10.6. Educational materials of the StarLion Programme. © Global White Lion Protection Trust.

220 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

lions, land and people in one of the world’s most important UNESCO Biosphere regions,16 conservation cannot take place without the inclusion and support of local communities. Fundamental to this strategy is education of the youth, the future leaders, about the importance of conserving their heritage and how to achieve this. Since the white lions are a living heritage of significant cultural importance to the local Tsonga and Sepedi communities, the Trust has focused its eco-­education efforts using the white lions. The Trust recognized that efforts to support the dignity and welfare of communities is directly linked with the survival and wellbeing of white lions as a proud living heritage. The StarLion Programme17 is based on a concept of Lionhearted Leadership™ and thirteen Laws of resilience inspired by the white lions and natural laws that, according to the Trust, bring human nature back into ‘A-­LION-­MENT’ with Mother Nature (see Illustration 10.7).18 The Programme draws on the symbolic meaning of the white lion to create conservation stewardship and to foster a renewed sense of individual and community purpose. The symbol of the white lion provides a charismatic teaching vehicle that the Trust has translated into what they refer to as ‘LionHearted Values’, to be able to talk with the communities about broader civic concepts such as responsibility, leadership through service, conservation-­orientated values, and personal growth and self-­confidence.19 The objectives of the StarLion Programme are as follows (Tucker 2019: 6): 1. Providing opportunities to reconnect the Sepedi and Tsonga people with their cultural and environmental heritage and share this rich culture with the world 2. Igniting and upskilling LionHearted Leadership from grass-­roots up 3. Nurturing LionHearted eco-­education 4. Increased career opportunities for community learners in the fields of conservation and environmental sustainability 5. Supporting stewardship by enabling local communities who revere the white lions to become both the beneficiaries and guardians of this living heritage 6. Fostering unity between previously disenfranchised communities 7. Connecting rural communities to the modern global community whilst preserving their ancestral roots 8. Generating socio-­economic upliftment and cultural revival The Global White Lion Protection Trust launched the StarLion Schools Programme in 2006, with one school participating, and have, over a fifteen-­ year period, increased the number of participating schools to

White Lions in South Africa  •  221

Illustration 10.7. Visualization of the thirteen laws for educational purposes. © Global White Lion Protection Trust. eighteen. Each year younger learners coming up in grades participate in the Programme. In this way the same schools continue to participate year-­ on-­year, with new schools being added each year. The Trust has, to date, established nine ‘StarLion Centres’ for eco-­cultural learning. Through local partnerships and foreign interests directed into the region, financial support is provided for the StarLion Programme, including for critically needed infrastructure (e.g. school premises, ablution blocks and additional classrooms). Covered nurseries have also been constructed and maintained at four of the StarLion Centres, which support fully functioning food gardens to provide nutritional meals for vulnerable children and elders. Water storage tanks have also been provided at four of the StarLion

222 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

Centres. In 2012, the Trust established the Academy for LionHearted Leadership, which is attended by local community members and students from around the globe. Scholarships to attend this Leadership Academy are offered to individuals with leadership potential from challenging backgrounds. Scholarship students who have graduated from the Academy have gone on to become ‘StarLion’ Ambassadors and Mentors in their community, with continued association with the Trust principals and educators who run the StarLion Centres. The eco-­educational materials based on the thirteen Laws of LionHearted Leadership were developed by the Trust together with community teachers and educators and have come to form the foundation of the afterschool daily curriculum in some of the StarLion Centres. Cultural heritage events at StarLion Centres are organized in partnership with local community leaders and revive traditional values of Ubuntu,20 unity and togetherness inspired by the iconic white lions as a motivation symbol. Annual cultural events include World Lion Day. In 2016, it brought together all the StarLion Centres and over 1,500 learners in celebration of the white lions and nature as a living legacy. The StarLion Centres united in producing a staged performance in cultural celebration of the white lions, under the mentorship of several South African theatre experts. It featured elders and youth, traditional healers and leaders, and giant movable puppets of animal species, including the white lions, drawing huge attendance from the greater community and healing previous tribal rifts (see Illustration 10.8). In 2017 the Trust established the Lionhearted Leadership™ training model and launched the One United Roar campaign.21 This campaign was an International Talent Challenge that invited children all over the world to imagine what it must be like to be a lion in today’s world. Globally, youth responded, and six international winners were flown out to South Africa to represent lions in crisis. These youth leaders joined nine other youth selected from the StarLion Centres in a previously underprivileged area and who helped host the internationals. After professional theatre training, all the youth then presented a staged event in Johannesburg, to which over 300 schools were i­nvited – ­encouraging statesmanship and ambassadorial qualities in these emerging youth leaders. The StarLion talent-­nurturing campaign in local schools culminated in the participation of the StarLion children in a major event produced at the Trust’s conservation area on 27 July 2017. The theatre production drew together and united people of diverse cultures and backgrounds, with a deep cultural and conservation message. It was by far the largest and most ambitious production by the Trust to date and introduced the local community to the skills of theatre experts from around the country. The experts were hosted by the Trust

White Lions in South Africa  •  223

Illustration 10.8. Cultural celebration of the white lions as a living cultural legacy, 2017. © Harry Wels. for a month as they worked with and trained the local StarLion children to become ambassadors for their living heritage and developed a Peace Plan on Earth as embodied in the white lion message. In the same year, 2017, the Trust developed training called Ignite your LionHeart, designed specifically for emerging youth leaders.22 Over the three-­year grant period, the Trust awarded scholarships to twenty-­nine youths.

Discussion: Climate Crisis, Anthropocentrism and the Symbolic Meaning of White Lions What we theoretically try to argue with this case on the white lions is that it seems that the relations between the Trust and the communities are primarily driven by initiatives towards being good neighbours to each other, in line with Ellickson’s (1991) theoretical approach.23 But a more informal ordering and settling of neighbour relations based on social norms might not have worked without being embedded in and contextualized by Ostrom’s (1990) design principles, which build on the hierarchical power structures of the law and its enforcement apparatus in South Africa. But the case of the white lions and the Trust offers even more than can be conceptually covered by Ostrom (1990) and Ellickson (1991). It offers Victor Turner’s

224 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

(1969) enrichment of the symbolic nature of social interaction and dynamics. As we opened the chapter with quotes on the powerful symbolism of lions in general and of white lions in particular, it seems appropriate to end the chapter on a similar note and simultaneously suggest Victor Turner’s symbolic interpretation of social dynamics as complementing and enriching the theoretical frameworks of both Ostrom (1990) and Ellickson (1991) and even providing them with an activist twist and finale. The symbolism of the white lions and other white spirit animals is strongly related by Linda Tucker24 and others to the current climate crisis ravaging the planet (Meyerhoff Hieronimus 2017). Ian Player, who we introduced earlier in this chapter, is quoted in his biography as saying ‘All religions need to become more involved and preach about the sacredness of the earth. We must return to the ancient understanding that ­Gaia – ­Mother ­Earth – ­is the sustainer of all life and is sacred’ (Linscott 2013: 321). In this context, he mentions, next to some others, Linda Tucker and that ‘Gaia is proud of them’ (ibid.: 317). On her own website, Linda Tucker states that she considers white lions as ‘living heritage’ (see introduction), but this is straight away followed by the words ‘in a strategy to restore our relationship with our planet.’25 On its website, the mission of the Indigenous Environmental Network (IEN) is stated as ‘to protect the Sacredness of Earth Mother from contamination and exploitation by Respecting and Adhering to Indigenous Knowledge and Natural Law’.26 The White Lion Peace Fund, as part of Investment Community Visibility (ICV),27 is ‘based on combined cultural and conservation strategies: protecting an ancient primordial Sacred Natural Site together with an iconic species [the white lion], which is site-­specific’, and, again, ‘[i]t’s aim is to ensure the protection of the White Lions as a living heritage.’28 In January 2020, the Trust was part of the ASSEGAIA29 Alliance Partners, presenting the Declaration for the protection of the Earth’s Natural Sacred Sites at the World Economic Forum in Davos. On the Trust’s website, it says: The Declaration represents a seismic shift in the protection of the Earth’s most sensitive biosystems which are the life-­support for the planet, calling on governments, the United Nations, and private sector companies to place the regeneration of living Earth (‘Gaia’30) at the centre of all decisions affecting Natural Sacred Sites.31

Nowadays, it is generally accepted by science as represented by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), that no matter which words or discourse is used to describe it, the current climate crisis is human induced.32 It is common these days to refer to this epoch as the Anthropocene,33 following the Holocene (Ellis 2018). On its website, National Geographic illustrates the destructive power of humans on the

White Lions in South Africa  •  225

planet with the iconic picture of the testing of the atomic bomb at Bikini Atoll in 1946, accompanied with the caption: ‘Atomic bomb tests like this one at Bikini Atoll in ­1946 … ­created a powerful new symbol of the destructive power of the human species [sic]: the mushroom cloud’.34 It is humans’ destructive anthropocentrism that according to many academics has alienated them from the rest of the planet’s non-­human life forms, agents and actors, and according to some, the only way for people to confront the climate crisis head on is by getting ‘down to earth’ again (Latour 2018; see also Latour 2017) – by decentring the human. According to Latour (2018), this decentring essentially means that humans need to learn (once more) to become ‘terrestrials among terrestrials’.35 Latour (2018) frames this cohabitation with other terrestrials on planet Earth as a trajectory in which [t]errestrials in fact have the very delicate problem of discovering how many other beings they need in order to ­subsist … ­this applies to workers as well as to birds in the sky, to Wall Street executives as well as the bacteria in the soil, to forests as well as to animals36. … We are not seeking agreement among all these overlapping agents, but we are learning to be dependent on ­them … ­to find our place among these other actors. (Ibid.: 87)37

White lions’ symbolism as living heritage and the way the Trust tries to link and combine science with indigenous knowledge (see Kimmerer 2014) can equally be seen as a call to decentre humans for how we relate to planet earth and the current climate crisis. The white lions’ living heritage, the narratives surrounding it and their uniqueness in being endemic to Timbavati is to remind us time and again of our infinite dependencies and cohabitations in this world. A cohabitation requires that we put our hands in the earth to make ourselves whole again. Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the ­gift … a­ covenant of reciprocity. (Ibid.: 327 and 383)

This resonates with what Linda Tucker learnt from Maria Khoza: Maria taught me to appreciate that there is an ancient contract with nature, which humankind has b ­ roken – t­ o our detriment. Every contract involves a give and take [reciprocity] yet we humans expect that nature is simply here for the taking. We have raped, pillaged, exploited and destroyed virtually all the world’s natural riches—and what have we given back? Where is our side of this contract? (Tucker 2007: 447, italics in original)

Jason Turner is a South African Environmental Consultant based in Johannesburg, with a MSc in Wildlife Management from the University

226 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

of Pretoria. He is currently a Ph.D. candidate at Leiden University. He has conducted over 15 years of intensive research on both the conservation and cultural importance of the white lions, a genetic rarity of Panthera leo and a capstone animal for the protection of the Kruger to Canyons Biosphere region of South Africa (K2C). Dr Harry Wels is Associate Professor at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, Department of Organization Sciences, and at the African Studies Centre Leiden. His research is on multispecies organizational ethnography in the context of (private) wildlife conservation in South and southern Africa. NOTES  1. Credo Mutwa passed away on 25 March 2020. In a tribute to Credo Mutwa on the website of the Global White Lion Protection Trust, Linda Tucker remembered him for ‘the involutionary path he has opened in our critical modern times for humanity to return to the most ancient knowledge systems that will restore right relationship with our planet’. Tribute to Credo ­Mutwa – ­Global White Lion Protect Trust (whi​telions.org), accessed 25 January 2021.  2. Spirit ­Bear – ­Valhalla Wilderness Society (ecotourists.org), accessed 25  January 2021.  3. The Global White Lion Protection Trust | The Linda Tucker Foundation, accessed 15 January 2021.  4. Mission and ­Milestones – ­Global White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org), accessed 15 January 2021.  5. StarLion Centres | The Linda Tucker Foundation, accessed 15 January 2021.  6. StarLion Education ­Initiative – ­Global White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org), accessed 15 January 2021.  7. ­Media – ­Books | The Linda Tucker Foundation, italics added, accessed 25 January 2021.  8. ‘[A] canned hunt would be any hunt where the target animal is unfairly prevented from escaping the hunter either physical (fencing) or mentally (habituated to humans) constraints’ (Pearce 2018: 137). See also Campaign Against Canned Hunting (CACH) – Home Page (cannedlion.org), accessed 29 January 2021, and a documentary made to protest canned hunting practices in South Africa, Blood ­Lions – A ­ Call to Stop Canned Lion Hunting, accessed 29 January 2021.  9. A combination of words loaded with symbolism in the context of South Africa, where ‘forced removals’ referred to the millions of people of colour that were forcibly moved in the context of apartheid policies (Murray and O’Regan 1990). 10. ‘Soft’ stands for when you release the lions into the wild after a period of acclimation in a smaller fenced area (referred to as a ‘boma’ in South Africa). 11. andBeyond Ngala Private Game Reserve | Big 5 safari destination, accessed 29 January 2021. 12. ‘In a trophic cascade, ecological processes and consequences initiated by a change

White Lions in South Africa  •  227

at the top of the food chain work their way down to lower trophic levels and eventually rebalance the ecological relationships of numerous species.’ Trophic cascade in Yellowstone National ­Park – ­AccessScience from McGraw-­Hill Education, accessed 29 January 2021. 13. Kruger to Canyons | Biosphere Region (kruger2canyons.org), accessed 29 January 2021. 14. http://whitelions.org/2015/05/22/sa-­proposed-­b iodiversity-­management-­plan​ -­to-­put-­lions-­at-­greater-­risk/, accessed 28 January 2021. 15. Linda Tucker’s Presentation to Parliament 5/6th February 2­ 019 – ­Global White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org) and Jason Turner’s Presentation to Parliament 5/6th February 2­ 019 – G ­ lobal White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org), both ­accessed 29 January 2021. 16. https://whitelions.org/starlion-­education-­initiative/, accessed 29 January 2021. 17. As we write this chapter (February 2021), programmes of this nature around the world have been interrupted because of various degrees of lock down measures by national governments to contain Covid-­19. At the IUCN website it says: ‘In most parts of the world, the community work has completely stopped or [been] severely affected’ (Effect of Covid-­19 on organizations working on environment, and associated strategies | IUCN, accessed 29 January 2021). The StarLion Programme is no exception. Note: this programme was finally started again in 2022. 18. https://courses.lionheartedleadership.org/, accessed 29 January 2021. 19. StarLion Education ­Initiative – ­Global White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org), accessed 29 January 2021. 20. ‘Ubuntu is a term derived from the Nguni language group in southern Africa, expressing a strong sense of community, collective morality and unconditional solidarity. The equivalent in Sotho languages would be botho, and umunhu in Shona. It supposedly stands for the essence of being human, shared humanity or humaneness, and for the essence of Africanness’ (Van den Heuvel 2006: 12). 21. OUR Campaign | One United Roar for Lions, accessed 29 January 2021. 22. ‘Ignite Your Lion ­Heart – ­Are you Brave Enough? Stop Saying “I Can’t” and Start Saying “I Did!”’ (wordpress.com), accessed 29 January 2021. 23. As a small but significant observation: Barbed wire, as a symbolic representation of separation (Krell 2002) and fences, so present in South(ern) African conservation (Spierenburg and Wels 2006) is also used symbolically by Ellickson (1991) on the cover of his book. 24. How We Stop The Bulldozers Destroying Our Earth (lindatuckerfoundation.org), accessed 25 January 2021. 25. ­Media – ­Books | The Linda Tucker Foundation, accessed 25 January 2021. 26. Indigenous Environmental Network (ienearth.org), accessed 26 January 2021. 27. About ­Us – I­ CV (icvgroup.org), accessed 26 January 2021. 28. The White Lion Peace F ­ und – ­ICV (icvgroup.org), accessed 26 January 2021, italics added. 29. Alliance for the Sacred Sites of Earth Gaia. 30. A popular concept to refer to planet earth and climate change and crisis since James Lovelock’s famous book (1979): Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. 31. Presentation of the ASSEGAIA declaration, Davos 21  January 2­020 – ­Global

228 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

White Lion Protect Trust (whitelions.org), accessed 26  January 2021, italics added. 32. ­IPCC – I­ ntergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, accessed 25 January 2021. 33. Concept generally ascribed to chemist and Nobel Laureate who passed away in February 2021 Paul Crutzen. 34. Anthropocene | National Geographic Society, accessed 26 January 2021. 35. ‘to stop speaking about humans and to refer instead to terrestrials (the Earthbound), this insisting on humus and, yes, the compost included in the etymology of the word “human”’ (Latour 2018: 86, suggested by Haraway 2016). 36. Latour (2018) refers here to the important work of philosopher Vinciane Despret ([2012] 2016) who has, according to Latour, documented ‘the great swerve in the definition of what ­acts … s­ o well’. 37. On 24  November 2020, Bruno Latour was awarded the prestigious Spinozalens price in the Netherlands for his entire oeuvre (­News – ­Bruno Latour Lecture and Spinozalens 2020 award ceremony, accessed 26 January 2021).

References Berry, S. 2013. ‘The influence of CG Jung’, in G. Linscott (ed.), Into the River of Life: A Biography of Ian Player. Cape Town: Jonathan Ball Publishers, pp. 323–33. Cho, Y.S. et al. 2013. ‘The Tiger Genome and Comparative Analysis with Lion and Snow Leopard Genomes’, Nature Communications 4: 2433. DOI: 10.1038/ncomms3433. Cruickshank, K.M., and T.J. Robinson. 1997. ‘Inheritance of the White Coat Colour Phenotype in African Lions: Panthera leo’, in J. van Heerden (ed.), Proceedings of a Symposium on Lions and Leopards as Game Ranch Animals. Wildlife Group of the South African Veterinary Association, Onderstepoort, South Africa. De Cleene, M., and J.P. de Keersmaeker. 2012. Compendium van dieren als dragers van cultuur [Compendium of animals as carriers of culture]. Gent: Mens and Cultuur Uitgevers. Despret, V. [2012] 2016. What Would Animals Say If We Asked the Right Questions? Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press. Ellickson, R. 1991. Order without Law: How Neighbors Settle Disputes. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Ellis, E.C. 2018. Anthropocene: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grobbelaar, D. 2020. ‘The White Lion as Symbol of the Archetype of the Self and the Cannibalization of the Self in Canned Hunting’, Jung Journal: Culture and Psyche 14(2): 11–29. Haraway, D. 2016. Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham: Duke University Press. Intergovernmental Science-­Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES). 2019. Global Assessment Report on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services,  E.Z. Brondizio, J. Settele, S. Díaz and H.T. Ngo (eds). Bonn: IPBES Secretariat.

White Lions in South Africa  •  229

Kimmerer, R.W. 2014. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. London: Penguin. Krell, A. 2002. The Devil’s Rope: A Cultural History of Barbed Wire. London: Reaktion Books. Latour, B. 2017. Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 2018. Down to Earth: Politics in the New Climatic Regime. Cambridge: Polity Press. Linscott, G. 2013. Into the River of Life: A Biography of Ian Player. Cape Town: Jonathan Ball Publishers. Lovelock, J. 1979. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Marshall, H.D., and K. Ritland. 2002. ‘Genetic Diversity and Differentiation of Kermode Bear Populations’, Molecular Ecology 11: 685–97. McBride, C. 1977. The White Lions of Timbavati. London: Paddington Press. ———. 1981. Operation White Lion. London: Collins and Harvill Press. Meyerhoff Hieronimus, J.Z. 2017. White Sprit Animals: Prophets of Change. Rochester, Toronto: Bear and Company. Murray, C., and C. O’Regan (eds). 1990. No Place to Rest: Forced Removals and the Law in South Africa. Cape Town: Oxford University Press. Ntsebeza, L. 2005. Democracy Compromised: Chiefs and the Politics of the Land in South Africa. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers. Ostrom, E. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ostrom, E., R. Gardner and J. Walker (eds). 1994. Rules, Games and Common Pool Resources. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Pearce, R. 2018. Cuddle Me, Kill Me. Cape Town: Struik Publishers. Player, I.C. [1997] 1999. Zululand Wilderness: Shadow and Soul. Cape Town: David Philip Publishers. Ripple, W.J., and R.L. Beschta. 2012. ‘Trophic Cascades in Yellowstone: The First 15 Years after Wolf Reintroduction’, Biological Conservation 145(1): 205–13. doi.org​ /10.1016/j.biocon.2011.11.005. Russell, C. [1994] 2017. Spirit Bear: Encounters with the White Bear of the Western Rainforest. Toronto: House of Anansi Press. Smets, P., H. Wels and J. van Loon (eds). 1999. Trust and Cooperation: Symbolic Exchange and Moral Economies in an Age of Cultural Differentiation. Amsterdam: Het Spinhuis. Somers, M.J. et al. 2020. ‘The Implications of the Reclassification of South African Wildlife Species as Farm Animals’, South African Journal of Science 116(1/2). doi​ .org/10.17159/sajs.2020/7724. Spierenburg, M.J., and H. Wels. 2006. ‘“Securing Space”: Mapping and Fencing in Transfrontier Conservation in Southern Africa’, Space and Culture 9(3): 294–312. Sproull, J., and L. Dean (eds). 2007. ‘Science and Stewardship to Protect and Sustain Wilderness Values: Eighth World Wilderness Congress Symposium: September 30–October 6, 2005; Anchorage, AK’. Proceedings RMRS-­P-49. Fort Collins, CO: U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Rocky Mountain Research Station.

230 • Jason Turner and Harry Wels

Tarko, V. 2017. Elinor Ostrom: An Intellectual Biography. London and New York: Rowman and Littlefield. Tucker, L. 2003. Mystery of the White Lions: Children of the Sun God. Hoedspruit: Npenvu Press. ———. 2007. ‘White Lions: Reintroduction to Their Natural and Spiritual Homelands’, in A. Watson, J. Sproull and L. Dean (eds), Science and Stewardship to Protect and Sustain Wilderness Values: Eighth World Wilderness Congress Symposium; September 30–October 6, 2005; Anchorage, AK. Proceedings RMRS-­P-49. Fort Collins, CO: U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Rocky Mountain Research Station, pp. 447–50. ———. 2013. Saving the White Lions: One Woman’s Battle for Africa’s Most Sacred Animal. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. ———. 2017. LionHearted Leadership: The 13 laws. Hoedspruit: Npenvu Press. ———. 2019. ‘Global White Lion Protection T ­ rust – C ­ onservation: Lions, Land, People’. Unpublished document, Global White Lion Protection Trust. Turner, J.A., and H. Wels. 2020. ‘Lion Conservation and the Lion Bone Trade in South Africa: On CITES, Shifting Paradigms, “Sustainable Use” and Rehabilitation’, The Oriental Anthropologist (20)2: 303–14. ———. 2022. ‘White Lion Conservation in the Greater Kruger Park Region: Reflecting on the Human Threats for Conservation and Sustainable Use of Lions in South Africa’, In preparation: Animals 2022, Volume 12. Turner, J.A., C.A. Vasicek and M.J. Somers. 2015. ‘Effects of a Colour Variant on Hunting Ability: The White Lion in South Africa’. Open Science Repository Biology website. doi:10.7392/openaccess.45011830. Turner, V. 1967. Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. ———. 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press. Van den Heuvel, H. 2006. ‘Introduction: Prophesies and Protests: Signifiers of African Management’, in H. van den Heuvel, N. Mangaliso and L. van de Bunt (eds), Prophesies and Protests. Ubuntu in Glocal Management, Amsterdam: Rozenberg Publishers, pp. 1–21. Van Schie, F. 2018. ‘“Nature is What Happens Behind the Fences”: An Ethnographic Account on the Underlying Dynamics of the Different Narratives of Local Communities around Acornhoek, Mpumalanga, South Africa, Regarding their Surrounding Natural Environment and Conservation’. MA thesis. Department of Organization Sciences: Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Wels, H. 2003. Private Wildlife Conservation in Zimbabwe: Joint Ventures and Reciprocity. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers.

PART V

8 BOTTOM-UP CLOSED INTERACTIVE HERITAGE GOVERNANCE Governing Common Pool Resources

8 CHAPTER 11 From Paradigm Shift to Practice Experimenting Innovation in Participatory Heritage Making Gert-Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

Introduction As in nearly all parts of society, citizens are increasingly demanding a voice in cultural heritage matters (e.g. Harrison 2010, 2013; Harvey 2006; Jones and Stenseke 2011; Little and Shackel 2014; Moore 2007; Neal 2015; Schofield 2014; Smith 2006). The quest for public participation in the definition and management of heritage can be heard globally, in urban settings and rural districts alike. Accordingly, in many countries all over the world, government agencies and heritage professionals are beginning to open up to the public. However, very little research has been done, and there is much uncertainty about the constraints and potentially negative effects and risks of this openness. There is also much debate, but little research, on current concepts, tools and procedures for democratization in the heritage sector. The present chapter addresses the need for theoretically informed and evidence-­based analyses of these issues, by focusing on a new European Research and Training Network, entitled HERILAND, Cultural Heritage and the Planning of European Landscapes . This project aims to empower a new generation of academics, policymakers and professionals to devise heritage strategies that create socially, economically and environmentally sustainable landscapes. One of the major objectives of the project is to develop and test an innovative set of concepts and skills for promoting democratic, co-­creative heritage approaches. This is being done in a series of laboratory contexts throughout Europe.1 In this and the following chapter, we will discuss those of the lab of the so-­called Ecomuseo della Via Appia, or EVA, a grass-­roots participatory heritage initiative in the southern

234 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

Italian region of Apulia. This chapter provides an inside view of the EVA initiative, its history, goals, methods and achievements. The following chapter, by Zheng and Burgers, analyses it through the lens of the Institutional Analysis and Development Framework developed by Hess and Ostrom to study the governance of commons (Hess and Ostrom 2007).

From Paradigm Shift to Practice HERILAND’s and EVA’s missions are part of an ongoing paradigm change in professional cultural heritage ethics. During recent decades, traditional approaches have come under increasing criticism for their essentialist and authoritative stance, uncritically enhancing authorized heritage discourses. Criticism is also levelled against the common emphasis on iconic monuments and sites and the tendency to stress protecting this heritage against all impact from contemporary spatial, social or economic developments. The new heritage paradigm, in contrast, emphasizes the processual nature of heritage and its potential role as a major resource for regeneration as well as sociocultural and economic sustainability (see Bloemers 2010; Burgers et al. 2014; Waterton and Watson 2015). In line with this, HERILAND and EVA highlight the capacity of heritage assets to be integrated within the wider spatial and social context in which they are embedded. Cherishing such a wide geographical and societal perspective, they expand the spectrum of built heritage beyond the traditional emblematic places to cover cultural landscapes at large, including abandoned industrial complexes or ‘marginal’ areas. The focus is shifted from the localized monument or site preserved in isolation, to a concern for whole landscapes and urban environments, and from the physical to the immaterial world of memories and traditions (see Auclair and Fairclough 2015; Fairclough and Grau Moller 2008). Thus, the totality of a given region or c­ ity – t­ angible and ­intangible – ­can be defined as heritage and be used to release social, cultural or economic capital (e.g. Bandarin and Van Oers 2014; Burgers, Kleijn and Van Manen 2014; Corten et al. 2014; Van Oers and Pereira Roders 2014; Veldpaus, Pereira Roders and Colenbrander 2013).2 Hence, we propose approaching heritage through the lens of landscape and to adopt a planning perspective that takes into account broader societal and spatial challenges. Increasing inclusiveness is one of the prime goals of EVA. Furthering this starts at the level of civic participation in the definition of what constitutes heritage and in the decisions about how to plan, design and manage it. This is being done by promoting heritage discourses putting community participation central stage. Part and parcel of this endeavour is to experiment

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  235

Map 11.1. The trajectory of the ancient Via Appia, with places mentioned in the text. © Bert Brouwenstijn, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. with tools and techniques that are grounded in theoretical and historical reflection and critically evaluated in practice. Below, we will discuss those that are currently in use within EVA to argue in favour of the creation of multivocal, democratic platforms for information exchange and dialogue about heritage and landscape issues and for co-­creative planning and design projects. To that aim, we will first analyse the workings of EVA and contextualize it historically, discussing its rootedness in ecomuseology and, more generally, in emancipatory trends diverging from long-­cherished authorized discourses.

EVA and Citizen Co-creation EVA is a recent initiative of citizens of the Italian municipalities of Latiano and Mesagne (province of Brindisi), both located along the final stretch of the famous ancient Via Appia road (Map 11.1). EVA is not a museum with a building and a collection but rather a platform for creative dialogue on cultural heritage in relation to social challenges and spatial planning and design. The establishment of this ecomuseum is intimately linked to the gradual reshaping of the cultural landscape between the municipalities of Mesagne and Latiano, and in particular to the exploration of the archaeological site of Muro Tenente. The ruins of this fortified ancient town span

236 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

50 hectares and represent more than 3,000 years of local history, consisting of monumental fortifications, cemeteries and sacred buildings buried under vast vineyards, olive groves and uncultivated fields. Since the 1970s, they have gradually been unearthed by teams of the regional heritage board, the Soprintendenza ai Beni Archeologici della Puglia (now Soprintendenza archeologia belle arti e paesaggio delle province di Brindisi e Lecce), and VU University Amsterdam (excavations in concessione of the Italian Ministry of Culture, MIC) (Alberda et al. 1999; Burgers 1998; Burgers and Napolitano 2010). Both institutions have also put much energy into the valorization of the site, in collaboration with local interest groups and the municipalities of Mesagne and Latiano. Together, they proposed establishing an archaeological landscape park in the area, the so-­called Parco dei Messapi, which was inaugurated on 8 April 2018.3 Exploring democratic, co-­creative valorization approaches, local citizens were given an active voice in the planning and decision-­making processes. It is out of this context that some of these citizens have started grass-­ roots activities, promoting heritage-­ related events on their own initiative, such as open-­air theatre and music festivals. They have organized themselves under the umbrella of the Ecomuseo della Via Appia, or EVA for short, not limiting themselves to the confines of the landscape reserve but extending the scope to the wider communities and landscape of the towns of Mesagne and Latiano. EVA’s aim is to engage citizens in dialogue, as well as co-­creative planning and design challenges concerning heritage landscapes in the district.

Histories and Heritage Discourses in Motion In order to explain EVA’s approach and tools, it is imperative to highlight that it was conceptualized by questioning traditional authorized heritage discourse. Below, we will argue that, with regard to southern Italy, the essentialist and protectionist approach referred to above as characteristic of the traditional heritage paradigm was long coloured by the ideal of Classical Antiquity; it contributed to a language of power that marginalized the modern region and its inhabitants. This gradually changed after the Second World War, with the advent of emancipatory movements influencing academic and non-­academic perceptions of past and present alike and allowing space for multivocality, planning and citizen co-­creation. The Via Appia plays a significant role in the traditional authorized heritage discourse. It was one of the main roads of the ancient Roman Empire, connecting Rome to the Adriatic coastal city of Brindisi (latin: Brundisium). In its heyday, the Appia was dubbed Regina viarum, the ‘Queen of Roads’. This fame is still cherished today, although the original road was largely lost

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  237

in the post-­antique period. Its trajectory, as known from excavations and written sources, is considered to be of such importance that it was recently registered on the tentative list of the UNESCO World Heritage convention. At the root of the modern fascination with the Via Appia are deliberate policies of heritagization, notably during the ventennio (period of twenty years) of fascist domination over Italy, between 1922 and 1943. The road stood for everything ancient Roman civilization was held to excel in, as a model to build the fascist state; from political and military dominance to technological and cultural superiority. The claim to superiority on behalf of classical, Roman roots was not specific to the Italian fascist regime, however. Identification with Classical, Graeco-­Roman culture has played a fundamental role in shaping the rise of the European nation state in general. Critical theorists have convincingly demonstrated that the ‘cradle of civilization’ concept was constructed as a foundation myth, a myth that also served to legitimize the civilizing mission of European colonialism (e.g. Lomas 1996; Morris 1994; Van Dommelen 1998). As an extension of this, Western museums have come to view themselves as the legitimate keepers of Graeco-­Roman heritage. Classical scholars have been crucial in substantiating this identification. Illuminating in this regard is the statement of the Englishman Lord Elgin, who proclaimed that he had stripped the Parthenon and brought its marbles to Britain ‘wholly for the purpose of securing to Great Britain, and through it to Europe in general, the most effectual possible knowledge and means of improving, by the excellence of Grecian art’ (quoted from Bahn 1996: 64). In Italy, such heritage objects did not have to be imported; ancient artefacts, monuments and roads like the Via Appia abounded and could be excavated readily. Moreover, in southern Italy, Greek objects were found in vast numbers, giving credit to the region’s ancient denomination of Greater Greece (in Greek Megale Hellas – i.e. the area where in pre-­Roman antiquity Greeks had founded a series of colonies). They ended up in private collections and museums, valued especially by ruling elites as expressions of civilization and high culture, and as cultural building blocks of their social and political authority. These images of ancient glory and civilization have coloured the south of Italy to such a degree that they have long overshadowed and pejoratively accentuated representations of the present: a rural backwater, marginal and uncivilized, inhabited by ‘peasants’ and troubled by corruption, economically and politically subordinate to outside forces (e.g. Chambers 2015). Culturally, the high standards of the Classics were part of a semiotics of power, marginalizing and inferiorizing the modern South, or Mezzogiorno. Although this so-­called ‘Southern Question’ haunts the Mezzogiorno to the present day, other cultural discourses have also rooted strongly, notably

238 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

since the Second World War. In Italy, the late transformation from a largely rural and to some degree still feudal society to a modern urban state was accompanied by increasing cultural criticism (e.g. in neorealism) and the deconstruction of elite culture, traditional origin myths and rural idylls and a focus instead on poverty and class conflict (e.g. Lumley and Baranski 1990). These trends merged with the advent of regionalism, which has pervaded political and cultural thinking ever since the fall of fascism.4 As a vital element of the new 1948 Italian constitution, regionalism was an attempt to break with State centralism and envisaged regions as essential and distinctive features of the new Republican State (Mangiameli 2014: 2). In cultural terms, regionalism led, among other things, to the search for the indigenous origins of the Italian regional societies, beyond their Graeco-­Roman roots. Thus, in the south Apulian region, every self-­respecting town now has a museum, or a park dedicated to pre-­Roman, indigenous Messapic culture, just as Tuscan towns all cherish their Etruscan museums and sites. They are used to strengthen regional cohesion and figure as a source for local identity, as well as for tourism and recreation. Public appropriation of ancient indigenous cultures has intersected with increasing scientific attention to such cultures. Archaeology, in particular, has set the scene in this regard. Following theoretical discourses ranging from Braudelian Annales history to Anglo-­Saxon New/Processual Archaeology and postcolonialism, classical archaeologists started to embrace cultural-­ relativist perspectives from the 1980s onwards, approaching the Graeco-­Roman world not as an ideal society but as one of the many civilizations in world history (e.g. Attema, Burgers and Van Leusen 2010; Barker 1995; Bintliff 1991; Knapp 1992; Renfrew and Wagstaff 1982). Moreover, in their narratives, they have now also included the vicissitudes of indigenous, non-­Greek/-Roman populations and of non-­elite groups, which were previously considered marginal to mainstream history. Correspondingly, scientific excavations and other fieldwork projects have been launched to investigate indigenous landscapes and lifestyles, and interpretative schemes have been developed that allow for the identification of Greek and Roman colonial exploitation, conflict, indigenous resistance and multiculturalism (e.g. with regard to the indigenous world in south-­east Italy: Attema, Burgers and Van Leusen 2010; Burgers 1998; Burgers and Crielaard 2011; D’Andria 1991; Lombardo 1990; Semeraro 2017; Yntema 1993). Scholarly attention has not only been increasingly geared towards ancient indigenous cultures but also to modern ones. Part of the paradigm change in modern archaeology has been the acknowledgement that the sites and monuments studied are legally and emotionally part of local communities. The latter have often been denied a claim to such heritage

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  239

landscapes. In the case of Italy, this is part and parcel of the dilemma of the ‘Southern Question’ discussed above. In contrast, it is now acknowledged that local communities have a highly differentiated bond with heritage and landscape values. Accordingly, it has become common practice amongst archaeologists to broaden information flows to include not only the scientific community and the heritage authorities but also local communities (e.g. with regard to southern Italy: Baratti 2012; Burgers 2007). Moreover, following critical heritage studies, new participatory concepts have also been developed to support communities in formulating conservation aims and actions and making sure that their values and voices are heard. As we have discussed above, such community heritage discourses have emerged during the last two decades throughout Europe. They were partly codified by the Council of Europe in the Convention on the Value of Cultural Heritage for Society, more commonly known as the Faro Convention of 2005, prefigured by the European Landscape Convention in 2000. It is in this emancipatory context that EVA was conceptualized.

Muro Tenente: From Archaeological Park to Polyfunctional Piazza Although rooted in a critical attitude towards Authorized Heritage Discourses (AHD), EVA is not anti-­AHD by definition. This is evident from its approach towards the landscape park of Muro Tenente. As we have mentioned above, a vital EVA characteristic is its approach to heritage through the lens of landscape planning, and it is along these lines that it has played a decisive role in the design of the archaeological park of Muro Tenente. Parks and landscape reserves like these have become particularly widespread throughout Europe in recent decades. However, they have also met with considerable criticism for representing new authorized and commercialized heritage discourses, marginalizing local communities’ values and uses (e.g. Bender 1992; Burgers 2007; Kolen 1995). In this section we will discuss why EVA has not abandoned the park concept in view of this criticism. It has rather adapted it, emphasizing local perceptions and presence by means of the plural nature of the park as a polyfunctional space and a piazza for debate. The critics mentioned above object to the fact that the parks are commonly part of a top-­down, authorized approach, that the model is European and that they reflect a mainstream, scientific view of European or world history, at the expense of local perceptions of history and landscape. The main opponents argue that such parks imprison history and expel it from daily life and experience, since people visit these places primarily for the

240 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

purpose of tourism and recreation (e.g. Bender 1992; Hodder 1992; Kolen 1995). The argument goes that such parks are alien to the local context, since, from a local perspective, the past is generally an integral part of everyday life, made up of personal biographies and family histories rather than scientific notions of world history and archaeology. People literally live in historical environments, making them imaginative and productive. A good example of this is the abundance of ancient cave sanctuaries in Apulia that are often used for storage or for keeping animals. The parks’ opponents argue that it is these local perceptions that we have to respect. They even advocate going a step further and letting local communities manage their own landscapes and shape their own histories, even at the risk of destroying the archaeological record. This critique is inspired by Pierre Nora’s famous concepts of lieux de mémoire and milieux de mémoire – that is, places of memory and environments of memory (Nora 1984–1992). According to Nora, milieux de mémoire have disintegrated in the modern era due to long-­ term processes of rationalization and globalization, to be substituted by an urge to ‘record, objectify, and preserve’ through well circumscribed lieux de mémoire that serve to commemorate and memorialize the past (e.g. Gillis 1994: 6). The archaeological park is the embodiment of such authorized memory places, according to its critics. In the case of Muro Tenente, this debate has turned out to be rather academic. The input of the local communities in the planning of the future of this landscape has been proactive from the very start, consisting of bottom-­up discussion and consultation meetings, co-­creative planning and

Illustration 11.1. Inauguration of a new visitor area at Muro Tenente, with reconstructed ancient dwelling. © Quimesagne.it.

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  241

design workshops, school visits, exhibitions and excursions (Figure 11.1). From these initiatives, a plurality of visions and perceptions of the past of Muro Tenente has emerged, ranging from old and new authorized heritage narratives of Greeks, Romans and indigenous Messapians to a romantic idealization of an iconic rural landscape. On the other hand, until recently, many regarded Muro Tenente as a no-­go area, spurned for its clandestine activities and for its negative heathen associations far from the mother church in town. The rural landscape was also associated with the toils of forced labour in the service of large estate owners. Most locals did not experience these sites as part of their heritage at all. In this light, the recent scientific interest in the site has been welcomed, first with curiosity but gradually with ever more interest. This was not so much because of the hope that the site would attract tourists and boost local economy. As a matter of fact, the archaeologists in charge of the management discouraged the idea of adopting the concept of a fossilized tourist park. Instead, the reason for the rapidly growing local enthusiasm was that the experts actually reached out to the local communities, not through unidirectional information flows about scientific narratives but rather through information exchange and sharing. That is, with a genuine interest in local lifestyles, histories and heritage perceptions, and cherishing non-­hierarchical pluralism in knowledge and experiences centred on heritage. This inclusive approach has strongly contributed to strengthening local sympathies towards the site. People have started to identify with the historical landscapes in a constructive way and are appropriating them as their legitimate heritage; a clear case of a heritage process of meaning making, or heritage making. Consequently, they are also taking up responsibility for the future of these landscapes, together with the local authorities. Proof of this is that the initiative to set up the archaeological park came from within the local communities themselves. Citizen pressure, through media campaigns, played a decisive role in the decision of the town councils of Mesagne and Latiano to acquire large parts of the site (30 hectares). A sign of the success of this approach is that, with the consent of their citizens, these town councils have subsequently applied for EU funding in order to set up the archaeological park; this funding was granted within the context of a much larger heritage programme coordinated by the regional government, the Regione Puglia. Such projects have now even become issues in election campaigns and can therefore be seen as reflecting the sensibilities of wider sections of the local population, without whose support they would never have been proposed in the first place. These sensibilities also show prominently in the participatory initiatives launched by EVA to plan and design the park of Muro Tenente. In these initiatives, the professional expertise of architects and archaeologists mediates

242 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

between the multitude of co-­creative proposals from local citizens. This has led to the rejection of the concept of an international blueprint of an archaeological park in favour of a polyfunctional space in which archaeology is but one of the elements. In the master plan that has been developed, the site is an integral part of everyday life, providing space for low-­profile agriculture (from traditional olive groves to innovative biomass cultivation to facilitate the energy transition), sports (e.g. bicycle and walking tours, athletic games) and other recreational activities (storytelling and music festivals). Pluralism is acknowledged not only in heritage values but also in the use of the landscape. Above all, the site has become a forum for dialogue about values and uses, conceptualized as a piazza, the typical outdoor ‘living room’ of Italian towns, where a sense of community is created through the sharing and exchange of knowledge and ideas.

Rethinking Ecomuseology: Pluralism, Dialogue and Co-creation Having defined its role as a citizen platform for discussion and mediation on heritage matters, EVA was modelled after the most recent interpretations of the concept of the ecomuseum. This concept has emerged in parallel to the emancipatory trends discussed above, as part of an international trend that questioned the authoritative roles of museums (Bruinsma 2015; Davis 1999, 2008, 2009). As stated, ecomuseums are not buildings with collections. Instead, they refer to a specific living environment and its inhabitants (e.g. villages, urban neighbourhoods or industrial peripheries); they are meant to promote community involvement in democratic decision-­making processes about that living environment and its heritage assets in particular (Borrelli and Davis 2012: 33). The local community is the curator, steward and subject. From the outset, ecomuseums were seen as a tool for social and economic change, for regenerating industrial and agrarian areas struck by depopulation and impoverishment (Corsane et al. 2007; Howard 2002: 65). To facilitate community engagement, ecomuseums have always encouraged an appreciation of the mundane, the ordinary and the commonplace, instead of the high culture that traditional museums tend to favour. Ecomuseums originated in France and have become especially popular in southern Europe. The south Italian peninsula of Salento is particularly active in ecomuseology, guided by the Università del Salento under the banner of SESA Sistema Ecomuseale del Salento (Baratti 2012). Initially (1970s–2000s), ecomuseums were conceived from an essentialist perspective, as relatively closed socio-­spatial entities. They were established

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  243

especially in rural communities because of the latter’s perceived social stability, traditionalism and shared homogeneous history and heritage. However, ecomuseums, like other new museologies, are increasingly adopting pluralist and social constructivist attitudes towards heritage, community and landscape. The latter approach is also key to EVA, with its emphasis on community and heritage as social processes of identity- and meaning-­making and with its aim to include in these processes multiple and often contrasting stakeholder groups, from civil society institutions to individual citizens and from entrepreneurs to cultural and ethnic minorities. Accordingly, whilst traditional ecomuseological tools are strongly focused on creating community consensus and identity around a limited number of iconic heritage items, EVA stresses open dialogue as its principal tool, raising awareness of differences in heritage claims and related social tensions. This dialogue is centred on planning the future landscape, the totality of which is perceived as a potential heritage asset. Which assets to select and how to arrange the future landscape is the main topic of the dialogue.

Tools, Trails and Interaction So far, EVA has employed a wide range of tools (see Opmeer et al. 2019). One of the first activities of EVA was making a citizen-­based inventory of heritage and landscape values, narratives, sites and expectations. The aim was to amplify citizens’ voices, including marginalized ones, to help make informed decisions on defining the landscape of intangible heritage and historical landmarks (see Leanza et al. 2016). To that aim, workshops were organized, and interviews and questionnaires were carried out over a prolonged period of time between 2015 and 2016, engaging cross sections of local society. These cross sections included people of all age groups, from cultural, social and sports associations to agricultural cooperatives, schools, religious groups, the Catholic church, the local tourist board, city government, the library, local music and history groups and museums. In order to accurately map multivocality, a Geographical Information System was used, in which a multilayered map was created containing historical, ecological and personal layers. It included a multivocal and non-­linear spatial representation of the local landscape. Various drawn shapes and colours were used as symbols to indicate the place-­based narratives and memories people had when approaching these historical landmarks. For instance, blue rectangles represented stories that were connected to political or military buildings, and pink and purple shapes reflected the people’s associations with monasteries, churches and other religious buildings. This could be tangible elements, such as churches, but also traditions, such as processions

244 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

and festas, as well as regional food specialties and local musical traditions. In order to prevent people from faithfully copying well known narratives about iconic sites, people were explicitly asked about their personal life histories and family biographies, as well as about painful historical events. For this reason, stories about rural hardship and the impact of mafia violence on the inhabitants’ daily ­life – ­to name a few ­examples – ­were also included in the overall storytelling framework of the local past. Conventional and innovative tools alike were used to stimulate dialogue, with interactive workshops being the most commonly used tool (see below). More experimental tools included a series of digital mapping sessions with collaborative mapping software, location-­based applications (‘apps’) and 3D reconstructions. The aim was to facilitate digital literacy to enable dialogue about heritage planning. The sessions used the above-­ mentioned GIS to help design two heritage trails: one for hikers and one for cyclists. Participants interacted with the collaborative mapping application Phoenix, a software package designed to support visualization, running on a Lenovo Horizon touchscreen device. To draw trails on the map, a participant first had to select the drawing tool and a colour, after which they could draw lines directly on the touchscreen. The geospatial-­enhanced workshops were experienced as being particularly rewarding: participants felt invited to share both positive and traumatic memories and to discuss local particularities with each other. In line with Smith (1999) and Cunsolo Willox, Harper and Edge (2013), we observed that collaborative mapping software supported storytelling, sharing, creating, remembering and connecting activities. Also, location-­based technology allowed the stakeholders to present their individual and co-­designed creations to a broad audience. As a more general point, the collaborative mapping workshops mirror the many other activities organized by EVA in that they help foster awareness of people’s heritage values and claims and call attention to multivocality as a basic tenet of heritage. Confronting and combining their personal memories, experiences and ideas about planning and design with the information, knowledge and projects of experts was considered both challenging and rewarding at the same time. Because participants in EVA activities had the chance to be heard and to co-­create, and contrasts and tensions were not hidden, an inclusive atmosphere of interaction was created.

Conclusion The point of departure of this chapter is the European training network HERILAND, Cultural Heritage and the Planning of European Landscapes, aimed amongst other things at developing and testing innovative sets

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  245

of concepts and skills to promote democratic, co-­creative heritage approaches. The chapter focuses on one of the laboratory contexts of the HERILAND project, the Ecomuseo della Via Appia, or EVA, a grass-­roots participatory heritage initiative in the southern Italian region of Apulia. It analyses the historical context, the premises, the tools and activities of the EVA initiative, concluding that it is firmly embedded in the latest spatial and critical heritage trends, diverging from long-­cherished authorized discourses and essentialist approaches. First, it breaks with the definition of the Via Appia and similar sites as landmarks of Classical high culture, feeding an Authorized Heritage Discourse that contributes to marginalizing the modern local communities and southern Italy (the Mezzogiorno) in general. Second, it embraces instead a localist perspective that highlights local people constructing meaningful landscapes with ‘low-­culture’ narratives, legends and family stories. Third, in contrast to what might be expected, EVA has not developed an anti-­AHD stance by definition. This is evident from the fact that it has played a prominent part in the establishment and design of the Muro Tenente archaeological park. This phenomenon is often held to represent dominant European, mainstream policies of fossilization and touristification of the past, leading to the alienation of local people from their heritage environments. Instead of resisting the park concept, EVA has adapted it to serve a multitude of functions and meanings and in particular that of a piazza, perceived as a forum for debate about heritage discourses, values and uses, whether top-­down, authorized or local community ones. Fourth, with this emphasis on pluralism and debate, EVA diverges from traditional ecomuseology with its essentialist approach to community, consensus and identity. Built on a social constructivist approach, EVA takes open dialogue as its principal tool, aiming to raise awareness of differences in heritage claims, appropriations and related social tensions. This dialogue engages a broad range of stakeholders, from government institutions and policymakers to businesses and diverse groups of citizens. It is operationalized through conventional and innovative tools alike, ranging from theatre workshops to co-­creative digital mapping sessions of heritage trails. Heritage experts play a key role in these processes, acting not as steering and controlling managers in an authorized heritage discourse but as facilitators and mediators. How this open, bottom-­up way of organizing influences the heritage discourses surrounding EVA is the subject of the next chapter. In it, EVA will be analysed using the so-­called IAD Framework. Dr Gert-Jan Burgers has a chair in Heritage of Cultural Landscapes and Urban Environments at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. He is also director of CLUE+, the Vrije Universiteit interfaculty research institute for Culture,

246 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

Cognition, History and Heritage, and project leader of the International Training Network HERILAND, Cultural Heritage and the Planning of European Landscapes, financed by the EU H2020 Marie Sklodowska Curie scheme. Christian Napolitano is a Ph.D. candidate at VU Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. After obtaining his master’s degree in Archaeology at Università del Salento, he obtained a second-­level master’s in ‘Geotechnologies for Archaeology’, at Università degli Studi di Siena, and a Specializzazione Degree at Università del Salento. He is the founding member of the Coop. Impact a r. l., coordinating the management of the Archaeological Park of Muro Tenente. Ilaria Ricci has a MA and Ph.D. in Archaeology from the Università del Salento, specializing in settlement dynamics of Salento. She has been involved in an Erasmus+ Traineeship for the project ‘Experiencing the Diachronic History of Apulia: A Digital Augmented Reality Application’ at VU Amsterdam. She is one of the coordinators of EVA, the Ecomuseo della Via Appia. NOTES 1. The HERILAND Project is an International Training Network (ITN), funded through the EU Horizon2020 Marie Curie Action (GA 813883; 2019–2023) (GA 813883; 2019–2023). It is a collaborative venture between VU University Amsterdam, University of Newcastle Upon Tyne, Goteborgs Universitet, Università degli Studi Roma Tre, Technische Universiteit Delft, the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design and sixteen associated partners from all over Europe. See especially www.heriland​ .eu. 2. The outlines of this new vision on cultural heritage have emerged during the last two decades. In Europe, this was primarily clustered in countries such as the UK, the Netherlands, Sweden, Denmark, Germany and Italy. This critical approach was partly codified by the Council of Europe in 2005 with the Faro Convention ‘on the value of heritage for society’, prefigured by the European Landscape Convention in 2000. It is also reflected in the European Commission’s Communication ‘Towards an integrated approach to cultural heritage for Europe’ (2014), which has contributed to highlighting the current challenges in this sector and had cultural heritage elected as the theme of the European Year for 2018. All over the world, the new paradigm is promoted through the UNESCO Recommendations on the Historic Urban Landscape (HUL). 3. Many thanks go to our colleagues of the Soprintendenza archeologia, belle arti e paesaggio per le province di Brindisi, Lecce e Taranto (especially the Soprintendente Barbara Davidde and her predecessor Arch. Maria Piccarreta, d.ssa Assunta

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  247

Cocchiaro and d.ssa Annalisa Biffino), the Università degli Studi del Salento (especially proff. Francesco D’Andria, Grazia Semeraro and Francesco Baratti) and the municipalities of Mesagne (the mayor dott. Antonio Matarrelli, Domenico Stella and d.ssa Concetta Franco) and Latiano (the mayor Cosimo Maiorano, d.ssa Margherita Rubino, d.ss Monica Albano). 4. B.C. (1949). ‘Regionalism in Italy: An Experiment in Decentralization’, The World Today 5(2): 81–92. Retrieved 24 May 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/4039​ 2206.

References Alberda, K. et al. 1999. Muro Tenente: Centro messapico nel territorio di Mesagne. Manduria: Tiemme. Ashmore, W., and A. Bernard Knapp (eds). 1999. Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives. Oxford: Blackwell. Attema, P., G.-J. Burgers, and M. Van Leusen. 2010. Regional Pathways to Complexity: Settlement Dynamics in Early Italy from the Bronze Age to the Republican Period. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Auclair, E., and G. Fairclough (eds). 2015. Theory and Practice in Heritage and Sustainability: Between Past and Future. Abingdon: Routledge. Bahn, P. (ed.). 1996. Cambridge Illustrated History of Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bandarin, F., and R. van Oers (eds). 2014. Reconnecting the City: The Historic Urban Landscape Approach and the Future of Urban Heritage. Oxford: Wiley Blackwell. Baratti, F. 2012. Ecomusei, paesaggi e comunità. Esperienze, progetti e ricerche nel Salento. Milano: Franco Angeli. Barker, G. 1995. A Mediterranean Valley: Landscape Archaeology and Annales History in the Biferno Valley. London: Leicester University Press. Bender, B. 1992. ‘Theorising Landscapes, and the Prehistoric Landscapes of Stonehenge’, Man 27 (4): 735–55. Bintliff, J. (ed.). 1991. The Annales School and Archaeology. New York: New York University Press. Bloemers, T. et al. 2010. The Cultural Landscape and Heritage Paradox: Protection and Development of the Dutch Archaeological-Historical Landscape and its European Dimension, Landscape and Heritage Studies. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Borrelli, N., and P. Davis. 2012. ‘How Culture Shapes Nature: Reflections on Ecomuseum Practices’, Nature and Culture 7(1): 31–47. doi.org/10.3167/nc.2012.070103. Bruinsma, R. 2015. ‘Defining Diffusion: A Critical Reappraisal of Heritage Theory and Practice in the Roman Neighbourhood Testaccio’. Unpublished MA thesis. Amsterdam: Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Burgers, G.-J. 1998. Constructing Messapian Landscapes: Settlement Dynamics, Social Organization and Culture Contact in the Margins of Graeco-Roman Italy. Amsterdam: Gieben Publishers. ———. 2007. ‘Classical Archaeology and Local Communities: Setting up Archaeological

248 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

Parks in the Italian Region of Apulia’, Interpreting the Past (Vol. IV). Brussels: Flemish Heritage Institute (VTOE): 107–18. Burgers, G.-J., and J.P. Crielaard. 2011. Greci e indigeni a L’Amastuola. Mottola: Stampasud. Burgers, G.-J., and C. Napolitano. 2010. L’insediamento messapico di Muro Tenente: Scavi e ricerche 1998–2009. Mesagne: Locopress. Burgers, G.-J., M. de Kleijn and N. van Manen. 2014. ‘Urban Landscape Archaeology, Geodesign and the City of Rome’, in D. Lee, E. Dias and H. Scholten (eds), Geodesign by Integrating Design and Geospatial Sciences, Geojournal Library. Dordrecht: Springer, pp. 183–92. Burgers, G.-J., C. Napolitano and M. Piccarreta. 2019. ‘Parco dei Messapi di Muro Tenente: un progetto di sviluppo sostenibile’, Bollettino di Archeologia Online: Direzione Generale Archeologia, Belle Arti e Paesaggio IX 2(3): 1–19. Corsane, G., and W. Holleman. 1993. ‘Ecomuseums: A Brief Evaluation’, in R. de Jong (ed.), Museums and the Environment. Pretoria: Southern Africa Museums Association, pp. 111–25. Corsane, G. et al. 2007. ‘Ecomuseum Performance in Piemonte and Liguria, Italy: The Significance of Capital’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 13(4): 224–39. Doi: 10.1080/13527250701228148. Corten, J.P. et al. 2014. Heritage as an Asset for Inner-City Development: An Urban Manager’s Guide Book. Rotterdam: NAi010Publishers. Chambers, I. 2015. ‘The “Southern Question”. Again’, in A. Mammone, E. Gian Parini and G. A. Veltri (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Italy. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 13–22. Cunsolo Willox, A., S.L. Harper and V.L. Edge. 2013. ‘Storytelling in a Digital Age: Digital Storytelling as an Emerging Narrative Method for Preserving and Promoting Indigenous Oral Wisdom’, Qualitative Research 13(2): 127–47. doi: 10.1177/1468794112446105. D’Andria, F. 1991. ‘Insediamenti e territorio: l’età storica’, Atti Taranto XXX: 393–478. Davis, P. 1999. Ecomuseums: A Sense of Place. London: A&C Black. ———. 2008. ‘New Museologies and the Ecomuseum’, in B. Graham and P. Howard (eds), The Ashgate Research Reader in Heritage and Identity. Hampshire: Aldershot, pp. 397–414. ———. 2009. ‘Ecomuseums and the Representation of Place’, Rivista Geografica Italiana 15(3): 483–503. Fairclough, G., and P. Grau Møller (eds). 2008. Landscape as Heritage: The Management and Protection of Landscape in Europe, a Summary by the COST A27 Project ‘Landmarks’. Bern: University of Bern. Gillis, J.R. (ed.). 1994. Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity. Princeton: University Press. Harrison, R. 2010. ‘Heritage as Social Action’, in S. West (ed.), Understanding Heritage in Practice. Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 240–76. ———. 2013. Heritage: Critical Approaches. London: Routledge. Harvey, D. 2006. ‘The Right to the City’, in R. Scholar (ed.), Divided Cities: The Oxford Amnesty Lectures 2003. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 83–103. Hess, C., and E. Ostrom. 2007. ‘A Framework for Analyzing the Knowledge Commons’,

From Paradigm Shift to Practice  •  249

in C. Hess and E. Ostrom (eds), Understanding Knowledge as a Commons: From Theory to Practice. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 41–81. Hodder, I. 1992. Theory and Practice in Archaeology. London: Taylor and Francis. Howard, P. 2002. ‘The Eco-­museum: Innovation that Risks the Future’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 8(1): 63–72. Jones, M., and M. Stenseke (eds). 2011. The European Landscape Convention: Challenges of Participation. Dordrecht: Springer. Knapp, B.A. (ed.). 1992. Archaeology, Annales, and Ethnohistory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kolen, J. 1995. ‘Recreating (in) Nature, Visiting History: Second Thought on Landscape Reserves and Their Role in the Preservation and Experience of the Historic Environment’, Archaeological Dialogues 2(2): 127–59. Leanza, P.M. et al. 2016. ‘A Heritage Interpretation-­Based Itinerary to Enhance Tourist Use of Traditional Rural Buildings’, Sustainability 8(1): 47. Little, B., and P. Shackel. 2014. Archaeology, Heritage and Civic Engagement: Working Toward the Public Good. New York: Routledge. Lomas, K. 1996. Roman Italy, 338 BC–AD 200: A Sourcebook. London: UCL Press. Lombardo, M. 1990. ‘I Messapi: Aspetti Della Problematica Storica’, in A. Stazio, S. Ceccoli (eds), I Messapi: Atti Del Trentesimo Convegno di Studi Sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto-­Lecce, 4–9 ottobre 1990. Taranto: Istituto per la storia e l’archeologia della Magna Grecia, pp. 71–157. Lumley, R., and Z.G. Baranski (eds). 1990. Culture and Conflict in Postwar Italy: Essays on Mass and Popular Culture. Basingstoke, Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Mangiameli, S. (ed.). 2014. Italian Regionalism: Between Unitary Traditions and Federal Processes: Investigating Italy’s Form of State. Cham: Springer International Publishing, pp. 1–33. Morris, I. (ed.). 1994. Classical Greece: Ancient Histories and Modern Archaeologies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Neal, C. 2015. ‘Heritage and Participation’, in E. Waterton and S. Watson (eds), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 346–65. Nora, P. 1984–1992. Les Lieux de Mémoire. Paris: Gallimard (Bibliothèque illustrée des histoires). Opmeer, M. et al. 2019. ‘Geospatial Technologies in Support of Community Enhancement and Creating Inclusive Historical Narratives’, in D. Pyles, R.M. Rish and J. Warner (eds), Negotiating Place and Space Through Digital Literacies: Research and Practice. EBSCO Publishing, pp. 177–95. Renfrew, C., and M. Wagstaff (eds). 1982. An Island Polity: The Archaeology of Exploitation in Melos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schofield, J. (ed.). 2014. Who Needs Experts? Counter-Mapping Cultural Heritage, Heritage, Culture and Identity. Farnham: Ashgate. Semeraro, G. 2017. ‘Dinamiche relazionali ed identitarie nell’orizzonte iapigio di età arcaica. Contesti e materiali: l’area messapica settentrionale,in Ibridazione e integrazione in Magna Grecia’, Atti del LIV Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 25–8 Settembre 2014. Taranto: Istituto per la Storia e l’Archeologia della Magna Grecia, pp. 317–29.

250 • Gert-­Jan Burgers, Christian Napolitano and Ilaria Ricci

Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London and New York: Routledge. Smith, L.T. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London: Zed Books. Van Dommelen, Peter. 1998. On Colonial Grounds: A Comparative Study of Colonialism and Rural Settlement in First Millennium BC West Central Sardinia. Leiden: University of Leiden. Van Oers, R., and A. Pereira Roders. 2014. ‘Aligning Agendas for Sustainable Development in the Post 2015 World’, Journal of Cultural Heritage Management and Sustainable Development 4(2): 122–32. Veldpaus, L., A. Pereira Roders and B. Colenbrander. 2013. ‘Urban Heritage: Putting the Past into the Future’, The Historic Environment: Policy and Practice 4(1): 3–18. Waterton, E., and S. Watson (eds). 2015. The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Yntema, D. 1993. In Search of an Ancient Countryside: The Free University Field Survey at Oria, Province of Brindisi, South Italy. Amsterdam: Thesis Publishers.

8 CHAPTER 12 Participation as an Effective Way to Stimulate Multivocality in Heritage Discourse? Nana Zheng and Gert-Jan Burgers

Introduction As we have seen in the previous chapter in the EVA project, a deliberate attempt is being made to give room to alternative heritage discourses using bottom-­up governance. This should come as no surprise, as there is almost a consensus in Critical Heritage Studies that ‘communities’ should be given the opportunity to develop their own heritage discourses, instead of having to adopt the Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD) (Smith 2006). Consequently, community-­led, bottom-­up participation is increasingly advocated as an alternative, much better attuned as it is to the increasing quest within society at large for democratic decision-­making and multivocality in heritage management. In recent years, a number of heritage researchers have turned to the commons literature, especially Ostrom’s ‘design principles’ (Ostrom 1990), for bottom-­up closed interactive governance. They have also applied the so-­called ‘new commons’ literature, which is geared to more open forms of it. However, as might have become clear from the previous chapter, for several reasons, these bodies of theory are not fully applicable to the EVA project: • As we have seen, the site of Muro Tenente, discussed in the previous chapter, is not a pure common-­pool resource (CPR) but also has traits of public goods and toll goods (see Wagenaar and Rodenberg in this

252 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

book). Yet, it is not a pure public good either, as access to the public is limited. • Ostrom’s design principles and their adaptations highlight the importance of clearly defined boundaries, which require the exclusion of many ‘outside’ people. Yet, local heritage communities are often not that local, as is also shown in the case of Muro Tenente. • Many commons scholars stress the importance of respecting local knowledge when designing the management rules, whereas such knowledge often includes the normalized inequality in society, which may exclude or marginalize many discourses. • The Muro Tenente project is ‘bottom-­up’ to a high degree but certainly not to the degree the commons literature presupposes. Also, organizing bottom-­up efforts to enable communities to develop their own heritage discourse is easier said than done. The communities involved are often not egalitarian and homogeneous. A very quick and superficial look at the previous chapter through a commons lens immediately shows that actual practice is far more complicated than commons theory. Nevertheless, it helps us to better understand what happens in practice, how the communities around Muro Tenente are structured and which heritage discourses give meaning to the EVA project. It is not Ostrom’s design principles, though, but an analytical tool she has developed to study commons that enables us to do so. This is the Institutional Analysis and Development Framework (IAD Framework) (see Hess and Ostrom 2007; Ostrom 2005). Therefore, in this chapter, it is this framework we use to analyse the case of Muro Tenente. The central questions are how the communities around Muro Tenente are structured, what their heritage discourses are and why, and whether participation has created room for more than just the AHD. It is part of a Ph.D. research project on participatory heritage initiatives carried out by the first author of this chapter. As part of this study, we co-­ordinated a series of interviews in 2018 and 2019 and observed three workshops in 2019 with the help of EVA and many other local citizens. In total, 133 participants (including local citizens and non-­local specialists) from both towns were interviewed, while the workshops were attended by at least 45 participants.

Context The case investigated in this chapter concerns the estate of Muro Tenente in the Southern Italian region of Apulia (see Burgers, Napolitano and Ricci in this volume). It is located some 18 kilometres south-­west of the city of

Map 12.1. Location of Muro Tenente (based on Google maps).

254 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

Brindisi, at the border between two rural towns, Latiano and Mesagne (see Map 12.1). The site is home to more than 3,000 years of history and is particularly well known for its monumental defences, which are still standing and enclose the ruins of a pre-­Roman village belonging to the so-­ called Messapic culture (fourth to third century BC) that spans 50 hectares. The ruins are mostly buried under cultivated and bare lands. Previously, the greater part of this estate was owned by a noble family of Latiano, the Ribezzi family, but the land has since been acquired by the municipalities of Mesagne and Latiano. Excavations at the site were first carried out in the 1960s by the regional archaeological authorities. For decades, the site was a deserted no-­go area. In the 1990s, the excavations were resumed by VU University Amsterdam (VU), with a permit from the Italian Ministry of Culture. Based on the outcomes of this research, the local municipalities of Mesagne and Latiano proposed establishing an archaeological park in the area, the so-­called Parco Archeologico di Muro Tenente. It was inaugurated on 8 April 2018, with local citizens playing a decisive role. An early example of this is that the conversion of Muro Tenente into an archaeological park was strongly advocated by citizen pressure groups to such a degree that it became a political issue in election campaigns. Second, a local cooperative, called Impact, is responsible for the daily management of the site. Third, a grass-­roots citizen initiative was launched, called Ecomuseo della Via Appia or EVA, that aims to actively engage more citizens in spatial planning and heritage decisions, not only for Muro Tenente but also for the wider territories of Mesagne and Latiano. Another of EVA’s aims is to engage citizens in organizing social events at Muro Tenente, challenging them to express and discuss heritage values. One may conclude that even though the local governments and the regional archaeology superintendency are important in the management of Muro Tenente it is the local citizens who initiated, steered and enhanced the valorization process. Thus, this process is a bottom-­up form of participation. Since there are no boundaries as to who can take part, it is also an open form of participation (See Wagenaar and Rodenberg in this volume). The explicit aim is to approach Muro Tenente as a piazza for democratic debate and to acknowledge pluralism in heritage values and uses beyond the traditional authorized heritage discourses (see Chapter 11). While the previous chapter gives a detailed account of all the participatory initiatives carried out by Impact and EVA and the rationales behind them, this chapter focuses on the Muro Tenente case through the lens of the IAD Framework.

Participation • 255

The IAD Framework The IAD Framework (see Ostrom 2005: 15) is a systematic analysis aimed at understanding various subjects in situations where humans interact within institutions (Hess and Ostrom 2007). The institutions, as defined by Hess and Ostrom (2007), refer to all the standards and principles respected in society, including both written regulations and unwritten rules. This framework is widely adopted in studying both old (Ostrom 1990, 2005) and new (Frischmann et al. 2014; Gould 2018) types of commons. In this framework, three ­variables – ­biophysical characteristics of the resource, attributes of the community and rules-­in-­use – ­are considered the determining elements that affect the entire action arena, patterns of interaction and outcomes, and thus shape the whole process (Hess and Ostrom 2007). In the end, by looking at the outcomes and interactions, one can assess the process by using a set of criteria. In this chapter, we will adapt this framework to identify the aspects that may affect the formulation and transformation of heritage discourses centring on the Muro Tenente site. In a participatory heritage scenario, there are some extra connections between elements to consider in comparison with the commons situation: both rules in use and attributes of the community can influence the characteristics of heritage because it is a social and cultural process; in the action arena, the characteristics of the heritage and the attributes of the community have more influence on who can be the actors, while the rules in use strictly decide what actions can be taken. In this section, we will examine EVA’s initiatives around Muro Tenente by analysing the characteristics of Muro Tenente, the attributes of the communities of Mesagne and Latiano, the rules applied to their initiatives, the action situations and the actors/participants who played a crucial part in the process. Then, in the next section, we will look into the outcomes in comparison to the observation of the workshops carried out in 2019. As for the patterns of interactions, we will discuss them in connection to the action situations, since they are ‘intricately linked’ (Hess and Ostrom 2007). Finally, we will conclude with the question of whether participation has led to the emergence of an open platform, with multivocal and divergent heritage interpretations expressed alongside the authorized heritage discourse.

Characteristics of Muro Tenente The classic IAD Framework usually starts with examining the biophysical characteristics of the resource (Ostrom 2005). As for Muro Tenente, three elements of its biophysical characteristics are significant: the ancient remains, the agricultural landscape and the relatively isolated location.

256 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

The archaeological park covers some 50 hectares and is comprised of ancient remains representing a lengthy period; some are visible while the larger part remains buried. Information plaques are placed at excavation sites, for the visitor’s convenience, and protective stairs have been constructed around a small section of the defensive walls. A Messapic house has been reconstructed on-­site. Visitors can climb a wooden watchtower for a better view of the landscape. The rustic square in front of the visitor centre is used for a wide variety of events, from archaeology-­themed children labs to local political debates. Apart from the ancient remains and modern amenities, the park is simply a vast terrain covered with weeds, shrubs and trees. Today, the park is closely surrounded by olive groves, parcels of farmlands and large farm complexes. Local peasants had been cultivating the land for centuries before modern archaeological activities. The site is named after Masseria Tenente, situated to the south-­east, with Masseria Muro to the south-­west. The landscape both within and outside the park is reminiscent of traditional Apulian rural society. Not least of all, Muro Tenente is a relatively isolated location, although not entirely disconnected from the towns nearby. A provincial road (SP73) connecting Latiano and Mesagne passes the south-­west border of the park tangentially. To the north, a rural road connects Mesagne with another provincial road (SP72), which eventually leads to Oria (a town 7.5 km south-­west of Latiano). The centre of Latiano is a 30 minute walk, while Mesagne is a 15 minute drive by car. It remains isolated because the roads are badly suited to walk or cycle, and there is no public transport. Thus, the site is by no means easily accessible to the citizens.

Attributes of the Communities of Mesagne and Latiano The concept of community has been scrutinized and even criticized by many for its oversimplicity and ambiguity (Head 2007; Waterton and Smith 2010; Watson and Waterton 2010). In fact, no matter how we define a community, the sense of community of individuals does not always correspond to the community we assign to a group of people.1 In the IAD Framework, the community to be analysed refers to the place where the action under discussion takes place (Ostrom 1990, 2005), hence Latiano and Mesagne in this case. Demographically, the territory of Latiano had a population of 13,945, and Mesagne 25,878 as of January 2020.2 Both communities have been experiencing a slow but steady population decrease in the past decade. Most migrants either move to the centre and north of Italy, abroad or to regional economic centres such as Brindisi and Taranto (Bonifazi and Heins 2000;

Participation • 257

Chambers 2015; Tintori and Romei 2017). While many of the residents of Mesagne and Latiano have resettled or will resettle somewhere else permanently, some locals have never left the village.3 In contrast to the decline of the native population, the foreign population has been on a slow rise since the 2000s. As of 1  January 2019, Latiano had 449 foreign residents (3.1% of the entire population), while Mesagne had 445 (1.7% of the entire population).4 Economically speaking, although the people are still true to their basically agricultural vocations, these two towns are in a relatively well industrially developed ­region – ­though not comparable to the industrial triangle in the n ­ orth – ­for southern Italy (Zamagni 1987). They are well connected with the cities of Brindisi and Taranto, two regional industrial centres and commercial ports (AAnext srl and Troisi Ricerche srl n.d.). Latiano and Mesagne may have not experienced radical industrialization and globalization, but they have not been spared from these processes. The high level of industrialization in the north has traditionally been a strong pull for migrants from the southern regions (Bonifazi and Heins 2000), and the globalization trend has not entirely passed them by, manifested by the slowly growing foreign population, amongst many other things. In addition, there is also a desire to shake off the negative stereotypes imposed on them by northern Italians. As two southern Italian towns, Mesagne and Latiano are also associated with many long-­standing labels: rampant brigandage, fascist normalization and economic and social backwardness (Chambers 2015; Toscano 2004: 183; see Burgers et al. this volume). This has led to the impression that southern Italy is more North African than European (Chambers 2015; Ouditt 2014). Gradually, this thought has been internalized by many southern Italians, or in some cases accepted with alternative justification. Although most often negatively interpreted, the Mediterranean connection also has positive associations. Thus, some people believe southern Italy is ‘at the centre of the Mediterranean, rather than at the periphery of Europe’ (see Ouditt 2014: 5). A Mesagne resident told us that he feels Mediterranean to a certain degree because his own culture is more similar to ‘Albanian or the Middle East, more than to Western countries [sic]’.5 On the threshold between urban and rural, modern and traditional, together with the wish to create a new territorial image, two trends have been fostered in recent years. First, all the changes these two towns have experienced give rise to a growing sense of nostalgia. This also contributes to increasing endeavours to re-­evaluate and exploit traditional rurality by developing tourism and promoting regional agricultural products, food specialities, cultural traditions or archaeological sites such as Muro Tenente (see Biagi et al. 2020; Del Vecchio and Passiante 2017; Dileo and Losurdo

258 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

2020). Second, despite the brain drain Mesagne and Latiano are suffering now, there are people who choose to stay and ‘import’ new ideas and practices to these two towns. Retired scholars, new graduates, returning emigrants, etc. are engaging in various activities that are also happening in many other places in the world.

Rules In Italy, the bottom line of all conservation and valorization activities is drawn in the state heritage law (Codice dei Beni Culturali e del Paesaggio): all material evidence older than 50 years shall be protected. The law is enforced under the supervision of the regional heritage board (the Soprintendenza Archeologia, Belle Art e Paesaggio per le Province di Brindisi e Lecce). Meanwhile, this code also allows for and encourages the valorization of cultural heritage, providing that the heritage retains its integrity. While the superintendency oversees the protection of cultural heritage, the Apulia Museum Centre (Polo Museale della Puglia) takes charge of the heritage valorization activities within the region. At the municipal level, the decision-­making bodies of heritage management are the Monumental and Archaeological Heritage Office in Mesagne (Ufficio Beni Monumentali e Archeologici), and the Office of Culture, Sports and Museums in Latiano (Ufficio Cultura, Sport, Musei). Apart from these official institutions, the Impact cooperative, together with its affiliated organization EVA (Ecomuseo della Via Appia; see Burgers, Napolitano and Ricci in this volume), contributes to defining the rules for Muro Tenente; for example, with regard to opening times, service fees and other matters of accessibility. Nevertheless, there is very little these institutions can do to combat random vandalism. One of the most serious menaces in the past was tomb robbery, which died out mainly due to the exhaustion of ‘valuable’ finds. On the other hand, none of the heritage institutions can protect the site from illegal waste dumping, because this is considered the responsibility of regional waste management services.6 A rare successful case of containing vandalism is, according to EVA spokespersons, that their efforts to engage local schools have made some teenage vandals regret their behaviour.7 Needless to say, certain informal means, including education, are important institutional alternatives in local society.

Action Situations and Actors/Participants Various actors are involved in the management of Muro Tenente. The decision-­making body is a scientific committee made up of the heritage

Participation • 259

offices of the two municipalities, the regional archaeology superintendent and archaeologists from VU University Amsterdam (VU) and Salento University (formerly Lecce University). While the superintendency has supreme authority in all principal matters, the actual decision-­makers in most cases are the two municipalities. Amongst the two universities, VU is the one more actively involved in archaeology and heritage activities. Meanwhile, the daily management (maintenance, openings and valorization) is entrusted to Impact. As a citizen initiative of Impact, EVA is on the front line of the participatory process around Muro Tenente. Another important stakeholder is the Ribezzi Petrosillo Museum in Latiano, owned and managed by a member of the Ribezzi family, the former owner of a large part of Muro Tenente. This museum houses many finds discovered on the site. Although the Ribezzi family is no longer actively engaged in most initiatives at Muro Tenente, their presence is still respected. Another stakeholder is the Latiano monastery of Cotrino, which owns a considerable piece of land on which archaeological remains were destroyed in the early 1990s. Technically, the monastery is not considered an actor in managing Muro Tenente as ‘heritage’ in the most conventional sense, and they do not seem to be interested in this process either. Therefore, the key actors in the participatory management process of Muro Tenente are the municipalities, VU and EVA/Impact. These actors have various resources needed to manage Muro Tenente. The municipalities, for instance, contribute financial resources and human resources from the territory, province or region. They also reach out to the neighbouring towns to form a kind of consortium to pool various kinds of resources. VU recruits students and scholars to perform excavations and conduct research every year (human resources). They are the experts in archaeology (knowledge resources) and know how to obtain European funding for the site (financial resources). Their social and academic connections in Europe are also crucial resources. EVA, made up of local archaeologists and volunteers, possesses both archaeological knowledge and local lay knowledge. Furthermore, their connections with local people, families and associations are also important. Regarding the interactions between different actors, the cooperation between EVA, VU and local authorities is vital. EVA and VU act as mediators between heritage and municipal authorities, non-­official associations and citizens in terms of using and perceiving heritage. Since 2015, they have brought together most of the relevant actors on many occasions to discuss heritage issues that concern local society.

260 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

Outcomes EVA’s initiatives have yielded important results. As to their long-­term goal (integrating Muro Tenente into the urban planning of the two towns), while still ‘biding their time’, they are slowly approaching their short-­term goal, which is to improve the infrastructure and facilities at Muro Tenente, bridging the gap between the site and the residents, etc. Noticeable achievements aside, the aim of this chapter is more focused on the less visible outcomes: the discourses embedded in the ideas and practices. A series of workshop discussions can provide us with a window into the various discourses present in the participatory process steered by EVA.

The Workshops In July 2019, EVA organized three workshops, bringing together municipal officials and citizens of Latiano and Mesagne to discuss how to improve the integration of Muro Tenente into the urban planning of the two towns. The participants came from three spheres: municipal officials, representatives from the stakeholders, and citizens. The officials and representatives were invited beforehand, while other residents were recruited through social media. They basically cover all the active actors currently involved in the management and valorization of Muro Tenente and many more potential participants who may want to be engaged in this process. Each workshop consisted of two stages. During the first stage, participants were asked to address the strong and weak points of Muro Tenente with regard to various subjects. These discussions led to the identification of a series of recurring themes, which, in the second stage of the workshops, were addressed separately in smaller groups. The themes they discussed covered subjects such as the natural landscape, services, visibility, privatization, connectivity and school education. From these discussions, we managed to identify various community heritage discourses that have evolved over time, be it under the influence of an AHD or parallel to it. For instance, the rural, agricultural heritage (e.g. trulli, masserias) has gone through successive waves of abandonment and nostalgic rediscovery, concurrent with waves of industrialization and deindustrialization in other places. Likewise, the current reappraisal of ancient Messapic (pre-­Roman) culture and remains is related to the historiographic turn in the 1970s, when scholars started to reassess the indigenous cultures beyond Greco-­Roman narratives (see Chapter 11 and Lombardo 1990: 37–38). Nowadays, Messapianness has become an important element in regionalist and localist trends; accordingly, the Messapic heritage in Muro

Participation • 261

Tenente gives the site extra cultural/political significance. Another turn of discourse is linked to the secularization trend of the past decades. ‘Heathen’ sites such as Muro Tenente used to be kept far from the Catholic centre of civilization, never mind being treated as heritage (Burgers 2007). With ongoing secularization, such mental borders are increasingly being crossed, and people have appropriated the site as their legitimate heritage to such a degree that the site is now being proposed as a meeting point. These turns in discourses influence how different people view the Muro Tenente site today. Just two to three decades ago, only educated elites valued the site for its archaeological heritage, not so much for its indigenous, Messapic history but rather because it proved to be a near inexhaustible source of Greek funerary vases (buried in the cemeteries of the indigenous communities). These were collected as symbols of ancient Greek high culture and served as models to copy. The site of Muro Tenente rarely figured in peasant stories, be it only in ghostly legends about treasures, princes and robbery. As a matter of fact, the estate was predominantly associated with the countryside and with rural hardship. Now, this ruralness has been heritagized; likewise, the peasant stories and legends have been romanticized and are gradually receiving more attention. The same goes for the scientific discourses about Messapians, Greeks, Hannibal and the Romans; the site itself and its surrounding landscape are now often perceived as material remnants of such pasts, enhanced by digital reconstructions or life-­size copies of houses on the spot (see Illustration 12.1). It can be concluded that there is a growing sense of attachment to the site amongst Mesagne and Latiano residents not only related to the rural

Illustration 12.1. Digital reconstruction of the ancient wall settlement of Muro Tenente. © Mikko Kriek – VU Amsterdam.

262 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

tradition. The interviews conducted in 2018 and 2019 show that some interviewees feel attached to Muro Tenente because they associate the site with perceived Messapic roots and with cultural identity. A Messapic identity myth is gradually taking root amongst the public, enhanced by mass media, cultural events and tourist branding. On the other hand, the sense of detachment from this site is still discernible amongst other residents. The interviews suggest that although most interviewees ‘endorse’ the heritage status of Muro Tenente, not all of them seem to be enthusiastic about the site as ‘heritagized’. Some, though acknowledging the cultural and scientific importance of Muro Tenente, indicate a sense of aloofness and doubt: Interviewer: Whose heritage is Muro Tenente? Interviewee: We Mesagnesi do not feel it as o ­ urs … ­We don’t talk about i­t … ­I don’t feel it as being strictly part of Mesagne.8

These discourses, articulated by local communities, give meaning to recurrent themes being part of the EVA project, namely authenticity, privatization, community building and Messapian identity. In the following, we show how these themes were conceived and valued discursively.

Authenticity Many participants attach great importance to authenticity, not only of the archaeological heritage but also of native plants, landscape, local traditions and so forth. A participant of the workshop held on 12 July 2019 recommended bringing back the native plants (spices, trees, fruits) that existed on this land in the Messapic era and safeguarding the existing native plants. ‘We certainly aren’t going to put it with an American walnut tree. It would be out of place,’ he argued. The authenticity of traditions and Apulianness are considered valuable features of EVA’s events. Some participants of the workshop held on 12  July 2019 spoke highly of several events organized by EVA in Muro Tenente, such as a concert that was perceived to have elegantly represented authentic Apulian vibes with ‘the table under the tree, maybe also the little light, the focaccia’ rather than mimicking trendy touristic attractions. This keenness to maintain authenticity is perhaps mingled with a sense of nostalgia for traditional country life, but it is also infused with many other concerns, including school education and global warming issues. For most of those who wanted to restore the ancient native plants, it is not authenticity itself that interested them but rather the educational and environmental value of doing so. With these plants, they were hoping to build an archaeological botanic park and organize workshops for children themed around

Participation • 263

Messapic agriculture or Messapic craft. Furthermore, they proposed using the plants in the park as a way to offset carbon emissions: ‘Plant something innovative and manage it as a ­source … ­Like bamboo canes, for example, as breathing and oxygen for ­nature – ­that is, as a purifier of nature.’9

Privatization The issue of privatization was also brought up during the workshop, with participants proposing that private parties such as hotel and restaurant owners should be involved in the development of Muro Tenente, since they can help the site reach a wider audience. For example, it was suggested that hotel or restaurant managers could build copies of Messapic houses to offer a time-­travel experience. On the other hand, other workshop participants held that the services of the park should remain public. This paradox raised the question ‘Can the Muro Tenente park be privatized?’10 On the one hand, some participants agreed that privatization is inevitable at a certain point because one cannot wait for the public sector to take measures, and ‘it guarantees a [level of ] protection that the public [sector] cannot give’. On the other hand, many participants expressed their concerns, arguing that the commercial speculation and mass tourism could potentially harm the heritage by turning it into a ‘playground’. Clearly, most participants would be glad if privatizing heritage could bring tourism to their territory, but they were sceptical about mass tourism. That said, some agreed that privatization could be welcomed under certain circumstances: the private parties must be locals, and the privatization must be s­ ustainable – t­ hat is, monitored by the public. The public here, according to one of the participants, does not necessarily refer to the public sector but comes down more to ordinary citizens. He also argued that certain rules would have to be set regarding privatization, specifying what could be done and what not: ‘The state will take back possession of the heritage if you misuse it.’ He also maintained that depending on the innate value of the heritage in question some ‘high-­end’ heritage should never be privatized, while other types of heritage can, because it is ‘= redundant in the territory, because there is a lot [of heritage] … I can decide to keep the largest ones public and maybe [privatize] the others …’11 Clearly, concerns about privatization are mainly due to the potential impact it may have on either the local communities or on the heritage itself. Mass tourism and speculation may drive up local living costs, and Disneyfication can harm the integrity of the heritage site. Meanwhile, a sense of heritage hierarchy also influenced participants’ stance on privatization, as they believed that those parts of heritage with high ‘innate value’ should remain public whilst those with less innate value could be privatized.

264 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

Community Building Building a stronger community is one of the rationales behind the participants’ eagerness to valorize local heritage such as Muro Tenente. One of the main issues that participants repeatedly brought up in all workshops was creating a stronger connection between the young generation and the archaeological park. Many lamented the scarce attention paid to the site of Muro Tenente and to local history and archaeology in general in both primary and secondary schools. Most participants expressed their commitment to teaching and creating affection for local history and archaeology amongst school children. They realized that local schools are disconnected not only from Muro Tenente but from ‘a whole series of Mesagnese traditions that the school tends to no longer respect’.12 They proposed organizing Messapic-­themed annual school parties at Muro Tenente, to make it ‘one of those things that you remember when you are older and tell your children about’.13 Some participants also suggested organizing ‘festivals of peoples’ to help different ethnic groups integrate into local society. Cultivating the bond between the site and the adult population was also highlighted. By suggesting putting up advertisements in Brindisi airport and train station, the participants proposed showing off an evening event that depicts the colourful social life at Muro Tenente rather than the site itself. As a participant in the workshop held on 19 July 2019 summarized, putting up signs of Muro Tenente is not just about ‘the physical one “Muro Tenente turn right’’’ but is more about ‘making the city of Mesagne and Latiano fall in love with the site’. Some of the participants also cherished the sense of community they felt at some of the events organized by EVA in Muro Tenente. Speaking of the Red Moon night in 2018, a participant remembered fondly how ‘you sat with other people and had a chat. It was also a moment of sharing, which is something we don’t do anymore’.14 It is also worth noting that the notion of community can sometimes be idealized. In a debate about what project to introduce to Muro Tenente, one of the participants suggested a land art project. She argued that most land art projects are done together with local communities, which is a way to build a sustainable relationship with the territory. When questioned whether land art would attract a large audience with no particular interest in archaeology or art and whether it is affordable, she replied: ‘But if you do these projects, you involve the community. It takes very little for them to become everyone’s heritage. Look, contemporary art is not for a few people; contemporary art is for everyone.’15 While there is almost a complete consensus on the importance of community participation amongst the participants, critical reflection of the pitfalls of the notion of community or community participation is rarely considered.

Participation • 265

Messapianness It can be seen that each of the themes above is entangled with the historiographic narrative about Messapians. In the workshop held on 26  July 2019, the participants suggested that the Muro Tenente Park should participate in as many fairs as possible, such as Pro Loco trade fairs and the Mediterranean Exchange of Archaeological Tourism Fair. For them, participating in these fairs is not only about promoting the park but also about publicizing Messapic culture. Some argued that the relatively low visibility of this park is somehow linked to the poor (inter-)national recognition of Messapic culture. While Etruscans are known almost all over the country, Messapians are rather anonymous: When I do the guided tours in Mesagne, I always say: ‘The Messapians were a ­people … D ­ o you know who the Etruscans are? Well. It’s the same for us …’. So, it is important to make people understand first of all who these people were and that there are some finds and testimonies here that can confirm the importance of these people.16

As mentioned before, the growing attention given to Messapic culture is a result of a historiographic turn and of regionalist trends.

Summary Overall, one may observe a notable degree of ambivalence towards the central themes. On the one hand, gaining economic value through tourism is considered desirable, while, on the other hand, creating social value with Muro Tenente is equally, or even more, important. Participants are struggling to maintain a balance between public control and privatization, developing tourism and curbing over-­commercialization. Their clear anti-­ Disneyfication stance is partly related to a concern for preserving heritage to protect and enhance the regional and local identities and also partly linked to the fear of the negative effects of mass tourism. Multifocal as the discussions might have been, at their core seems to have been the potential role of the site’s resources in enhancing a sense of community. Most participants are eager to instil the passion for what they define as ‘local culture’ into school children and young adults, to foster a love whether for archaeology or local traditions, or for traditional rural life and local cuisine. Although the concepts of community and participation seem to be idealized on occasion, a major conclusion that can be drawn from the workshops is that community participation is perceived as a crucial part of the heritage-­making and identity-­making process.

266 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

Conclusion This chapter sets out to examine the case study of the landscape reserve of Muro Tenente, in southern Italy, by asking how the communities organize themselves, which discourses are present and why, and whether their form of participation has led to multivocality. Before tackling our key questions, we first addressed the usefulness of the analytical tools from the literature on commons. Many heritage scholars have made inspiring discoveries by adapting the commons literature. As we have shown in the previous chapter, the Muro Tenente case is far too complicated to exactly fit this body of theory. Yet, using an analytical tool derived from ­it – ­the Institutional Analysis and Development Framework (IAD Framework) – does show us how the properties of this case structure the existing heritage discourses. Using the IAD Framework to examine the case of Muro Tenente, we can gain insight into the complexity of the participatory process, which involves multiple actors, rules and actions. This insight helps us understand why the archaeological site of Muro Tenente, when recognized as heritage, is inevitably charged with various ideologies and perceptions prevalent in ­society – ­such as regionalism and ­localism – ­and also some ideas linked to the so-­called Authorized Heritage Discourse (Smith 2006). This outcome manifested in the three workshops organized by EVA in 2019. These workshops reflected the dilemma between internalized AHDs in the participants’ minds and their wish to use the site of Muro Tenente more innovatively. They wanted to make changes to attract a wider audience without sacrificing the authenticity of the archaeological remains, natural landscape and Apulianness. They sought to achieve the economic sustainability of the park while avoiding over-­commercialization. In the face of the lethargy of the public sector, they had different degrees of reservation about privatizing the archaeological heritage. To conclude, using bottom-­up participation to promote multivocality in local heritage management is not a straightforward process. The attributes of the communities, actors and the heritage in question contribute to the multiplicity of discourses in play in the participatory process initiated by EVA. Here, the so-­called AHDs are not deliberately avoided or challenged but are juxtaposed with alternative discourses brought in by people from all walks of life, leading to a situation in which different discourses and narratives contrast and synergize with each other.

Participation • 267

Acknowledgements This study was made possible thanks to the help and assistance of the following institutions and associations: Municipality of Mesagne, Municipality of Latiano, Soprintendenza archeologia belle arti e paesaggio per le province di Brindisi e Lecce, Impact Archeologia/EVA, Comitato Festa Patronale Santa Margherita, ISBEM, La Manovella, ProLoco Latiano, PromoCultura Mesagne, Ribezzi Petrosillo Museum, Scuola Giacomo Rousseau, Scuola Paolo Borsellino; and of the following individuals: Bruna Tahirllari, Chiara Cazzetta, Enrico de Benedictis, Lilly, Maria Esposito, Mauro Rubino, Regina Cesta, Roberta Maglie, Tiziana Rogoli, Vincenzo Camassa and all the citizens who participated in our interviews and workshops. Nana Zheng is a Ph.D. candidate at the Faculty of Humanities and the CLUE+ research institute for Culture, Cognition, History and Heritage of the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Her research draws upon various topics in relation to Critical Heritage Studies and currently focuses on the multivocality amongst local residents and how they deal with these voices in participatory heritage processes. Her research is funded by Sino-­Dutch Bilateral Exchange Scholarship (administered by China Scholarship Council and Nuffic). Dr Gert-Jan Burgers has a chair in Heritage of Cultural Landscapes and Urban Environments at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. He is also director of CLUE+, the Vrije Universiteit interfaculty research institute for Culture, Cognition, History and Heritage, and project leader of the International Training Network HERILAND, Cultural Heritage and the Planning of Euro­pean Landscapes, financed by the EU H2020 Marie Sklodowska Curie scheme.

NOTES  1. See Zheng, N. ‘Coming to Grips with Diverse Discourses in Participatory Heritage Initiatives’, ongoing Ph.D. thesis.  2. Based on the data retrieved from Istituto Nazionale di Statistica (www.istat.it).  3. Interview with Mesagne resident M4 on 11 July 2019.  4. Data retrieved from tuttitalia.it, accessed 24 October 2019.  5. Interview with Mesagne resident M54 on 2 December 2019.  6. See ‘Muro Tenente, candidato a patrimonio dell’Unesco: una scommessa vinta’. Available at: https://www.senzacolonnenews.it/citta/item/muro-­tenente-­can di​dato-­a-patrimonio-­dellunesco-­una-­s commessa-­v inta.html?fbclid=IwAR0YR Kx​AYoyn28ql2ynVQwY4jZTZdSbgjJ1JxcqCKW6Ia2W_q9DdlB5QnCM. Accessed 22 October 2020.  7. Workshop on July 26 2019.

268 • Nana Zheng and Gert-­Jan Burgers

 8.  9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

Interview with Mesagne resident M22 on 19 July 2019. Workshop on 12 July 2019. Workshop on 19 July 2019. Workshop on 19 July 2019. Workshop on 26 July 2019. Workshop on 26 July 2019. Workshop on 12 July 2019. Workshop on 12 July 2019. Workshop on 26 July 2019.

References AAnext srl, and Troisi Ricerche srl. n.d. Mappatura Delle Aree Industriali Pugliesi. Modugno (BA): Puglia Sviluppo SpA. Biagi, B. et al. 2020. ‘Smart Specialisation and Tourism: Understanding the Priority Choices in EU Regions’, Socio-Economic Planning Sciences 100883. Bonifazi, C., and F. Heins. 2000. ‘Long-­Term Trends of Internal Migration in Italy’, International Journal of Population Geography 6(2): 111–31. Burgers, G.-J. 2007. ‘Classical Archaeology and Local Communities: Setting up Archaeological Parks in the Italian Region of Apulia’, Interpreting the Past (Vol. IV). Brussel: Flemish Heritage Institute (VTOE), pp. 107–18. Chambers, I. 2015. ‘The “Southern Question”. Again’, in A. Mammone et al. (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Italy. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 13–22. Del Vecchio, P., and G. Passiante. 2017. ‘Is Tourism a Driver for Smart Specialization? Evidence from Apulia, an Italian Region with a Tourism Vocation’, Journal of Destination Marketing & Management 6(3): 163–65. Dileo, I., and F. Losurdo. 2020. ‘The Evolution of Regional Innovation Policy in a Peripheral Area: The Case of Apulia Region’, in M. González-­López and B.T. Asheim (eds), Regions and Innovation Policies in Europe. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. URL (consulted January 2021): https://www.elgaronline.com/vi​ ew/edcoll/9781789904154/9781789904154.00015.xml. Fraser, N. 1998. Social Justice in the Age of Identity Politics: Redistribution, Recognition, Participation. WZB Discussion Paper, No. FS I 98-­ 108 presented at the Wissenschaftszentrum Berlin für Sozialforschung (WZB). Frischmann, B.M. et al. 2014. ‘Governing Knowledge Commons’, in B.M. Frischmann et al. (eds), Governing Knowledge Commons. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 1–43. Gould, P.G. 2018. Empowering Communities Through Archaeology and Heritage: The Role of Local Governance in Economic Development. London: Bloomsbury. Head, B.W. 2007. ‘Community Engagement: Participation on Whose Terms?’, Australian Journal of Political Science 42(3): 441–54. Hess, C., and E. Ostrom. 2007. ‘A Framework for Analyzing the Knowledge Commons’, in C. Hess and E. Ostrom (eds), Understanding Knowledge as a Commons: From Theory to Practice. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 41–81.

Participation • 269

Lombardo, M. 1990. ‘I Messapi: Aspetti Della Problematica Storica’, in A. Stazio and S. Ceccoli (eds), I Messapi: Atti Del Trentesimo Convegno di Studi Sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto-­Lecce, 4–9 ottobre 1990. Taranto: Istituto per la storia e l’archeologia della Magna Grecia, pp. 35–109. Ostrom, E. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge University Press. ______. 2005. Understanding Institutional Diversity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ouditt, S. 2014. Impressions of Southern Italy: British Travel Writing from Henry Swinburne to Norman Douglas. New York and London: Routledge. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London and New York: Routledge. Tintori, G., and V. Romei. 2017. ‘Emigration from Italy After the Crisis: The Shortcomings of the Brain Drain Narrative’, in J.-M. Lafleur and M. Stanek (eds), South-North Migration of EU Citizens in Times of Crisis. Cham: Springer International Publishing, pp. 49–64. Toscano, M.A. 2004. Sul Sud: Materiali per Lo Studio Della Cultura e Dei Beni Culturali. Pontedera-­Milano: Il Grandevetro-­Jaca Book. Trentesimo Convegno Di Studi Sulla Magna Grecia. Presented at the Il Trentesimo Convegno Di Studi Sulla Magna Grecia. Waterton, E., and L. Smith. 2010. ‘The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 4–15. Watson, S., and E. Waterton. 2010. ‘Heritage and Community Engagement’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 1–3. Zamagni, V. 1987. ‘A Century of Change: Trends in the Composition in the Italian Labour Force, 1881–1981’, Historical Social Research 12(4): 36–97. Zhang, Y. 2012. ‘Heritage as Cultural Commons: Towards an Institutional Approach of Self Governance’, in E. Bertacchini et al. (eds), Cultural Commons: A New Perspective on the Production and Evolution of Cultures. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, pp. 153–77.

Conclusion 8

Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

As we approach the end of this volume, some conclusions are in order. The reasons Heritage Studies scholars advocate interactive governance are threefold: they see it as a way to ‘augment professional capacity’ (as noted and criticized by Fredheim 2019: 17), to create space for subaltern heritage discourses, and to mitigate contestation. In the second chapter, we confronted those ideals with Public Administration theory. It became clear that actually trying to bring about interactive governance, especially for the latter two reasons, is neither as straightforward nor unproblematic as often assumed. Yet, Public Administration is not the only scholarly discipline in which criticism of such interactive governance aspirations can be found. Political Philosophy also has something to add. The ‘machine language’ underlying much thinking about the functions of interactive governance comprises Habermasian ideas on the ideal speech situation. In a second theoretical chapter, Jambille brought this to the fore and critiqued it using Chantal Mouffe’s work (2000, 2005, 2013). Applying her concepts of ‘agonism’ versus ‘antagonism’, he suspects that interactive governance might not be the best way to further subaltern heritage discourses nor mitigate contestation. In the case studies, which make up the rest of the book, we have put these theoretical objections to the test. In so doing, we also made an attempt to establish how much use Public Administration theory is for Heritage Studies. The remaining empirical chapters are organized according to the matrix we introduced in Chapter 2, starting off with three contributions concerning stakeholder participation. Collins, Fairclough and Turner studied the Hadrian’s Wall Community Archaeology Project (WallCAP). They carefully mapped the various complexities of the project, using Klijn’s and Koppenjan’s work as a lens. Amsing, Wagenaar, Rodenberg and Renes also looked at the Roman limes, in this case its Dutch part. They studied the way interactive governance was used to create two visualizations of Roman

Conclusion • 271

castella and found that three out of four types of interactive governance played a role. As these were separate processes, though, with unique participants and dynamics, it made sense to categorize them using the matrix presented in the second chapter and then study them in relation to one another. Stakeholder participation proved to be the most important of the three types, as the authors of this chapter have discovered. It transpires to be conditional for successful citizen participation. Another interesting finding from this chapter concerned the administrative environment of the two projects. Reconstruction of the castella was not a strictly local affair. In principle, all levels of government had a say in it. However, zooming in on the actual decision-­making processes leading to the visualizations, it becomes apparent that these have been almost exclusively a matter for local government, despite the ‘multilevel governance’ arrangement to which they are supposedly subjected. Finally, Egberts applied the 9-­cell model of Edelenbos et al. to a process initially appearing to be a case of citizen participation. But when viewed through the lens of the 9-­cell model, it quickly became clear that the Interreg Europe project HERICOAST was actually a case of stakeholder participation. Drawing on the work of Edelenbos and Arnstein, Egberts found that the level of participation allowed amounted to little more than ‘tokenism’. She also drew attention to the ‘democratic deficit’ under which the project suffered. Neal, who commenced the citizen participation part of the book, examined the ‘scope’ and ‘depth’ of such projects in the UK and found them to be severely limited. She proposed that the explanations for the low levels of participation closely resemble those cited by PA scholars. Castro applied Mouffe’s ideas on ‘agonism’ versus ‘antagonism’ to her case, as advocated by Chambille. Mouffe argued that it is agonism that needs to be pursued if one desires to mitigate contestation. When studying the creation of the ‘Memorial of Names’, the Dutch national holocaust memorial, Castro tried to find out whether it was actually possible to substitute agonism for antagonism through interactive governance. When emotions and ‘sacred values’ play an important role, she discovered, it cannot, as there is simply too much that becomes non-­negotiable. Finally, Zwegers studied a referendum on the Waldschlößchen bridge in Dresden. What he uncovered was that in this instance citizen participation can best be understood as a move in a protracted turf war between German levels of government. Multilevel governance theory emerged as the most significant contributor to his theoretical framework. Turner and Wels’ chapter was the first to deal with bottom-­up interactive governance. They looked at the natural heritage in the Timbavati area in South Africa as a CPR. Ostrom’s design principles, although definitely present, were not the most apparent explanation for the preservation of this

272 • Pieter Wagenaar and Jeroen Rodenberg

resource. Turner and Wels supplemented Ostrom’s theory with Ellickson’s (1991) ideas on the importance of norms in protecting a CPR and demonstrated how a powerful s­ ymbol – ­the white ­lion – ­was used to promote these norms. The final two chapters, both on Muro Tenente in the south of Italy, form a diptych. First, Burgers, Napolitano and Ricci provided an inside description of the case, revealing its full complexity. Then Zheng and Burgers analysed it using Ostrom’s IAD Framework (compare Bertacchini and Gould 2021). They found that Muro Tenente was not a pure public good but also had traits of CPRs and toll goods. What kind of good this heritage should be is exactly what many of the discussions on the topic covered. As one would expect with a public good, the heritage community involved in Muro Tenente was not purely l­ocal – a­ rchaeologists from outside the country played an important r­ ole – n ­ or was it egalitarian and homogeneous. It had an elite that was quite capable of providing it with an AHD. Aided by Ostrom’s IAD Framework, Zheng and Burgers demonstrated how Muro Tenente differed from her ideal-­typical commons. These differences might well account for the particular heritage discourses pertinent to this archaeological site. Reading through the case studies, we find it to be a sobering experience. Several chapters show that using interactive governance to ‘augment professional capacity’ (as noted and criticized by Fredheim 2019: 17) is a real possibility. But if the underlying rationale is to enable heritage communities to come up with their own heritage discourse, none of the cases give rise to optimism. Throughout almost all the chapters, we observe that an AHD prevails, perhaps with the exception of Muro Tenente. Also, as the case studies show, interactive governance serves little ‘purpose’ in mitigating conflicts between an AHD and subaltern heritage discourses. In the case of the Memorial of Names, emotions simply ran too high, and values were too ‘sacred’ to achieve a compromise. In most of the other chapters, we do not encounter community heritage discourses but rather AHDs confronted with discourses of an entirely different kind related to powerful economic interests and a desire to protect administrative competencies and prestige, as Zwegers found in his chapter. Resistance to dealing with heritage in a certain way may also be rooted in more mundane causes. In the chapter by Amsing, Wagenaar, Rodenberg and Renes, the fear of noise pollution is the driving force. The objections made in the book’s two theoretical chapters, therefore, appear to be justified. Finally, do the case studies demonstrate that using PA tools helps to ­understand interactive governance in the heritage sector? We feel confident that they do. In most cases, looking at participation through PA lenses provides greater clarity, and perspective, both revealing new insights and broadening existing ones. In some chapters, ­however – ­especially those by

Conclusion • 273

Castro and Turner and W ­ els – w ­ e found that using PA alone is insufficient. Additional tools are required, from the fields of law or political philosophy. In our opinion, this does not discount PA. Rather it illuminates the added value of PA. Combined with other fields, it leads to a more holistic, interdisciplinary field of Heritage Studies. Of course, we leave it up to the reader to decide if this volume has been a compelling argument to substantiate our c­ laims – a­ nd in the end to ponder the potential value of Public Administration to Heritage Studies. Dr Pieter Wagenaar is an assistant professor at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. His research interests are the history of administration and the administration of history. At present, he is focused on interactive governance in the heritage sector. He is involved in the HERILAND project: a pan-­European research and training network on cultural heritage in relation to Spatial Planning and Design. Jeroen Rodenberg has an MA in Medieval History and a MSc in Public Administration (Leiden University). He is a lecturer and Ph.D. candidate at the Department of Public Administration and Political Sciences, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, with research interests in heritage governance and policy and the history of public administration. He is involved in the pan-­ European research and training project on heritage planning, HERILAND. Currently, he is completing his dissertational research on competing heritage policy discourses in decision-­making processes.

References Bertacchini, E., and P. Gould. 2021. ‘Collective Action Dilemmas at Cultural Heritage Sites: An Application of the IAD-­NAAS Framework’, International Journal of the Commons 15(1): 276–90. Ellickson, R.C. 1991. Order without Law: How Neighbors Settle Disputes. Cambridge MA and London: Harvard University Press. Fredheim, L.H. 2019. ‘Sustaining Public Agency in Caring for Heritage: Critical Perspectives on Participation through Co-­Creation’. Ph.D. thesis. University of York. Mouffe, C. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London: Verso. ———. 2005. Over het politieke [On the political]. Kampen: Klement. ———. 2013. Agonistics: Thinking the World Politically. London: Verso.

Index 8

A Aachen Technical University, 194, 197 Advocacy Coalition Framework (AFC), 12, 40 advocacy coalition, 76. See also Advocacy Coalition Framework agonistic pluralism, 54, 65, 163. See also democratisation, agnostic perspective on AHD. See Authorised Heritage Discourse AmaZulu, 210 Amsterdam (city, the Netherlands), 164, 166, 172, 176, 178, 180 Antagonistic, 63, 176, 177, 180, 181, 183 n14 Anthropocene, 224 Apulia (region, Italy), 234, 240, 245, 252 Archeon (archeological heritage themepark, the Netherlands), 106 Association of Critical Heritage Studies (ACHS). See Heritage Studies, Association of Critical Auschwitz memorial (Amsterdam), 165 Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD), 2, 3, 29, 53, 117, 144, 236, 245, 251, 255, 266 B Bandarin, F., 191, 200 Black Pete. See Zwarte Piet Boccardi, G., 198 Brindisi (province, Italy), 235, 236, 246, 254, 256–258, 264

Britain (Great-Britain/UK), 74, 76, 88, 96, 237 Bundesverfassungsgericht (German Federal Court), 196 bureaucratic politics, 16 C Carlisle (city, UK), 71, 74 castellum Hoge Woerd (Utrecht), 93, 94, 95, 101–105, 107, 109, 110 castellum Matilo. See Matilo Castila Waterway (Spain), 125 China, 14, 15 multi-level governance in, 14, 15 Christian Democratic Union (CDU) (German political party), 192, 194, 196, 199 CHS. See Critical Heritage Studies citizen participation. See participation, citizen CIVILSCAPE, 125 collaborative planning. See planning, collaborative commercialization, 265, 266 common pool resource (CPR), 19, 33, 41, 90, 94, 212, 251 common resource, 90 commons, 19, 20, 41–43, 90, 149, 213, 234, 251, 252, 255, 266, 272 new type of, 42 tragedy of the (see also Hardin, G. 19, 41, 42, 213) See also common pool resource

Index • 275

communities, 2, 3, 17, 19, 20, 22, 29, 30, 31, 41–43, 53, 56, 61, 74, 76–82, 84–87, 118, 119, 130, 136, 144–146, 148, 149–153, 156, 202, 212–214, 218, 220, 223, 236, 238–241, 243, 245, 251, 252, 255, 256, 261–264, 266, 272 indigenous, 56, 144, 153, 218, 261 indigenous, Sepedi, 215, 218, 220 indigenous, Tsonga, 209, 215, 218, 220 as neighbours, 213 community archaeology, 74, 75, 143, 144, 147, 151, 153, 154, 157, 270 building, 262, 264 heritage discourse, 43, 44 local, 1, 19, 86, 108, 148, 173, 222, 242, 245 participation (ee participation, community) values (see value(s) community) complexity institutional, 35, 75, 76, 81 strategic, 35, 75, 81, 85 substantive, 35, 75, 81 conservation. See heritage, conservation of and lions, conservation of contestation, 2, 28, 56, 61, 64, 150, 153, 162, 175, 182, 270, 271 Council for British Archaeology, 76, 146 Council of Europe, 77, 239 Critical Heritage Studies (CHS). See Heritage Studies, Critical critical heritage theory, 118 cultural heritage. See heritage, cultural living (see heritage, living) cultural landscape. See landscape, cultural culture, indigenous, 238, 260 Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, 74 Cumbria County Council, 81 D decision-making, 2, 12, 13, 31, 38, 58, 59, 61, 64, 65, 76, 89, 103, 108, 119,

120, 122, 131, 133–136, 145, 146, 149,150, 153, 162–163, 167, 169, 171, 175, 180, 181, 201, 202, 236, 242, 251, 258, 271 deliberative democracy, 39, 58, 60, 178 democracy cube, 19, 37 democracy, 17, 19, 31, 32, 36, 37, 39, 41, 53, 54, 58, 60, 63, 65, 121, 136, 145, 163, 164, 178, 194, 196, 201 discursive, 60 democratic deficit, 39, 89, 271 politics, agonistic perspective on, 54, 55, 58–60, 62, 66 (see also agonistic perspective) politics, deliberative approach to, 58, 59 democratization of heritage, 54, 55 89, 90, 157, 233 Department of Environmental Affairs (DEA) (South-Africa), 217 dependency theory, 16 design principles, 19, 20, 41, 212, 213, 223, 251, 252 digital heritage, 82, 156, 157 dissonance, 56–59, 62, 66, 179 Donegal (Ireland), 123, 124, 127, 128, 129 Dresden (city, Germany), 189–203 administrative court of, 197 Technical University of, 199 Dresden Elbe Valley, 192, 198, 200 Dutch Auschwitz Committee, 164, 165, 167, 168, 169, 176, 177, 178 E Ecomuseo della Via Appia (EVA) (Italy), 233, 236, 245, 254, 258 ecomuseology, 235, 242, 245. See also ecomuseum ecomuseum, 235, 242 Elbe (river, Germany), 190, 193 England, 71, 74, 81, 84, 147, 152 EU. See European Union Horizon 2020, 155 European Landscape Convention (2000), 239 European Union (EU), 118, 149, 157

276 • Index

expert knowledge, 40, 57, 88, 118, 150, 154 experts. See heritage experts F Faro Convention, 17, 28, 118, 145, 149, 239 Federal Republic of Germany (FRG). See Germany France, 148, 242 Frankfurter Schule, 9 Free Democratic Party (FDP) (German political party), 192 G Gelderland (province, the Netherlands), 99 Geographical Information System (GIS) ,243, 244 German Automobile Club (ADAC), 192, 193 Germany, 14, 97, 194, 195, 196, 198, 201–203 global heritage. See heritage, global Global White Lion Protection Trust (GWLPT), 212, 214–216, 218, 220 good governance. See governance, good governance collaborative, 31, 32, 119, 135 (see also governance, interactive) forms of interactive, 2, 18, 22, 32, 33, 41, 43, 94 good, 3, 41 interactive, 2, 3, 17–22, 28–33, 36, 38, 40, 41, 43, 44, 54, 55, 58, 66, 93–97, 101, 103, 105, 109, 110, 251, 270–272 interactive heritage, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 66 meta, 34 multi-level (multilevel), 14, 15, 96, 97, 100, 101, 110, 190, 189, 201, 202, 271 networks,16, 34, 35, 86, 136 participatory, 89, 116, 120, 149 (see also governance, interactive)

government central, 15, 16, 150, 189, 196 federal, 190, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 201, 203 (see also, government, central, national) levels of, 97, 110, 189, 195, 271 local, 101, 164, 167, 172, 173, 271 national, 81, 84, 118, 167, 175 (see also government, central) supranational, 15 Green Party (German political party), 192 grounded theory, 29, 34, 95 H Hadrian (Roman emperor), 71 Hadrian’s Wall, 71, 74, 75, 77, 81, 83, 86, 89, 90 Hadrian’s Wall Research Framework, 86 Hardin, G., 19, 41 HERICOAST, 117, 122–124, 126, 127, 129, 131–136, 271 HERILAND, 233, 234, 244, 245 heritage bureaucrat, 20, 21 as a commons, 19 as common pool resource (CPR) (see heritage, as a commons) conservation (of ), 28, 98 cultural, 3, 14, 28, 98, 116, 117, 118, 120, 123, 124, 143, 147–149, 151, 153, 155–157, 191, 203, 213–215, 217, 218, 222, 233–235, 239, 244, 258 democratization of, 54, 55, 89, 90, 157, 233 discourse(s), 1, 2, 44, 144, 150, 252, 272 (see also Authorised Heritage Discourse (AHD)) essentialist (view of ), 234, 236, 242, 245 ethics, 234 expert(s), 1, 10, 20, 22, 57, 116, 245 global, 212 landscape approach to, 77 living, 212, 217, 220, 223, 224, 225 making, 241 management, 11, 64, 75, 76, 85, 86, 88,

Index • 277

116–118, 121, 123, 124, 126, 149, 150, 151, 251, 258, 266 narrative, 241 paradigm, 234, 236 and participation, 123 planning, 121, 244 planning perspective on, 234 policy/policies, 11, 12–15, 94, 97–99, 117, 118, 123, 131, 135, 137, 144, 150, 201 regime(s), 11, 13, 14 at Risk (HAR), 79, 84 as social action, 153 Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF), 78, 146, 158. See also National Heritage Lottery Fund Heritage Studies, 2, 3, 7, 8, 10, 13, 14, 18, 20, 28–30, 42, 57, 62, 63, 66, 137, 270, 273 Critical (CHS), 2, 7, 8, 12, 13, 16, 17, 43, 116, 117, 239 Heritage Support Centres (the Netherlands), 98 Historic England, 81, 84, 152 historic landscape, 90, 151 HLF. See Heritage Lottery Fund Hollandsche Schouwburg (Amsterdam), 164, 165, 168 hollow-state thesis, 15 Holocaust Museum (Amsterdam), 165, 168 Holocene, 224 I ICOMOS, 190, 191, 193, 194, 197, 198, 199, 200 Delhi Declaration on Heritage and Democracy (2017), 53 identity-making, 265 indigenous, 56, 144, 153, 218, 224, 225, 238, 241, 260, 261 Institutional Analysis and Development Framework (IAD framework), 245, 252, 254, 255, 266, 272 institutional theories, 16 institutionalism, 16

discursive, 16 historical, 16 rational choice, 16 sociological, 16 Intentieverklaring Werelderfgoednominatie Romeinse Limes, 98, 99, 100 interactive governance. See governance, interactive definitions of, 31, 32 interactive heritage governance. See governance, interactive heritage interdependency, 190 Interreg Europe programme (2015–2018), 118, 123, 125 Ireland, 123, 129 Italy, 123, 156, 236–239, 245, 246, 256–258, 266, 272 J Jokilehto, J., 190, 191, 193 K Kilian, J., 197, 198 knowledge-gap, 57 Kruger National Park (South-Africa), 209, 217 Kruger to Canyons Biosphere (World Heritage Site), 212, 214, 215 L ladder of participation. See participation ladder Landesamt für Denkmalpflege, 201, 202 landscape approach, 77 Latiano (municipality, Italy), 235, 236, 240, 254–261, 264 Lea Artibai (Spain), 123, 125, 127, 128, 129 Leiden (city, the Netherlands), 93, 95, 97, 101, 105, 106, 109, 110 Meerburg (city estate), 105 Roomburg (city estate), 105, 110 Limes (border of the Roman Empire), 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 270

278 • Index

lion conservation of, 212 tawny, 215, 216 white, 209–225 living heritage. See heritage, living M Matilo castellum (Leiden, NL), 93, 105, 107, 109, 110 park (Leiden, NL), 93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 101, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109 Meerburg. See Leiden, Meerburg memorialisation, 163, 175, 180, 181 memory, 10, 62, 63, 66, 145, 147, 162, 163, 240 memory work, 163 memory, places of, 240 memory, sites of, 162 Merkel, A. (German chancellor), 195, 197 Mesagne (municipality, Italy), 235, 236, 241, 254–261, 264–266 meta-governance. See governance, meta milieux de mémoire, 240 Molise (Italy), 123, 125, 128, 130 Monuments Act 1988 (the Netherlands), 97, 98, 101 multilevel governance. See governance, multi-level Muro Tenente (archaeological site, Italy), 235, 239–241, 245, 251–267, 272 N National Holocaust Memorial of Names (Amsterdam, NL), 164, 165, 166 National Park Authority (UK), 81, 88 National Trust (UK), 81, 84, 147 Netherlands, the, 1, 7, 94, 110, 118, 164, 173 network analysis, 18, 33, 35 management ,32, 34, 35 theory, 14, 15, 75 networks public/private, 189 (see also governance networks)

stakeholder, 34 New Public Governance (NPG), 30, 31 New Public Management (NPM), 3, 14, 15 Newcastle University (UK), 81 NIMBY, 165 Noordoostpolder (the Netherlands), 1, 2, 16 Nora, P., 240 Normandy (France), 148 Northumberland (county, UK) National Park, 74 National Park Authority, 81 Norway, 123, 132 O Omgevingswet (Spatial Planning Act, the Netherlands), 97, 98 Operation Nightingale (UK Ministry of Defence), 148 Outstanding Universal Value (OUV), 194, 197, 198 P Parco dei Messapi (archaeological landscape park, Italy), 236 participation citizen, 18, 33, 36, 37, 39, 40, 44, 86, 94, 95, 103, 107, 108, 109, 119, 120, 135, 145, 163, 173, 180, 193, 271 community, 78, 143, 148, 150, 234, 264, 365 ladder of, 30, 37, 120, 137, 153 passionate, 179 public, 64, 88, 89, 119, 129, 143, 145, 153, 173, 190, 201, 233 stakeholder, 18, 33, 35, 36, 43, 94, 96, 102, 107, 109, 110, 117, 126, 270, 271 participatory governance (see governance, interactive) planning, 119, 146, 168, 181 participatory action research (PAR), 155 passionate participation. See participation, passionate

Index • 279

path dependency, 16, 200. See also institutionalism, historical planning collaborative, 163, 164, 167 heritage, 121, 150, 162, 244 pluralist democracy, 164 policy feedback, 174 policy-making, 30 politics definitions of, 61 POSDCORB, 34, 35, 96, 102, 107 power, 12, 13, 18, 19, 29, 38, 41, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 63, 64, 95, 104, 107, 108, 109, 110, 117, 119, 121, 122, 127, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 144, 145, 146, 153, 156, 158, 163, 178, 189, 202, 203, 210, 212, 223, 224, 225, 236, 237 processual archaeology, 238 Public Administration, 2, 3 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 20, 22, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 40, 41, 42, 43, 270 public good, 18, 20, 33, 42, 43, 44, 94, 143, 252, 272 R RCE. See Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed referendum, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 201 Rhine (river), 93, 96 Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed (Dutch Cultural Heritage Agency), 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 105, 106 Roman border, 98. See also Limes Roman Caistor, 156 Roman Empire, 71, 96, 236 Romania, 123 Roomburg. See Leiden, Roomburg rules-in-use, 255. See also IAD framework S sacred values. See values, sacred Saxonian Chamber of Engineers, 199 Saxonian Higher Administrative Court, 197

Saxony (German State), 189, 194, 195, 198 Sepedi. See communities, indigenous, Sepedi Smith, L., 8 Social Democratic Party (SPD) (German political party), 192 social exclusion, 12, 29, 59 inclusion, 12, 29, 54, 89, 152, 157 Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne, 74 South-Holland. See Zuid-Holland Spain, 200, 123 stakeholder analysis, 18, 33, 126, 128 networks (see networks, stakeholder) participation (see participation, stakeholder) stakeholders, 18, 24, 32, 34, 35, 36, 38, 75, 77, 78, 81, 84, 89, 99, 102, 104, 106, 107, 108, 109, 117, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 145, 149, 150, 155, 165, 167, 170, 171, 176, 180, 181, 190, 191, 200, 244, 245, 260 StarLion Programme, 212, 213, 214, 218, 220, 221 Storyline, 166, 167 Street Level Bureaucracy, 21 symbolism, 210, 214, 224, 225 T Timbavati (area in South-Africa), 209, 212, 213, 214, 216, 217, 225, 271 Tsonga. See communities, indigenous, Tsonga Tucker, L., 209, 212, 224, 225 Tulcea (Romania), 123, 125, 128, 130 U Ubuntu, 222 UK. See Britain (Great) UNESCO, 1, 13 Convention on the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage, 28

280 • Index

Operational Guidelines for World Heritage Sites ,28 World Heritage Centre, 98, 190, 191, 193, 194, 197, 198, 199, 200 World Heritage Committee, 97, 189, 191, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 200 World Heritage Convention, 195, 196, 197, 237 State Party, 196 Tentative List, 1, 16, 97, 99, 190, 237 World Heritage Site (WHS), 1, 3, 28, 71, 97, 98, 99, 101, 191, 196, 203 United Kingdom Arts and Humanities Research Council, 147 Ministry of Defence (MoD), 148 Utrecht (city, the Netherlands), 93, 97, 101, 105, 107, 108, 109 Council of, 110 Leidsche Rijn (borough), 97, 101, 103, 106, 107, 108 Utrecht (province, the Netherlands), 98, 99

community, 57, 146, 153 economic, 265 heritage, 11, 53, 57, 21, 124, 242, 244, 254 social, 74, 77, 265 white middle-class, 7 Vest Agder (region, Norway), regional government of, 123, 124, 129 Via Appia (Italy), 233, 235, 236, 237, 245, 254, 258 Vindolanda Trust, 81

V valorisation, 28 value(s) archaeological, 11, 98

Z Zuid-Holland (province, the Netherlands), 98, 99 Zwarte Piet (Black Pete), 7

W Waldschlößchen bridge (Germany), 189–197, 200 Waldschlößchenbrücke. See Waldschlößchen bridge WallCAP, 75,77–90, 270 wicked problem, 31, 35, 75, 86 World Heritage Convention. See UNESCO, World Heritage Convention World Heritage List, 189, 190, 192, 196, 199