Wreck huggers, aqualungs and red tape. A heritage process of the middle ground?

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Wreck Huggers, Aqualungs and Red Tape A heritage process of the middle ground?

Mirja Arnshav

The arrow of time

There are many ways of delineating the slippery and ambiguous concept of cultural heritage. In rough outline, it is commonly referred to as the cultural legacy of physical artefacts or intangible attributes of a group or society. It is stressed that it is inherited from past genera-tions, maintained in the present and bestowed for the benefit of future generations (Grundberg 2000:28; Smith 2009:3).

In practice, however, it is recognized that heritage is due to selection and assessment processes, infusing the past with present purposes. It follows that heritage, below the surface, is a form of (collective) memory, a social construct shaped by the political, economic and social concerns of the present (Halbwachs 1992; Smith 2009). According to this widely adopted human-centred perspective, heritage is less about tangible material artefacts or other intangible forms of the past than about the meanings placed upon them and the representations which are created from them (Smith & Waterton 2009:10-27; Russel 2010:29-41).

Still, heritage cannot unproblematically be reduced to passive props, used as it pleases by present day society. Rather, humans on the one hand and heritage on the other mediate, define and act upon each other. Ancient remains and traditions form part of a setting that humans in one way or another have to submit to. In this respect, heritage is not only a reflection of culture, but also the means for it. Furthermore, it is partly beyond our control, possibly appearing in unexpected places at unexpected times, triggering unpredictable memories and reactions (Shanks 1998; Oestigaard 2004:28; Latour 2007:63-86; Olsen 2010). As

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Matters of Scale

such, heritage has to be domesticated: ‘the ghost is exorcised under the name of “national heritage”. Its strangeness is converted into legitimacy’ (Edensor 2009:136).

In Sweden, the state has a long tradition of authorizing heritage, dating back to the seventeenth century. There are several reasons for this official interest, having to do with the rise of the Swedish Great Power, the promoting of the nation, the identification as fellow-countrymen and the legitimation of political actions and policies (Carlie & Kretz 1998:8-22; Jensen 2002; Pettersson 2003:19-68). Whilst the latter are still relevant motives, the ideological mindscape as well as the administration has changed, giving way for new approaches to heritage. To the western world of today, heritage is generally known to underpin the idea of progressive social development (Lowenthal 2009, 2010).

But heritage also provides a sense of termination in the sense that what happened in the past has ended. Drawing from that, Bruno Latour, discussing the concept of ‘modernity’, has claimed that the past is com-monly considered a seal that sets us apart as ‘moderns’ (Latour 1993). From a ‘modern’ point of view, the past is foreign, incommensurable and forever lost. This experience invites a greater interest in heritage in order to restore a sense of continuity and somehow reestablish a more harmonious relationship with the past (Latour 1993:67-72).

However, in the endless production of the new, even the recent past becomes ancient history (Edensor 2009:128). Hence it follows that archaeologists, heritage managers and curators at museums need to accelerate their engagement with heritage in order to keep pace with the arrow of time. Accordingly, the rapid social change at the turn of the millennium resulted in a western ‘heritage boom’ (Benton 2010:1; Lowenthal 2010:4-5), and also involved an increased awareness of the heritage of the recent past (Ferguson et al. 2010:279; Harrison & Schofield 2010:30-4). Nietzsche, commenting on the western obsession with heritage, once claimed that the modern world suffers from ‘the illness of historicism. For as modernity speeds up, we cannot escape the vertiginous feeling that we are constantly losing our past’ (Latour 1993:67-72).

To conclude, the heritage processes of official agencies are not only about management. On a deeper level they also involve promotion of a special relationship to the past, they imply heritage authorization (based on a selection of historical remains) and, in concrete terms, they offer a way to stay in business.

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Wreck huggers, Aqualungs and Red Tape

Cultural heritage management on the middle ground

Specifically, this paper will look into the mechanisms of an ongoing process within the scope of heritage management, namely the drive to protect twentieth-century shipwrecks in Sweden and thereby to transform them from historically insignificant remains to precious heritage. The case addresses questions such as: what kinds of impulses trigger the process, what keeps it going and what parts do individual initiatives, intentions and social contexts play?

During the last decades, the heritage sector has undergone great changes. In rough outline it has been moving from an atmosphere of consensus and confidence, where expertise was highly ranked and the authority of managers and civil servants was unquestioned, to a state marked by reconsideration and development, due to new ideas about serving the public (Burström et al. 2004:140-3). While trying to navigate this new terrain, however, the heritage sector sometimes gets tied up in contradictions (Johansen 2002:40).

As a consequence, heritage management of today is quite an elusive business. On the one hand, the sector – just like many other public authorities and civil service departments – is endeavoring to adapt to the demands of the day, cultivating open policies for stakeholder participation and transparency (English Heritage 2000; Burström et al. 2004:140-3; Statens kvalitets- och kompetensråd 2005:5-9). On the other hand, however, the heritage sector is also known to repress the dynamics by promoting a traditional set of values as regards safeguarding, assessment and uses of heritage. Thus, whereas the spokespersons of the heritage sector are inclined to picture heritage as ‘democratic’, being a common resource that is constantly renegotiated (Riksantikvarieämbetet 2007:3; Riksantikvarieämbetet 2010:6, 51), critical voices discussing the concept of heritage and practices of the heritage sector instead emphasize the impact of a paramount ‘authorized heritage discourse’ (Beckman 1998:14; Sörlin 2005:130-2; Turtinen 2006; Smith 2009:29-34).

So, what then are the ways and practices of present day heritage agancies? Is it fair to claim that the contemporary practice and deci-sion-making of the sector is the result of a conservative, elitist order? Or should it rather, as has also been stressed, be considered the outcome of a democratic, open-minded approach (Alzén & Aronsson 2006)? In my opinion, it seems like both views are somewhat inadequate. Rather, both approaches are clearly recognizable in the body of the heritage

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Matters of Scale

sector, but in association with different practices. For instance, there remains at present quite a large gap between aspiration and achievement, sometimes commented on as paradoxes, gulfs and discords, which are strikingly hard to overcome (Johansen 2002:40). Clearly, there is a need for a more nuanced perspective, which allows seemingly contradictory actions to intertwine.

Let us therefore have a look at another way of addressing the issue of influences and interaction: the concept of ‘the middle ground’. This concept was originally developed in order to describe a particular form of co-existence in a colonial situation (White 1991). It alludes to a stable but transitional state that might occur between the first cultural clash of differing societies and a more advanced stage, when the worlds have merged into one, or when one culture has reached a predominant position. On the middle ground, however, creative hybridization and mutual transformation take place. Individuals of both sides are able to have one foot in each camp, or to move between adjacent worlds. Thus, there is some reciprocal freedom and agency available, as well as a shared chance of profiting from each other – even in times of war, occupation and colonization (White 1991; Woolf 2009).

Originating from historians of the Americas, the idea of the middle ground has also been applied to archaeological and ethnographic studies of prehistoric times (van Dommelen 1998; Gosden 2004:82-113; Woolf 2009). But can it also be applicable to heritage studies as a way of understanding the processes of present day heritage management? In the light of the fact that those processes are not fuelled by the mere existence of heritage, there is a need to examine the social dimensions underpinning the acts. One key aspect which I think can be addressed by means of the middle ground concept is the relationship between heritage agencies and the public.

Of course, the differences between the heritage sector and the public should not be exaggerated. The relationship lacks the initial ethnic, cultural and linguistic barriers typical of a colonial situation. The struggle for power and autonomy is of far less importance, as are the changes leading up to the state of the middle ground. Also, we are not trying to grasp a distant past, but come to terms with a contemporary situation.

However, I would say there are indeed some similarities to be found albeit on a smaller scale. For example, the heritage authorities comprise a quite homogenous assemblage (mostly white, educated middle class

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people) with characteristics (specialist knowledge and an antiquarian lingo) that, when put into practice, distinguish them and possibly also alienate them from other groups and subcultures of society. Unlike most other stakeholders, they are also trusted with a certain position of power to carry out their mission. What’s more, remembering that the middle ground is an outcome of social change, the heritage sector has without a doubt undergone considerable changes during the last decades. And as concerns the lack of distance in time, I would argue that an apt model for analyzing and comprehending aspects of more or less foreign historical societies should, with few exceptions, also work out when applied to contemporary society (Voss 2010:184).

The case: recent wrecks becoming ancient remains

Using the concept of the middle ground as a framework for the discus-sion, let us now return to the primary focus of the article, namely how the cultural heritage sector has responded to the movement to protect twentieth-century shipwrecks, and how it has developed the initiative further. In short, the process started off at the turn of the millennium as a private initiative (Acta 815/00-41.2; Arnshav 2011a). In 2008 an official amendment draft (ATA 322-3995-2008) was produced, which if accepted will make legal protection possible for a selection of highly valuable wreck sites that are less than 100 years old.

In a wider sense, this process can provide food for thought regarding a number of archaeological debates and themes (Arnshav 2011a, b, 2012). In the present article special attention is given to the question of the authorities’ interplay with the public as well as its responses to non-human mediators and the setting. Thus, the role of agency and the principal agents fuelling the process are the focus.

Before entering more deeply into the course of events, let us dwell a moment upon the significance of this process. To bring remains, monuments or sites under the protection of the law is in a way the ultimate authorization of heritage, and it inevitably has repercussions in society. Apart from affecting a number of practical matters, for example physical development, it may also have an impact on general perceptions of the past and the direction of archaeology (Grundberg 2000:32-6, 2004:21-7; Jensen 2002:35-112; Sörlin 2005:130).

Also, whilst it is often stressed that heritage is dynamic and constantly recreated by communities and groups, authorization by law does indeed have a restraining effect on dynamics (you simply do not change the

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Matters of Scale

law each and every day). In time a selection becomes accepted and conceptualized as more or less natural, taken for granted and eventually gives way to unreflected acceptance rather than problematization and debate. As an archaeologist or a curator, you may cease to justify the status with reference to certain qualities, as there are laws and antiquar-ian praxis to tell you what ancient remains ‘are’ and how they should be treated. The time for addressing ‘the issues’ is during this critical law-making process; if not, the opportunity may well be lost.

The case of the twentieth-century wrecks presents us with a great opportunity to witness the ongoing process of heritage authorization before its outcome is solidified and all questions and contingencies during its creation have fallen into oblivion.

The agitation

It is not always easy to tell when a process begins and at what point it reaches its end. In this case, however, the initial states can be traced back to the late 1950s and the first movement for wreck protection (Acta 289:65; ATA 6693/59). This campaign was initiated by the National Maritime Museum and the Swedish National Heritage Board as a reaction against private, commercial salvage operations due to the breakthrough of scuba diving. In 1967, shipwrecks older than 100 years became protected by law – not as archaeological stray finds (Sw. fornfynd) or ancient remains (Sw. fast fornlämning), but essentially on equal terms with the latter. A gulf between ‘old’ protected wrecks and ‘recent’ unprotected wrecks then emerged. In the 1980s, this juridical divergence increased further. Due to a revision of the Heritage Conservation Act (SFS 1988:950) in 1988, the former were finally classified ancient remains, whilst the latter were subjected to a new law (SFS 1984:983), developed in order to encourage private salvage operations.

It goes without saying that the legal protection of wrecks older than 100 years received much attention and experienced great developments with regard to maritime archaeology and heritage management. The recent wrecks, however, were constantly left aside. Now and then, representatives for the National Maritime Museum noted the lack of protection sometimes caused trouble when exercising authority (Haasum 1998:3). But, on the whole, the situation persisted, unchallenged and unquestioned, for several decades.

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Then, at the turn of the millennium, this began to change (Fig. 1). The first to raise the question about protection for recent wrecks was the engineer Bengt Grisell, front man both at the Department of Underwater Technology at the Royal Institute of Technology (KTH) and at its partner Baltic Sea Foundation. With reference to the ques-tion about the repercussions of history, it might be worth noting that both of these organizations, i.e. the platforms for the agitation, were formed on the initiative of/on behalf of Anders Franzén (the man who rediscovered the famous warship Vasa) in order to keep up his work on wreck surveys (KTH 930-2003-1347).

On several occasions, Grisell contacted the National Maritime Museums in order to discuss the lack of legal protection for recent wrecks and possible strategies to overcome the situation. At this point, however, this did not result in any measures being taken on the part of the museums. Rather, the response seems to have been scantily worded (Acta 815/00-41.2; Acta 291/02-52; Acta 1065/02-52; Acta 1244/05-51).

Nevertheless, Grisell carried on engaging other possible stakeholders and circles. On his initiative, a manifesto for legal protection of recent

Fig. 1. Heritage of the recent past is gaining ground worldwide. Interior from one of the wrecks forming part of the recently launched World Heritage Site, Bikini Atoll Nuclear Test Site. Photo: © UNESCO / Eric Hanauer.

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Matters of Scale

wrecks was drafted in 2002. The appeal was signed by 30 support-ers, including principals and professors from several universities and institutes, representatives of royal academies and a number of marine insurance companies, foundations, associations and societies, and finally transmitted to the government (Grisell & Randall 2003:4-7; Acta 1065/02-52). The lobby also influenced journalists and politicians, resulting in several newspapers articles (Ingelman-Sundberg 2002; Saarinen 2005) and motions to the Riksdag (the Swedish Parliament) (motions/bills 2001/02:Kr292, 2002/03:Kr310, 2002/03:Kr311, 2003/04:Kr244, 2003/04:Kr301, 2003/04:Kr328, 2004/05:Kr217, 2005/06:Kr405).

At the same time, maritime archaeologists at county museums (von Arbin 2003:3; Einarsson 2005:13-8) and universities started to question the fact that recent wrecks lacked any sort of antiquarian protection (Roa Brynildsen 2003). The issue was also debated within the scuba diving community (www.dykarna.nu), and the society P2 Protect and Preserve – svenskt vrakskydd was founded to promote wreck preservation (Paulsson & Wiking 2003:23).

Now, it is important to note that all advocates for extended wreck protection, i.e. the Royal Institute of Technology, the Baltic Sea Foundation, the journalists, the politicians, the scuba divers and the heritage managers out in the country, represented somewhat different approaches. The commitment of the institute, Grisell explained, was due to the fact that wrecks may be seen as embodying the history of technology and the achievements of natural sciences (Acta 815/00-41-2; Grisell & Randall 1998). Along with the foundation, the institute feared that the recent wrecks were to be investigated by non-professionals, damaging their potential as source material. Others, not least the heritage sector and the scuba divers engaged in the matter, lobbied for an absolute preservation in situ, in order to safeguard the wrecks as intact historical monuments and good diving sites. Politicians and journalists adopted bits and pieces of all these attitudes, arguing that in the future, when the wrecks finally have gained status of ancient remains (due to the 100-year limit), there might not be any value left to protect (Arnshav 2011a:46-7).

The stakeholders also had different ideas as to how to realize the protection. Some suggested the legislation should be tightened up, either by revising the 100-year criteria or by making the state owners of all abandoned wrecks. Others, mostly the scuba divers, called for a

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softer strategy, implementing safeguarding by stimulating increased awareness, changed attitudes and a spirit of solidarity among divers. In conclusion, although apparently in agreement, the stakeholders in play harboured slightly different visions and perspectives as regards the recent wrecks and their protection (Arnshav 2011a:47, 53-4).

In rough outline, this was the situation when the national heritage authorities, i.e. the National Maritime Museums and the Swedish National Heritage Board, picked up the baton. In close cooperation, these authorities developed a two-pillar strategy to render possible an extended wreck protection. The National Maritime Museums was to undertake an investigation in order to highlight the possible value of recent wrecks and to suggest procedural routines for assessment and selection (this work has not yet been finalized) (National Maritime Museums in prep.). The Swedish National Heritage Board for its part worked out an amendment draft, which would make it possible to protect a selection of highly valuable wreck sites that are less than 100 years old. According to the model presented, the Swedish National Heritage Board would decide on applications for protection on the basis of recommendations from the National Maritime Museums. The draft was submitted to the Ministry of Culture by the end of 2008 (ATA 322-3995-2008).

Why, then, did the national heritage authorities finally engage in the matter? Of course, within certain circles, the question had been in the air for some years, clearly addressing maritime heritage managers. On the other hand, it would be an overstatement to claim that the issue was a hot topic or subject of public debate, and it would be unfair to compare it with more popular movements such as earlier agitations for industrial heritage or croft remains.

According to the official letter accompanying the draft, the recent wrecks were victims of large-scale and unregulated diving activities. Furthermore, the existing 100-year rule was perceived as making the situation even worse by triggering carelessness with regard to more recent wrecks and intensified salvage on those about to pass the time limit (a statement which lacks empirical foundation, however). By implementing the suggested legal changes, the Swedish National Heritage Board hoped for a wider acknowledgement regarding the historic value of recent wrecks and, as a result, a change of attitude and a more cautious use of the wrecks (ATA 322-3995-2008).

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Matters of Scale

It is also notable that the issue of extended protection of wrecks fitted very well into present discussions and attempts to develop heritage management towards a more flexible practice in terms of assessment and selection. In particular, the need was experienced when it came to managing recent heritage. The resolve to adopt new remains representa-tive of modern times clashed with the regulatory framework, which in rough terms left the managers with two unsatisfying alternatives: either to neglect heritage of the recent past or to embrace whole sets of remains, thus risking provoking an avalanche-like augmentation of protected heritage (Arnshav 2011a:49-51).

For some time, the Swedish National Heritage Board had been looking for ways of changing either the heritage management praxis or the regulations of the Heritage Conservation Act (Lind et al. 2001:24, 42). In the meantime, the National Maritime Museums had launched an archaeology unit, aiming to develop the management of maritime cultural heritage in general and to gain a leading position in the activity.

With reference to that, it has been suggested that, to a great extent, the authorities’ commitment towards twentieth-century wrecks can be understood as a strategic movement. To the Swedish National Heritage Board, the recent wreck case was simply a suitable way of activating the Heritage Conservation Act, which was held to be the stumbling block to renewal. Moreover, concerning the National Maritime Museums, the suggested change would also involve certain charges (to be carried out by their own staff), thus providing a basis for maritime heritage management internally as well as in general (Arnshav 2011a:61-2). Those are powerful motives, and although not presented in the draft and the official letter, nor traceable in the authorities’ archives, they are accessible by working with or speaking to the figures involved in the frontline (Arnshav 2011a:49).

Returning to the course of events, the draft finally went into circula-tion for comment, and was received with general approval, although some remarks and improvements were made. And as far as I am concerned, this is as far as the process has come. The draft has not yet gained legal force and the investigation undertaken by the National Maritime Museum has not been finalized.

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Roles and parts

Although the matter is far from settled, the debate has completely vanished. Remembering that there were once multiple motives and driving forces at work, the sense of conformity seems somewhat strange. Can it be that the different stakeholders are all satisfied with the draft? If so, how, where and when did this agreement take place?

Addressing those questions, let us now dwell a moment on the interplay of the key individuals and stakeholders. First of all it is notable that the cooperation between the National Maritime Museums and the Swedish National Heritage Board has been very close and the matter has been executed without much transparency. When developing the draft there was never much dialogue with universities, cultural environment workers at regional and local levels, or other stakeholders (Swedish Government Offices Ku2008/2184/KT). Judging by the procedures proposed it appears that the authors of the draft strived to sustain the initiative and to control the future work, developing a highly centralized management model (Arnshav 2011a:60-1).

As the cultural heritage authorities took the helm, other stakeholders seem to have stepped aside. The initiator of the process at the Royal Institute of Technology and the Baltic Sea Foundation soon stopped claiming the wreck-related interests of these organizations (accusations of bias and the pensioning of the engineer in question might have contributed to the withdrawal, KTH 930-2003-1347). Politicians as well as journalists seemed to lose interest in pursuing the issue further and watch over its developments. In divers’ communities the former debate soon subsided. Can it be that the commitment of the cultural heritage sector has had a restraining effect on the dialogue? In the end, the authorized heritage managers are expected to set the tone when it comes to heritage matters.

Looking back, it is clear that the cultural heritage sector above all have acted as the spokesperson for one stakeholder, i.e. the scuba divers. Pictured as a pretty homogeneous group, the divers are frequently regarded as both users of the wrecks and the main threat to them. Also, the great number of scuba divers is put forward as evidence for a widespread interest in the history of seafaring and support of the statement that there is an historic value associated with recent wrecks (ATA 322-3995-2008; National Maritime Museums in prep.). As a consequence, wreck sites frequently visited by divers are considered

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Matters of Scale

to be of particular value. As a direct result, they might even become prioritized candidates for future selection as protected wrecks (National Maritime Museums in prep.).

However, picturing wreck diving as a kind of ‘culture tourism’ would be a simplified and hasty conclusion. According to a scuba diver questionnaire prepared by the National Maritime Museums in 2008, the driving force for wreck divers is primarily experience-based and originates in a desire for diving at enjoyable and stimulating sites (Fig. 2). Apparently, this is done without much reference to historical knowledge and contemplations on the previous history of the ships, before they were transformed into wrecks (Acta 1544/05-20). Nevertheless, scuba divers in favour of recent wreck protection soon adopted the word ‘heritage’ in order to highlight their interest in the wrecks and enhance their credibility.

Regardless of the differences, the scuba divers have provided the cultural heritage sector with two forceful reasons for cultural heritage management – the love of the public and the imminent threat to heritage. However, while it is a possible win-win-situation, it is striking

Fig. 2. The Baltic Sea offers world-class wreck diving. Scuba diver exploring the wreck of the recently sunken ship Севан (Sevan). Photo: © Alex Dawson 2012 www.dawson-photo.com

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that the authorities do not declare their own additional interests in the matter. Thus, while one can praise the sector for having a keen ear, the commitment can also be understood as clearly conditional and selective, maybe even pseudo-democratic. And in the end, becoming one of the cultural heritage managers’ darlings seems to involve a certain amount of subordination.

Having scrutinized the main stakeholders in the process, let us now revisit the course of events, switching focus from the human mediators to the impact of non-human agents.

A twist of non-human agency

The discovery and raising of a small ship’s bell from the (by that time) 120-year-old and fairly unknown wreck Hesperus somewhat unexpect-edly aroused a debate that made a definite difference in the development of the recent-wrecks issue. The incident was a true discussion trigger to the scuba diver community, and drawing attention to the issue of private collecting. Had the diver instead grabbed a small piece of the metal hull, a cup or such, the debate might not have come off the way it did, but a ship’s bell is something special, partly due to the fact that it sometimes bears the name of the ship. The diver in question was prosecuted for violating the Heritage Conservation Act – something which is fairly uncommon in Sweden (Brottsförebyggande rådet 2007:40-2, 46). In the wake of this it turned out that the diver was also a busy collector of items from recent, unprotected wrecks. He was eventually sentenced for fraudulent conversion, having raised a ‘recent’ ship’s bell claimed by an insurance company.

To the majority of the scuba diver community engaged in the matter, this was considered just as grave – a steelwreck is a steelwreck regardless of the foundering date, and when you remove and raise its attributes you make the site less attractive for diving! As a reaction, the society for scuba divers, P2, already presented above, was established (Paulsson & Wiking 2003:23), and a new order regarding moral codes began to spread. Thus, a couple of bells from ships were in many ways the catalyst for public (i.e. scuba divers) engagement in the matter of recent wreck protection.

Another kind of non-human agency may be attributed to technol-ogy, not least technical inventions. Scuba diving and underwater archaeology/management is, after all, highly dependent on technical

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Matters of Scale

gear and equipment. Above all, the impact of the aqualung cannot be overemphasized, as it opened up the underwater sightseeing industry, and with it a new level of interference in underwater heritage.

In the 1950s, when the aqualung and skin diving equipment hit the market, this was a true revolution. From this point on, it was not just professional heavy divers who were able to operate under water, but anyone could buy fairly affordable diving equipment and start exploring the underwater world on holidays and in spare time. As recreational scuba diving became popular, the heritage sector began to worry about its impact, and as a response the first statutory wreck protection act was formed (Arnshav 2011a:39-44).

Today, when an extended protection act including recent wrecks is under discussion, the cultural heritage sector once again puts forward the threat of scuba diving. Just like some 50 years ago, this is done with reference to technical developments associated with diving and wreck monitoring. The accessibility of new technology such as side scan sonars, advanced GPS-systems and echo sounders, even remotely operated vehicles (ROVs), are of course of great importance when it comes to wreck searching and surveying. If lucky, you can discover and pinpoint dozens of wrecks in a single afternoon!

But above all, the breakthrough of technical diving has turned the situation topsy-turvy. Once again, the professionals are left behind, while individual divers and associations go on exploring the underwater world. Archaeologists, using traditional equipment due to safety reasons, will have to stop at 40 metres, while divers who use specialized aqualungs and equipment for breathing mixes of gas other than air or nitrox can reach depths more than 130 metres (‘technical diving’). The result, of course, is that a lot of previously unknown, well-preserved wrecks are being discovered. This is indeed a pleasant situation, but also a chal-lenge when it comes to safeguarding – hence the perceived need for a broader legal framework.

Speaking of this, one must not forget to mention a third non-human agent in action, namely the present Heritage Conservation Act. In fact, laws and regulations do not differ very much from technological innovations as regards agency and social impact. Although intangible, they are still but tools – and there are many studies showing that dif-ferent professions and activities are adapted or even made possible with respect to the availability of technical and professional instruments (cf. Gad & Lauritsen 2009:51-3 for a discussion on surveillance at

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sea). Also, it has been pointed out that there are basically two kinds of rules and regulations. Whilst some clearly relate to the regulation of different kinds of activities or things, others are rather the source of those activities (Searle 1995; Latour 2007:238). Regarding the Heritage Conservation Act, it is obvious that it responds to actual situations like scuba diving, wreck occurrences and so on. However, one must not forget that there would be no such thing as ‘ancient remains’ (only shipwrecks, submerged settlements and so on), nor related activities such as contract archaeology and official cultural heritage management, if it were not for the very regulations.

What, then, are the signs of law-related agency regarding the case of wreck protection? When recapitulating the course of events, one senses something of a snowball effect. Had the ‘ancient’ wrecks not been incorporated with the Heritage Conservation Act in the first place, they would not have gained the status of ‘ancient remains’. What s more, there would definitely not be any absolute ‘ancient’ or ‘recent’ wrecks as those epithets are clearly due to the 100-year limit. In extension, the connotations in terms of ‘valuable’ vs. ‘valueless’ wrecks (ATA 322-3995-2008; Acta 786/06-1) would not be that obvious (cf. Tuddenham 2010 for a discussion on how the Norwegian Cultural Heritage Act operates to maintain another dichotomy, i.e. Land - Sea). In addition, the same time limit guarantees that every recent wreck, no matter its state, in time will become protected, thus becoming subject of the management responsibilities and safeguarding objectives of the authorities. Thus, if it were not for the design of the act, recent ship wrecks probably would not have entered the archaeological sphere of interest any more than car wrecks, plane wrecks and so forth. It is therefore justified to say that the Heritage Conservation Act is in part the originator of the present scenario.

Indeed, it would not be too farfetched to claim that the Heritage Conservation Act has to some extent provided the authorities with a framework for thoughts and actions regarding the recent wreck issue. For instance, one might question the efficiency of the Cultural Heritage Act when it comes to controlling the activities of sport divers. As several divers as well as investigators have pointed out, it is almost impossible to prove violation of the law (Brottsförebyggande rådet 2007:40-4, 46; Arnshav 2011a:54; Divers Community Scandinavia), and besides, there might be other more severe threats to the preservation of a given wreck (Arnshav 2011a:72; Divers Community Scandinavia). However,

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Matters of Scale

in the light of the fact that the authorities’ commitment vis-à-vis the recent-wreck matter is highly dependent on the present law and its shortcomings, the choice of method does make sense. After all, the law is a very important tool when it comes to archaeological cultural heritage management, having a great impact on the way the sector authorizes heritage and works out its practices. In conclusion, it seems like the existing system to some extent prevents the development of new methods, which might be better suited to match the objectives (Arnshav 2011a:49-56).

Summing up the case

Summing up, it is important to remember that the process which forms the focus of this paper has not yet reached its end, hence leaving future developments out of reach of the analysis. At present, the draft law emerges as the main result. As has been shown, quite a few key people and stakeholders have been involved in the case, causing it to take off and propelling it onwards. In other words, the origin as well as the outcome of the process is due to a limited number of individuals, whereas additional objectives and interests of different groups and stakeholders have intertwined, impacting the course of events. Additionally, the process has also been fuelled by the historical setting, technical equip-ment, management structures and archaeological remains at stake.

It is noteworthy that most of these groups of people and externalities do not represent anything new. Recent wrecks have always been around, and the last century has seen a lot of ship bell salvaging, antiquarian reliance on laws and regulations, penetration of earlier unexplored areas, engagement with contemporary history and so on. With reference to that, the case illustrates that human response to given circumstances might develop in various ways and that cultural processes are hard to predict (Rönnby 2007).

Yet, there are also some long term structures to be recognized, such as the ‘antiquarification’ of shipwrecks and the regulation of scuba diving activities in response to increased accessibility to the underwater world. However, one must not overlook the fact that the objectives in the mid twentieth century were quite different from the present ones (investigation instead of in situ protection). In that regard, the strategies are not to be considered equivalents.

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Another conclusion to be drawn is that the triggers are specific rather than general. By this I mean that a limited number of front figures, separate individuals and things as well as occasional circumstances and situations stand out as leading spirits and driving forces. Also, these prime movers are connected to – and more or less dependent on – each other, forming a complex and intertwined chain of reaction.

As familiar as we are with the different agents and circumstances, the mix in itself, i.e. the associations between previously unrelated things and people, clearly represent something new. How did these movers suddenly become interconnected? What caused them to transmute from intermediators to mediators/agents, to create an elaborate network in favour of wreck protection? Of course, there is no simple answer to be found, and this study has just scratched the surface of the phenomenon. However, it appears that timing is a determining factor. The ties were created to meet the demands of several particular situations and dif-ferent matters of importance. However, the alliance did not endure for long, thus illustrating the notion that groups are fluid and unstable, constantly forming and dissolving (Latour 2007:27-42).

Related to this point for consideration is, I believe, the question of intentions. In this case, a number of strategies, associated with different aspirations and objectives, have been detected. Also, it is revealed that no single party has controlled the process from the beginning to the end. Instead, a line of stakeholders and agents have succeeded each other. Off and on they have mingled, promoted a common cause, closed ranks and taken advantage of the matter. In this respect, the interplay is very similar to middle ground actions.

However, in the end one agent, the cultural heritage sector, did reach a predominant position, taking command over the process. Yet, it is not easy to tell whether this was a calculated, strategic move, or if the sector simply went with the flow. Were the divers essentially used as puppets in order to realize the aspirations of the sector regarding legislation and culture heritage management developments? Or were the sector rather facilitators of a bottom-up process, developing the draft as an altruistic attempt to meet the interest of the public, as it was conceived? Due to the mutual rapprochement and the intertwined rhetoric, the dividing lines where motives and interests of these two parties are concerned are somewhat blurred.

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Matters of Scale

As understood with reference to the middle ground, the outcome of the process appears to be something of a hybrid, which cannot be attributed to either the public or to the heritage sector alone. It has been shown that the heritage sector rely on the scuba divers in order to justify their activities, whilst the scuba divers refer to the heritage sector to assert their interests in the wrecks. Thus, using the concept of the middle ground, we are able to get a broader picture of the process, including aspects such as interdependence, collaboration and mutual exploitation.

References

Abbreviations

Acta = Sjöhistoriska museets Acta- och ritningsarkiv, The Maritime museum, Stockholm, Sweden.

ATA = Antikvarisk-Topografiska Arkivet, The National Heritage Board, Stockholm, Sweden.

KTH = Kungliga tekniska högskolan [Royal Institute of Technology], Stockholm, Sweden.

SFS = Svensk författningssamling [Swedish Code of Statutes], Ed.: the Swedish Government.

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Wreck huggers, aqualungs and red tape. A heritage process of the middle ground?

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