`10 Preservation: Enduring or Ephemeral?`

A decade ago I published “The Paradox of Preservation,” an article that considered whether it is possible to maintain objects and collections “indefinitely or even for a long time.”¹ I presented five case studies to “challenge our assumptions about what needs to be preserved and how to achieve this.”² The article proposed that each case represented a paradox, which I defined, following The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, as “a seemingly sound piece of reasoning based on seemingly true assumptions that lead to a contradiction.”³ (Today I would expand that definition, as does Merriam-Webster, to include “a person, situation, or action having seemingly contradictory qualities or phases.”⁴)

The five cases were 1) the discovery of—and damage to—the Nag Hammadi Gnostic scriptures, whose leather covers are the earliest-known surviving codex bindings; 2) preservation of the Auschwitz concentration camp complex; 3) a hypothetical case about the preservation of cartoons of caricatures of Muhammad that were published in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten on September 30, 2005; 4) the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas in Bamyan, Afghanistan, on March 11, 2001; and 5) the glass-covered ruins of the Hamar Cathedral in Hamar, Norway.

The paradox of the Nag Hammadi codices is that their discovery initially led to their misuse and damage rather than their preservation. They were discovered by farmers and some of the texts were used for kindling; others disappeared. Only ten and a half of the original thirteen volumes wound up in the Coptic Museum—which did not initially have the resources to adequately care for them. Would it have been better for their preservation if they had not been discovered? Scholars maintain that what has been gained in our knowledge of early Gnostic scriptures was worth what was lost and damaged.

The preservation paradox is that had the codices remained buried, if they were later discovered by people who understood the value of what they had found, the volumes might have survived in better condition. However, the important knowledge that was uncovered might not now be ours. Hence, it may have been fortunate that the codices were discovered. Of course, some might say that it is better to let objects remain in the ground, and thus excavation is often subject to debate. Yet every discovery yields new knowledge; in this case we know more about early Christian theology than we did before the discovery.

The issue with the Auschwitz camps in my second case study was whether the structures should be preserved, and if so, in what form. In 1947 the Polish parliament determined that Auschwitz would be “forever preserved as a memorial to the martyrdom of the Polish nation and other peoples.”⁵ Because they were built to be temporary, some people thought that the buildings should be allowed to fall into ruins, and only the grounds preserved. However, the prevailing sentiment was that it was important to preserve the evidence of the atrocities that were committed at the camps. But then another issue arose: should there be only modest preservation intervention or large-scale reconstruction? The latter approach was taken in recognition that Auschwitz has over the decades become an archive, a museum, and a gathering place, and not just hallowed ground.

The paradox is that it is difficult to preserve something that was intended to perish. In fact, we live in a world full of ephemeral items, many of which we must actively preserve if we are to leave behind us as complete a record of history as is possible. Thus the preservation of all parts of Auschwitz is justifiable, rather than paradoxical. Our libraries, archives, and museums are filled with things their creators saw as ephemeral—but things that add measurably to our knowledge of the culture of the past.

In 2005, twelve professional cartoonists in Denmark each created a drawing titled “Muhammeds ansigt” (The Face of Muhammad), which were then published in the Jyllands-Posten newspaper. Not all the sketches were of the prophet; one was of a boy with that name, and one was of a Danish politician. The point of the piece was to challenge censorship. Because Islam proscribes depictions of Muhammed (worship is to God alone), negative responses to the cartoons were swift. Letters to the editor, protest marches, and other nonviolent activities ensued. Ambassadors from Muslim-majority countries wrote to Denmark’s prime minister to protest what they felt was an ongoing campaign against Islam and Muslims in Europe. Protests spread around the world, some of which were violent. Danish embassies in some Arab countries were attacked. And there were effective boycotts of Danish consumer goods in Middle East countries. The ramifications from the publication of the cartoons were felt in Denmark for years.

Soon after the event, in early 2006, I contacted six curators of large Islamic collections in American libraries to find out whether they would acquire copies of the newspaper—if they did not subscribe to it—or copies of the cartoons. If they acquired them, would they catalog them? Exhibit them? Or make them available to researchers in other ways?

All six curators whom I polled indicated that they would collect the cartoons, whose importance they recognized. They all emphasized that they would not back away from collecting controversial items. However, while all of them recognized the importance of collecting and cataloging the items, the consensus was that it was probably premature to advertise or exhibit the cartoons given the sensitivities at that time. (Many publications were initially fearful of reproducing them; they are now on the Web.) This response from a curator was characteristic: “Everything is grist for the historian, and, in this case, the culture critics, political scientists, constitutional scholars, and so on, so I would acquire and catalog, as you would any artifacts in print, whether text or image, but not display or advertise.”⁶

An issue for libraries and archives immediately following the event was whether it was safe for them to display or publicize the cartoons. Would the curators be opening themselves to attack? One of the respondents observed that

[t]here are many activists within the academic and non-academic world who are trying to extract and ban various collections for many reasons. Libraries have an obligation to preserve “primary sources,” including the cartoons that have spurred the riots and the killings. How else can [we] study the violent protests and diplomatic upheaval that ensued [after] the publication of the cartoons?⁷

If the institutions collected but did not display or publicize the cartoons, would their users know to look for them? Would anyone be aware of their existence? Does preservation sometimes necessitate withholding access? If collecting and preserving the cartoons are in order, must the institution be willing to live with the consequences? Even if the items are subsequently destroyed by users? Can an institution safeguard itself? Any decision that librarians or archivists make will undergo the scrutiny of users—who may hold divergent opinions. There are several paradoxes in this case study, the most important of which is that libraries acquire items for use so restricting it by not making the cartoons accessible makes no sense. Although it is not unknown for libraries to restrict access to items that are fragile or are in some other way vulnerable to harm, it is not the preferred approach for librarians to take.

Paul Sturges, in “Limits to Freedom of Expression? Considerations Arising from the Danish Cartoons Affair,” believes that the starting point for exploring the dimensions of freedom of expression is the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights. He suggests that librarians must “think clearly about the avoidance of harm and offence in balancing human rights” with freedom of expression for library users.⁸ He stresses the need for librarians to establish policies for handling controversial materials that strike a balance between disseminating them and making them available for consultation. His views reflect the responses of the professionals whom I interviewed.

The same issue had arisen years earlier with the publication of Salman Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses. After the book was published in 1988, the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the former supreme leader of Iran, issued a fatwa on Rushdie in 1989 that remains in place today. There were many things about the book that were offensive to readers, including the title of the book, which references a reputed legend about prophet Mohammed. Killings and bombings resulted over Muslim anger about the novel and Rushdie had to live in hiding for many years. Many libraries removed the book from their shelves, placing their copies in Special Collections departments for safekeeping. This incident exposed a cultural chasm between Western and Muslim values. Sensitivities erupted once again with publication of the Danish cartoons.

Charlie Hebdo, a French satirical newspaper, also published cartoons of Muhammad as well as satires of sharia law. The publications incited violence that culminated in bombings of the Charlie Hebdo offices on November 3, 2011, and January 7, 2015. Sturges wrote a follow-up article, “Limits to Freedom of Expression? The Problem of Blasphemy,” not long after the January 2015 bombing. In this piece he concludes that freedom of expression is too important to be limited by blasphemy laws; library and information professionals must continue to advocate for freedom of expression in spite of continued attempts to suppress it.⁹

We live in complex times. As I write this, just after the U.S. 2016 presidential election, a number of libraries have reported receiving threats over the past year for simply having “objectionable” materials.¹⁰ This is quite different from challenges that libraries have faced in the past for acquiring specific titles; for perhaps the first time, libraries are facing hate crimes. Among the crimes have been the defacing of “objectionable” books and personal attacks. For example, in one library, a man approached a patron wearing a hijab and tried to remove it. In other instances, swastikas or anti-Muslim messages have been written on walls, windows, or books.¹¹

The fourth case study relates to the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas. (see figures 1.10 and 1.11). In my article I dubbed it “The Saddest Preservation Story Ever Told,” not imagining that as tragic as the destruction of the Buddhas by the Talban was, it would pale in comparison with the even more violent destruction of heritage that has since taken place in Syria by ISIS (see chapter 4). Blowing up the Bamiyan Buddhas was not a sudden assault. Mullah Mohammed Omar had issued an edict against the Buddhas before 2001; in fact, the Taliban were already destroying ancient sculptures.¹² The giant Buddhas from the sixth century, carved out of the sandstone cliffs, were prominent when the Bamyan (also known as Bamiyan) Valley was part of the Silk Road. Buddhists left the area hundreds of years ago, and international advocacy on behalf of the preservation of the sculptures held no sway with the Taliban. After the site was bombed, UNESCO sent a mission there to assess the damage and to protect the remaining stones. In 2009, ICOMOS constructed scaffolding around the niches to stabilize the site.¹³ In 2011, a UNESCO Expert Working Group held a meeting in Paris to decide what steps to take. Thirty-nine recommendations emerged, which included leaving the larger niche empty as a monument to the destruction of the Buddhas and rebuilding the smaller of the two Buddhas.¹⁴ After the 2011 meeting, German archeologists from the German branch of ICOMOS, led by Michael Petzet, began work to re-create the smaller Buddha’s lower appendages with iron rods and concrete and bricks. UNESCO subsequently suspended that work, pending further study.

But given more recent damage to cultural heritage in the Middle East, should we be trying to restore or even reconstruct what is left of the Buddhas? Won’t they just be destroyed again? Some believe that by restoring the site, tourism will increase that would aid the surrounding—and poor—communities, while others believe that money should be spent directly on the communities, not on restoration of the Buddhas.

In a recent article, “Ruin or Rebuild? Conserving Heritage in an Age of Terrorism,” Robert Bevan examines contemporary dilemmas concerning the conservation of monuments.¹⁵ While there may be a strong impulse to rebuild, reasons not to rebuild must be carefully considered. Whose best interest does rebuilding serve? In the case of the Bamiyan Buddhas, the Taliban was not the only Muslim group opposed to the statues, so reconstruction might be an invitation to further destruction. (The statues were pulverized, making reconstruction with original materials impossible.) This issue is further complicated by the fact that the current local government would like to encourage tourism in the area.

Andrea Bruno, an architectural consultant to UNESCO, has suggested creating a sanctuary at the base of the niche that once held the larger Buddha. The idea was expanded to include a cultural center, with funding from the South Korean government.¹⁶ This may encourage tourism while also respecting the customs and beliefs of the local area.

The Bamiyan Buddhas—and more recently, the war in Syria—remind us that the protection of cultural heritage must focus on people as well as on stones or brick. We need to care not only about heritage but also about the well-being of people. Bevan reports that in UNESCO there is a new emphasis on linking heritage to human rights and humanitarian aid. While this may seem obvious, it is not. We often read about the “world’s (shared) heritage,” but preservation is also about local politics and communities.

Perhaps the paradox here is one of conflicting perspectives and values; there is no “correct” preservation strategy. We are only a little bit closer to a solution in 2017 than we were in 2001, or 2007, but if the Bamiyan Buddha site becomes a center in which the now-empty niches take on a new cultural meaning, it will stand as a fitting monument for today’s world.

The final case study relates to the restoration of the Hamar Cathedral, which was built in the beginning of the thirteenth century in Hamar, Norway. In 1567, during the Northern Seven Years’ War, the cathedral was burned down. Later the ruins were used as a quarry and many of the cathedral’s stones were used in the construction of other buildings. The ruins further deteriorated over time—and many harsh winters. How might the remains of the cathedral be preserved?

The architectural firm Lund & Slaatto preserved the ruins by encasing them in an enormous protective glass structure—a building to protect what was left of an earlier building. While such a structure could constrict the ruins (see, for example, the glass-encased Kaisersaal at the Sony Center in Berlin described in chapter 11), the glass structure in Hamar is majestic—even monumental. The ruins have been given a new life, not just as a site but as a social center and gathering place. And the ruins should be less vulnerable to further deterioration.

I described the paradox of the Hamar Cathedral this way: “the overall structure—the ruins plus its glass encasement—now constitutes the overall notion of ‘cathedral.’ The preservation activity yielded a new concept of what the building literally and figuratively stood for.”¹⁷

Today I wonder: is this historic preservation or a historic transformation? The ruins themselves will be less vulnerable to deterioration brought about by harsh weather or vandalism, but they have been recontextualized. This evolution is not natural. The idea was to preserve the cathedral—or what was left of it, including its memory. But the solution has turned the ruins into something different. On the other hand, the new site is graceful and beautiful with a spiritual quality all its own. Perhaps in this case preservation is merely the byproduct of creating something new, and newly meaningful. But the old, original meaning is gone; the structure is no longer a place of worship. It is now a place of commerce and social interaction. We may have preserved some of the original building, but we have not preserved much of the building’s original purpose or spirit.

* * *

Ten years on it is hard not to reflect on what has happened in the world since I wrote “The Paradox of Preservation.” The fallout from the so-called Arab Spring has left cultural heritage in the Middle East more vulnerable than ever before to archeological terrorism and has led to the destruction of libraries and archives that might hold “objectionable” materials. The Coptic Christians have always been vulnerable to attack—even under the current Egyptian government of President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, which has been tolerant of them. Recently, a suicide bomber killed twenty-four Christians during Sunday Mass at a Cairo church;¹⁸ other heinous attacks have followed by ISIS. How safe are the Nag Hammadi codices, housed as they are in the Coptic Museum?

The destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas now seems like a prelude to the many attacks that have taken place in Iraq and Syria since then. Indeed, tensions in the world are increasing, as evidenced by numerous terrorist attacks in Europe as well as in the Middle East. In fact, the rage that many expressed at the destruction of the Buddhas seems mild now in comparison to the destruction we have witnessed in Palmyra and many other Middle East cities.

At the same time, information is increasing at an ever-faster rate, facilitated by new technologies and spread amazingly quickly through social media. As I have suggested throughout this book, we must think about preservation in new ways. One such example: the preservation of records and materials will sometimes need to be information-based not material-based. We will need to be prepared to copy information that physically resides in vulnerable parts of the world. While examples of copy-and-rescue projects were given in chapter 4, we will have to prepare for an increase in violence against many manifestations of our culture. With the seemingly unstoppable destruction of monuments that we have witnessed in the last decade (and ISIS has not been alone in its depredations), perhaps the best we can do in our preservation efforts is to make visual and verbal records of important cultural phenomena widely available in digital representations.

Now that we have nearly thirty years of experience digitizing records, and now that we can draw on new technologies such as drones to record information about archeological sites, we are on the verge of a new era of preservation. I have suggested some strategies in chapters 4 and 8. One direct consequence of the recent violence and of our use of new technology for recording information is that cultural heritage communities will need to work more closely with one another than they have in the past. Beyond the LAMs (libraries, archives, and museums) are historic preservationists, archeologists, environmentalists, and other professionals who are concerned with preserving the natural and built world.

* * *

The past decade has led me to think more broadly about paradoxes—indeed, led me to write this book. I now question whether preservation is inherently paradoxical. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that the world is made up of paradoxical situations that require creative preservation strategies, and some of them seem to contradict others. Or, put another way, perhaps it is not preservation that presents paradoxes, but rather the beliefs and practices of people. If it is life itself that is paradoxical, maybe we need to abandon the assumption that it is possible to preserve objects “indefinitely” or “for as long as possible.”

Preservation will always mean different things to different cultures. Even within cultures, people will always have contradictory perspectives about what and how to preserve.

At the end of my 2007 article, I stated that “we can preserve some things some of the time; but not everything all of the time, and we cannot operate purely under an old custodial model.”¹⁹ A new model that encompasses new technologies and accounts for an increasingly complex world must be developed. One lesson is that everything changes, as with people’s beliefs, political parties, religion, and people themselves. We must track those changes and see how our views of preservation must evolve to guide us to the best strategies for preserving all we deem important to save. One of the aims of this book is to raise awareness of these issues and challenge readers to think globally and locally about our responsibilities as preservers of culture. It is a monumental challenge.

Notes