Biological anthropology of the human skeleton [3 ed.] 9781119151616, 1119151619

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BIOLOGICAL ANTHROPOLOGY OF THE HUMAN SKELETON

BIOLOGICAL ANTHROPOLOGY OF THE HUMAN SKELETON Third Edition

Edited by M. ANNE KATZENBERG ANNE L. GRAUER

This third edition first published 2019 © 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. (except Chapter 2, which is a U.S. Government work and is in public domain) Edition History John Wiley & Sons, Inc. (2e, 2008); Wiley‐Liss, Inc. (2000). All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by law. Advice on how to obtain permission to reuse material from this title is available at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions. The right of M. Anne Katzenberg and Anne L. Grauer to be identified as the authors of the editorial material in this work has been asserted in accordance with law. Registered Office(s) John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030, USA Editorial Office 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK For details of our global editorial offices, customer services, and more information about Wiley products visit us at www.wiley.com. Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats and by print‐on‐demand. Some content that appears in standard print versions of this book may not be available in other formats. Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty While the publisher and authors have used their best efforts in preparing this work, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this work and specifically disclaim all warranties, including without limitation any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives, written sales materials or promotional statements for this work. The fact that an organization, website, or product is referred to in this work as a citation and/or potential source of further information does not mean that the publisher and authors endorse the information or services the organization, website, or product may provide or recommendations it may make. This work is sold with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services. The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a specialist where appropriate. Further, readers should be aware that websites listed in this work may have changed or disappeared between when this work was written and when it is read. Neither the publisher nor authors shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages. Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Names: Katzenberg, Mary Anne, editor. | Grauer, Anne L., 1958– editor. Title: Biological anthropology of the human skeleton / edited by M. Anne Katzenberg, Anne L. Grauer. Description: Third Edition. | Hoboken, New Jersey : John Wiley & Sons, Inc., [2019] |   Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018008847 (print) | LCCN 2018010239 (ebook) | ISBN 9781119151623 (pdf) |   ISBN 9781119151630 (epub) | ISBN 9781119151616 (Cloth) Subjects: LCSH: Human skeleton. | Human remains (Archaeology) | Bones–Analysis. Classification: LCC GN70 (ebook) | LCC GN70 .B55 2018 (print) | DDC 599.9/47–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018008847 Cover Design: Wiley Cover Images: (Top row, left to right) “Jaw from Anglo-Saxon site in Winchester, England,” The Trustees of the Natural History Museum, London, © Simon Hillson; “Scalping, Larson Site Burial 62B” (after S.L. Olsen and P. Shipman, “Cutmarks and perimortem treatment of skeletal remains on the Northern Plains,” in Skeletal Biology in the Great Plains: Migration, Warfare, Health, and Subsistence, eds. D.W. Owsley and R.L. Jantz, 1994, Smithsonian Institution Press), © Ann L. W. Stodder. (Middle row, left to right) “A schematic of the human mitochondrial DNA genome” adapted from Molecular Evolution: A Phylogenetic Approach (1991) by Roderick D.M. Page and Edward C. Holmes, as edited by Maria A. Nieves Colón and Anne C. Stone; © pialhovik/Getty Images; “Fracture and dislocation at the shoulder” by Nancy C. Lovell and Anne L. Grauer; (Full skeleton) © stihii/Shutterstock Set in 10/12pt Times by SPi Global, Pondicherry, India

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CONTENTS

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

xi

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

xiii

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

xix

PART I  THEORY AND APPLICATION IN STUDIES OF PAST PEOPLES

1

1 Bioarchaeological Ethics: Perspectives on the Use and Value of Human Remains in Scientific Research

3

Patricia M. Lambert and Phillip L. Walker (deceased)

2 Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

43

Douglas H. Ubelaker

3 Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

73

Ann L.W. Stodder

PART II  MORPHOLOGICAL AND DEVELOPMENTAL ANALYSES

117

4 Children in Bioarchaeology: Methods and Interpretations

119

Mary E. Lewis

vii

viii

CONTENTS

5 Histomorphometry of Human Cortical Bone: Applications to Age Estimation

145

Timothy P. Gocha, Alexander G. Robling, and Sam D. Stout

6 Biomechanical Analyses of Archaeological Human Skeletons

189

Christopher B. Ruff

7 Incremental Structures in Teeth: Keys to Unlocking and Understanding Dental Growth and Development

225

Daniel Antoine, Charles M. FitzGerald, and Jerome C. Rose

8 Dental Morphology

257

G. Richard Scott and Marin A. Pilloud

PART III  PREHISTORIC HEALTH AND DISEASE 9 Dental Pathology

293 295

Simon Hillson

10 Analysis and Interpretation of Trauma in Skeletal Remains

335

Nancy C. Lovell and Anne L. Grauer

11 Understanding Bone Aging, Loss, and Osteoporosis in the Past

385

Sabrina C. Agarwal

12 Infectious and Metabolic Diseases: A Synergistic Relationship

415

Charlotte A. Roberts and Megan Brickley

13 Paleopathology: From Bones to Social Behavior

447

Anne L. Grauer

PART IV  CHEMICAL AND GENETIC ANALYSES OF HARD TISSUES 14 Stable Isotope Analysis: A Tool for Studying Past Diet, Demography, and Life History

467

469

M. Anne Katzenberg and Andrea L. Waters‐Rist

15 Strontium Isotopes and the Chemistry of Bones and Teeth

505

James Burton and M. Anne Katzenberg

16 Ancient DNA Analysis of Archaeological Remains Maria A. Nieves‐Colón and Anne C. Stone

515

CONTENTS

PART V  QUANTITATIVE METHODS AND POPULATION STUDIES 17 Traditional Morphometrics and Biological Distance: Methods and an Example

ix

545 547

Michael Pietrusewsky

18 Paleodemography: Problems, Progress, and Potential

593

George R. Milner, James W. Wood, and Jesper L. Boldsen

Index635

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton is intended to be a key resource for those seeking to understand advanced methods of analyses of human skeletal and dental remains from archaeological and forensic ­contexts. Each contributor was asked to provide background, historical developments, and details of methods and applications of their respective research areas. Box features are offered by some authors to provide examples or applications of techniques, and/or as a ­supplement for the reader. This third edition builds upon the two previous editions that were co‐edited by Shelley R. Saunders and Anne Katzenberg. Sadly, Shelley passed away in 2008 at the young age of 58, just after the release of the second edition. Shelley was an exceptional scholar who impressively stayed current on the ever‐expanding literature in biological anthropology and related fields. She read widely, carefully, and critically, and as a result she could often predict new directions in research and enquiry. Another significant loss to our field is Phillip Walker, author of the previous edition’s chapter on bioarchaeological ethics. His research and collaboration with local indigenous groups was a model for successful

c­uration and study of human remains while addressing the concerns of descendent populations. Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton has evolved since the first edition was released in 2000. We have retained many of the same chapters with some “next‐generation” authors and co‐authors, and we have added some new topics, including two new chapters on paleopathology. Patricia M. Lambert, a former student of Phillip Walker’s, has revised and updated the chapter on ethics. Mary Lewis has prepared the chapter on juvenile skeletons ­previously written by Shelley Saunders. The chapter on histomorphometry now includes three academic generations, while dental morphology, stable isotope methods and ancient DNA are each co‐authored by members of two academic generations. Co‐editors Katzenberg and Grauer hope we have provided the key points to help launch ­successful investigations into the lives of past peoples through careful scientific analyses of ­surviving hard tissues, framed in appropriate cultural, archaeological, and theoretical contexts. M. Anne Katzenberg Anne L. Grauer xi

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

“What’s Bred in the Bone,” a novel by Robertson Davies, begins with the proverb, “What’s bred in the bone will not out in the flesh.” The story is about a man who supposedly reflects his “breeding” since his behaviour and characteristics are direct reflections of what he has inherited from his family. While biological determinism may work in fiction, it is anathema to the biological anthropologist. The cornerstone of biological anthropology is the interaction of culture and human biology. What is manifested in the physical and behavioral characteristics of any living being is a result of the intertwining of an inherited genome with environmental factors. Human osteologists have struggled with this concept from the earliest beginnings of skeletal studies and continue to struggle with it today. Ancient DNA studies suggest that we ultimately want to know the “inherent” properties coming out of the bones. If we could read the genome, we  would “know” the person. But of course, we understand that, as living tissues, bones and teeth are influenced by environmental forces. Bones respond to mechanical forces and thus they alter in response to activities and stresses. Craniometric studies attempt to study population relationships, assuming that cranial shape and size reflect inherited features, but we know

that cranial shape and size can be altered ­purposefully (e.g., head binding) or unintentionally (chewing stresses). It is the job of the human osteologist to study the interactions between inherited characteristics and their modification by the environment in order to understand, not just what is “bred” in the bone but what bones can tell us about the flesh, that is, the lives of earlier peoples. Each of the following chapters deals with a specific type of advanced analysis of bones and teeth. The original plan for the book was to be a second edition of our earlier edited book, Skeletal Biology of Past People: Research Methods. However as work progressed, it seemed that with five additional chapters and many new contributors, it is really something different. The differences are directly related to changes that have occurred in the analysis of human skeletal and dental remains over the past few years. Most notably these changes include heightened ethical concerns about studying the skeletal remains of aboriginal peoples in many countries where those people are no longer the dominant culture. These concerns and the resulting legislation in some jurisdictions have radically changed the way physical anthropologists and archaeologists carry out their work. A second change is the xiii

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Preface to the First Edition

rise of forensic anthropology and the fact that research in forensic anthropology, while still overlapping with more traditional approaches, now includes topics not central to studies of archaeological skeletons. We begin this book with chapters on the ethics of studying human remains and forensic anthropology. An important theme that is found throughout the book is the progress of new methods. We were training to become anthropologists in the 1970s when many new research areas were emerging in physical anthropology. The earlier practice of providing descriptive osteological reports either as stand alone works, or more commonly, as appendices to archaeological site reports was fading out and more problem oriented research was emerging. Biological distance studies using both metric and nonmetric traits on human bones and teeth were carried out in order to investigate prehistoric migration and relatedness through time and space. Paleopathology was emerging as a means of addressing questions about prehistoric adaptations in contrast to the earlier emphasis on unusual cases of specific diseases. Paleodemography, similarly, addressed questions of adaptation of earlier populations. Since the initial enthusiastic studies all of these topics have undergone criticism and have emerged as perhaps humbled, but also strengthened by the critiques. The same is true of the more recently introduced methods involving biochemical analyses of bones and teeth. These include analyses of trace elements, ­stable isotopes and ancient DNA. Each of these methods has undergone a series of stages that may be characterized as follows: 1. Discovery – either entirely new or new to physical anthropology, a new method is discovered and the potential applications are explored. 2. Applications to questions of interest regarding reconstructing past peoples. 3. Critique, introspection, experimentation. 4. Emergence in a stronger, more reasoned form.

NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act) and similar legislation in other countries have led to a reconfiguring of how skeletal studies of past peoples are carried out. Some of these changes can be viewed in a positive light. For example, standards have been developed in the ­expectation that collections will not be curated indefinitely. These standards were needed even before the prospect of reburial emerged. In addition, an interesting configuration of events happened in the 1990s. As some Native Americans voiced their disapproval of skeletal studies, expanding urban development led to archaeological excavations of several large, historic cemeteries dating from the 18th and 19th centuries. These cemeteries contained the  remains of Euroamericans and African Americans as well as other groups. At the same time, the growing number of students trained in human osteology provided a pool of individuals to excavate and study these remains. Debates about excavation and study continued but in many cases some period of time was allowed for proper scientific study. One special example of the cooperation between scientists and concerned descendants is the work being conducted at Howard University on a large African American slave cemetery discovered in New York City. In Europe, there is a long history of excavating historic cemeteries and the increasing number of trained human osteologists has led to larger scale studies (the St. Brides’ skeletal collection in London, England is a good example). The increased scientific study of skeletons from historic cemeteries has also provided opportunities for testing methods. In many cases, the identities of at least some of the individuals are known from legible coffin inscriptions or detailed cemetery maps. It has been possible to investigate the accuracy of methods of determining sex and age at death and to detect biases in mortality samples that are directly related to causes of death. This book is organized into five parts. Part one, theory and application, features two ­chapters that describe recent shifts in skeletal studies. Walker’s chapter provides information



on how humans have regarded the dead over time and across cultures. He grapples with the issues surrounding the ethics of skeletal research, the clash with cultural beliefs about treatment of the dead and the politics of communities. Taking a clearly anthropological approach to these questions, he shows us that there is a tremendous diversity of attitudes about the physical remains of the dead. He makes a strong case for the value of and the justification of scientific research. Ubelaker focuses on the development of forensic anthropology with its roots in descriptive osteology and its present form as an applied specialization of human osteology. He discusses the major comparative collections used for ­establishing standards including the recently developed forensic data bank. He then takes the reader through the various steps in forensic anthropology, including recovery, identification, sex and age determination, stature estimation and positive identification. He concludes with information on training opportunities and professional organizations dedicated to forensic anthropology. Part 2 includes chapters on morphological analyses of bones and teeth and age changes. Four of these contributors prepared chapters for our earlier book and while the topics are similar, each chapter includes contributions and advances that have occurred throughout the 1990s. Ruff describes biomechanical analyses of bones and the applications of such studies to understanding past human behaviour ranging from fossil hominids through to early historic human groups. He draws from his own extensive research to provide examples of how biomechanical studies have improved our understanding of past activity patterns. Examples include changes in robusticity throughout human evolution, the relationship between subsistence and bone strength, and the relationship between gender roles and their biological manifestation in bone structure. Mayhall covers dental morphology highlighting newer methods of characterizing tooth size and shape, and the applications of such studies to biological and behavioral characteristics of

Preface to the First Edition

xv

past peoples. He emphasizes the importance of achieving precision of observations of both dental measures and dental morphological traits. He also argues for maintaining simplicity in our methodological approaches. Both of these aspects of the research process are absolutely necessary for us to make meaningful comparisons of the results obtained by different observers. Mayhall shows that knowledge in the field of dental morphology remains limited because the precision necessary for ­ properly evaluating population variability has still not been achieved. Saunders covers the various types of studies that are specific to subadults, focusing on age determination but also considering sex determination and variations in growth and development. One problem with proceeding to studies of growth and development is that of sampling. Differential burial practices, differential preservation and biases related to cause of death can all cause problems in assessing past growth patterns from subadult burials. Some of these problems have been addressed in studies of a large historic cemetery where parish records are available for comparison. This cemetery has also provided opportunities for assessing historic ­variation in growth and development as well as testing methods of age determination. Saunders and her students have demonstrated how careful study of historic samples can not only tell us more about those particular people, but can help us to evaluate methods used on prehistoric samples. FitzGerald and Rose present information on age determination for subadult remains through dental microstructure analysis. The use of newer image analysis techniques (which are now easy to install in most anthropology laboratories) improves precision and relieves the tedium of collecting these data. This research shows great promise. If we can get a clearer picture of the amount of inter‐ and intra‐population variation in dental development we will know more about how tissue growth is buffered from stress and whether meaningful population differences really do  exist. As these authors explain, it is only  very recently that the investigation of

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­ icrostructural growth markers in dental tism sues has become accepted as appropriate for estimating tooth crown formation times. Robling and Stout provide details as well as examples of adult age determination based on bone histomorphometry. They review the principles of bone modeling and remodeling as a prelude to explaining how cortical bone ­microstructure is used in age determination. Variations due to activity, sex, disease and population affinity are discussed. Appendices to their chapter allow one to practice the ­methods of histological age determination on photomicrographs from a femur and a rib. Part 3 is titled Prehistoric Health and Disease and includes three chapters. As in Part 2, the sequence of chapters is: studies based on gross observations of bones, gross observations of teeth and microscopic studies. Lovell focuses on paleopathology and diagnosis of bony lesions. She provides detailed information on various diagnostic methods including radiology and microscopy. Steps toward diagnosis are discussed with emphasis on accurate description and consideration of the distribution of lesions within an individual skeleton as well as the distribution within skeletal samples. Hillson presents methods for analysing and describing dental pathology, with detailed information on the underlying causes of various conditions. He stresses the importance of careful observation, demonstrating how different ways of scoring pathological changes can dramatically alter determinations of disease prevalence. If care is taken with observations, so that the surviving jaws and teeth in skeletal collections really do represent what was buried, then the distribution of dental disease can tell us a lot about the diets and activities of past populations. Then we can seek correspondence between dental data and data from stable isotopes, faunal and botanical assemblages and artifacts used in daily life. Pfeiffer covers the subject of bone histology with respect to healthy bone turnover and various disease states. This chapter ties in nicely with those of Ruff, and Robling and Stout in that it covers information on bone structure at the

h­ istological level and the factors that account for variation. Her work includes variation in bone histology over recent human evolution with examples drawn from Neandertals to recent European immigrants to Canada. Procedures for preparing bones thin sections are reviewed with cautions regarding diagenetic alteration. Part 4, Chemical and Genetic Analyses of Hard Tissues, includes chapters on stable isotope analysis, trace element analysis and ancient DNA. Katzenberg provides background information on stable isotope studies and examples of applications to questions regarding paleodiet, migration and life history. She demonstrates how isotopic analysis of archaeological tissues has advanced dramatically over a relatively short time span. Rather than simply confirming information that was already available from other sources, she shows how this field has called into question various archaeologically hypotheses about subsistence adaptations as well as adding to our understanding of human ecology. She discusses three areas of research that are particularly promising because of their implications for a more detailed reading of the past. These include reconstructing infant feeding practices, detecting pathological changes in bones, and the management of animal and plant species by earlier human populations. Sandford and Weaver provide information on the current status of trace element studies. These include attempts to control for postmortem changes. They focus their discussion on the dietary ­indicators, strontium and barium, and the toxic element, lead. This chapter nicely illustrates the stages of new methods, discussed early in the preface. Sandford and Weaver have labeled these “Inaugural” (discovery and early applications), “Intermediate” (reevaluation and testing), and “Modern” (emphasis on experimental and simulation studies). The chapters on stable isotope analysis and trace element analysis both emphasize the importance of training in the physical sciences. Stone discusses advances in the isolation and analysis of ancient DNA. A  great wave of excitement was ushered in



with the first developments in the extraction and amplification of ancient DNA. If we can retrieve fragments of genes from long deceased humans, surely we can reconstruct the evolutionary and population history of past human groups. But the early claims for the retrieval of ancient DNA from dinosaurs and other fossils were cast aside when it was shown that the amplified DNA came from modern contaminants. The promise of ancient DNA research lost some of its luster. Yet, more recently, Stone herself has been part of the research team able to offer clear evidence for the sequencing of Neanderthal DNA. Nevertheless, she cautions us about the difficulties of proving positive results and warns us that the promise is there, but the road ahead is still difficult. Part 5, Quantitative Methods and Population Studies, includes three chapters. Pietrusewsky discusses metric techniques and their applications to biological distance studies. He takes the reader through the various statistical procedures used to visualize biological relationships. These include a range of multivariate statistics such as clustering techniques, multidimensional scaling and Mahalanobis’ generalized distance. Craniometric analysis has been one of the transitional realms of osteological research. Pietrusewsky shows how this approach is still appropriate for the investigation of widespread museum collections, where destructive analyses are prohibited. Further, he demonstrates by using examples from his own extensive research in the Pacific, that multiple lines of evidence, including craniometric, dental, linguistic and molecular data are all necessary to contribute to our understanding of human population history. Jackes tackles the problem of adult age determination and evaluates recent attempts to circumvent some of the problems. She surveys and evaluates all of the different approaches to age‐at‐death estimation

Preface to the First Edition

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including single methods, such as metamorphosis of the pubic symphysis and cranial suture closure, as well as complex methods. She emphasizes the difficulties of dealing with the biases of reference samples and the effects of skeletal preservation on efforts to produce age distributions for archaeological samples. She takes the position that statistical investigation and manipulation cannot substitute for the necessity of having accurate biological age estimates. Finally, Milner, Wood and Boldsen evaluate the current status of paleodemography by focusing on some of the questions that have fueled past debates within the field. They address problems of sampling, age and sex estimation, nonstationarity, heterogeneous risk and selective mortality. Paleodemography draws from many of the types of studies covered in previous chapters and attempts to tie together the success of populations based on factors such as diet, disease experience, activity patterns, growth and development and population interactions. Milner and colleagues provide a frank view of the potential and the limitations of achieving the goal of being able to determine the level of adaptation of past populations. All of these chapters have the common theme of determining information about past peoples from their skeletal and dental remains. Adult age determination is an important theme that appears in many of the chapters. Similarly, postmortem change, sampling and the relationship between cemetery samples and living populations recurs throughout the book. Ethical considerations have had a major impact on all of the topics discussed. It is our hope that this information will provide both breadth and depth for advanced studies in human osteology and will serve as a guide to more intensive study. M. Anne Katzenberg Shelley R. Saunders

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Sabrina C. Agarwal is an Associate Professor at the University of California Berkeley. She is broadly interested in the application of research in bone maintenance to dialogues of social identity, embodiment, developmental plasticity, aging, and disability in bioarchaeology. Her work has examined patterns of age‐ and growth‐ related changes in cortical bone microstructure, trabecular architecture, and mineral density in several historic British and Italian archaeological populations, and has examined the long‐term effect of growth and reproduction (parity and lactation) on the human and nonhuman primate maternal skeleton, studying samples from Italy, Turkey, and Japan. She is co‐editor of the recent volumes Social Bioarchaeology (Wiley‐Blackwell) and Exploring Sex and Gender in Bioarchaeology (University of New Mexico Press), and has published numerous scholarly articles in peer‐ reviewed journals such as the American Journal of Physical Anthropology, the International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, and American Anthropologist. She is also the Co‐Editor‐in‐Chief for the journal Bioarchaeology International.

Daniel Antoine is the British Museum’s Curator of Physical Anthropology, with responsibility for the Museum’s human remains. He completed his PhD at University College London in 2001 and his main research interests are in bioarchaeology, the study of mummies and dental anthropology, in particular dental growth and development, dental microstructures and enamel hypoplasia. He has published three books: Egyptian Mummies, Exploring Ancient Lives (2016) with Marie Vandenbeusch, Regarding the Dead: Human Remains in the British Museum (2014) with Alexandra Fletcher and JD Hill, and Ancient Lives, New Discoveries: Eight Mummies, Eight Stories (2014) with John Taylor. Recent publications including “Enamel Structure and Properties” with Simon Hillson and “Dentine and Cementum Structure and Properties” with Nancy Tang and Adeline Le Cabec, both published in A Companion to Dental Anthropology edited by Irish and Scott (2016). He is an Honorary Senior Research Fellow at the UCL Institute of Archaeology, Secretary of the Institute for Bioarchaeology and President‐Elect of the Dental Anthropology Association. xix

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Notes on Contributors

Jesper L. Boldsen received his PhD in Biology from the Department of Theoretical Statistics, Aarhus University (Denmark) in  1983. He is currently Professor of Anthropology the Department of Forensic Medicine, University of Southern Denmark, Odense. He is also head of the Unit of Anthropology (ADBOU) of the Department of Forensic Medicine at University of Southern Denmark, Adjunct Professor of Anthropology at the universities of Utah and Manitoba, and Associate Editor of the Journal of Biosocial Science and Journal of Applied Oral Science. His research interests revolve around human population biology, epidemiology, demography, and evolution. In recent years he has concentrated much of his research effort on analyzing the structure of the Danish medieval population, based on extensively excavated cemeteries. He has published widely in biological and anthropological journals. Recent publications with various coauthors include “Leprosy and mortality in the Medieval Danish village of Tirup” (2005), “Testing conditional independence in diagnostic palaeoepidemiology” (2005), “Outside St. Jørgen: Leprosy in the medieval Danish city of Odense” (2006), “Early childhood stress and adult age mortality  –  a study of dental enamel hypoplasia in the medieval Danish village of Tirup” (2007), and “On the distribution of trace element concentrations in multiple bone elements in 10 Danish medieval and  post‐medieval individuals” (2017) in the  American Journal of Physical Anthropology;”Cranial vault trauma and selective mortality in medieval to early modern Denmark” in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (2015); and “Bones4Culture The first results: leprosy and Chemical life history in medieval Schleswig” in Schleswig Holstein: Contested Region(s) Through History (2016, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, Odense).

James Burton,  PhD (University of Arizona, 1986) recently retired from his role as the Senior Scientist and Associate Director of the Laboratory for Archaeological Chemistry at the University of Wisconsin‐Madison (Department of Anthropology). His research interests include the d­evelopment of new archaeometric methods, p­ articularly the use of chemical and isotopic methods for provenience studies. Projects include exploration of alkaline‐earth elements and various isotopic systems in the study of human ­ mobility and the development of nondestructive methods to characterize historical materials; studies of the effect of marine resources on bone levels of barium and strontium; the origins of the Gila Polychrome tradition and the eastern, selvatic origin of unusual pottery found at Late Formative sites in the Ecuadorian Andes. He recently co‐authored with T.D. Price and V. Tieseler “Early African diaspora in colonial Campeche, Mexico: Strontium isotopic evidence” in the American Journal of Physical Anthropology (2006) and with T.D. Price and others, “Strontium isotopes and the study of human  mobility among the Ancient Maya”  in Archaeology and Bioarchaeology of Population Movement among the Prehispanic Maya, edited by A. Cucina (2015).

Megan Brickley  is currently Professor and Tier I Canada Research Chair in the

Charles M. FitzGerald, received his PhD in biological anthropology as a mature

Bioarchaeology of Human Disease, Department of Anthropology, McMaster University, Canada. Her research interests include the use of paleopathology in bioarchaeology and interdisciplinary research. She has carried out research on a wide range of bioarchaeological and forensic anthropological projects, with an emphasis on ­metabolic bone diseases. She is co‐author of The  Bioarchaeology of Metabolic Bone Disease (2008) and numerous papers on age‐related bone loss, scurvy and vitamin D deficiency.



Notes on Contributors

student from the University of Cambridge in 1996. In 2000, after completing a postdoctoral fellowship at McMaster University, he worked with Simon Hillson at the Institute of Archaeology in University College London on a three‐year project funded by the Natural Environment Research Council of the UK. This study’s objective was to clarify the nature of the dental reduction that is observed in Middle and Upper Palaeolithic, Mesolithic, and Early Neolithic hominids and to test the major hypotheses that account for it. The study included the use of an approach to assess tooth size that overcame the ­problem of tooth wear, which was severe in these early modern humans. He returned to Canada where he was appointed by Shelley Saunders as the research coordinator of the Anthropology Hard Tissue and Light Microscopy Laboratory at McMaster University, where he worked until his retirement. The focus of much of his ­ research has been on the validation and application of odontochronological techniques, but in addition to growth and ­development, his interests embrace several other areas of skeleto‐dental biology and paleoanthropology. Timothy P. Gocha received his PhD from The Ohio State University in 2014. From 2015–2016, he served as a Postdoctoral Researcher in the Skeletal Biology Research Lab within the School of Medicine at Ohio State, where he helped research bone biomechanics, fracture risk, and assess patterns of injury in the context of skeletal health, mainly through histological analyses. He was a Postdoctoral Research Fellow with the Forensic Anthropology Center at Texas State  University from 2016 to 2017, where he helped manage Operation Identification – a human rights forensic anthropology project that addresses the humanitarian crisis of migrant deaths along the South Texas border. Dr. Gocha has participated in the Forensic Science Academy with the former Joint

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POW/MIA Accounting Command’s Central Identification Laboratory in Hawaii, as well as the Visiting Scientist program with the Forensic Anthropology Unit at the Office of Chief Medical Examiner in New York City. He is currently an Assistant Professor in the Department of Anthropology and an Adjunct Professor in the School of Medicine at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and also serves as the chief consulting forensic anthropologist for the Clark County Office of the Coroner/Medical Examiner in Las Vegas, NV. His research focuses on improving methods for estimating age at death from human skeletal remains, particularly through the use of bone and dental histology. Anne L. Grauer  received her PhD from the University of Massachusetts‐Amherst in 1989. She is currently Professor and Chair in the Department of Anthropology at Loyola University Chicago. Her research interests include bioarchaeological and paleopathological analyses of 19th‐century skeletal populations from the United States, and medieval England, with particular foci on health and disease in women. Dr. Grauer has served as the Secretary-Treasurer and President of the Paleopathology Association and Secretary-Treasurer of the American Association of Physical Anthropologists (AAPA). She is currently the President of the AAPA and is Editor-in-Chief of the International Journal of Paleopathology. Recent publications include: “Flesh on the bones: An historical and bioarchaeological exploration of sex, gender, and trauma in medieval England” (with Miller); Fragments: Interdisciplinary Approaches to the Study of Ancient and Medieval Pasts (2017); “No stone unturned: The presence of kidney stones in a skeleton from 19th century Peoria, Illinois” (with Jaskowiec, Lee and Rajnic), International Journal of Paleopathology (2017); “Exploring evidence of 19th century ­ dissection in the Dunning Poorhouse ­ cemetery” (with Lathrop and Timoteo), in: K. Nystrom (ed),

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The Bioarchaeology of Dissection and Autopsy in the United States (2017); “Life and death in 19th century Peoria: Taking a biocultural approach towards understanding the past” (with Williams and Bird), in: M. Zuckerman and D. Martin (eds.), Biocultural Anthropology: New Directions (2016); and A Companion to Paleopathology (editor) (2012), Simon Hillson, PhD (London, 1979), is a Professor of Bioarchaeology at the Institute of Archaeology, University College London. Dr. Hillson’s research interests focus on the biology of past human populations, ranging from the most recent post‐Medieval populations of London to Predynastic Egyptians, and remains from Upper Palaeolithic contexts. In particular, he works with dental remains, studying their morphology, microstructure and pathology and his current research focuses on the study of tooth and jaw reduction in the evolution of Neanderthals and modern humans. As well as journal articles, he has published several books including: Tooth Development in Human Evolution and Bioarchaeology (Cambridge University Press, 2014), Mammal Bones and Teeth: An Introductory Guide to methods of Identification (Routledge, 2016), and Dental Anthropology (Cambridge University Press, 1996). M. Anne Katzenberg  received her PhD in Anthropology from the University of Toronto in 1983. She is currently Professor in the Department of Anthropology and Archaeology at the University of Calgary. Her research interests include diet and health in past peoples and in particular she explores the various applications of stable isotope analysis to reconstructing paleodiet, paleodemography and ecology. She is co‐ editor of the Journal of Anthropological Archaeology and an associate editor for the International Journal of Paleopathology. In 2003 she was elected to the Royal Society of Canada, Academy II. She serves as

c­ onsultant in forensic anthropology for the Medical Examiner of Alberta (southern division). Recent co‐authored publications include “Prehistoric dietary adaptations among hunter‐fisher‐gatherers from the Little Sea of Lake Baikal, Siberia, Russian Federation.,” Journal of Archaeological Science (2012), “A stable isotope study of hunter‐gatherer‐fisher diet, mobility and intensification on the Texas Gulf Coastal Plain” (with Robert Hard), American Antiquity (2011) and forthcoming Oxford Handbook on the Archaeology of Diet, co‐edited with Julia Lee Thorp. Patricia M. Lambert  received her PhD from the University of California at Santa Barbara in 1994 under the mentorship of Phillip Walker. She is Professor of Anthropology and former Associate Dean of Research and Graduate Studies at Utah State University. Her research interests include bioarchaeology, paleopathology, health at the origins of agriculture, prehistoric warfare, and the causes of human aggression and violence. She has conducted bioarchaeological research in several regions of North America, including California, Utah, Colorado, North Carolina, and Virginia, and from 1998 to 2001 co‐directed the Bioarchaeology of Moche Origins Project in Peru. Some of her recent publications include the co‐authored “Bone chemistry at Cerro Oreja: A stable isotope perspective on the development of a regional economy in the Moche Valley during the Early Intermediate Period,” Latin American Antiquity (2012); “Violent injury and death in a prehistoric farming community of Southwestern Colorado,” in The Routledge Handbook of the Bioarchaeology of Human Conflict (eds. M.J. Smith and C. Knusel), Routledge Press, 2014; the co‐ authored “Traumatic injury risk and agricultural transitions: A view from the American Southeast and Beyond,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology (2017); and “Indigenous warfare in North America,” in The Cambridge History of War, Volume One



Notes on Contributors

(eds. B. Meissner, K. Raaflaub, O. Schmitt, and R. Yates), Cambridge University Press, accepted for publication. Mary E. Lewis (BA Leicester; MSc, PhD Bradford) is an Associate Professor of Bioarchaeology in the Department of Archaeology, University of Reading. Mary specialises in nonadult skeletal pathology and is currently working on a new book (The Paleopathology of Children, Academic Press). Mary’s previous publications include The Bioarchaeology of Children (Cambridge University Press, 2007). She sits on the Board of the International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, and is an Associate Editor for the American Journal of Physical Anthropology, and the International Journal of Paleopathology. Nancy C. Lovell  received her BA (Honors) in Archaeology from Simon Fraser University in 1984, and her PhD in Anthropology from Cornell University in 1987. She is Professor Emerita of Anthropology at the University of Alberta. With research interests in bioarchaeology, paleopathology, and mortuary archaeology, she conducted bioarchaeological field work in India, Pakistan, and Egypt, and paleopathological research in Italy. Currently, she is busy with public and scholarly speaking engagements and publications ­ related to her work as lead scientist on a CT and radiographic imaging study of the University of Alberta’s Egyptian mummy. Recent publications include “Additional data on trauma at Harappa” (2014) and “Tiptoeing through the rest of his life: A functional adaptation to a leg shortened by femoral neck fracture” (2016). George R. Milner received his PhD in Anthropology from Northwestern University in 1982, and is currently Distinguished Professor of Anthropology at Pennsylvania State University. Before coming to Penn State, he was a Postdoctoral Fellow in

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Physical Anthropology at the Smithsonian Institution and Director of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of Kentucky. His research has focused on archaeology and human osteology, including forensic applications, with an emphasis on characterizing long‐term population histories, the demographic characteristics and disease experience of past peoples, human–land relationships, and small‐scale society warfare. He has conducted mortuary and habitation site fieldwork in several midwestern states, Egypt, and the Pacific; worked with archaeological skeletons from those areas and Denmark; and analyzed modern skeletal remains from North America, Europe, Africa, and Asia to refine forensic and paleodemographic sex and age‐estimation ­ methods. Currently he is Co‐Editor of the Journal of Anthropological Archaeology and an Associate Editor for the International Journal of Paleopathology. He has written an overview of eastern North American prehistory entitled The Moundbuilders: Ancient Peoples of Eastern North America (2004, Thames and Hudson), and in 2006 The Cahokia Chiefdom: The Archaeology of a Mississippian Society was reprinted by the University Press of Florida. Among his recent osteological publications is “Life not death: epidemiology from skeletons,” co‐ authored with Jesper L. Boldsen, in the International Journal of Paleopathology (2017). It updates aspects of “The osteological paradox: problems of inferring prehistoric health from skeletal samples” in Current Anthropology, co‐authored by James W. Wood among others, that has sparked considerable controversy in the field since its publication in 1992. Maria A. Nieves‐Colón  is a postdoctoral fellow in Evolutionary Anthropology at the School of Human Evolution and Social Change in Arizona State University. Her dissertation research uses ancient and modern DNA to characterize migration, ­ admixture and signatures of selection in

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human populations from Puerto Rico and the Caribbean. Current publications include the co‐authored article “Successful enrichment and recovery of whole mitochondrial genomes from ancient human dental calculus” in the American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 2016. Michael Pietrusewsky  is Professor Emeritus at the University of Hawai’i at Mānoa where he taught courses in physical anthropology for 46 years. His research interests include skeletal biology, forensic anthropology, and bioarchaeology, including the use of traditional morphometrics in biological distance studies. He has worked extensively with archaeological and museum collections of human skeletons from Australia, the Pacific, Southeast Asia, and East Asia. He is the author of more than 100 monographs, journal articles, and book chapters, and over 200 osteological and forensic case reports. He has served as Associate Editor for the American Journal of Physical Anthropology and currently serves on the editorial boards of journals in  archaeology, anatomy, and physical anthropology. Marin A. Pilloud received her PhD in 2009 from The Ohio State University. Upon completing her dissertation she worked as a forensic anthropologist at the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency. She is currently an assistant professor at the University of Nevada, Reno. Her research focuses on the human skeleton and how it can inform our understanding of human behavior in archaeological contexts and also be used in a forensic context as part of the biological profile. She is particularly interested in the application of dental morphology and ­metrics to answering research questions in both of these realms. She has active bioarchaeological research programs in ­ Neolithic Anatolia and prehistoric California, and regularly consults with law enforcement agencies to complete forensic

anthropological casework. She is currently the co‐editor of Dental Anthropology (with G. Richard Scott) and serves on the editorial board of Scientific Reports. She is also a Diplomate of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology and a registered professional archaeologist. She recently published the co‐edited volume (with Joseph T. Hefner) Biological Distance Analysis: Forensic and Bioarchaeological Perspectives. Charlotte A. Roberts  is currently President of the British Association for Biological Anthropology and Osteoarchae­ ology and Professor of Archaeology at Durham University, England, 2004–.She is a Fellow of the British Academy (2014) and has a background in nursing, archaeology, environmental archaeology, and bioarchaeology. She has carried out archaeological and bioarchaeological research for over 30  years. Specific interests include evolution and history of infections, and multi‐ method, interdisciplinary, contextually driven approaches. She promotes and disseminates her research to academic and nonacademic users. Publications include: Human Remains in Archaeology (2009), Archaeology of Disease (2005), Health and Disease in Britain (2003), Bioarchaeology of Tuberculosis (2003); she is editor of Global History of Paleopathology (2012), Past and Present of Leprosy (2002), Burial Archaeology (1989), and the author of more than 150 academic papers and book chapters. Alexander G. Robling  received his PhD from the University of Missouri in 1998 and completed a postdoctoral fellowship in  the Departments of Anatomy and Orthopedic Surgery at Indiana University – Purdue University, Indianapolis (IUPUI). He is currently a Professor in the Department of Anatomy & Cell Biology and Biomedical Engineering at the IU School of Medicine. Specializing in the



Notes on Contributors

effects of mechanical loading on bone at the organ, tissue, cell, and molecular levels, his current interests are focused on the signal transduction ­cascades involved in bone cell mechanosensation, including the genetic ­ regulation of mechanosensitivity. Recent publications include the co‐ authored article, “Biomechanical and molecular regulation of bone remodeling” in the Annual Review of Biomedical Engineering (2006); and the chapter “Histomorphology, geometry, and mechanical loading in past populations” with S.D. Stout, in Bone Loss and Osteoporosis: an Anthropological Perspective (edited by S.C. Agarwal and S.D. Stout, Kluwer Academic/ Plenum Publishers, Inc.). Jerome C. Rose  is University Professor of Anthropology at the University of Arkansas where he teaches dental anthropology and bioarchaeology. He completed his PhD at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst in 1973, where he began his research on enamel structure and Wilson bands. His most recent research, since 2005, is the bioarchaeology of the ancient site of Amarna, Egypt, where dental defects play an important role in interpreting the childhoods of these ancient people. He has co‐authored or edited ten books on regional bioarchaeology in North America and Jordan. Christopher B. Ruff is professor and director of the Center for Functional Anatomy and Evolution at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine in Baltimore. His research interests include biomechanics and primate locomotion, hominoid evolution, skeletal growth and development, and behavioral reconstruction in human populations. Recent publications include “Ontogenetic changes in limb bone structural proportions in mountain gorillas (Gorilla beringei beringei),” Journal of Human Evolution, 2013; and “Gradual decline in mobility with the adoption of food production in Europe,” Proceedings

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of  the National Academy of Sciences of the USA, 2015. G. Richard Scott holds a PhD from Arizona State University (1973) and is currently a Foundation Professor in the Department of Anthropology at the University of Nevada, Reno and Emeritus Professor of Anthropology, University of Alaska Fairbanks. Research interests include dental anthropology and skeletal biology, with special emphasis on tooth morphology and bioarchaeology. Geographically, he has worked in the American Southwest, American Arctic, North Atlantic (Greenland, Iceland, Norway, and Denmark), and Spain (Basque Country). He co‐authored The Anthropology of Modern Human Teeth with C.G. Turner II (1997: Cambridge University Press), Tooth Crown and Root Morphology: The  Arizona State University Dental Anthropology System with J.D. Irish (2017: Cambridge University Press) and co‐edited Anthro­ pological Perspectives on Tooth Morphology: Genetics, Evolution, Variation (2013: Cambridge University Press) and A Companion to Dental Anthropology (2016: Wiley Blackwell), both with J.D. Irish. Ann L. W. Stodder  holds a PhD from the University of Colorado (1990) and an MS in Library and Information Science. She is a Bioarchaeologist with the Office of Archaeological Studies at the Center for New Mexico Archaeology, Adjunct Associate Professor of Archaeology at the University of New Mexico, and a Research Associate of the Field Museum New Guinea Research Program. Her studies of human remains in the Pacific and the American Southwest include multiscalar approaches to the life histories and health of individuals and communities, and the taphonomic signatures of mortuary practices that reflect the human relationship with death and with the deceased. She is the co‐editor (with Ann  Palkovich) of The Bioarchaeology of

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Individuals (2012), the editor of Reanalysis and Reinterpretation in Southwestern Bioarchaeology (2008) and the forthcoming Readings in Southwestern Bioarchaeology, and author of Southwestern bioarchaeology syntheses in the Oxford Handbook of Southwest Archaeology (2017), The Handbook of North American Indians (2006), and The Global History of Paleopathology (2012). Anne C. Stone  is Professor in the School of Human Evolution and Social Change at Arizona State University. Her specialization is anthropological genetics. Currently, her research focuses on population history and understanding how humans and other primates have adapted to their environments, including disease and dietary environments. Stone obtained her PhD in Anthropology in 1996 from Pennsylvania State University. In 2016, she was elected to the National Academy of Sciences in the United States. Sam D. Stout received his PhD from Washington University, St. Louis, in 1976 and is currently Professor of Anthropology at the Ohio State University and Emeritus Faculty at the University of Missouri, Columbia. He specializes in histomorphometric analysis of bone, and its applications in skeletal biology, bioarchaeology, paleopathology, and forensic anthropology. Recent publications include Stout SD, Gocha TP, Cole MB, and Agnew AM (2016) Bone Histology, Oxford Bibliographies: Oxford University Press; Maggiano CM, Maggiano IS, Tiesler VG, Chi‐Keb JR, and Stout SD (2016) “Methods and theory in bone modeling drift: comparing spatial analyses of primary bone distributions in the human humerus,” Journal of Anatomy; Goliath JR, Stewart MC, and Stout SD (2016) “Variation in osteon histomorphometrics and their impact on age‐at‐death estimation in older individuals,” Forensic Science International; and Stewart M, Goliath J, Stout SD, and Hubbe M (2015)

Intraskeletal variability of relative cortical area in humans,” The Anatomical Record. Dr. Stout is a member of the American Association of Physical Anthropologists, the Paleopathology Association, and is a Fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. Douglas H. Ubelaker received his PhD degree from the University of Kansas in 1973. Currently, he holds the position of Curator of Physical Anthropology at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History. He is past President of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. His research interests are focused within human skeletal biology and forensic applications. He has also worked extensively with prehistoric skeletal samples from Ecuador and from eastern North America. Recent publications include Handbook of Forensic Anthropology and Archaeology, 2nd ed., co‐edited with Soren Blau (2016), “Teeth and fire: forensic analysis of teeth and dental material exposed to fire” (with J. Adserias and others) in Proceedings of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences (2016) and “The impact of age at death on lag time of radiocarbon values in human bone” (with C. Thomas and J.E. Olson) in Forensic Science International (2015). Phillip L. Walker  received his PhD from the University of Chicago in 1973. He was a professor of Anthropology at the University of California at Santa Barbara from 1974 until his death in 2009. Over the course of his long career, Professor Walker pursued his varied interests in bioarchaeology, paleopathology, forensic anthropology, faunal analysis, and human evolution. He was involved in a number of bioarchaeological projects pertaining to the study of human skeletal remains from various world regions, including North America, Asia, and Europe. With Jesse Byock, he co‐directed an



Notes on Contributors

a­rchaeological project in Iceland that included the excavation of a settlement period cemetery, church, and longhouse. He  was a principle investigator on a large NSF‐funded collaborative project entitled “A History of Health in Europe from the Late Paleolithic Era to the Present.” This project involved researchers from many ­different European countries. Its goal was to measure and analyze the evolution of skeletal health by combining data from human remains with information gathered from sources in archaeology, climate history, geography, and history. A prolific author, Walker published over 100 works over the course of his academic career, including “Cranial injuries as evidence for  violence in prehistoric Southern California,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology (1989); “A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence,” Annual Review of Anthropology (2001); “Sexing skulls using discriminant function analysis of v­ isually assessed traits,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology (2008); and the co‐authored “The causes of porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia: a reappraisal of the iron‐deficiency anemia hypothesis,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology (2009). Andrea L. Waters‐Rist  received her PhD from the University of Calgary in 2011. She is currently an Associate Professor in the Anthropology Department at the University of Western Ontario, Canada, and an Adjunct Researcher in the Faculty of Archaeology, Leiden University, the Netherlands, conducting research within the subfield of Human Osteoarchaeology. She uses stable isotope and synchrotron‐based trace element methods to reconstruct the diets of past populations, focusing, in particular, on infant feeding practices. In addition, she analyses human skeletal and dental remains for evidence of a wide range of diseases and activity‐induced modifications, and assesses patterns of growth and development. She is

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currently working on skeletal remains from various geographic areas and temporal periods, including Roman to post‐Medieval Dutch rural and urban populations, Neolithic to Iron Age Siberian hunter‐gatherers and pastoralists, and pre‐Columbian Nicaraguan agriculturalists. Key publications include the co‐authored articles, “A second mortuary hiatus on Lake Baikal in Siberia and the arrival of small‐scale pastoralism,” Scientific Reports, 2017; “Evaluating the biological discontinuity hypothesis of Cis‐Baikal Early versus Late Neolithic/Bronze Age populations using dental non‐metric traits,” Quaternary International, 2015; “Multicomponent analyses of a hydatid cyst from an Early Neolithic hunter‐fisher‐gatherer from Lake Baikal, Siberia,” Journal of Archaeological Science, 2014; “Osteological evidence of short‐limbed dwarfism in a nineteenth century Dutch family: Achondroplasia or hypochondroplasia,” International Journal of Paleopathology, 2013, and “Infant and child diet in Neolithic hunter‐fisher‐gatherers from Cis‐Baikal, Siberia: Intra‐long bone stable nitrogen and carbon isotope ratios.” American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 2011. James W. Wood  received his PhD from the University of Michigan in 1980 and is an Emeritus Professor of Biological Anthropology and Demography at Pennsylvania State University. Dr. Wood’s research spans several areas of human ­population biology, including biodemography, historical demography, population ecology, paleodemography, reproductive biology, and infectious disease dynamics. He has done extensive research on fertility and reproductive physiology, and has conducted fieldwork in Papua New Guinea on birth‐spacing patterns, the contraceptive effects of breastfeeding, fecundability, and pregnancy loss. He was also involved in a  long‐term prospective study of the endocrinology of menopause in a large ­

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cohort of US women. Dr. Wood’s other research includes paleodemography, where he has made important statistical and analytical contributions, and he has a long‐ standing interest in the demographic effects of infectious diseases. In recent years, much of his attention has focused on the historical demography and landscape ecology of the  northern Orkney Islands in Scotland. His  publications include, among others,

“A  ­ theory of preindustrial population dynamics: demography, economy, and well‐ being in Malthusian systems” Current Anthropology, 1998; “The osteological paradox: problems of inferring prehistoric health from skeletal samples” Current Anthropology, 1992 (with G.R. Milner, H.C. Harpending and K.M. Weiss); and Dynamics of Human Reproduction: Biology, Biometry, Demography, Aldine de Gruyter 1994.

PART I

THEORY AND APPLICATION IN STUDIES OF PAST PEOPLES

CHAPTER 1

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: PERSPECTIVES ON THE USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH PATRICIA M. LAMBERT and PHILLIP L. WALKER (DECEASED)

In the first and second editions, this chapter was prepared by PLW. In the current edition the chapter has been revised and updated by PML.

INTRODUCTION The rapidity of technological and cultural change in current times is forcing us to con­ front a myriad of moral dilemmas over issues as wide ranging as the ethics of human tissue donation (Hamdy 2016), the ownership of our genetic material, the meaning and limits of “informed consent” in relation to stored bio­ logical samples (Radin 2015; Smith‐Morris 2007), the ethical use of social media (Gray 2017), and the rights of animals relative to those of humans. These ethical issues concern the very nature of what it means to be human and our relationships, not only to other people, but also to the plants and animals that sustain us. In bioarchaeology, we confront many of the same ethical issues found in medicine and other fields involving human subjects because

we work with the remains of once‐living people, and with their living descendants. ­ Added to these are ethical issues associated with the collection, handling, and curation of the remains of the dead, primarily emerging from differing value systems concerning con­ cepts of death and the afterlife, appropriate treatment of the dead, and the nature of the relationship between the living and the dead. These are the ethical dilemmas we must be mindful of and prepared to deal with as we pursue our studies of human skeletal remains. The enormous strides we have taken toward human equality in the last century mean that formerly disenfranchised and enslaved mem­ bers of minority groups have begun to gain power and control over their lives. In many countries there has been a decline in the politi­ cal dominance and moral authority of organ­ ized religions. Notions of multiculturalism and a growing acceptance of the moral principle of not discriminating against people based on gender, ethnicity, or religious beliefs mean that there is no longer a predominant set of cultural values we can use to guide us in dealing with

Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, Third Edition. Edited by M. Anne Katzenberg and Anne L. Grauer. © 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2019 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

moral issues (Cottingham 1994). In this ­context, the growing recognition of differing belief systems about the dead has raised impor­ tant questions concerning the treatment of human skeletal remains, especially those from archaeological contexts. The increased tolerance of cultural diversity poses ethical dilemmas because, as the range of value systems and religious beliefs that are  considered socially acceptable increases, so does the probability of social conflict. To  deal with these issues, many scientific ­associations have begun to reevaluate the ethi­ cal principles that underlie their research activ­ ities. Ethics in bioarchaeology are especially problematic because the field is positioned between medicine, with its ethical focus on the generation of scientific knowledge that is help­ ful to individual patients, and anthropology, with its ethical principles shaped both by a deep belief in the power of cultural relativism to overcome ethnocentrism, and profound commitment to the preservation of our collec­ tive human past. It is in this context that skeletal biologists are increasingly required to adapt their activi­ ties to the value systems of the descendants of the people they study. Human skeletal remains are more than biological materials of value for scientific research. For many people, they also are the subject matter of religious veneration of great symbolic and cultural significance (Sadongei and Cash Cash 2007). Over the past thirty years, formerly disenfranchised groups such as Native Americans and Australian Aborigines have increasingly been able to assert their claims of moral authority to control the disposition of both the remains of their ancestors and the land their ancestors occupied (Howitt 1998; Lambert 2012; Scott 1996; Walker 2004). This trend toward repatriating museum collections and granting land rights to indigenous peoples is most readily understood within a broader social and historical context. To provide this historical perspective, we describe the evolution of religious beliefs about the proper treatment of the dead and the conflicts that have arisen over the centuries

between these beliefs and the value scientists place on the empirical information that can be gained through research on human remains. This is followed by a discussion of the ­generally accepted ethical principles that have emerged in recent years in the field of bioar­ chaeology. Finally, some practical suggestions are offered for dealing with conflicts that arise when these ethical principles are at odds with those of descendant groups. THE HISTORY OF BELIEFS ABOUT THE DEAD Early in the history of our lineage, ancestral humans began to develop a keen interest in the remains of their dead kinsmen. At first this was likely simply a response to the practical con­ siderations of removing the decaying remains of a dead relative from one’s domicile or pre­ venting scavengers from consuming their body. More elaborate patterns of mortuary behavior soon began to develop. Cut marks on the crania of some of the earliest members of our species, for example, show that as early as 600,000 years ago people living at the Bodo site in Ethiopia were defleshing the heads of the dead (White 1986). It has been suggested that such practices reflect a widespread belief among our ancestors concerning the role of the brain in reproduction (La Barre 1984). By 50,000–100,000 years ago, mortuary practices had evolved into elaborate rituals that involved painting bodies with red ochre and including food or animal remains with the body as offerings (Mayer et al. 2009). Through time these cultural practices became associated with increasingly complex religious beliefs that helped people cope with the uncertainties of death. Depositing utilitarian items and valu­ ables such as ornaments in graves became commonplace in the Upper Paleolithic period. Such practices suggest continued use of these items was anticipated in the afterlife (Giocabini 2007). Expressions of such beliefs can be found in some of the earliest surviving reli­ gious texts. The Egyptian Book of the Dead,



for instance, provides spells and elaborate directions for use by the souls of the deceased during their journeys in the land of the dead (Allen 1960; Ellis N. 1996). The belief that the soul persists in an after­ world has deep roots in Western religious tra­ ditions. The ancient Greeks held elaborate funeral rituals to help a dead person’s soul find its way across the River Styx to a community of souls in the underworld. Once in the under­ world there was continued communion between the living and the dead. For example, the soul of a dead person could be reborn in a new body if their living family members con­ tinued to attend to their needs by bringing them honey cakes and other special foods on cere­ monial occasions (Barber 1988). By medieval times most people continued to view death as a semi‐permanent state in which the living and the spirit of the dead person could maintain contact with each other. Folktales about ghosts and corpses coming to life were widespread and contributed to the idea of the dead func­ tioning in society with the living (Barber 1988; Caciola 1996). The issue of the integrity of the corpse and its importance to the afterlife ­dominated medieval discussions of the body: salvation became equated with wholeness, and hell with decay and partition of the body (Bynum 1995:114). After the Reformation, conservative Protestant groups continued to emphasize the profound significance of a person’s physical remains after death. In fact, one of the more troublesome issues facing Protestant reformers after the abolition of purgatory in the early ­sixteenth century was the need to provide a rational explanation for the status of the body and soul in the period intervening between death and resurrection (Spellman 1994). One strategy for dealing with this vexing problem is provided by the constitution of the Old School Presbyterian Church, published in 1822, which asserts that the bodies of deceased members of the church “even in death continue united in Christ, and rest in the graves as in their beds, till at the last day they be again united with their souls… the self same bodies of the dead

The history of beliefs about the dead

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which were laid in the grave, being then again raised up by the power of Christ (Laderman 1996:54).” Although religiosity appears to be declin­ ing in modern Western societies as a whole (Eurobarometer 2005; Franck and Iannaccone 2014; Lipka 2015), such beliefs in the continuance of life after death nonetheless ­ remain prevalent. For example, about 72 % of American adults believe in heaven and some 58 % believe in hell (Pew Research Center 2014). These numbers are lower but still substantial among Canadians, with 53.5 % ­ expressing belief in an afterlife, though less than 30  % express belief in a fiery hell (Johnson 2010). Other surveys show that 24 % of American Christians believe in reincarna­ tion (Ryan 2015) and 25  % of European adults  report having contact with the dead (Haraldsson and Houtkooper 1991). Belief in God also varies considerably in Western countries, from a reported high of 95 % in Malta to a low of 16 % in Estonia (Eurobarometer 2005). In the U.S., 89 % of the general population say “yes” to a belief in God or a universal spirit (Lipka 2015). In spite of speculation about the secularizing effects of education and academia, about 88 % of highly educated people in the U.S. believe in God and 70 % are members of a religious congregation (Winseman 2003). While it is true that scien­ tists tend to be less religious than the general population, this pattern varies globally. Over 50  % of scientists in countries as diverse as India, Italy, Taiwan, and Turkey identify as religious, and in places such as Hong Kong and Taiwan scientists are actually more likely to identify as religious than members of the gen­ eral public (McCaig 2015, citing the work of E.H. Ecklund). Anthropologists are one of the few groups that deviate significantly from the  majority in degree of religious adherence and extent to which they subscribe to the view that individual human beings continue to exist in some kind of an afterlife. Compared to fac­ ulty in the physical sciences, anthropologists are almost twice as likely to be irreligious, to never attend church, and one in five actually

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BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

declare themselves “opposed” to religion (Iannaccone et al. 1998). This is significant in the context of the ethical issues considered in this paper because it means that the values of the anthropologists who do skeletal research will often differ dramatically from other ­scientists and academics, the general public and, more importantly, the descendants of the people they study. Although the prevalence of conviction in an afterlife appears to have changed relatively ­little during the twentieth century, the cultural context of death and the period of transition have been dramatically transformed. The familiarity with death that characterized earlier societies in which people were forced to directly confront the dead on a daily basis has been replaced by avoidance of the dead. With the commercialization of the burial process by the “death‐care” industry in wealthy countries, traditions such as wakes and ritual preparation of the dead for burial by family members have been replaced by the processing of the dead in remote settings (Badone 1987; Horn 1998; Rundblad 1995). This cultural trend toward lack of contact with the dead has greatly increased the cultural gulf between a public that has little familiarity with death and skele­ tal researchers, such as bioarchaeologists, who confront the dead on a daily basis. THE HISTORY OF RESEARCH ON HUMAN REMAINS Ambivalence toward scientific research on human remains has deep roots in Western ­societies. From its onset, scientific research on the dead has primarily been the domain of physicians, who were often forced to work under clandestine conditions on the bodies of social outcasts. The earliest recorded system­ atic dissections of human bodies were con­ ducted in the first half of the third century bce, by two Greeks, Herophilus of Chalcedon and Erasistratus of Ceos. These studies were per­ formed in Alexandria, a city where traditional Greek values were weakened by Ptolemic

influences, and probably involved vivisection and the use of condemned criminals (Von Staden 1989:52–53, 1992). In the ancient world, scientific research of this kind was extremely problematic because it violated Greco‐Roman, Arabic, and early Judeo‐ Christian beliefs about the afterlife, impurity, and pollution (Bynum 1994; Eknoyan 1994; Von Staden 1992). In the Christian world, ana­ tomical studies of the dead were especially troublesome because many people feared res­ urrection would be impossible if their body had been dissected. This belief derived from the conviction that at resurrection the actual body is reconnected with the soul. People thus  feared that dissection would somehow interfere with this process and leave the soul eternally wandering around in search of lost parts (Bynum 1994). During the Renaissance the strength of reli­ gious sanctions against dissection began to weaken and, by the sixteenth century, surgeons in Protestant countries such as England were officially given the authority to take the bodies of hanged criminals for use in their anatomical studies. This practice had the dual purpose of furthering the healing arts and serving as a deterrent to criminals who feared the desecra­ tion of their bodies (Humphrey 1973; Wilf 1989). The repugnance of being dissected was so great that riots sometimes erupted after exe­ cutions over the disposition of the bodies. Samuel Richardson observed one of these spectacles: “As soon as the poor creatures were half‐dead, I was much surprised, before such a number of peace‐officers, to see the populace fall to hauling and pulling the carcasses with so much earnestness, as to occasion several warm encounters, and broken heads. These, I was told, were the friends of the person executed, or such as, for the sake of tumult, chose to appear so, and some persons sent by private surgeons to obtain bodies for dissection. The contests between these were fierce and bloody, and frightful to look at (Richardson 1928:219).” As appreciation for the medical value of the information that could be gained through dissection increased, so did the need for ­



a­natomical specimens. Soon the demand for bodies for use in teaching and research out­ stripped the legal supply of executed criminals, and physicians increasingly began to obtain cadavers through robbing graves and hiring body‐snatchers who were referred to as “resur­ rectionists” (Hutchens 1997; Millican 1992; Schultz 1992). This practice was widespread and still persists at medical schools in some  economically disadvantaged countries (Ochani  et  al. 2004). The desire for bodies even led to the series of infamous murders committed by William Burke and William Hare in Edinburgh in the 1820s, with the aim of supplying dissection subjects to the anato­ mist Dr. Robert Knox. Hare turned king’s ­evidence and Burke was hanged for his crimes, but the incident did lead to controlling legisla­ tion in Britain (Richardson 2001). In the U.S., grave‐robbing activities also sometimes met with violent public resistance. In 1788, for example, New Yorkers rioted for three days after some children peered through windows of the Society of the Hospital of the City of New York and discovered medical students dissecting human cadavers, one of ­ whom turned out to be their recently deceased mother (de Costa and Miller 2011). A mob of 5,000 eventually stormed the hospital and the jail where several doctors had taken refuge. The militia had to be called in and finally ­dispersed the crowd by firing muskets into it. To avoid problems such as this, the profes­ sional body‐snatchers hired by medical schools concentrated on robbing the graves of the poor and powerless. The cemeteries of almshouses were favorite targets and, in the United States, African‐American graveyards were favored as places to plunder (de Costa and Miller 2011). Upon visiting Baltimore in 1835, Harriet Martineau commented that the bodies used for dissection were exclusively those of African Americans “because the whites do not like it, and the coloured people cannot resist” (Martineau 1838:140). During the last half of the eighteenth ­century, the inadequacies of the old system of  learning anatomy by studying models and

The history of research on human remains

7

occasionally observing a demonstrator dissect a criminal’s body became increasingly appar­ ent. With the growth of medical knowledge and the depersonalization and desacralization of the body in science (Bieder 1992), aspiring surgeons began clamoring for more hands‐on experience so they could avoid the horrifying prospect of learning their trade through the butchery of their first living patients. This desire was reinforced by a growing public rec­ ognition of the value of being operated upon by someone with practical experience in the dissection of human bodies. These social pressures resulted in an expo­ nential increase in the demand for cadavers. To  meet this need, “anatomical acts” were eventually passed that expanded the legal sources of cadavers to include the victims of  duels, suicides, and most importantly, unclaimed bodies. The demand was so great that even this new legal supply of bodies was often inadequate and, throughout much of the nineteenth century, medical schools in the U.S. and Britain were still enlisting the services of body‐snatchers to obtain their instructional materials (Blake 1955; Blakely et  al. 1997; Newman 1957). Although much of the early anatomical research focused on resolving issues concern­ ing physiology and surgical anatomy, from the beginning skeletal studies with an anthropo­ logical leaning were conducted to answer questions related to human variation and adaptation. As early as 440 bce, Herodotus (484–425 bce) reported on an investigation into the effect of the environment on the strength of the skull: On the field where this battle was fought I saw a very wonderful thing which the natives pointed out to me. The bones of the slain lie scattered upon the field in two lots, those of the Persians in one place by themselves, as the bodies lay at the first—those of the Egyptians in another place apart from them. If, then, you strike the Persian skulls, even with a pebble, they are so weak, that you break a hole in them; but the Egyptian skulls are so strong, that you may smite them with a

8

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

stone and you will scarcely break them in. They gave me the following reason for this  difference, which seemed to me likely enough: The Egyptians (they said) from early childhood have the head shaved, and so by  the action of the sun the skull becomes thick  and hard (Herodotus, in Rawlinson 1875:410).

Much of the early anatomical work on human variation had its roots in the belief of Aristotle and his contemporaries that Nature was organized hierarchically as a continuous ­ chain. This view of the world provided a useful framework for comprehending the ­ enormous complexity of the natural world and had the appeal of rationalizing the stratified nature of Greek society, with powerful rulers and a social elite at the top and the slaves at the bottom (Clutton‐Brock 1995). By the mid­ dle ages this hierarchical view of the world had been transformed into Christian doctrine in which the world was seen as a perfect expression of God’s will that descended in continuous succession through a “Great Chain of Being” from the perfection of the creator at the top to mere dust at the very bottom of crea­ tion. This perspective permeated much of the work of early natural historians such as John Ray, who developed the doctrine of “natural theology” in which he argued that the power of God could be understood through the study of his creation, the natural world (Ray 1692). In this context, the description of biological variation, including that found among humans, was a frankly religious activity in which the exploration of the fabric of the natural world at both its macroscopic and microscopic levels was seen as a way of revealing the “divine architect’s” plan for the universe. The expanded view of biological diversity provided by the specimens brought back by Columbus and other early European explorers stimulated a frenzy of species description and the first detailed anatomical studies of the dif­ ferences between apes and humans. Through his careful dissections of a chimpanzee, Edward Tyson (1650–1708) was able to debunk myths based on the reports of classical authors such as

Homer, Herodotus, and Aristotle that human­ kind contained several species including “satyrs,” “sphinges,” and “pygmies.” In 1779 Charles Bonnet (1720–1793) wrote a detailed account of the orangutan, in which he noted a close relationship to us, albeit with the “lowest races” of our species (Bonnet 1779; Clutton‐ Brock 1995; Tyson 1966). After resolving the issue of whether humans and apes are members of the same species, Enlightenment scholars still faced the problem of interpreting the previously unsuspected extent of human biological and cultural diver­ sity revealed by European colonial expansion into remote areas of the world. Carolus Linnaeus (1758), for example, recognized five divisions of our genus, which included “Homo monstrosus,” a catchall category for a variety of mythical creatures reported by early explor­ ers. The debate soon took on a strong religious flavor and began to focus on how the empirical facts of human variation could be made ­congruent with biblical accounts of Adam and Eve and the Tower of Babel. Interpretations of  human diversity became sharply divided between adherents of the theory of monogene­ sis, who believed in a single origin for humans in the Garden of Eden, and adherents of polygenesis, who rejected the criteria of ­interfertility as the basis for defining biological species and took the unorthodox position that Europeans, Africans, Asians, and Native Americans derive from different ancestral forms (Bernasconi 2008; Bieder 1992; Knapman 2016). By the end of the eighteenth century, evi­ dence obtained from human skeletal remains began to assume an increasingly important role in debates over the origins and significance of human biological and cultural differences. Cranial evidence (a total of 82 skulls), for instance, figured prominently in the famous M.D. thesis of Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840). Blumenbach argued that modern human diversity had arisen as a consequence of the degeneration of a primordial type (­varietas primigenia) whose closest living approximation could be found in the people of



the Caucasus Mountains (Blumenbach et  al. 1865). Such studies generated considerable interest in human cranial variation, and soon systematic efforts were begun to assemble research collections of human skeletal material from throughout the world (Bieder 1992). In the United States, research on population differences in cranial morphology was domi­ nated by Samuel George Morton (1799–1851), a physician from Philadelphia. Morton studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh, where he was influenced by theories of polygenism and the hereditarian views of phrenologists that were in vogue at the time (Bieder 1992; Spencer 1983). Underlying Morton’s careful craniometric research was the basic theoretical assumption of phrenology: differences in skull shape corresponded to differences in the shape of the brain and consequent differences in brain function. To test these theories, Morton amassed a large collection of human crania from all over the world that he compared using cranial measurements. From this he derived a hierarchy of racial types influenced by the pre­ dominant scientific views of the time, with Blacks at the bottom, American Indians inter­ mediate, and Whites at the top (Morton 1839). Morton’s craniometric approach to under­ standing human variation set the stage for much of the osteological research done by physical anthropologists during the rest of the nineteenth century. Most of this work was typological in orientation and focused upon the classification of people into broad categories such as brachycephalic (round‐headed) or ­dolichocephalic (long‐headed) based on ratios of measurements. Although acceptance of the monogeneticists’ theory that all humans trace their ancestry to a single origin gradually increased, especially after the publication of Charles Darwin’s (1859) theory of natural selection, a typological, craniometrically ori­ ented approach emphasizing taxonomic description and definition over functional interpretation persisted well into the middle of the twentieth century in the work of influential skeletal biologists such as Aleš Hrdlička (1869–1943) and Ernest Hooton (1887–1954).

The history of research on human remains

9

There are several reasons for the remarka­ ble tenacity of the typological emphasis in research on human skeletal remains. First, there is the longstanding, essentialist idea that human variation can be adequately accommo­ dated by a few, fundamentally different racial types, which conveniently coincides with beliefs in racial inferiority and superiority that  continue to persist in modern societies. The idea of a straightforward relationship between the shape of a person’s skull and their genetic makeup also was seductive to physical anthropologists because it meant that cranial differences could be used as a powerful tool to  further one of anthropology’s principle goals: producing detailed reconstructions of ­population movements and historical relation­ ships. Finally, there was a practical considera­ tion behind the persistence of the typological orientation of skeletal research. Until recently, the computational problems of someone attempting to statistically compare quantitative observations made on skeletal collections of any meaningful size were virtually insur­ mountable. The typological approach, with all of its simplifying assumptions and loss of information on within‐group heterogeneity, offered a cost‐effective alternative to this ­practical dilemma. The challenges of these technological limi­ tations is well illustrated by the anthropomet­ ric work of Franz Boas (1858–1942), the founder of American anthropology, and a strong opponent of simplistic hereditarian interpretations of human variation. Through his anthropometric studies of Europeans who immigrated to the United States, Boas showed that the shape of the cranial vault, a trait nine­ teenth‐century racial typologists had fixated upon, is highly responsive to environmental influences and thus of limited value in taxo­ nomic analysis (Boas 1912). Boas realized the potential of anthropometric research for eluci­ dating the cultural and biological history of our species, and from 1888 to 1903 worked to  assemble anthropometric data on 15,000 Native Americans and 2,000 Siberians (Jantz et al. 1992). In contrast to Hrdlička and many

10

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

of his other contemporaries, Boas realized the necessity of statistical analysis for understand­ ing the variability within these samples. Unfortunately, the computational capabilities of the data‐processing tools that were availa­ ble at the beginning of the nineteenth century (i.e., pencil and paper) made meaningful anal­ ysis of the information on human variation contained within this monumental collection of anthropometric observations impossible (Jantz 1995). Consequently, almost nothing was done with these data until a few years ago when the availability of computers with ade­ quate data storage and processing capability made their analysis possible. During the past forty years, physical anthropology has finally escaped from the ­ methodological and conceptual shackles of nineteenth‐century racial typology. Research on the skeletal remains of earlier human popu­ lations has entered a vibrant new phase in which the great potential Boas saw in studies of human variation as a source of insights into the biological and cultural evolution of humankind is beginning to be realized. This paradigm shift has involved replacing the futile nineteenth‐ century preoccupation with drawing stable boundaries around populations, whose biological and cultural makeup is constantly in flux, with new methods and evolutionary ecological approaches that recognize the complexity and adaptive significance of interactions between genetic variability and developmental plasticity. This theoretical reorientation has resulted in a new bioarchaeological approach to the analy­ sis of skeletal remains from earlier human populations that uses cultural, biological (morphometric, paleopathological, and bio­ chemical), and paleoenvironmental evidence to illuminate the processes of human adaptation (Larsen 2015). With this new, integrative approach has come an increasing appreciation for the many ways the remains of our ancestors can help us to better understand and devise solutions to the many seemingly intractable problems of violence, disease, and social inequity that we currently face.

THE SOURCES OF SKELETAL COLLECTIONS To fully appreciate the concerns that many indigenous people of North America, Hawaii and Australia, among others, have about the collection of human skeletons, it is necessary to understand the historical and social context in which skeletal collections have been made throughout history (Walker 2004). The prac­ tice of collecting human skeletal remains as war trophies and for religious purposes has deep historical roots. It has been argued that taking the heads of the dead to obtain their power is among the earliest of ritual practices (La Barre 1984). In the past, the taking of heads, scalps, and other body parts during ­warfare was a widespread practice, especially among Native Americans and Melanesians (Chacon and Dye 2007; Driver 1969; Harner 1972; Olsen and Shipman 1994; Owsley et al. 1994; White and Toth 1991; Willey and Emerson 1993). Although suppressed in mod­ ern societies, such practices continue in the form of the collection of “trophy skulls” from battlefields by modern soldiers (McCarthy 1994; Quigley 2008:162; Sledzik and Ousley 1991). Among Christians, the belief that proximity to the bones and other body parts of saints could bring miracles was common as early as the fourth century ce This use of human remains as objects of religious veneration gradually resulted in the accumulation of sub­ stantial skeletal collections. By the ninth cen­ tury the remains of martyrs had become so valuable that competition between religious centers created a regular commerce that some­ times degenerated to the point of melees between monks attempting to seize the bodies of martyrs by force of arms (Gauthier 1986; Geary 1978; Thurston 1913). The belief that the miraculous powers of important religious figures could be accessed through their bones stimulated a lively market in human remains. At one point nineteen churches claimed to possess the mandible of John the Baptist ­



(Collin de Plancy 1821). Philip II (1556–1598) of Spain, a zealous Catholic, commissioned an envoy to collect the remains of as many saints and martyrs as he could, and assembled a col­ lection of eleven complete skeletons along with thousands of skulls, long bones, and other miscellaneous skeletal elements at his resi­ dence, the Escorial near Madrid. Belief in the magical powers of human remains was not limited to those of Catholic saints. When an Egyptian mummy was obtained by Leipzig, Germany, in 1693, it soon became a tourist attraction owing to the common belief “that it pierceth all parts, restores wasted limbs, con­ sumption, heckticks, and cures all ulcers and corruption” (Wittlin 1949). Until the middle of the eighteenth century, Europe had no museum collections, human osteological or otherwise, in the modern sense. Instead, there were vast collections held by monarchs and the Catholic Church that func­ tioned as reliquaries, storehouses, and treasur­ ies. During the Enlightenment, a strong belief in the power of empirical investigations of the natural world as a method for the discovery of God’s laws brought with it a need for muse­ ums, whose purpose was the preservation of historical artifacts and natural objects for sci­ entific scrutiny. At first these collections took the form of “curio cabinets” maintained by wealthy aristocrats for their personal research and the edification of their friends. Many of these early collectors were physicians who, owing to their professional interest in human anatomy, included human skeletons and pre­ served anatomical specimens in their cabinets. For example, the large collection amassed by Sir Hans Sloane (1660–1753), the personal physician to Queen Anne and King George II, included a number of human skeletons. Upon Sloane’s death, these skeletons and the rest of his collection were bequeathed to the British Parliament at a nominal sum and served as the  nucleus of the British Museum’s natural history collection. In America, scholarly asso­ ciations such as The Library Company of Philadelphia, formed in 1731 by Benjamin

The sources of skeletal collections

11

Franklin and his colleagues, began to maintain collections that included anatomical specimens and, around the same time, the Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia established its teach­ ing cabinet with the acquisition of a human skeleton and a series of anatomical models (Orosz 1990:16–17). These collections of skel­ etons and anatomical specimens were of great value because they made it possible to provide instruction in surgical anatomy without offend­ ing Christians, who had religious objections to the dissection of cadavers. Although the increase in human dissections in the nineteenth century opened the possibil­ ity of increasing the scope of skeletal collec­ tions, this potential was not fully realized because cadavers were viewed as a resource for medical training rather than as research materials for the nascent field of physical anthropology. Collections were made of speci­ mens with interesting anomalies and patho­ logical conditions but, as a rule, the rest of the dissected person’s skeleton was often disposed of in a cavalier fashion (Blakely and Harrington 1997:167). Based on what we can discern from the remnants of nineteenth‐century medical school collections that survive today, little effort was made to create carefully documented skeletal collections of known age and sex for use in assessing the normal range of human variation. The failure to create such systematic collections may in part stem from the preva­ lence of racist views at the time that minimized the ­importance of variation within groups and exaggerated the significance of population ­differences, though it may also simply reflect the nature of scientific collecting more gener­ ally in the nineteenth century, with its focus on interspecific variation and emphasis on the cranium and brain (Bieder 1992). The immensity of the carnage brought about by the Civil War profoundly affected attitudes toward the dead in the United States (Laderman 1996). The war desensitized people to death and changed the way they viewed the  remains of the dead. At the same time, the  logistic problems the military faced in

12

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

p­ reserving the bodies of so many dead soldiers for transportation back to their families turned corpses into commodities that needed to be processed by professionals such as doctors and undertakers. In this context of mass slaughter, rising professionalism, and growing rejection of religious beliefs in the resurrection of the body, surgeons struggling to devise standard­ ized treatments for the sometimes horrifying injuries they faced began to view autopsies and  other medical research on dead soldiers as  an ethical imperative. To accommodate this research the Army Medical Museum was founded in 1862 as a repository for thousands of skeletal specimens, preserved organs, pho­ tographs, and other medical records obtained during the treatment and autopsy of military casualties (Barnes et  al. 1870; Otis and Woodward 1865). At the close of the Civil War, Army doctors shifted the focus of their collecting activities toward medical concerns arising from the Indian Wars in the western United States, such as the treatment of arrow wounds (Bill 1862; Parker 1883; Wilson 1901). One aspect of this work involved the collection of Native American crania and artifacts from battlefields and cemeteries. This was implemented through a letter from the Surgeon General’s Office, dated January 13, 1868, which stated: “Will you allow me to ask your kind interposition in urging upon the medical officers in your departments the importance of collecting for the Army Medical Museum specimens of Indian Crania and of Indian Weapons and Utensils, so far as they may be able to procure them” (Memorandum for Information of Medical Officers, 1 September, 1868; Bieder 1992: 33, note 26). Other documents make it clear that these collections were made under the protest of the Indians whose graves were being raided and that such activities could even result in further hostilities with the Indians (Bieder 1992). Although government sanc­ tioned grave robbing of this kind eventually stopped, the practice continues to provoke ­outrage among the descendants of the people whose bodies were stolen (Riding In 1992).

Beginning in the middle of the nineteenth century, large public natural history museums oriented towards popular education and schol­ arly research began to be established (Orosz 1990). These museums provided an institu­ tional framework within which large skeletal collections could be consolidated from the smaller private collections of physicians and wealthy amateur archaeologists. These new museums had the resources necessary to main­ tain staffs of professional research scientists and to augment their osteological collections through purchases from private collectors and the sponsorship of archaeological expeditions throughout the world. In the United States, the most important natural history museums from the perspective of collections of human skeletal remains are the Smithsonian Institution founded in 1846, the Harvard Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology founded 1866, the American Museum of Natural History founded in 1869, the Columbian Museum of Chicago (now the Chicago Field Museum) founded in 1893, the Lowie Museum of Anthropology (now the Phoebe Hearst Museum) founded in 1901, and the San Diego Museum of Man founded in 1915. During the twentieth century the number of museums with significant holdings of human skeletal remains rapidly increased (Redman 2016) and recent estimates place the total number of Native American remains in U.S. repositories at around 192,000 (http:// www.nps.gov/nagra/ONLINEDB/). The research value of these collections var­ ies enormously, depending on the conditions under which they were collected. Owing to the cranial typological orientation of nineteenth‐ century physicians, most of the skeletal mate­ rial collected before the beginning of the twentieth century consists of isolated crania, lacking associated mandibles or postcranial remains. Because of the predisposition of these researchers to interpret human variation within a framework of stable types immune to envi­ ronmental influences or temporal change, most of them lack adequate provenience informa­ tion and are simply labeled in terms of broadly



defined racial categories or geographical regions. All of these factors greatly reduce the value of such collections for research purposes. However, most of the skeletal material in museums derives from the work of profes­ sional archaeologists and is associated with at least some contextual information that allows the individual to be placed in a meaningful ­historical, geographical, environmental, and ­cultural context. This type of information is essential for modern bioarchaeological research, which relies heavily on contextual information to reconstruct the cultural ecology of earlier human populations. Another type of human skeletal collections also began to be assembled in the first half of the twentieth century, as several visionary anatomists realized the value of having skele­ tons from individuals of known age, sex, and ethnic background for use in anthropological and forensic research concerning the effects of environmental and genetic factors on health, disease, and morphological variation. Working in conjunction with the teaching programs of medical schools, these researchers carefully recorded anthropometric data, vital statistics, health histories, and other relevant information for the people whose bodies were scheduled for dissection. Afterwards they prepared the skeletons for curation in research collections (Quigley 2008). Three of the largest of these dissection room collections were established in the United States, at the Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis, the Western Reserve University in Cleveland, and Howard University in Washington, D.C. A central figure in the creation of these ­collection efforts was William Montague Cobb (1904–1990). Cobb, an African‐American physician and acknowledged activist leader in  the African‐American community, real­ ized the value of empirical data on human variation as an antidote to racism. After completing his  M.D. training at Howard ­ University, he did postgraduate studies at the Western Reserve University where he helped T. Wingate Todd (1885–1938) assemble what would become the Hamman–Todd Human

The value of human skeletal remains

13

Osteological Collection. After writing a Ph.D. dissertation on anthropological materials, which included information on the geographic and ethnic origins of the people who contrib­ uted their skeletons to the Western Reserve collection, Cobb returned to Washington where he created a similar collection (The Cobb Collection) at Howard University (Cobb 1936). A prolific author and dedicated teacher of anat­ omy, Cobb used his understanding of human biology, which in part derived from dissections and skeletal research, to improve the health and reinforce the civil rights of African Americans (Cobb 1939, 1948; Quigley 2008; Rankin‐Hill and Blakey 1994). In Great Britain and Europe, a different approach has led to the creation of known age and sex skeletal collections for use in anthro­ pological research. The crypts outside Saint Bride’s Church, London, were disturbed through bombing during World War II. Restoration of the church resulted in a docu­ mented collection of skeletal remains dating from the mid‐eighteenth century (Huda and Bowman 1995; Scheuer and Bowman 1995), which is now housed at the Museum of London. Similar collections of people of known age and sex from historic cemeteries have also been established in Coimbra, Portugal (Cunha 1995), Lisbon, Portugal (Cardosa 2006), Spain, Geneva, Switzerland (Gemmerich 1997) and Hallstatt, Austria (Sjøvold 1990, 1993). A great many other ­anatomical collections of skeletons of nine­ teenth‐ and twentieth‐century individuals exist in anatomy departments and medical schools throughout Europe, Britain, and other coun­ tries (Quigley 2008). THE VALUE OF HUMAN SKELETAL REMAINS In the ongoing debate over the disposition and scientific analysis of ancient human remains in museum collections, there is a tendency for the ethical issues surrounding skeletal research and the maintenance of skeletal collections to

14

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

be reduced to simplistic dichotomies: science vs. religion, right vs. wrong, and so on. Although framing the complex social issues underlying the debate in this way may be ­politically expedient, it is counterproductive for anyone seeking a solution that balances the concerns of descendants when these differ from those of the scientific community. From the previous discussion of the evolu­ tion of beliefs about human remains, it is clear that the rituals people have devised for the treatment of the dead have varied enormously among the cultures of the world through time. While the practice of funeral rites by friends and relatives and the use of a method of dispos­ ing of the body appear to be human universals, there is otherwise little uniformity (Brown 1991; Murdock 1945). This diversity of beliefs about how the dead should be treated poses ethical dilemmas for bioarchaeologists when their scientific work conflicts with the beliefs of the descendants of the people whose remains they study. One approach to resolving disputes over research on ancient skeletal remains is to view such disagreements as cultural issues arising from competing value systems (Goldstein and Kintigh 1990). Conceiving of disputes over the treatment of the dead as products of conflicting value systems avoids polemics in which each side battles for moral superiority and instead promotes communication and mutual under­ standing. This can eventually result in the dis­ covery of solutions that are consistent with the value systems of both parties in the dispute. The only justification for the study of skel­ etal remains from earlier human populations is that such research yields information that is useful and of interest to modern people. Although the value of skeletal research seems self‐evident to the people who conduct it, there are many indigenous people in North America and Australia in particular who feel that such work is not only useless, but also extremely harmful owing to the damage it does to them and the spirits of their ancestors (Sadongei and Cash Cash 2007; Turnbull 2002). The conflict that may exist between the values that

s­cientists and descendant groups attach to human remains is central to the most important ethical dilemmas bioarchaeologists face. Since mutual understanding is a prerequisite for finding a common ground between these ­ apparently incommensurable world views, it is useful to briefly describe differences in the ­values scientists and descendant groups may attach to ancient human remains. Bioarchaeologists focus their research on ancient human skeletal remains, not out of idle scientific curiosity, but instead because they believe that the information contained within the remains of our ancestors is of great value to modern people (Larsen and Walker 2004). Human skeletal remains are a unique source of information on the genetic, physiological, and biocultural responses our ancestors made to the challenges posed by past natural and sociocultural environments. Consequently, ­ they provide an extremely valuable adaptive perspective on the history of our species. Most of what we know about our recent ­history derives from the analysis of artifacts, documents, oral histories, and other products of human cultural activity. Owing to their sym­ bolic content, such cultural artifacts can be ­difficult to interpret and therefore may appear to support multiple, sometimes contradictory views of the past. The subjective aspects of interpreting cultural artifacts according to our current cultural milieu are well recognized: historical works often reveal more about the cultural values and political biases of the histo­ rian than they do about the reality of the his­ torical event being described (McCullagh 2000). All historians are products of the culture in which they live, and they are always selec­ tive in what they report. Because the skeletal system is impacted by interactions with the environment throughout the life course through the physiological pro­ cesses of growth, development, and acclimati­ zation, skeletal data provide an independent line of evidence with which to evaluate interpretations of past adaptations based on ­ artifacts, documents, and other cultural resources. The data provided by skeletal



s­tudies are particularly valuable because the methods used to extract evidence from a skel­ eton are completely different from those used by historians to interpret the validity and his­ torical significance of the cultural materials they work with. The only way scholars can minimize the cultural biases that distort ­understanding of past events is by collecting evidence from different sources that are not susceptible to the same types of interpretative errors. The greater the diversity of evidence we have about the past, the easier it is to rule out interpretations unlikely to reflect actual events and processes. Using a series of data sources that each on its own might be open to a differ­ ent interpretation, offers the greatest potential for accurately reconstructing the past. The unique perspective that skeletal evi­ dence provides on the history of our species also makes it a potent weapon against cultural relativists and historical revisionists who view the past as a source of raw materials they can exploit to refashion history into whatever nar­ rative is currently considered au courant or politically expedient. In some, more “radical” schools of postmodernist thought, history is viewed as a symbolic construct devoid of any objective truth: in essence, a limitless array of possible narratives about the past that are all of equal merit or meritorious only in their differ­ ence (Evans 2002a,b). In some rarified corners of the humanities, for example, the possibility of knowing with certainty that even volumi­ nously documented historical events such as the Holocaust actually occurred is actively debated (Braun 1994; Evans 2002a; Friedman 1998; Jordan 1995; Kellner 1994; Martin 1984; Schermer and Grobman 2000). In the world of such theorists, what happened in the past will always be the subject of re‐visualizing and re‐contextualizing “subjective” impressions of “subjective” descriptions. In contrast to the symbolic problems inher­ ent in historical reconstructions based upon written records and oral histories, human ­skeletal remains provide a direct source of evi­ dence about the lives and deaths of ancient and modern people that is, at a fundamental level,

The value of human skeletal remains

15

free from cultural bias. The skeletons of the people buried row upon row at concentration camps such as Terezin, the racks of skulls from the Cambodian killing fields at Tuol Sleng Prison, and the cut marks on the skeletons of the hundreds of massacred prehistoric Native Americans unceremoniously buried at the Crow Creek site in South Dakota speak vol­ umes about real historical events that ended the lives of real people (Lambert 2007; Schmitt 2002; Walker 1996; Walker 1997). In certain respects, bones do not lie. To give a specific example from our own research, the presence of lesions indicative of severe, repeated physical abuse in the skeletons of children murdered by their parents says some­ thing very specific about a history of traumatic experiences that a child suffered during its short life (Walker 2001; Walker et  al. 1997). Although multiple “narratives” can be con­ structed to explain the presence of such lesions (the child was extraordinarily clumsy or acci­ dent prone, the child’s parents repeatedly beat him, and so on) at a fundamental level such skeletal evidence says something indisputable about a trauma‐inducing physical interaction that took place between the dead child and his or her physical environment. Unlike written records or oral histories, human remains are not culture‐dependent, symbolic constructs. Instead they provide an extraordinarily detailed material record of actual physical interactions that occurred between our ancestors and their  natural and sociocultural environments. As such, skeletal remains are extremely valua­ ble sources of evidence for reconstructing human biocultural history. The view that bioarchaeologists hold con­ cerning the central role that collections of human skeletal remains play in helping us to obtain an objective view of history is not ­widespread, however. The vast majority of the world’s population views human remains with a mixture of morbid fascination and dread because they serve as such vivid reminders of one’s own mortality and impending death. The symbolic saliency of directly confronting a dead person has been deftly exploited for a

16

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

diversity of religious, political, and economic purposes. Throughout the world, in many dif­ ferent settings, human remains are placed on public display and used in ways designed to foster group cohesion and legitimize religious or political authority (Chacon and Dye 2007). During times of social instability, it is common for these same remains to be destroyed or humiliated to weaken and disrupt the group solidarity they once fostered (Cantwell 1990). The controversy of the continued display of Lenin’s remains in Red Square and the disposi­ tion of the more recently discovered remains of Czar Nicholas II and his family are good exam­ ples of how human remains can be used as tools to advance or suppress political ideas and facilitate or disrupt social cohesion (Caryl 1998; Fenyvesi 1997; Yurchak 2015). The strong symbolic power of human remains has encouraged people to devise an amazing number of uses for them. Throughout the world, displays of human remains are among the most effective tools for luring peo­ ple into museums (Brooks and Rumsey 2007). At the British Museum, for example, postcards of mummies rival the Rosetta Stone in public popularity (Beard 1992). In many places, ­displays of human remains are such popular tourist attractions that they have become the mainstays of local economies. The Museo de los Momias in Guanajuato, Mexico, which dis­ plays over 100 naturally mummified bodies exhumed from a local cemetery between 1865 and 1989, is touted as Mexico’s second most popular museum, bested only by the anthropo­ logical museum in Mexico City (Osmond 1998). Two similar examples are the awe‐ inspiring creativity of displays of thousands of human bones disinterred from a cemetery near Kutna Hora in the Czech Republic and in the Church of the Capuchins in Rome. In some cases the symbolic value of retain­ ing human remains for display is sufficient to  override religious sanctions against it. Medieval Chinese Ch’an Buddhists practiced mummification of eminent priests as demon­ strations of the relationship between spiritual attainment and the incorruptibility of the body

even though they espoused a religious doctrine that accorded little value to the corpse (Sharf 1992). A similar example is the recent decision that the value of displaying bones from Khmer Rouge victims at the Tuol Sleng Prison Museum as evidence of the Cambodian geno­ cide outweighs Buddhist religious beliefs that mandate cremation (Erlanger 1988; Peters 1995). Similarly, the display of bones and mummified bodies at specially designated sites in Rwanda is not a traditional way of memori­ alizing the dead, but now serves to honor the hundreds of thousands killed in the 1994 genocide and to educate people about the ­ ­devastating consequences of genocide (http:// www.kgm.rw/). The denial of burial in Christian countries as a form of posthumous punishment and object lesson for the living has already been mentioned. In England, the disinterred heads of people such as Oliver Cromwell were dis­ played on poles erected on the roof of the Great Stone Gate of London Bridge, and gibbets dis­ playing the rotting bodies of famous pirates such as Captain Kidd were strategically placed along the banks of the Thames to greet sailors as they returned from the sea. During the nine­ teenth century, the heads of Miguel Hidalgo and three other leaders of the Mexican war of independence met a similar fate when they hung on public display in cages for ten years as grim reminders of the folly of revolution. Ironically, these same skulls of Mexico’s founding fathers have recently been resur­ rected and again put on public display for the opposite purpose: they rest next to each other under glass on red velvet in a dimly lit crypt where they remind school children of the hero­ ism of the country’s founders (Osmond 1998). As is illustrated by the case of Hidalgo’s skull, the strong symbolic value of human remains endow those who control them with a powerful tool that can be used to vividly express multiple, sometimes contradictory, meanings. Owing to this great symbolic power, it is not surprising that issues surround­ ing the control, treatment, and disposition of human remains pose some of the most vexing



ethical dilemmas skeletal biologists face. Bioarchaeologists do not view human remains primarily as symbols. Instead they value them  as sources of historical and biomedical evidence that are key to understanding the course of human biological and cultural evolu­ tion. This lack of concern with symbolic issues is in stark contrast to the richness of the symbolic connotations human skeletons ­ have for many people. This conflict in worldviews is especially acute in areas of the world that were subjected to European colonization. In North America, Hawaii, and Australia, where the indigenous people suffered the greatest devastation at the hands of European colonists, ancient human remains have assumed great significance as symbols of cultural integrity and colonial oppression (Sadongei and Cash Cash 2007:98). In this post‐colonial world, gaining control over ancestral remains is increasingly consid­ ered essential to the survival, revitalization, and empowerment of indigenous cultures. The views of some Native Americans con­ cerning this issue have changed dramatically during the past fifty years, as illustrated by archaeological reports that describe the enthu­ siastic participation of local Native peoples in the excavation of burials during the early‐ to mid‐twentieth century (Benson and Bowers 1997; Brew 1941; Fewkes 1898; Hewett 1953; Hrdlička 1930a, b, 1931; Hurt et al. 1962; Judd 1968; Neuman 1975; Roberts 1931; Smith 1971; Smith et al. 1966). Walker (2008) noted that “as late as the 1960’s Inuit people in the Northwest Territory of Canada with whom I  worked seemed little concerned about the excavation of ancient skeletal remains. In fact, they were extremely cordial to the members of the expedition and assisted in any way they could. Although they expressed mild concerns about carrying human skeletons in their boats, they otherwise were supportive of and expressed considerable interest in the bioar­ chaeological work.” To comprehend the urgency of the current concerns Native Americans have about the treatment of their ancestral remains it is

The value of human skeletal remains

17

n­ecessary to understand the magnitude of recent disruptions of their cultures. Beginning at the end of the nineteenth century, systematic attempts began to be made to separate Native American children from their families, sup­ press their Native identities, and inculcate them with Euro‐American, Christian values (Ellis C. 1996; Lomawaima 1993). Simulta­neously, the isolation that formerly characterized life on the remote reservations that the government rele­ gated to indigenous peoples began to break down owing to the development of interstate highways, radio, television, and the intrusions of tourists. These developments had a devastat­ ing effect on the transmission of indigenous languages and traditional beliefs and practices. In consequence, the remnants of earlier times preserved in museums have increasingly become a focus of cultural ­revitalization efforts. Control over these collections is an important political issue for Native Americans because by gaining control over the biological and cultural remains of their ancestors they can begin to reassert their authority over their cultural identity within the ­dominant Euro‐American culture. However, the relationship between tribal groups and cultural materials housed in muse­ ums is also much deeper than the political motivations many Euro‐Americans perceive. Lambert still recalls the words of a Tlingit elder at a NAGPRA1 meeting in Juneau, shar­ ing the deeply emotional experience of visiting a large eastern museum to view its collection of Tlingit clan items. He talked of speaking Tlingit in the presence of these venerated objects, of how they were “hearing” the lan­ guage for the first time in perhaps 100 years. He spoke of the importance of bringing them home so that their young people could come to know the ancestral stories and spiritual power of these objects. This was a powerful awaken­ ing as to how differently Native Americans might feel about and relate to such materials, human remains or otherwise, held in museums, how crucial they might be to the existence, identity, and continuity of a people. 1

 Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act

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BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

When viewed within the context of cultural marginalization and repression, it is easy to see why many indigenous people may not share or see much value in the goals of bioarchaeolo­ gists. Indeed, in an unpublished 1972 survey of Indian tribes in the Bureau of Indian Affairs [BIA] Aberdeen region conducted by John S. Sigstad all respondents agreed that human remains in museums should be reburied, 95 % indicated bones should not be displayed in museums, and only 35 % of the respondents believed that human remains should be excavated for scientific research (Ubelaker ­ and Grant 1989). Some Native Americans believe, albeit incorrectly, that only the remains of their ancestors are studied and cite this as a reflec­ tion of the racist attitudes of the European colonists who robbed them of their land ­ (Tobias 1991; Vizenor 1986). They feel that such research degrades them by singling them out to be “made fun of and looked at as novel­ ties” (Mihesuah 1996; Walters 1989). Bioar­ chaeologists respond to this charge by pointing out the vast collections of non‐Native American skeletal remains in European museums (Quigley 2008). They argue that it would be racist not to have collections of Native American remains in New World museums, since this would imply that knowledge of the history of the indigenous peoples of the New World has nothing to contribute to our under­ standing of the broader history of humankind (Ubelaker and Grant 1989). It is also the case that some indigenous peo­ ple reject the epistemology of science, at least as it as it applies to their history and cultural affairs, and instead prefer to view the past as it is revealed through traditional ways of know­ ing such as oral history, legend, myth, and appeal to the authority of revered leaders. For people with this perspective, scientific research directed toward documenting the past is not only superfluous, but also potentially cultur­ ally subversive owing to the capacity of scien­ tific evidence to conflict with traditional beliefs about the past and, in this way, undermine the  authority of traditional religious leaders.

From this perspective, scientific investigations into the history of indigenous cultures are sim­ ply another manifestation of the attempts of an oppressive imperialist colonial power to control and weaken the belief systems of indigenous people so that they will be easier to exploit (Bray 1995; Dirlik 1996; Riding In 1996). This tension between traditional and scien­ tific views of the past was recently brought into sharp focus through the controversy over the disposition of the 8400‐year‐old human remains found in 1996 at the Kennewick site on the banks of the Columbia River in Washington (Hastings and Sampson 1997; Lemonick 1996; Morell 1998; Owsley and Jantz 2014; Petit 1998; Preston 1997; Slayman 1997; Watkins 2004). Scientists who examined these remains found that they possessed ­morphological characteristics unlike those of modern Native Americans and argued that research into reasons for this difference has the potential to make an important contribution to our understanding of the history of humankind (Chatters 2001; Owsley and Jantz 2001, 2014). Members of five Native American tribes that claimed the skeleton, on the other hand, believed that the question of the cultural affili­ ation of this individual had already been resolved by their elders, who told them that they have lived in the area in which the skele­ ton was found since the beginning of creation. The complexity of this dispute increased further when members of the Asutru Folk ­ Assembly, a traditional European pagan reli­ gion, sued for the right to use scientific research to decide if this individual is one of their ances­ tors. They claimed that “It’s not an accident that he came to us at this time and place… Our job is to listen to (the bones) and hear what they have to say” (Lee 1997). Ironically, it was a new line of scientific evidence (aDNA) that ultimately resolved the question of his Native American ancestry by demonstrating a genetic link between Kennewick Man and modern Native Americans in general, and an even closer link with one of the five claimant tribes (Rasmussen, M. et al. 2015). Interestingly, the DNA evidence provided support for both oral



Ethical responsibilities of skeletal biologists

traditions and science as valid lines of evidence to aid in establishing cultural affiliation. Modern indigenous people often frame such disputes over the power to control the interpretation of tribal history in spiritual terms. It is a common pan‐Indian religious belief that all modern Native Americans are spiritually linked to all other Indian people liv­ ing and dead (Walters 1989). Another widely held belief is that space is spherical and time is cyclical (Clark 1997). All living Indians thus have a responsibility for the spiritual well‐ being of their ancestors that requires them to assure that their ancestors are buried in the ground where they can be reintegrated into the earth and complete the circle of life and death (Bray 1995; Halfe 1989). Contemporary Native Americans who hold these beliefs argue that, so long as ancestral spirits are suffering because their bones are not buried in the earth, living people will continue to suffer a myriad of adverse consequences. Thus, any activity inconsistent with reburial, such as excavation, study, museum curation, and storage, is con­ sidered an act of desecration and disrespect. For indigenous people with such views, there is no middle ground upon which scientific research can be conducted on human skeletal remains and associated artifacts. These remains are of great spiritual and psychological impor­ tance and their reburial is required to heal the wounds of colonial oppression (Emspak 1995; Murray and Allen 1995; Sadongei and Cash Cash 2007). ETHICAL RESPONSIBILITIES OF SKELETAL BIOLOGISTS Given these sharply polarized views concern­ ing the value of scientific research on human remains, what are the ethical responsibilities of skeletal biologists? On one hand we have bio­ archaeologists who believe that the historical evidence obtained from human remains is ­critical for defending humankind against the historical revisionist tendencies of repressive, genocidal political systems and, on the other,

19

we have indigenous people who believe that the spirits of their ancestors are being mis­ treated on the shelves of museums by racist genocidal, colonial oppressors. If we can accept the relativist perspective that both of these views have validity, then it is possible to envisage a compromise that gives due recogni­ tion to both value systems. Although there is still a broad spectrum of perceptions within as well as between world regions of what is right and what is wrong (Bauer 2003), the precipitous decline in cul­ tural diversity that has occurred with the expansion of modern communication systems has led to a worldwide convergence of values in certain areas of human affairs (Donaldson 1992; Seita 1997). These shared values are developing as part of the evolution of the trans­ national political and economic systems that on some level are beginning to unite the world’s disparate cultures. The Declaration of  Human Rights of the United Nations, for example, provides a generally accepted set of rules for ethical human behavior that most people can accept in principle, if not in ­ ­practice. They include recognition of the right to equality and freedom of belief and religion, as well as freedom from discrimination, torture and degrading treatment, and interference with privacy (UN 1948). Other ethical rules that encompass what some people believe is an emerging, universal system of moral principles include: 1) widespread humanistic values such as the recognition that it is wrong to be indif­ ferent to suffering;, 2) tolerance of the beliefs of others; and 3) the belief that people should be free to live as they choose without having their affairs deliberately interfered with by ­others (Hatch 1983). That said, the cultural values expressed by the assertion of basic human rights and univer­ sal moral principles such as these have been criticized in some world regions as hegemonic attempts to use Western cultural ideas as tools for gaining power and political control for transnational business interests (Bauer 2003). For example, the Chinese government has crit­ icized allegations concerning its suppression

20

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

of the rights of political dissidents, as insensi­ tive to unique Chinese cultural values such as obedience to authority, collectivism, family, and other dispositions (Li 1998). This issue of developing universal, govern­ ment‐sponsored standards of ethical behavior is of more than theoretical interest to bioar­ chaeologists, since the maintenance of skeletal collections for use in scientific research could be construed as a violation of a fundamental human right. For example, Article XVI.3 of the “American Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples,” prepared by the Inter‐ American Commission on Human Rights and  adopted by the Organization of States (35  independent states of the Americas) in 2016, states that “indigenous Peoples have the right to preserve, protect, and access their sacred sites, including their burial grounds; to use and ­control their sacred objects and relics, and  to recover their human remains” (Inter‐ American Commission on Human Rights [IACHR] 2016:149). Professional associations and governmental agencies have also moved to develop standards of ethical behavior to guide researchers in their daily decision‐making. The decline in the capacity of organized religions and other tradi­ tional social institutions to impose a unifying set of ethical principles acceptable to modern multicultural societies, as well as the constant stream of ethical challenges posed by new technological developments, has stimulated ­ enormous interest in the formulation of ­standards for ethical ­conduct in many areas of professional activity (Behi and Nolan 1995; Bulger 1994; Fluehr‐Lobban 1991; Kruckeberg 1996; Kuhse et  al. 1997; Kunstadter 1980; Lynott 1997; Muller and Desmond 1992; Navran 1997; Parker 1994; Pellegrino 1995; Pyne 1994; Salmon 1997; Scanlon and Glover 1995; Schick 1998). A number of guidelines in the biomedical and social sciences con­ tain ­information directly relevant to resolving the  ethical dilemmas bioarchaeologists face when they work with ancient human remains (American Anthropological Association [AAA] 2012; American Association of Physical

Anthropologists [AAPA] 2003; American Institute of Archaeology [AIA] 2014, 2015; Canadian Association for Physical Anthropo­ logy [CAPA] 2015; Medical Research Council of Canada [MRCC] 2005; National Association for the Practice of Anthropology [NAPA] 2014, see Brody and Pester 2014; National Academy of Science [NAS] 1995; Register of Professional Archaeologists [RPA] 2017; Society for American Archaeology [SAA] 1996; United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization [UNESCO] 1997). Although only a few of these statements deal specifically with issues surrounding the study of human remains, a comparison of the principles for ethical behavior they espouse s­uggests considerable ­ agreement on a few fundamental rules that can be used to guide researchers who work with ancient human remains: 1) human remains should be treated with dignity and respect; 2) descendants should have the authority to ­control the disposition of the remains of their relatives; and 3) owing to their importance for understanding the history of our species, the preservation of archaeological collections of human remains is an ethical imperative. Each of these principles is based on a ­complicated set of value judgements with real‐ world implications for the practices of skeletal biologists that in many ways depend upon the cultural lens through which they are viewed. For example, what is considered the dignified treatment of human remains varies widely depending on a person’s cultural background. These ethical principles also contain an inher­ ent contradiction, since recognizing the rights of descendants may at times conflict with the preservation ethic. Respect for Human Dignity The ethical principle that human remains should be treated with respect and dignity is consistent with, and can be seen as an exten­ sion of, respect for human dignity, which is the cardinal ethical principle for modern research on human subjects in the biomedical and social sciences (AAPA 2003; Andersson 1996;



Ethical responsibilities of skeletal biologists

MRCC 2005; Teague 2007; UNESCO 1997). This ethical principle is based upon the belief that it is unacceptable to treat human remains solely as a means to an end (mere objects or things to be used for scientific inquiry), because doing so fails to respect the intrinsic human dignity of the person they represent and thus impoverishes all of humanity. Although an argument can be made that the remains of dead people are just that, “decaying organic matter” that “feels nothing, conceptualizes nothing, has no interests, and cannot suffer,” the principle stands in recognition that the respect is not for the body, but the antemortem person from whom the remains are derived (Lynch 1990:1017). Although it is true that, for many skeletal biologists, human remains are viewed as depersonalized and desanctified, there is still general agreement that they are nevertheless highly meaningful remains of once living people and should be treated with dignity and respect (Buikstra 1981; Lambert 2012; Ubelaker and Grant 1989). A skeptic might question the wisdom of extending the concept of human dignity to the dead: What does the treatment of human remains have to do with human rights or human dignity? In view of the atrocities currently being perpetrated on helpless people by repres­ sive governments throughout the world, would it not be more productive to focus the fight for human rights on living people who could actu­ ally benefit from the results? However, a con­ vincing argument can be made that skeletal remains are the physical embodiment of a once‐living person and therefore deserving of respectful treatment. The logic of this argu­ ment is similar in some respects to that used by animal rights activists who admit that, although animals by definition do not have human rights, their ill treatment demeans humans and thus has implications for human behavior (McShea 1994; Mans Mirror 1991). In the same way it can be argued that the disrespect­ ful treatment of human remains is morally repugnant because it fosters a lack of respect for and consequent ill‐­treatment of the living (Grey 1983:105–153).

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If we accept the premise that it is unethical to treat human remains with disrespect, we are still faced with the problem that respectful treatment is a highly subjective concept. The cultures of the world have devised an enor­ mous variety of ways of respecting the dead that include hanging the skulls of close rela­ tives from the rafters of huts, using skulls of parents as pillows, letting vultures feed upon dead relatives, and even consuming the tissues of their dead (Alfonso and Powell 2007; Conklin 2001). Some modern people believe that pumping dead relatives full of chemicals, dressing them up, and burying them in the ground is respectful. Others believe that incin­ erating them, grinding up what’s left in a mill, and putting the resulting bone meal in a ­cardboard box is respectful (Roach 2003). For scientists who study the dead, respect for human remains derives not only from their association with a once living person, but also from an appreciation of the information they can yield. For these scientists, respectful treat­ ment of human remains includes taking meas­ ures to insure the physical integrity of the remains and the documentation associated with them, avoiding treatments that will contaminate or degrade their organic and ­ ­inorganic constituents, and so forth (Alfonso and Powell 2007). These academic arguments about the definition of and justification for treating ­ human remains with respect can seem a bit misdirected to indigenous people who view ancestral remains not as inanimate objects devoid of life, but instead as living entities that are imbued with ancestral spirits. From the perspective of some Native Americans, for example, ancient human skeletons are “not just remains, they’re not bone to be studied, you’re dealing with spirits as you touch those remains” (Augustine 1994). As Rachel Craig, a Native Alaskan put it, “I feel an obligation to give back to them, to speak for them. Our grand­ mothers have told us the importance of the spirit world. The spirits of those people cannot rest and make their progress in the spirit world unless they know that those bones are put back

22

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

in the earth where they belong. That is our teaching” (Craig 1994). This same view that the retention of skeletons in museums interferes with the afterlife and separates the spirits of the dead from the community of the living has been forcefully expressed by William Tallbull, a member of the Northern Cheyenne tribe: “We talk about people coming home. When the peo­ ple came home from the museum and are bur­ ied at home, they all go and visit every house. This is where the joy comes in. They are home. They are here. They walk around through the village and become part of us again. That’s all we are asking” (Tallbull 1994). Elsewhere in the world these profoundly felt sentiments about the impropriety of ­studying the dead are not always shared and in many locations where bioarchaeologists now conduct their research human remains are excavated, curated, and sometimes displayed with the support of local communities and gov­ ernmental entities. During the excavation of an early Christian graveyard (ca. ce 1000) in the Mosfell Valley of Iceland (Byock et al. 2003), for example, local community members and dignitaries who in all probability share ances­ try with the excavated remains would often come out to visit the site to find out what we had discovered, and they provided services and support for the excavations. In Guanajuato, ­ Mexico, the inhabitants consider mummies excavated from the local cemetery and dis­ played in a “mummy” museum to be an impor­ tant part of their cultural heritage.2 In these contexts, respect for human dignity does not preclude the collection, study, and/or display of human remains. Descendant Rights Since disputes over who should have the right to control the disposition of ancient human remains are central to many of the ethical dilemmas bioarchaeologists face, especially in Australia, Canada, and the United States, as   www.momiasdeguanajuato.gob.mx/ Accessed February 1, 2018

2

well as in countries such as Israel (Nagar 2004) and Great Britain (Sayer 2009) with close links to these countries (Lambert 2012), it is useful to consider this issue in a broader perspective. Giving close relatives authority to make deci­ sions about the disposition of the remains of the recent dead appears to be a cultural univer­ sal. Only in exceptional circumstances, such as the special dispositions mandated for the bod­ ies of executed criminals as part of their pun­ ishment, and the control that coroners are given over bodies that might yield evidence relevant to legal proceedings, is the right of close relatives to decide the disposition of a body denied. It is therefore not surprising that this issue is one upon which presumably all bioarchaeologists can agree: if skeletal remains can be identified as those of a known individ­ ual for whom specific biological descendants can be traced, the disposition of those remains, including possible reburial, should be decided by the closest living relatives. Many of the ethical dilemmas that skeletal biologists face arise not out of a disagreement over this fundamental principle of the rights of relatives to their dead, but instead, over how the rights of descendants should be recognized in real‐world situations. The first problematic area concerns how the rights of relatives with differ­ ent relationships to the dead person should be balanced against each other. In modern legal systems authority over the dead is judged using a rigid hierarchy of rights. For example, the Uniform Anatomical Gift Act (1987, 2006) establishes the following order of priority for people authorized to make decisions about the authorization of removal of body parts: 1) the spouse, 2) an adult son or daughter, 2) either parent, 4) adult brother or sister, 5) the person’s legal guardian at the time of death, 6) any other person authorized to dispose of the body. However, there is considerable room for cul­ tural variation in rules governing control over the dead. In China, for example, because of its pervasive patriarchal family structure, authority of the wife regarding funeral arrangements is likely to be less than that of the male members of his patriline (Cooper 1998).



Ethical responsibilities of skeletal biologists

In contrast with the agreement about giving lineal descendants control over the disposition of the remains or close relatives, there is little consensus concerning the question of the appropriate way to decide the disposition of human remains that are distantly related to liv­ ing people. What is the ethical way to decide the disposition of the remains of people who are many generations removed from any living person? How do we weigh the many attenuated genetic and cultural ties that link large num­ bers of living people to ancestors who lived thousands, hundreds of thousands, or even mil­ lions of years ago? Which living individuals should be granted the moral authority to decide the disposition of our ancient ancestors? The basic elements of the dilemma can be better understood from a scientific perspective by considering how the genetic and cultural connections that link modern people and ­earlier generations vary as a function of time. The first problem is that the more distant an  ancestor is from a descendant, the more descendants there are sharing the same genetic relationship to that ancestor. The variables that influence the number of shared ancestors that living people have are complex. However, one fact is indisputable: as we probe more deeply into our family tree, the probability of discovering an ancestor we share with a large number of other living people increases dra­ matically. A lineage of people who each had four children and did not marry relatives would produce about 1.4  million direct descendants over ten generations, or about 250 years3. People, of course, tend to marry relatives and not everyone has the same number of children. Even accounting for these complicating vari­ ables, however, the fact remains that many ­living people are likely to be related to any individual who lived many generations ago. If we believe that relatives should decide the disposition of ancestral remains, how can we identify all those descendants and allow them to make a collective decision about the proper treatment of their relative’s bones? The 3

 http://familyrecordfinder.com/descendants.html

23

problem of linking modern people to our hunter‐gatherer ancestors is complicated by the highly mobile lifestyle of such populations. This decreases the likelihood that the ancestral remains of a modern group will be found in the territory in which that modern group currently resides. In situations of population replace­ ment, it may even be that the modern people who now live in an area were directly responsi­ ble for the displacement or even extermination of the ancient people who formerly occupied that same territory. Even in cases where it is clear that descend­ ants continue to occupy the land of their ances­ tors, there is still the problem posed by the expansion of living descendants with increas­ ing genealogical remoteness. In an area such as Europe, with a relatively stable gene pool, someone who died more than a few hundred years ago is likely to be related to hundreds of thousands, if not millions of living people. For  instance, DNA studies conducted on the 5000‐year‐old mummified body recently found in the Tyrolean Alps suggest a genetic relation­ ship between this person and 300 million or so contemporary people living in central and northern Europe (Handt et  al. 1994). This, of course, does not include many millions of addi­ tional people living in North America and else­ where with ancestral ties to northern Europe. In the western hemisphere the problem of assigning rights for the control of ancestral remains to living descendants is complicated by gene flow between and among indigenous Americans and the peoples of Europe, Africa, and Asia. For example, geneticists estimate that 31 % of the contemporary gene pool of people identified as Hispanic or Mexican Americans is derived from their Native American ancestors (Gardner et  al. 1984; Hanis et al. 1991). Adding further complexity, in Mexico alone there are 65 distinct indige­ nous ethnicities (Moreno‐Estrada et al. 2014). These diverse Native American descendants are numerically a very significant component of the New World population and, if demo­ graphic trends continue, are likely to replace non‐Hispanic Euro‐Americans as the ethnic

24

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

majority in the United States in less than one life‐span (Edmondson 1996; Nicklin 1997). If  we believe that descendants should have a right to decide the disposition of the remains of their ancestors, then we need to find a way to incorporate the views of Latin Americans into the process through which the disposition of ancient American remains is decided. Consider, for example, that Paleoamericans such as the Anzick‐1 child and Kennewick Man have been shown to have genetic links with indigenous peoples of Central and South America (Rasmussen M. et al. 2014). That said, some people see focusing on genetic relationships in this way as a myopic and misguided biological reductionism, and that a person’s cultural background is more important than the genetic links that tie them to earlier generations. From this perspective, there are two types of ancestors: genetic and cultural, and it is the cultural link with the peo­ ple who lived in the past that counts. While the idea of limiting authority to make decisions about the disposition of ancient human remains to people who share the deceased person’s ­cultural identity makes some sense, applying this ethical principle is extremely problematic in real‐world situations. If the strength of a modern person’s belief in their cultural link to an earlier person’s remains is to be the measure of moral authority, how are we to evaluate the relative validity of such beliefs? To give a spe­ cific example, many Native Americans see the intrusions of the “New Age” movement into their cultural identity as the appropriation of Native American spiritual traditions by outsid­ ers who are destroying Indian spirituality and contributing to white racism and genocide (Geertz 1996; Hernandez‐Avila 1996; Jocks 1996; Johnson, W. 1996; Kehoe 1996; Meyer 2001). Is it ethically acceptable then to give the same authority to people who have adopted the identity or belief system of a particular tribe or group through participation in New Age cere­ monies. This is where the rejection of scien­ tific evidence and the unconditional acceptance of cultural relativism can become problematic (Goldstein and Kintigh 1990:587–588).

It is also reasonable, from a scientific per­ spective at least, to ask at what point a living person’s cultural connection to a dead person becomes so attenuated that it merges into the common cultural heritage of all people, and thus no longer provides a moral basis for ­special rights and control. Several cultural var­ iables could be considered relevant here: a shared language, common religious practices, and so on. The difficulty is weighing the ­significance of such disparate cultural traits, especially in the context of ancient remains and cultural evolution. This issue of cultural continuity can be ­particularly contentious when indigenous cul­ tures are marginalized, disrupted, and driven to the brink of extinction, because remnants of the past, including ancestral human remains, become increasingly important as symbols of cultural oppression, survival, and identity. This inverse relationship between concern over ancestral remains and cultural continuity is illustrated by the differences between Latin America and North America in concern over ancestral remains and repatriation issues. In Latin American countries where a strong sense of “Indianness” has been integrated into the national identity, human remains are exca­ vated and displayed without opposition in museums (Cardin 2015). In this context, they serve as symbols of a national past that is shared by and important to all citizens (Ubelaker and Grant 1989). The government of the United States, in contrast, has histori­ cally considered Native Americans as outsid­ ers to be dealt with by isolating them on reservations and suppressing their indigenous languages and beliefs to facilitate converting them into functional members of the dominant Euro‐American culture (e.g., Indian Removal Act of 1830, Indian Appropriations Act of 1852, The Dawes Act of 1887; see Pevar 2012; Rosen 2007). These government policies have had devastating effects on Native American cultures and contributed enormously to the hostility indigenous North American peoples feel over issues related to the control of ­ancestral remains.



Ethical responsibilities of skeletal biologists

In the United States, a legislative effort was made in 1990 to use a combination of biologi­ cal and cultural continuity as the basis for giv­ ing modern indigenous groups the rights over ancient skeletal remains. NAGPRA, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, gives federally recognized tribes that can demonstrate a “cultural affiliation” to ancestral remains the authority to control their disposi­ tion (Bruning 2006; Lambert 2012; Lovis et al. 2004; McLaughlin 2004; Ousley et  al. 2005; Richman 2004). In this legal context, cultural affiliation means “a relationship of shared group identity which can be reasonably traced historically or prehistorically between a pre­ sent day group and an identifiable earlier group.” In this statute, cultural affiliation is established when “the preponderance of the evidence  –  based on geographical, kinship, biological, archeological, linguistic, folklore, oral tradition, historical evidence, or other information or expert opinion  –  reasonably leads” to the conclusion that a federally recog­ nized tribe is culturally affiliated with an “­earlier group.” Although NAGPRA has bene­ fited many federally recognized tribes and has had the positive effect of increasing communi­ cation between Native Americans and scien­ tists who study archaeological human remains, its exclusion of Native American groups that lack federal recognition continues to raise ­serious ethical issues. The Act is derided by some Native Americans who see it as another step in the long history of attempts to define “Native American groups” in ways that facili­ tate their control and manipulation by oppres­ sive governmental agencies. In California, for instance, many groups that by any even‐handed definition are authentic “tribes” have failed to receive official recognition by the federal gov­ ernment, or have had their federal recognition removed, and thus are denied full access to the provision of NAGPRA (Goldberg 1997; Walker 1995). While this issue was recognized in the recent formulation of regulations for the disposition of culturally unidentifiable human remains (43CFR 10.11, as amended in 78 FR 27083, May 9, 2013), which include human

25

remains from tribes without federal recogni­ tion, the unequal status of these tribes under NAGPRA remains. These legalistic considerations and aca­ demic concerns over how to establish a con­ nection between the living and the dead seem irrelevant to those indigenous people whose religious beliefs resolve such issues for them. Many indigenous people are creationists who reject the idea that all modern people share a common ancestor. Instead, some believe that their tribe is the result of a special creation and that they have lived in the area currently occu­ pied by their tribe since the beginning of time. Such beliefs remove any uncertainties regard­ ing ancestral relationships and can result in acrimonious disputes between scientists and tribal members, such as those that occurred over the Kennewick skeleton (Hastings and Sampson 1997; Johnson 2002; Lemonick 1996; Lovis et  al. 2004; Morell 1998; Petit 1998; Preston 1997; Slayman 1997). The Preservation Ethic The final universally accepted principle for bio­ archaeologists is the preservation ethic, which for archaeological resources in the United States has been codified in two pieces of legis­ lation: The Antiquities Act of 1906, which mandates the protection of archaeological resources and validates their significance for research and education; and the Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA), which specifically mentions “human remains” and “graves” as archaeological resources warranting protection (Lambert 2012). Such ­ archaeological preservation laws are not unique to the United States, and can be found in vari­ ous forms in Europe and other world regions (Marquez‐Grant and Fibiger, 2011). Bioarchaeologists are, of course, particu­ larly focused on the preservation of the human remains component of the archaeological record as a source of unique insights into the history of our species. These are seen to consti­ tute the “material memory” of the people who preceded us and thus provide a direct means

26

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

through which we may come to know our ancestors. Because we believe that the lessons that the remains of our ancestors can teach us about our common heritage have great value to modern people, and because we know from the history of science that new methods will con­ tinue to emerge to elicit new types of informa­ tion about our biological past, it is seen as an ethical imperative to study these remains and to work to preserve as much as possible of the bioarchaeological record for future g­ enerations. This position is championed by governments throughout the world who support archaeolog­ ical research, encourage the conservation and preservation of archaeological resources, and discourage unnecessary ­destruction of archa­ eological sites (Knudson 1986:397; Richman and Forsyth 2004). The preservation ethic is based on the scien­ tific premise that aspects of our shared human experience have the potential to be brought into sharper focus through the examination of ancient human skeletal remains. As caretakers of this fundamental source of information on the ­biological history of our species, we need to promote the long‐term preservation of skel­ etal collections to ensure that future genera­ tions will have the opportunity to learn from them and in this way, know about and under­ stand that history (Turner 1986). Archaeological research, including osteological study, is one way that our common heritage can be fully revealed (White and Folkens 1991:418–423). The goal of creating a more accurate view of humanity is an important justification for the preservation of skeletal collections. Most sci­ entists recognize the cultural influences that focus their observations on certain aspects of reality and color the inferences they make based on those observations (Glock 1995; Tomaskova 1995; Wylie 1989). Although we know that our conclusions are to some extent distorted by our cultural biases, we take com­ fort in the fact that these distortions will be detected and corrected through future research by others, with ­different cultural perspectives. For this self‐correcting aspect of the scientific method to be operative, the evidence upon

which our ­conclusions are based must be avail­ able for scrutiny by future researchers. In experimental fields such as physics, this is accomplished through repeating experiments. In historical sciences such as bioarchaeology, our reconstructions of what happened in the past are refined and corrected through the reex­ amination of collections using new analytical ­techniques and theoretical perspectives. During the past twenty years, the rate at which this self‐correcting process operates has increased markedly as a result of the re‐study of skeletal collections in museums using newly developed analytical techniques that have greatly expanded the types of information we can retrieve from ancient human remains. Especially exciting are new techniques that use pathogen‐specific bone proteins to reconstruct the disease histories of human populations (Bos et  al. 2011; Fernandes et  al. 2008; Hoffman 1998; Rasmussen S. et al. 2015), new methods in stable isotope analysis that provide precise information on the types of food peo­ ple ate (Froehle et al. 2012; Stott and Evershed 1996), and new procedures for reconstructing ancestral relationships through DNA analysis (Mulligan 2006; O’Rourke et  al. 2000). Kennewick Man is an important case in point on the corrective nature of our reconstructions through the application of newly emerging techniques in aDNA analysis (Rasmussen M., et al. 2015). The development of these new and enor­ mously informative analytical techniques underscores how valuable human remains are as a source of insights into the history of our species. The information content of a cultural product such as stone tool is very meager in comparison to the wealth of biological and cul­ tural information that can be extracted from a human skeleton. The historical information an artifact yields is limited to data on the manufac­ turing processes, activity patterns and mental processes discernible from its physical proper­ ties, form, and archaeological context. The information contained within the structure of the human skeleton, in contrast, is of a different sort. It is not a culture‐dependent, symbolic



Sources of conflict over questions of descendant rights

construct. Skeletal remains instead have their basis in adaptive physiological and demo­ graphic processes operating at the individual, population, and species levels. Preserved within the m ­ olecular and histological structure of skel­ etal tissues is a detailed record of the person’s childhood development and adult history of metabolic and biocultural responses to the chal­ lenges encountered in his or her natural and sociocultural environment. This information can be s­ upplemented by an equally rich record of ancestral relationships and the evolutionary history of our species encoded in the structure of DNA molecules preserved within a skeleton. The information about historical events revealed through the study of the skeletons of our ancestors can be thought of as a complex of messages from the past that we can decode through bioarchaeological research. Each ­skeleton has a unique story to tell about that individual’s life and, collectively, about the population of which the individual was a mem­ ber as well as the evolutionary events that con­ stitute the history of our species. By working to preserve ancient skeletal remains, we ensure that future generations will be able to obtain the important information these remains may yet reveal as scientists develop new methods and techniques for data acquisition. SOURCES OF CONFLICT OVER QUESTIONS OF DESCENDANT RIGHTS The ethical principles described above have an inherent potential for conflict, at least in some cultural contexts. The preservation ethic, with its basis in the belief that the information that skeletal studies can yield is of great value to all people, can easily conflict with the ethical principle of the rights of descendants to decide the disposition of their ancestor’s remains. If we recognize the validity of the interests of both descendants and scientists in human skel­ etal remains, how do we resolve the ethical issues that arise when the preservation ethic conflicts with the desires of descendants?

27

When the remains of close relatives are involved, there is unanimity among bioarchae­ ologists that the concerns of descendants should override any scientific interests in those remains. Ethical dilemmas, however, fre­ quently do arise when the ancestor–descendant relationship is less clear‐cut. How do we balance the scientific value of very ancient ­ skeletal remains against the concerns of mod­ ern people who are remotely related to those same individuals? Most scientists see the strength of the ­ancestor–descendant relationship as a contin­ uum that becomes attenuated with succeeding generations. At one end of this continuum we have remains of people with living children and grandchildren who have an undisputed right to determine the disposition of their close rela­ tive’s remains. At the other we have the remains of very distant relatives, such as the earliest members of our species, to which all modern people are equally related. From this evolution­ ary perspective, descendant rights are seen as decreasing as the number of generations sepa­ rating the living and the dead increases. At some point, claims by one modern group of descend­ ants to decide the disposition of ancient human remains is counterbalanced by the right of all people to have access to the unique source of evidence on the history of our species that human skeletal remains provide. How do we decide when, or if, the scientific value of skel­ etal evidence is sufficient to override the con­ cerns of remotely related descendants? There is no easy answer to the question of how to balance descendant rights against the right of all people to know about the past when the values skeletal biologists and descendants attach to human remains are incommensura­ ble. A major point of contention arises from the fact that many modern indigenous people in the Western world do not agree with the idea that the ancestor–descendant relationship becomes attenuated with time. Instead they see the spirits of their ancestors, no matter how distant, as an integral part of the modern community of the living (Isaacs 2005; ­ Sadongei and Cash Cash 2007). Nor do they

28

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

see themselves as closely related to the rest of humanity. Instead they believe that they are the products of a unique creation that occurred in the area their tribe currently occupies and is an issue of faith about which scientific evidence is irrelevant (Johnson, G. 1996). For instance, Armand Minthorn, a member of the Umatilla tribe, one of the claimants of the Kennewick skeleton, made this point when he stated: “We know how time began and how Indian people were created. They can say whatever they want, the scientists” (The Economist 1996). The implication of this belief is that all human remains from the area in which the group was created, no matter how ancient, are those of their direct ancestors. Although many scien­ tists see such creationist interpretations of the history of our species as factually unsupported, they are shared by a substantial number of non‐ indigenous people. For example, a recent sur­ vey found that about 20 % of the people in the United States believe in the literal interpreta­ tion of the Bible that says God created the cosmos about 5,000 to 10,000 years ago ­ (Goldhaber 1996). We probably all agree that we will never find a culture‐free metric for weighing the value of knowing what actually happened in the past against the concerns descendants have about ancestral remains. Unfortunately, even if we agree that the benefit of giving control over ancestral remains to people who identify them­ selves as descendants always outweighs their value as a source of scientific information, we still face the problem of determining who should be able to claim standing as a descend­ ant and what is the ethical thing to do when there are competing claims. When dealing with close relatives, where the genealogical link between ancestor and descendant is known, allocating descendant rights over the remains of their relatives is fairly straightforward. For example, we might establish a hierarchy that gives a person’s spouse, children, parents, and siblings the authority to control the disposition of their remains. However, even such an apparently simple scheme as this is open to charges of

e­ thnocentrism because it reifies a Western kin­ ship system that emphasizes the importance of genetic relatedness as a criterion for moral authority and invests the rights to make such decisions in a person’s nuclear family. Other societies might give greater authority to elder members of a person’s patriline or matriline, or disregard the modern Western preoccupation with genetic relatedness altogether in favor of  another culture‐dependent conception of relatedness. Even where we recognize the validity of such claims and agree that the moral authority of belief in a close ancestor–descendant rela­ tionship always outweighs any scientific value skeletal collections might have, we are still faced with the dilemma of deciding what to do when there are conflicting claims for the same skeletal collections. This problem can be illus­ trated by couple of cases in the United States in which people with different beliefs about the past have disputed each other’s assertions of moral authority to control archaeological col­ lections. In Hawaii, soon after the passage of NAGPRA in 1990, fifteen federally recognized native groups became involved in a dispute over the disposition of ancestral remains from Mokapu on the island of Oahu (NAGPRA 1994). One of these groups insisted that scien­ tific research be conducted on the remains of these ancient individuals to determine their ancestral relationships, while other groups viewed such work as a deep insult to the spirits of the their ancestors. Another acrimonious fight over descendant rights is ongoing in the American Southwest between the Navajo and Zuni Indians as a result of a government‐­ instigated land deal that prohibits the Navajo from burying their dead in certain traditional burial areas and requires them to renounce claims on sacred sites (Benedek 1992; Cockburn 1997; Minard 2015). Both tribes have publicly asserted their ancestral rights to the remains of what archaeologists call the Anasazi culture. One option for dealing with the conflicts that arise when several groups of people assert the moral authority that comes with belief in descent from distant ancestors is to take refuge



RESOLVING CONFLICTS AND FINDING BENEFICIAL OUTCOMES

in the legal system where lawyers, politicians, government functionaries, and politically astute special interest groups can wrestle with each other to find a solution to the vexing ques­ tion of who should have legal standing as a descendant. For those who view our legal sys­ tems as distillations of the moral principles of the people that laws govern, turning the ethical problem of defining “real” descendants over to the courts is very appealing. The moral prob­ lem of relying on laws to decide which groups have the right to determine the disposition of human remains has its basis in the faulty assumption that we all live in just societies. However, as we know, laws in the recent past have been used as mechanisms through which democratically elected governments have defined groups for purposes of apartheid, ­slavery, and genocide. In the United States, for example, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act is legislation meant to redress past wrongs against Native Americans, and yet it also insti­ tutionalizes long‐standing inequities in the treatment of federally recognized and non‐­ federally recognized descendants (Walker 1998). Particularly troubling from an ethical standpoint is its failure to acknowledge the existence of authentic descendant groups that, for one reason or another, have either failed to receive or rejected federal tribal recognition. This omission is especially unfortunate for the many federally unrecognized descendants in California and the eastern United States where the vagaries of the colonial process allowed the government to avoid giving Indian tribes the rights of self‐determination that go along with federal recognition. Even if such federally unrecognized groups were given legal standing as descendants, the law would still present eth­ ical problems because, with the minor excep­ tion of granting rights to people who can show a direct genealogical connection to the remains of a known individual, it fails to recognize the rights of the many people of Native American descent who lack any tribal affiliation. The difficulties associated with legislative solutions to the ethical dilemma of determining

29

the disposition of skeletal collections are simi­ larly illustrated by the problems that have arisen in Israel through legislative attempts to resolve disputes over the control of skeletal collections. Ultra‐orthodox Jewish organizations in Israel, such as the Atra Kadisha, who regard all ­academic study involving human remains as a violation of Jewish law, have long been at log­ gerheads with physical anthropologists over the excavation and the handling of human remains, including skeletons of extreme antiquity such as those of Neanderthals (Watzman 1996a, b, c). Owing to the compromises necessary for coali­ tions of political parties to maintain control of  the Israeli government, court rulings have been  issued that make the study of unearthed human remains difficult if not impossible (Nagar 2004). RESOLVING CONFLICTS AND FINDING MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL OUTCOMES It is important to recognize that there is no inherent conflict between the study of human skeletal remains and respect for the dead. In many countries research on and the public display of ancestral remains are matters of national pride. In other situations, arrange­ ments can often be made that satisfy the reli­ gious and symbolic concerns of modern descendants while allowing scientific research on ancestral remains to continue, albeit not always indefinitely. At St Bride’s Church, London, for example, the skeletons of people with known descendants whose burials were disturbed during the German bombings of World War II are respectfully maintained in a special room where they are available for sci­ entific research (Huda and Bowman 1995; Scheuer and Bowman 1995). In this way, the religious and symbolic concerns of descend­ ants are respected, while at the same time making it possible for these remains to ­ ­continue to yield important insights into the lives of eighteenth‐ and nineteenth‐century Londoners that are not adequately documented in written records (Walker 1997, 2004).

30

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

In  the  United States, most of the bioarchaeo­ logical research in the post‐NAGPRA era now occurs through a process of consultation and sometimes participation with culturally affili­ ated individuals and tribes, with reburial a common part of the process (e.g., Billman et al. 2000; Dongoske 1996; Greenwald et al. 2016; Henebry‐DeLeon 2016). New collec­ tions of human skeletal remains of both ancient and modern individuals also continue to be assembled in the United States and abroad. These are made in accordance with the stand­ ards and ethics of the twenty‐first century, and in continued recognition of the value of human skeletal collections as reservoirs of informa­ tion about human populations past and present (e.g., Ferreira et al. 2014; Salceda et al. 2012; Shirley et al. 2011). In all societies, cultural understandings of sacredness and ethical behavior are constantly being reshaped in response to changing social realities. This is especially true for the issues surrounding the treatment of ancient human remains because the social context of bioar­ chaeological research is a modern one not ­confronted by earlier generations. For many societies the excavation, curation, and study of ancestral remains is a new phenomenon that presents practical problems requiring the development of new rituals, new conceptions of sacredness, and new beliefs concerning what is respectful and disrespectful behavior. However, in other societies, especially seden­ tary ones accustomed to maintaining large, intensively used cemeteries, a long history of facing the practical and symbolic problems posed by the disturbance and ­ handling of ancestral remains has resulted in traditional solutions. For example, the Chumash Indians of southern California had specialists called liwimpshit, which means “custodian of the algebra,” who were familiar with the human skeleton and the art of arranging bones. These medical practitioners not only could set bones, but they could also arrange all the bones of the human skeleton properly, and determine whether those ancestral bones had once belonged to a man or a woman (Walker and

Hudson 1993:46, 48). The need for someone qualified to deal with human bone derived from Chumash burial practices, emphasizes the importance of having the remains of the dead near to the living. Cemeteries were, there­ fore, located adjacent to or within villages. As the size of Chumash ­settlements grew, so did the size of their cemeteries and this frequently necessitated the excavation and disturbance of ancestral remains (King 1969). Although the social context of the issues surrounding the treatment of the dead that the modern Chumash face are very different from those they confronted in the past, traditional beliefs about the treatment of the dead have served as a basis for creating a situation in which bioarchaeological research may con­ tinue, while ensuring that due respect is shown for their dead. Working with tribal members over the years, Walker and his col­ leagues developed a cooperative arrangement through which Chumash ancestral remains and associated burial objects housed at other universities and museums could be moved to a safe keeping place at the University of California campus. Descendants involved in these discussions saw this as a more desirable arrangement than the existing one because the university is located near the center of the area historically occupied by the tribe and thus ancestral remains would be returning to the homeland. A  specially designed, subter­ ranean ossuary was created to receive these remains as part of the construction of a new sciences and humanities building. This ossu­ ary was designed through consultation with both federally and non‐federally recognized tribal members to ensure that it met their spir­ itual needs, and also to solve the practical problem of providing security against future disturbance that would be unavailable in an unguarded reburial area. The ossuary also made it possible for scientific research to con­ tinue on these collections, where deemed appropriate and permissible by Chumash descendants. Mutually acceptable solutions such as this that balance spiritual and practical concerns of



RESOLVING CONFLICTS AND FINDING BENEFICIAL OUTCOMES

descendants against the important historical information skeletal research can provide, are the outcome of personal relationships, mutual trust and respect, and the recognition of com­ mon interests. Such relationships require time and effort to nurture. In this case, they devel­ oped in part through assisting descendants and local law‐enforcement authorities in the appre­ hension and prosecution of grave robbers and looters, as well as actively working to mini­ mize the threats of urban development to their sacred sites and archaeological resources. Seminars and workshops on archaeology, osteology, and the intricacies of the laws ­ ­governing the management and protection of archaeological resources were also offered at the request of descendants, which helped to build knowledge and trust – as did the involve­ ment of descendants in research projects when­ ever possible. Such collaborations can be enormously rewarding, both personally and professionally, because descendants provide important and otherwise unavailable insights into the history of their culture. That said, not all groups have religious tra­ ditions that can be easily built upon to allow scientific research conducted on the remains of the dead. The strong objections ultra‐orthodox Jewish organizations have to any skeletal stud­ ies have already been mentioned (Watzman 1996c). As the claims of Hopi and Navajo to archaeological remains from the ancient Anasazi culture show, it is easy for the control of bones and, burial sites to become enmeshed in larger battles over economic and social issues concerning the control of land and natu­ ral resources, environmental preservation, and so on. This of course greatly complicates the problem of finding a basis for compromise. Sometimes collaboration with descendants may be difficult or impossible owing to antag­ onism toward Western science, and strong ­traditional beliefs about the retention of a per­ son’s spirit within their bones. Some native Hawaiians, for example, believe that people possess mana, which after death resides in the bones, and have argued in court that the publi­ cation of information about skeletal collections

31

is offensive and will steal the mana of their ancestors (Kanahele 1993). Many Plains Indian tribes also have strong beliefs about the residence of souls in their ancestral remains. This, along with lingering animosity stemming from racism, genocidal attacks by the U.S. military, cultural suppression in boarding schools, and economic marginalization on res­ ervations makes the prospects for the preserva­ tion of skeletal collections from most of the Plains area slim (Ubelaker 1994:395). In situations such as these it may be impos­ sible to obtain a compromise that allows skel­ etal research to continue. However, once the shroud of mystery associated with what oste­ ologists actually do is removed through direct contacts between people, it is often possible to find a foundation upon which mutual under­ standing and cooperation can be built. One pathway to the development of such collabora­ tions is in the identification and analysis of ancient human remains that are inadvertently disturbed through erosion, for example, or ­during construction projects. In such situations, the value of close collaboration between oste­ ologists and descendants is obvious. After it has been decided that remains are indeed human, the issue of whether or not they are modern (and thus possibly relevant to a foren­ sic investigation) needs to be resolved. If they are ancient, the question of which modern group of people they are affiliated with needs to be considered. This issue is especially important to some indigenous people in the United States who have expressed strong reli­ gious sanctions against the burial of non‐group members in their cemeteries. The value of osteological research is also self‐evident in forensic investigations relating to the prosecution of grave robbers. As noted above, Walker (2008) collaborated with local Chumash tribal representatives on several important cases. In one, the team was able to match a fragment of a mandible confiscated from a suspect’s home with another piece of the same mandible that tribal members had recovered from the area of an ancient grave disturbed by looters. This incontrovertible

32

BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL ETHICS: USE AND VALUE OF HUMAN REMAINS IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH

e­vidence connecting the defendant with the crime scene resulted in a guilty plea. In another, he worked with tribal members to successfully refute a grave robber’s attempt to exonerate himself by claiming that the Native American remains he excavated were from a person of European ancestry, and thus not protected by the state’s Native American graves protection law. Through the process of working on such cases, the views of people who once saw little value in skeletal research can change dramati­ cally as they increasingly become aware of many important insights skeletal studies can give us into the lives of those who have gone before us. When skeletal collections are lost and the capacity to study skeletal material halted owing to the scientific community’s inability to find equitable solutions that balance the con­ cerns of modern descendants against the need to preserve collections for future generations, it is perhaps of some solace to remember that we live in an entropic world in which the natu­ ral processes of decay and disintegration, and the economic and social realities of modern life, continuously conspire to destroy the faint traces our ancestors have left for us in the archaeological record. We cannot turn this tide. All we can do is work to preserve as much of the physical evidence of our common heritage as possible in consultation and collaboration with descendent communities throughout the world. REFERENCES AAA. 2012. Principles of Professional Res­ ponsibility posted by the Committee on Ethics of the American Anthropological Association on November 1, 2012. (American Anthropological Association, 4350 North Fairfax Drive, Suite 640 Arlington, VA 22203‐1620) AAPA. 2003. Code of Ethics. Approved by the AAPA membership at the annual business meet­ ing on April 25, 2003. American Association of Physical Anthropologists. (http://physanth.org/) AIA. 2014. Proposed changes to the 1997 Code of Ethics. (Archaeological Institute of America.

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CHAPTER 2

FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY: METHODOLOGY AND APPLICATIONS DOUGLAS H. UBELAKER

Forensic anthropology involves the application of our knowledge and techniques of human skeletal biology to medico‐legal issues, especially the study of recovered human remains from the recent past. This subfield of physical anthropology can include the examination of soft tissues, but most practitioners use their skills as physical anthropologists to examine skeletal remains. The aim of this work is basically twofold: to assist in the identification of human remains and in the interpretation of what happened to the individuals. To stay within the parameters of this volume, this chapter focuses primarily on the examination of skeletal remains in the forensic context. HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT To demonstrate the methodological advances in forensic anthropology, one needs to examine the historical foundation upon which progress has been made. The beginnings of modern forensic anthropology date back to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries with European scholarly interests in anatomy and anthropology. One of the earliest contributions to ­forensic anthropology comes from the Paris art  instructor Jean‐Joseph Sue (1710–1792),

whose measurements of body dimensions at progressive developmental stages led to methods of stature calculation. Improvement in this method came from Paul Topinard (1830– 1911), Etienne Rollet (1862–1937) and Leonce Manouvrier (1850–1927), although the foundation for modern statistical approaches to stature calculation can be traced to Karl Pearson (1857–1936) and colleagues, who introduced regression equations and greatly improved statistical methodology. Other important contributions include Matthieu‐ Joseph Bonaventure Orfila’s (1787–1853) medico‐legal textbooks, the founding of the Société d’Anthropologie de Paris by Paul Broca (1824–1880), and Broca’s development of instrumentation for body measurement. The academic ancestry of forensic anthropology extends into the nineteenth century when anatomists and early physical anthropologists occasionally were asked to bring their academic skills to focus on problems of human identification. Stewart (1979a) credits Thomas Dwight (1843–1911) for writing in 1878 the essay “The Identification of the human skeleton: A medico‐legal study” and launching professional anthropological interest in this ­ area of physical anthropology. Although an anatomist, Dwight recognized the research

Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, Third Edition. Edited by M. Anne Katzenberg and Anne L. Grauer. This chapter is a U.S. Government work and is in public domain. Published 2019 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

needed to develop procedures to estimate age at death, sex, and living stature from skeletonized human remains (Dwight 1878, 1881, 1890a, b, 1894a, b, 1905). Other notable early pioneers included George A. Dorsey (1869–1931) (Stewart 1978 and Ubelaker 1999a) and Harris Hawthorne Wilder (1864–1928), (Stewart 1977, 1979a, b, 1982). Following Dwight’s lead, Dorsey published on the medico‐legal applications of knowledge of skeletal anatomy (1897, 1899). In 1897 and 1898, Dorsey testified in a high‐ profile murder trial in Chicago. A local sausage manufacturer was accused of the murder of his wife and the disposal of her remains in a vat at the sausage factory. Dorsey’s testimony regarding small fragments found within the vat  was debated. Although challenged by other experts, his testimony received extensive favorable media coverage in this high‐profile trial. A German anatomist, H.H. Wilder, contributed to two major areas of forensic science. He enlarged on F. Galton’s dermatoglyphic studies to include observations of prints on the palm and sole, and advocated the use of dermatoglyphics over the Bertillon system of anthropometric traits for positive identification. Wilder also ­conducted research on the restoration of soft ­tissue and facial reproduction (Stewart 1982). Recent research has also demonstrated that the early leader in physical anthropology, Aleš Hrdlička (1869–1943) had broad forensic interests, reported on skeletal cases, and initiated a relationship of forensic service provided by the Smithsonian Institution to the Federal Bureau of Investigation (Ubelaker 1998, 1999b, 1999c, 1999d) that was carried on by subsequent curators, including Angel and Ubelaker. Hrdlička is well‐known for his ­seminal role in the development of American physical anthropology. In a career largely spent at the Smithsonian Institution (1903–1943), he founded the American Journal of Physical Anthropology in 1918 and the American Association of Physical Anthropologists (first meeting in 1930). His works on the evidence for an early human ­presence in the New World, anthropometry, and many other areas of

p­ hysical anthropology are well known. Less recognized are Hrdlička’s training and work in legal medicine. Over his long career, he researched broad medico‐legal issues including insanity, and the possible contributions of biological attributes to criminal and other abnormal behavior. He also presented opinions on cases involving insanity, skeletal identification, and ancestry of living peoples. His skeletal casework included trauma interpretation and an early example of photographic superimposition. Hrdlička’s expertise in the identification of skeletonized human remains was recognized as early as 1918 by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. By the time of his death, he consulted regularly with the FBI on skeletal issues and was highly regarded by them as a resource in investigation (Ubelaker 1999d). The modern era of forensic anthropology in  the United States began with William M. Krogman’s (1903–1987) contributions. He published a Guide to the Identification of Human Skeletal Material in 1939, which quickly became an authoritative work in forensic anthropology (Stewart 1979a). His main research on growth and development did not hinder his forensic contributions (1943, 1946, 1949), the most significant work being his key text The Human Skeleton in Forensic Medicine (1962). Krogman’s major forensic works were widely utilized by those involved in identifying remains for the military, such as H.L. Shapiro (1902–1990) in Europe and Charles E. Snow (1910–1967), Mildred Trotter (1899– 1991) and T. Dale Stewart (1901–1997) in Hawaii. The work of these individuals and ­others involved in identification efforts demonstrated the shortcomings of Krogman’s forensic texts and led to important improvements in methodology, such as Trotter’s research on stature (Trotter, 1970; Trotter and Gleser 1952) and Stewart’s approach to changes due to age (McKern and Stewart 1957). Those involved with military identification gained extensive experience, and this led to important methodological improvements in forensic anthropology, such as Stewart’s edited volume on mass disaster investigation (1970).



Relationship of forensic anthropology to skeletal biology

In 1972, growth of activity in forensic anthropology led to the formation of a Physical Anthropology section of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) with fourteen founding members. Membership in the section increased steadily to 492 in 2015. Professionalism within forensic anthropology received another boost in 1977 when a certification process was developed. Diplomate membership of 22 in 1978 grew to about 119 (including those deceased and retired) in 2018. Currently, to become a board‐certified Diplomate of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, a forensic anthropologist must hold a Ph.D. degree in anthropology with a specialty related to physical or forensic anthropology. In addition, applicants for certification must have at least three years of full‐time professional experience at least partially devoted to forensic anthropology. Applicants must also have experience doing forensic casework, and must pass a written and practical examination usually given in association with the annual meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. Certification (Diplomate status) provides the recipient with a useful credential for work within forensic anthropology. Forensic societies including anthropologists are increasingly common throughout the globe. The Canadian Society for Forensic Science (CSFS) includes forensic anthropologists under  the section “Anthropology”. With a founding membership of 17 individuals, CSFS membership has steadily grown to include over 423 members to date. A similar organization, the Forensic Anthropology Society of Europe (FASE), founded in 2004 in association with the International Academy of Legal Medicine (IALM), has provided the same kind of stimulus for the development of forensic anthropology in Europe. Increasingly, forensic anthropologists have published results of their work in forensic journals, especially the J Forensic Sci (Ubelaker 1996), edited volumes (Blau and Ubelaker 2016; Clement and Ranson 1998; Dupras et al. 2006; Haglund and Sorg 1997, 2002), and ­textbook case studies (Hunter and Cox 2005;

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Steadman 2003). Such research has focused on  specific forensic applications and has greatly increased the capability of forensic anthropologists. Through the involvement of the Diplomates and other forensic anthropologists in the ­medico‐legal system, each year many cases are reported on throughout the world. These cases represent mostly skeletonized remains, but also include fresh, mummified, decomposed, burned, and other conditions. Typically, cases originate from civil disputes forwarded from agencies (i.e., local law enforcement, state police, military, coroners, medical examiners, or sheriff’s departments)  –  the majority of which are sent by medical examiners’ or coroners’ offices – or from the military. The most common type of anthropological case is skeletal remains, followed by decomposed and recent cases, respectively. Forensic anthropologists frequently are requested to take on cases involving burned remains, nonhuman material, and remains of archaeological origin. Each case requires different techniques and methodology; some of the more common include dental aging from microscopic structure, age determination from microscopic examination of cortical bone, facial reproduction, photographic superimposition, and photographic comparison. Frequently, forensic anthropologists and archaeologists are involved in the investigation, recovery and analysis of human remains resulting from mass disasters, wars and political ­conflicts (Fondebrider 2016; Sledzik and Mundorff 2016). They are valuable participants in recovery teams and prove vital in the interpretation of trauma and identification efforts. RELATIONSHIP OF FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY TO SKELETAL BIOLOGY As indicated above, the roots of forensic anthropology reach back to early anatomists and pioneer physical anthropologists who

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responded positively to requests from the law enforcement community to apply their skills. Prominent past forensic anthropologists such  as Hrdlička, Stewart, Krogman, and J.  Lawrence Angel (1915–1986) represented physical anthropologists who shared their forensic interests with broader issues in anthropology. Hrdlička did some forensic work, including issues of insanity and ancestry of then‐living individuals but also pursued research problems in all other areas of physical anthropology and some areas outside of it (Ubelaker 1999d). Stewart considered forensic anthropology only one of three broad interests, the other two being anthropometry and paleoanthropology (Ubelaker 2000). Angel was highly regarded for his forensic contributions, but initiated them late in his career, focusing first on skeletal biology of the Near East and anatomy issues (Buikstra and Hoshower 1990), research that he continued along with his forensic work. Krogman pioneered the modern era of forensic anthropology in North America and also was an expert in growth and development (Johnston 1997). These early workers likely were drawn into forensic applications by their reputations and expertise in the relevant areas of physical anthropology. It is also likely that they welcomed these applications because of the new information the forensic experience provided them. The forensic work represents not only an opportunity for public service and to demonstrate the relevance of our science, but also a unique chance to acquire information about contemporary populations and problems. This information and the experience gained through case analysis and court testimony frequently sharpens the skills of the skeletal biologist and improves analysis of remains recovered from archaeological contexts. THEORETICAL ISSUES At first glance, it might appear that forensic anthropology differs from the more general field of skeletal biology in that the former concentrates on the individual while the latter

addresses larger population issues. Upon closer examination, this dichotomy breaks down. Many studies within skeletal biology, especially paleopathology, concentrate on the individual, if not the individual specimen. As with forensic anthropology, the skeletal biologist/ paleopathologist uses scientific knowledge from the literature and experience to diagnose a disease condition or interpret a cultural modification. As in skeletal biology, the forensic anthropologist considers the individual specimen in  the context of total human variation and uses  information about the individual to improve techniques and gain insight into broader issues. The immediate goals of forensic anthropology are specific: primarily to help identify the ­ person and figure out what  happened to them. The secondary goals are to gather biological/skeletal information about contemporary ­populations and further our understanding of  human variation for a number of skeletal variables. Broad anthropological knowledge is almost always needed to properly interpret a forensic case. The seemingly simple determination of human vs. nonhuman requires experience not only in human variation, the human disease process, and taphonomic effects on human bone, but also awareness of the diverse ­materials that can resemble human bones and teeth. The more fragmentary and altered the materials, the more difficult this process becomes. A submitted bone fragment may not resemble normal human bone, but could it represent a pathological condition, a fragment from a very young or very old individual, or human bone altered by heat or exposure to postmortem influences? A small fragment may appear to fall within the range of variation of human bone, especially in consideration of the diverse factors outlined above, but can nonhuman sources be completely eliminated? These interpretations call for broad knowledge of skeletal biology and even other, related fields that ultimately shapes the language utilized in the final report, or testimony on the witness stand. Similarly, a broad perspective is



needed to address issues of age at death, sex, ancestry, living stature, time since death, facial reproduction, evidence of foul play, and other identifying features frequently involved in forensic anthropology. The theoretical approach employed in forensic anthropology basically involves a broad anthropological, population perspective applied to the individual. Forensic issues and goals are addressed using anthropological data, techniques, and perspectives. Some of the foci of forensic anthropological analysis such as interpretation of gunshot wounds and identification of foul play would seem to be unique to the forensic anthropology experience. However, even these areas call for anthropological knowledge of bone biomechanics and structural variation for proper interpretation. Forensic anthropologists also recognize the  unique opportunities presented by the ­casework to improve procedures and to gain knowledge about key issues in contemporary society. The cases examined nearly always present a special problem, or reflect materials from unusual contexts, that broaden our knowledge. Many of the cases represent known individuals at the time or those who are later identified, offering an opportunity to expand our knowledge about aspects of human variation. The practice of forensic anthropology clearly expands the experience and expertise of the individual skeletal biologist conducting the work. Through publications and presentations at professional meetings, this special knowledge improves the science. THE FORENSIC DATA BANK Angel’s work (1974, 1976) offers examples of how forensic anthropologists have used the opportunity offered by casework to gather information about the skeletal biology of contemporary people (Ubelaker 1990). In 1962, J.  Lawrence Angel joined the staff of the Smithsonian Institution and succeeded T. Dale Stewart as a consultant in forensic anthropology with the nearby FBI headquarters. In about

The Forensic Data Bank

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1978, the author assumed responsibility for the FBI work, but Angel continued to report on cases for others. By 1986, Angel’s case experience had risen to about 565. He not only learned a lot from working on the cases, but also attempted to apply the data from them to larger anthropological questions. These data became the “modern” sample that added perspective to his studies of long‐term temporal change in patterns of fractures (1974) and other variables (1976). In an internal 1977 Smithsonian document, Angel described his forensic work as both public service and research. Angel noted: “Much time at present goes to careful study of human skeletons brought for identification… since almost all of these are research data. It has taken years to collect adequate samples of modern, and Colonial American adults. The time invested is just beginning to pay off… Applied science is not a dirty word.” (Ubelaker 1990). As increasing numbers of skeletal biologists became involved in forensic applications, the need for improved techniques and knowledge of the contemporary population was recognized. Many of the procedures available for estimating sex, age, ancestry, stature, etc. were based upon existing museum collections of human remains, especially the Terry collection at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC and the Hamann–Todd collection in Cleveland, Ohio. The Hamann–Todd collection consists of approximately 3157 skeletons and associated records housed at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History (Lovejoy et  al. 1985). The Department of Anatomy of Western Reserve University assembled this collection between 1912 and 1938. According to Lovejoy and colleagues, cause of death information is available for about 9 % of the adults and only about 512 are of relatively known age at death. Others show discrepancies between the stated age of the individual and observations on age made by anatomists at the time. The Terry collection consists of the remains of over 1600 individuals, most of whom were dissected at the Washington University School

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

of Medicine in St. Louis, Missouri, during the twentieth century. This collection of predominantly older individuals was assembled mainly by Robert J. Terry (1871–1966) and Mildred Trotter (1899–1991) following dissection. The collection, with associated records, hair samples, and some death masks, is curated at the Smithsonian Institution. Both the Terry and Hamann–Todd collections have been extensively utilized in skeletal biology research and both represent individuals whose deaths date from the early part of the twentieth century. As valuable as these collections are, concerns grew about the extent to which they represent human populations from a limited range of gene pools, geographic areas, and time periods. Such concern from forensic anthropologists led to the formation of  a Forensic Data Bank in 1984, sponsored by  the physical anthropology section of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. The concept was that as forensic anthropologists throughout North America worked on contemporary cases, they would gather noninvasive data which would facilitate the research process. A prominent group of forensic anthropologists met to agree on the data to be collected and standardized forms were made available to all involved with casework (Jantz and Moore‐Jansen 1988). By 2016, the number of individuals in the data bank had increased to about 3400, a size surpassing the older Terry and Hamann–Todd collections. Emerging from this effort is a large pool of measurements and observations on the skeletal remains of identified individuals who were examined as forensic cases. These data not only have obvious utility in supplying anthropological information about the contemporary population but also offer an opportunity to develop improved techniques directly applicable to forensic work. In 1993, a major product of the data base effort emerged: FORDISC 1.0 (Jantz and Ousley 1993), a DOS computer program that enables the classification of an adult cranium by sex and ancestry. The advantages of this system over previously published discriminant

function equations were that FORDISC was based on the large, diverse, contemporary Forensic Data Bank of obvious direct applicability to modern forensic cases, and the interactive program allowed the formation of custom functions when not all measurements were available. With FORDISC 1.0, a powerful new tool was added that resulted directly from data generated from forensic casework. Three years later, the FORDISC product was upgraded (2.0) (Ousley and Jantz 1996) utilizing the enlarged data bank and adding additional online assistance, including a pictorial guide to measurements and improved graphics. Other additions include: postcranial measurements to improve classification of sex and ancestry and allow estimation of living stature, mandibular measurements, and worldwide data collected by W.W. Howells (1973, 1989). FORDISC 3.0 (Ousley and Jantz 2005) is now available offering an updated database that includes Guatemalan Mayans, an expanded set of measurements for the Howells database, an opportunity for users to import their own data and enhanced flexibility for stature calculations. The new system represents a substantial improvement and demonstrates the interplay between skeletal biology and forensic anthropology. FORDISC 3.1 can be ordered from the University of Tennessee website.1 Comparison of data in the Forensic Data Bank with those generated from the Terry and Hamann–Todd collections highlights the need to maintain the Data Bank due to temporal variation. Such a comparison was made by Ousley and Jantz (1998) using measurements derived from both collections and applying discriminant functions developed from older collections to cases in the Data Bank. This study demonstrated differences between the samples and documented the importance of including modern data in forensic applications. Although the FORDISC system represents a significant methodological advance, caution  http://fac.utk.edu/fordisc-3-1-personal-computer-forensicdiscriminant-functions/ Accessed February 1, 2018.

1



is still appropriate in applications to individuals who likely differ substantially from those within the database. As a case in point, Ubelaker et al. (2002a) applied the FORDISC 2.0 system to a sample of Spanish crania dating to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In regards to ancestry, the individual crania within the sample classified in diverse ways, reflecting the absence of Spanish samples within the FORDISC database at that time. Research in forensic anthropology also has advanced considerably through the global growth of reference skeletal collections (Ubelaker 2014a). Researchers and curators in many countries have assembled skeletal remains from individuals of known identity and have made them available for research. Such collections enable examination of the impact and scope of human variation, alongside the need to develop and evaluate metric techniques used in forensic anthropology. EVIDENCE RECOVERY Proper recovery of human remains constitutes an increasingly important aspect of forensic analysis. Most discoveries of human remains that lead to forensic investigation are not made by professionals. Construction workers, hikers, hunters, berry pickers, and family dogs usually are the first to accidentally come across skeletonized and unidentified remains. Frequently such sites are isolated, rural, wooded areas where ground cover inhibits immediate discovery. In many areas of North America, discovery must wait until seasonal activities (hiking, hunting, etc.) bring a potential human discoverer into visual contact with the remains. In areas with cold winters, low temperatures bring reduced foliage and ­ increased ground visibility. This, coupled with  winter treks to  the woods by hunters and  ­hikers, leads to  discovery. In areas with significant ­ winter  snowfall, discoveries are often made in spring. Once discovery of human remains is made it is important to recover the remaining

Evidence recovery

49

e­ vidence as thoroughly and carefully as possible. Although much progress in this area has been made in recent years, much more can be done. If human remains are known or thought to be involved, recovery by a forensic anthropologist can be a great help. Shovels, trowels, and other sharp tools may be necessary to properly excavate the materials, but in the hands of nonprofessionals, these tools may produce alterations on the remains that would complicate analysis. Increasingly, forensic anthropologists are involved in recovery, or those involved have had some exposure to principles of excavation through courses or seminars. Publications are available to advise those involved on the principles of recovery of human remains (Blau and Ubelaker 2016; Cox et al. 2008; Dirkmaat 2012; Dupras et al. 2006; Haglund and Sorg 1997, 2002; Hunter and Cox 2005; Killam 2004; Pickering and Bachman 1997; Ubelaker 1999e). Most recovery missions remain an exercise in common sense using careful archaeological techniques. Advanced technology is increasingly available to supplement traditional approaches. Ground‐penetrating radar, soil resistivity equipment, metal detectors, and other sophisticated equipment can assist, particularly in cases with other evidence suggesting buried remains in a general area (Holland and Connell 2016). In some circumstances, cadaver dogs can help as well. Use of these approaches, along with surface topography, aerial photography, vegetation patterns, and other indicators can facilitate difficult decisions on where labor‐intensive excavation should be employed. Such a complex search clearly calls for a team approach, since no single expert likely will be knowledgeable in all the specialized procedures and equipment involved. The major issues involved in evidence recovery are similar to those of traditional archeology or the recovery of ancient human remains. Decisions must be made regarding the amount of time and effort directed toward recovery. Ideally, all resources available should be utilized and directed toward the maximum

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

recovery of information. Just as with an archaeological excavation, the recovery operation is destructive and offers a mostly one‐time opportunity to learn as much as possible. Practical decisions must be made regarding the use of available resources and time. Frequently, these decisions must be made in consideration of other priorities. For example, remains may be discovered at active construction sites where all construction activities must be stopped until investigations are completed. At the time of recovery, it is difficult to predict what information might prove important later in the investigation. Thus, it is important to have the decisions guided by the most experienced and trained personnel available. NONHUMAN VERSUS HUMAN REMAINS Although most forensic anthropologists can easily distinguish intact, well‐preserved human remains from those of nonhumans, fragmentary or otherwise altered material can be challenging. Detailed knowledge of human skeletal anatomy is usually sufficient to recognize that evidence is consistent with a human origin. The more precise opinion that remains are of human origin (could not be anything else) requires some recognition of the many other materials that can mimic the human condition. With the reality that molecular approaches potentially offer positive identification from minute bits of evidence, forensic anthropologists can expect to see increasing frequencies of submission of such evidence. Since the molecular procedures are costly and time‐­ consuming, an initial determination by the anthropologist of human vs. nonhuman can be important (Mulhern 2016). Such determinations usually rely upon the experience of the anthropologist, supplemented by comparative collections. Other experts, especially zooarchaeologists or other naturalists, may need to be consulted. In my experience, microscopic examination can

p­rovide important diagnostic information. Examination of small evidence with a high‐ quality dissecting‐type microscope allows clear viewing of morphological surface details that facilitate diagnosis. With fragmentary evidence, the examination of the visible internal surface may reveal helpful aspects of structure. For especially difficult fragments, it may be desirable to prepare thin sections for even more detailed microscopic study. In particular, osteon organization may present a nonhuman pattern (Ubelaker 1999e). Although human/ nonhuman differences in bone histology have been discussed in the literature, more research is needed to clarify the distribution of these differences throughout the skeleton and among different species (Enlow 1962, 1963; Enlow and Brown 1956, 1957, 1958; Foote 1916; Mulhern and Ubelaker 2001, 2003; Ubelaker 1999e). If soft tissues are sufficiently preserved, they may provide additional clues to whether the specimen is human or nonhuman. Hair analysis or serological techniques may be able to clarify if remains are of human origin and if not, perhaps identify species or genus. Both of these approaches have proven to be useful in determining whether cases of submitted cranial remains were from calves with hydrocephaly or human infants (Ubelaker et  al. 1991). In this particular forensic application, extracts were prepared from desiccated soft tissue. Double‐ diffusion test methods were employed using the extract and antibodies of bovine, deer, horse, sheep, swine, and human. A precipitin line formed in the presence of antibovine serum which, with additional testing, contributed to the final diagnosis that the remains represented calves with hydrocephaly. Hair examination and cranial morphology also contributed important diagnostic information. For extremely fragmentary and/or environmentally compromised material, recognizing whether bone or teeth are present can be difficult. For such cases, scanning electron microscopy/energy dispersive spectroscopy (SEM/ EDS) can produce diagnostic results.



The spectra revealed in such analyses allow identification of constituent elements and their relative proportions. This information can facilitate identification of bone or tooth when compared with a comparative spectra database of known materials (Ubelaker et  al. 2002b). Such analysis does not allow differentiation of human fragments from those of other animals, however. For such cases, protein radioimmunoassay (pRIA) analysis will distinguish between humans and nonhumans and may even identify the taxonomic family of the nonhuman fragments (Ubelaker et al. 2004). AGE AT DEATH Scientific progress in the estimation of age at death involves greater awareness of human variability, employing reliable demographic models, understanding new techniques, and greater appreciation of the importance of regional and temporal variation in the aging process. Forensic anthropology strives for an accurate estimation of age at death. “Accuracy” involves coming as close as possible to actual chronological age at death and realistically conveying the range of error associated with the estimate. This is determined on known‐ aged samples on which the aging standard has been developed. Many individual techniques are available that have been developed by different researchers working with diverse samples introducing additional sources of variation. On the positive side, many techniques are now available reflecting age changes in different populations around the world at varying periods in history. The downside is that standards for one sample may differ from standards of samples from different time periods and/or socioeconomic status. The situation also creates some uncertainty when a method is applied to an individual originating from a population that differs from the one which contributed to the development of the method. Increasingly, the scientific literature respects

Age at death

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these problems and seeks to address them through utilization of diverse samples and ­testing of methods on different samples. Increasingly, biological anthropologists are applying mathematical models, such as hazards analysis and Bayes’ theorem to the assessment of demographic distributions (Hoppa and Vaupel 2002; Konigsberg and Frankenberg 2002). Proponents of this approach suggest that one must first estimate the age distribution of a population before estimating individual age‐at‐death. In order to do this, researchers rely upon reference collections of populations with known age distributions. A related method employed in  estimating paleodemographic profiles is transition analysis. Here, a suite of traits from different anatomical areas (e.g. the pubic symphysis, auricular surface, and cranial sutures) are examined (Boldsen et  al. 2002; Milner and Boldsen 2012). Age estimates are then based on the probability that an individual is a particular age given the morphological appearance of these traits and based on the prior age distribution. Decisions regarding which methods to utilize in age at death estimation rely on the relative accuracy and precision of the methods, the experience of the investigator, available equipment, and the state of preservation of the remains. For example, adult age estimation through microscopic examination of long bone cortical microstructure offers one of the most accurate and precise single approaches according to the literature, but requires time‐consuming specimen preparation and equipment that is not universally available. This technique also requires assessment of complex histological structures, knowledge which might be unfamiliar to all forensic anthropologists. A technique that may have been quite accurate when developed by a specialist may not be as accurate in the hands of a less experienced researcher. Although some techniques for age estimation vary in their precision and accuracy, it is advisable to employ as many age indicators as  possible in assessing adult age at death. For  immature skeletons, the extent of dental

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

development provides the most accurate and precise age indicator. If teeth are fragmented, absent, or difficult to recognize, then the size and overall morphology of bones (including epiphyses), or bone fragments can be useful. For adults, age assessment is more difficult because the increased number of years prior to death have allowed potentially greater variation in the morphological features used as age indicators. For example, a skeleton may present a relatively youthful‐appearing pubic symphysis and sternal end of the fourth rib, yet show premature arthritic development and extensive tooth loss. All of these age indicators are variable and not entirely necessarily ­biomechanically or physiologically linked. For these reasons an assessment using as many techniques as possible is important. The application of different techniques to the same sample of individuals of known age at death offers some insight into the relative accuracy and reliability of the methods. For example, Virginia Galera, Lee‐Ann Hayek and  I (Galera et  al.1995) applied various ­techniques to estimate age at death that are commonly used in both Europe and North America. A sample of 963 skeletons of known age at death from the Terry Collection of the Smithsonian Institution was used. The evaluation included four assessments of cranial suture  closure (Acsádi and Nemeskéri 1970; Baker 1984; Masset 1982; Meindl and Lovejoy 1985), antemortem tooth loss, vertebral ­osteophytosis (Stewart 1958), sternal rib morphology (İşcan et  al. 1984a; İşcan et  al. 1984b; İşcan et al. 1985; İşcan and Loth 1986a, b), the pubic symphysis (Acsádi and Nemeskéri 1970; Gilbert and McKern 1973; McKern and Stewart 1957; Suchey and Katz 1986; Suchey et  al. 1988; Suchey et  al. 1986; Todd 1920, 1921) and auricular surface changes (Bedford et al. 1989; Lovejoy et al. 1985). Statistical testing revealed no significant differences in the scoring of these techniques by the three investigators. This suggests that the techniques are not difficult to interpret and may even prove fruitful when investigators have minimal anthropological preparation

(Galera et al. 1995). Application of the cranial suture methods suggested that endocranial closures were more accurate that the ectocranial ones (Galera et al. 1998). The different methods demonstrated different strengths when applied to different subsets of the sample, but overall the European methods were more ­accurate, at least when applied to the crania of the Terry collection. In another test, methods of estimating age at death of adults were applied to a sample of 19 French autopsy individuals of known age at death (Ubelaker et al. 1998). Techniques tested consisted of the Lamendin et al. (1992) procedure of assessing single‐rooted teeth, the morphology of the sternal end of the fourth rib (İşcan et  al. 1984a, b, 1985; İşcan and Loth, 1986a, b), the Suchey‐Brooks system for the pubic symphysis (Brooks and Suchey 1990) and the Kerley method (Kerley 1965, 1970; Kerley and Ubelaker 1978) of assessing ­femoral cortical remodeling. In addition, three comprehensive approaches were employed: a  mathematical average of the ages derived from the individual approaches; a two‐step procedure (Baccino and Zerilli 1997) which combined aspects of the pubic symphysis assessment with the dental technique; and an overall assessment by each investigator of all available information. Statistical analysis of the results indicated that the comprehensive approaches were more accurate than any of the individual approaches. Of the single approaches, the dental technique offered the best results. The relative success of the seven methods employed reflected not only the nature of the methods but also the experience of the investigators and the complexity of the structures requiring interpretation. This was most apparent with the complex Kerley method which yielded much more accurate results when applied by an experienced investigator in comparison to those produced by a professional less familiar with the technique. In addition to our own studies, other ­anthropologists are increasingly raising methodological standards by conducting research on samples where age‐at‐death is known.

53



Sex (not gender [Walker and Cook, 1998])

The  skeletal analysis and historical demography studies conducted on the St. Thomas Anglican Church sample, a nineteenth‐century cemetery in Belleville, Ontario, by Saunders and colleagues (Saunders 1992; Saunders et al. 1992; Saunders et al., 1993; Saunders et al. 1995; Saunders et  al. 2002) represents an excellent resource for testing methodology for growth and ageing studies, as well as exploring the utility of ancient DNA research. Research by Cunha and colleagues (Albanese 2003; Bruzek 2002; Cunha 1995; Rissech et al. 2006; Schmitt et al. 2002) on the Coimbra Identified Skeletal Collection at Coimbra University in Portugal, also provides important insight into population variation in growth, development, and ageing. Estimation of age at death in a forensic context concentrates on the individual, utilizing experience and data from the literature on age changes within populations throughout the world. Such estimates offered in reports or court testimony should utilize appropriate language to convey the proper associated probabilities. For example, in the analysis of a forensic case, a particular technique might suggest an age at death of about 34 years. It is appropriate to call attention to this result in a forensic report but equally important to convey the possible range around this estimate. Without this perspective, the authorities may limit their search of missing persons to those of age 34 and not discover the actual missing ­person whose age varied somewhat from the estimate. When age at death is known, the cases offer an opportunity to augment our knowledge of skeletal age changes and the influencing factors involved.

­ orphology of the cranium, alongside the size m of bones can provide important information. Increasing advances in identification techniques and in DNA extraction have enabled some scientists to identify sex genetically rather than morphologically (Baker 2009; Schmidt et  al. 2003). This is, however, not always the most cost‐effective or reliable method of determining sex (Sivagami et al. 2000), as forensic anthropologists are often called upon by medico‐legal examiners when remains are ­ fragmentary, decomposed, skeletonized, or ­ ­otherwise unrecognizable. In these instances, DNA may not be easy to extract or may be cost‐ prohibitive. DNA evidence can also be contaminated if protocol is not strictly followed, and results often take a long time to be processed. It is important to remember that morphological identification of sex is still an invaluable resource for the forensic anthropologist. Recent research in sex determination has been directed toward making data available on sex differences of anatomical elements recovered in unusual circumstances. Such research includes investigations focusing on bones of the feet. These data are relevant in the forensic context because bones of the foot can be protected within shoes and stockings from ­ taphonomic forces that otherwise destroy or separate the rest of the skeleton. To help meet this forensic problem, Introna et  al. (1997) examined 80 right calcanei from 40 males and females from a contemporary southern Italian collection. Eight measurements were taken leading to both univariate and multivariate analyses that complement earlier work in estimating sex from this bone. The Italian study is especially useful in a comparative sense to help document not only sex differences but how the expression of these differences may vary in populations around the world. Smith (1997) and Robling and Ubelaker (1997) turned to the Smithsonian’s Terry ­collection for data on sex differences in the metatarsals (Robling and Ubelaker 1997; Smith 1997) and foot phalanges (Smith 1997). Discriminant function equations were g­ enerated to facilitate sex identification of these bones.

SEX (NOT GENDER [WALKER AND COOK, 1998]) In forensic anthropology, as in the more general field of skeletal biology, the estimation of sex of the adult is generated most accurately from observations of the pelvis. In the absence or with poor preservation of the pelvis, the

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

ANCESTRY In studying remains of unknown identity, forensic anthropologists usually attempt to estimate the ancestry of an individual or the group from which this person would likely have been identified (the so‐called “ethnic identity” of the individual). This information can be useful to law enforcement in attempting to narrow the search for identity. Knowledge of ancestry is also useful for stature estimation, since different regression equations are available for different ethnic groups displaying considerable variability in stature and body ­ proportions. It is important however, to recognize the social dimensions of ancestral, ethnic, and/or racial categories and to not confuse past typological classifications leading to deterministic conclusions with today’s efforts to identify individuals and the ancestral communities from which they might have derived (Sauer et al. 2016). In forensic anthropology, the estimation of ancestry is accomplished through observation of characteristics such as dental morphology and features of the facial skeleton, and through measurements, usually with discriminant function analysis. The former approach has been augmented by increased attention to anatomical features that display variation (see Gill and Rhine, 1990). The latter approach has grown primarily through the acquisition of measurements from larger, more diverse samples, with special effort aimed at the needs of the forensic community. In recent years, the estimation of ancestry has been strengthened through the Forensic Data Bank discussed earlier. The data bank and the computer programs FORDISC 2.0 and 3.0 have improved the ability of forensic anthropologists to predict ancestry (Ousley and Jantz 1996). Like any other discriminant function program, FORDISC places the individual under investigation into a previously defined group within the database. Use of this program and its functions must include interpretation of  these classifications using all available information.

For example, measurements from a recent forensic case of known identity were entered into the program. The individual was an adult female of known living stature of about 63 inches (160 cm) and was known in the community as being White. Once the data were entered on a standard IBM‐compatible computer, only a few seconds were required to classify the measurements as originating from a White female with a posterior probability of 0.969 and a typicality of 0.842 (Ubelaker 1997). Posterior probability relates the likelihood that the unknown originates from selected groups used in the analysis. Typicality probability presents the likelihood that the unknown varies from any of the groups used in the analysis. For additional detail on these ­ ­statistics, see Ousley and Jantz, 1996. A second attempt at classificationin FORDISC used W.W. Howell’s (1973, 1989) database derived from archaeological populations. The results classifed the “unknown” as a Zalavar female from a ninth‐ to tenth‐century population from western Hungary. The other close groupings using the Howells database were Egyptian and Taiwanese (females). Like the forensic database, the Howells system had correctly classified the individual as female, though the closest population classifications were quite disparate geographically. Hence, careful use of Howell’s data in FORDISC must evaluate all classifications within the context of other information. While the use of Howell’s database may appear inappropriate in a forensic context, the results of our test suggested that the individual would likely have been socially classified as White in contemporary North American society. Hence, while such ancient samples may not be represented directly by a modern forensic case, they can provide useful perspective to assist in the ­overall evaluation of ancestry. The estimation of ancestry calls upon our skills as physical anthropologists to assess the biological information displayed by the forensic remains in the context of worldwide human variation. This aspect of forensic analysis also requires broader anthropological interpretation



of how an individual with certain skeletal characteristics would likely be regarded ­ (social  classification or “ethnic identity”) by the community in which they lived. Once again, language on this issue must be carefully selected to convey the proper levels of probability involved. LIVING STATURE Recent progress in the estimation of living ­stature has been registered on three fronts: the detection of errors and clarification of past formulae for estimating stature; improvements in methods with the new forensic database and global reference collections; and recognition of the potential error involved in “known” ­living stature. Historically, many skeletal biologists in North America have relied heavily upon the published stature regression equations of Trotter (1970). These formulae were generated from multiple databases of measurements of long bones from individuals of known stature, many of military origin whose statures were probably accurately measured and documented. Of all the long bones, the tibia is especially problematic to measure because it presents extensions from the articular surfaces on both the proximal (intercondylar eminence) and distal (medial malleolus) ends. Research with Trotter’s original measurements raised questions about the manner in which she measured the tibia. Her published definition of the measurement used in the stature calculation from the tibia excluded the intercondylar eminence but included the medial malleolus. Since Trotter had measured individuals in the Terry collection, those tibiae were available and could be measured again for comparison with her original measurements (Jantz et al. 1995). This procedure suggested that, at least in the Terry sample, the medial malleolus was excluded, but questions remain on how the measurement was taken on other skeletons ­utilized in Trotter’s research. The example is illustrative of the importance of careful

Facial approximation

55

d­efinition of measurements and the need to critically evaluate such information in the existing literature. Improvements in stature estimation also result from the incorporation of new information from additional skeletal samples (Willey 2016). Most relevant to forensic anthropology are revisions resulting from the Forensic Data Bank. Using the new contemporary information in the data bank, Jantz (1992) offered new regression equations for both sexes and the various population groups. Comparison of these formulae with those previously published revealed differences, but it was difficult to determine if they represented secular trends in the groups represented, or relative error in the reporting of living stature. The error involved in so‐called known living stature remains a persistent problem not only in developing new equations from the Forensic Data Bank, but also applying estimates to cases. Research has shown a human tendency to erroneously report living stature (as being taller), especially in males (Himes and Roche 1982; Willey and Falsetti 1991). Thus, even if stature can be accurately ­estimated from skeletal remains, the “known” statures of missing persons available for comparison may be sufficiently different from actual stature, which complicates the identification process. Estimates of stature from remains can be useful not only to help identify unknown remains, but also for excluding possible identities, and assisting in the sorting of commingled remains. FACIAL APPROXIMATION A central goal of forensic anthropology is the accumulation of information about an individual from their remains to facilitate identification. At times, even when an individual is thought to be deceased for a short period of  time, information on sex, age at death, ancestry, living stature, and other information may not lead to an identification. There are many reasons for this, including the possibility that

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

the community has not considered the possibility of death, or that the individual is not officially registered as a missing person. In such cases, authorities may request a facial approximation. The goal here is to estimate the living facial appearance of the individual so that the image can be presented to the public through the media. Hopefully, such visual public exposure will trigger the memory of an acquaintance and lead to identification. The facial approximation is not used directly for the ­positive identification; however, it may help generate the recognition and documents needed for such identification. Techniques of facial approximation can consist of three‐dimensional reproduction using clay or a similar material deposited on the skull or a cast of the skull, an artist’s sketch prepared from visual examination of the skull, or various computer approaches (Clement and Ranson 1998; Taylor 2001; Ubelaker 1993; Ubelaker and O’Donnell 1992; Wilkinson 2004). While these approaches have varying procedures and advantages, they all require considerable experience and rely upon estimates of the depth of the soft tissue at various points on the skull. Current research (Stephan and Claes 2016) seeks to improve data on soft tissue depth through studies of ultrasound (Manhein et al. 1998) and Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) (Marks et al. 1998). PHOTOGRAPHIC SUPERIMPOSITION The closely related procedure of comparing a recovered skull with a photograph taken during life has been augmented by computer technology (Ubelaker et  al. 1992). This technique is termed photographic superimposition and is employed in cases when identification of remains is suspected but not confirmed by other evidence. The technique is largely used for exclusion, to demonstrate that the recovered skull could not have originated from the individual depicted in the photograph. Although it is possible that the technique also  could be used for positive identification,

usually when a “match” is made, it only can establish that the remains could have originated from the person shown in the ­ photograph. An early example of a variant of this technique is provided by the 1935 analysis of John Glaister and colleagues who compared photographs of two missing persons with recovered remains (Glaister 1953; Glaister and Brash 1937). They compared the photographs of the living with photographs taken of the remains, arranged to approximate the positions of the heads in the living photographs. The comparisons contributed to the identification of the skeletons. The method of comparison was enhanced by the introduction of the use of video (Brown 1982, 1983; Helmer and Grüner 1976a, b). Use of two video cameras, an electronic mixing device and a viewing screen offered a more dynamic method of comparing the two images. The computer‐assisted approach involves the use of a video camera and a computer. Images of both the remains and the photograph of the living individual are captured with the video camera, digitized and stored within the computer. Software then enables both images to be brought up on the screen simultaneously and manipulated for detailed comparison (Ubelaker et al. 1992). Variations of the above techniques can be used to compare any two objects to evaluate their similarity of shape. They have proven most useful in forensic anthropology to compare recovered skulls with antemortem photographs, but applications are  not limited to these materials. Since the technique is usually not used for positive ­identification, it can be used for exclusion or in support of other evidence for identification. The technique merely facilitates comparison. The success of the evaluation of the comparison depends upon the experience of the investigator. For example, the technique can be used to establish that the two images are consistent. The investigator must then use knowledge of variation to determine if the features examined are sufficiently unique to warrant identification (Ubelaker 2015).



Fenton and Sauer (2006) apply a similar s­ystem to interpret photograph/ face comparisons. This approach is employed to assess if a  particular person is represented on a photographic image. Analysis may involve ­ photographing the suspected person to replicate the correct size and position depicted in the  image. Comparison involves a broad ­selection of individual traits on the aspects of the body visible in the photograph. TIME SINCE DEATH Recent research in the interpretation of time since death consists of improvements in recognizing the taphonomy behind postmortem alterations (Bassett and Manheim 2002; Carson et  al. 2000; Durić et  al. 2004; Forbes and Nugent 2016; Haglund and Sorg 2002; Mandojana et al 2001; Nawrocki, 2016; Pickering 2001; Pickering and Carlson 2004; Puskas and Rumney 2003; Thompson 2005; Warren and Schultz 2002) and specific dating techniques that can determine whether recovered remains can be dated to a specific time range or period (Carter and Tibbett 2003; Courtin and Fairgrieve 2004; Davis and Goff 2000; Hobischak and Anderson 2002; Megysesi et al. 2005; Tibbett and Carter 2003; Tibbett et al. 2004; Vass et al. 2002; Vass et al. 2004; Weitzel 2005; Yan et al. 2001). Research in taphonomy indicates that climate, soil composition, seasonality, burial depth, burial container type, body size, body condition, ­ microenvironment, preparation of body prior to burial, and association with vegetation all may affect tissue preservation and consequently the interpretation of postmortem interval. Any single variable can assist in ­interpretation but variation will be considerable and multiple factors should be assessed. Determination of the postmortem interval is often a task that can only be solved by forensic investigators. Research using controlled specimens (especially such as that conducted at  the facility at the University of Tennessee) has contributed greatly to improving our

Time since death

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u­ nderstanding of the complex factors ­operating on postmortem alteration. The Anthropological Research Facility at the University of Tennessee was created in 1972 by William Bass. This outdoor field laboratory enables forensic scientists to scientifically document postmortem change. The research is made possible by donated remains which are studied in differing environmental conditions; the remains further provide a modern osteological teaching collection. The success of the Anthropological Research Facility in Tennessee has spurned other important contributions to the study of postmortem interval and decomposition, including research on pigs (Anderson and Hobischak 2004; Archer and Elgar 2003; Banaschak et  al. 2005; Prez et al. 2005; Tomberlin et al. 2005) and humans (Kovarik et  al.2005; Megyesi et  al. 2005; Moriya and Hashimoto 2004; Prieto et al. 2004). For relatively recent remains, entomological evidence is valuable; however, it is often difficult to interpret the postmortem interval in skeletonized remains and even those which may display soft tissue preservation. In addition to entomological data, volatile fatty acids in the soil (Vass et  al. 1992), plant growth (Willey and Heilman 1987), mechanical trampling (Ubelaker and Adams 1995) and many other factors can influence the process. Haglund and Sorg have edited two volumes (1997, 2002) that summarize aspects of this recent research. Much of this information limits specific anthropological interpretation since patterns can vary greatly and, frequently, not all the influencing factors are known in a case Important information on time since death also can be gained from analysis of radiocarbon, especially in regards to the “bomb curve.” Atmospheric testing of thermonuclear devices between 1950 and 1968 produced artificially high levels of radiocarbon which through the food chain have been incorporated into organic material world‐wide. The elevated levels peaked in about 1964 and have subsequently declined; today, however, they remain above the pre‐1950 values. If radiocarbon analysis of human remains recovered in a possible forensic context does not reveal the “bomb‐curve”

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elevated levels, the investigator knows that they originate from an individual who died before the bomb curve or that average values of radiocarbon in the tissue sampled are below those suggested by the bomb‐curve. If radiocarbon levels in bone are elevated, this means that they likely are of medico‐legal interest (Ubelaker 2001; Ubelaker and Houck 2002). Interpreting postmortem interval using the radiocarbon approach requires an understanding of the dynamics of tissue formation and remodeling (Ubelaker and Buchholz 2006). Since dental enamel does not remodel, radiocarbon analysis of this tissue reveals the levels of artificial radiocarbon at the individual age of formation of that tissue, during the period of growth. When radiocarbon contents of dental enamel reach elevated levels, an approximate birth date of the individual can be estimated based on the age of enamel formation and the specific radiocarbon value (Ubelaker and Buchholz 2006). Due to the remodeling process, certain factors must be considered, such as age at death (Ubelaker et al. 2015), medical treatment, and type of bone tissue sampled. The selection of multiple tissues, such as trabecular and cortical bone, will assist in proper placement of the values on the higher or lower range of the curve, thus facilitating the interpretation of date of death (Ubelaker 2014b; Ubelaker and Buchholz 2006; Ubelaker et al. 2006). POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION Positive identification is achieved when unique characteristics known to exist within an individual are found in recovered remains. Traditionally, such evidence originates from dental records. These are most commonly ­radiographs, which can be compared to radiographs of unidentified jaws and teeth. Other useful dental characteristics include restorations, fillings and crowns. Unique aspects of dental or skeletal morphology may also be useful. Increasingly, positive identifications are made using molecular techniques; frequently from minute evidence.

Research in positive identification has been stimulated by legal debate, as outlined in Daubert v. Merrell Dow Pharmaceuticals, Inc. (1993), primarily in North America, where questions regarding the objectivity of methodology has been questioned. The Daubert ruling requires that the validity of a particular methodology used by an expert witness be assessed by a trial judge. The criteria for an acceptable methodology include its testability, subjection to peer review and publication, known error rates, existing standards, and widespread acceptance in the scientific community (Keierleber and Bohan 2005). Thus, current research in positive identification has focused on creating larger databases that support methodology as well as objective testing of the accuracy of these methods. Usually, positive identifications from dental work or molecular evidence are made by specialists in those areas (forensic odontologists and geneticists, respectively). Forensic anthropologists are involved in the analysis that leads to identification by narrowing the range of possibilities and directly in the interpretation of skeletal and dental morphology from photographs, radiographs, and other evidence. This is an interpretative endeavor that calls for experience and judgment. In some areas of the world where dental and/or medical records may not be available and the costs of molecular analysis are prohibitive, traditional anthropological techniques are employed to assist in identification. In such cases, identifications may be based on clothing or personal belongings, pathology, family oral history, the ­biological profile of the decedent, and morphological anatomical variants such as nose shape (Prokopec and Ubelaker 2002). In my experience, positive identifications from forensic anthropology result primarily from comparison of skeletal anatomical details with antemortem radiographs, such as frontal sinus patterns (Ubelaker 1984). If identical features are found, attention focuses on the uniqueness of those features. Are the points observed unusual enough that positive identification can be established? On the other hand, if differences



are found, are they of the nature and magnitude to preclude identification? Differences may reflect only techniques of preparing the ­radiographs, the length of time between death and the date the antemortem radiographs were  taken, taphonomic factors, or others. Experience and knowledge of human skeletal anatomy is needed to sort all this out and draw a reasonable conclusion. Investigators have demonstrated that positive identifications can be made from dental evidence within cremated remains (Delattre 2000), evidence of recent dental extractions (Carmichael 2002), and orthopedic device identification (Ubelaker and Jacobs 1995). Moreover, the use of molecular techniques to  identify disease organisms also shows potential for future positive identifications (Donoghue et al. 1999; Ubelaker et al. 2000). MOLECULAR APPROACHES Recent years have witnessed a surge of activity in molecular approaches to forensic science (Baker 2016). Aspects of this research have an impact and complement efforts in forensic anthropology. The areas of greatest impact are positive identification, sex determination, and, potentially, ancestry evaluation. Techniques of forensic DNA extraction and amplification from human bone have increased dramatically (Alonso et  al. 2003; Arismendi et  al. 2004; Coble and Butler 2005; Rennick et al. 2005; von Wurmb‐Schwark et al. 2003, Yang et  al. 2003.). Such techniques have proven useful in establishing positive identification, even in such cases as skeletal remains submerged in water for three years (Crainic et al. 2002) and severely burned bone (Calacal et al. 2003; Ye et al. 2004). Increasingly, DNA evidence is being used to identify victims from mass disasters when only bone fragments are present (Alonso et al. 2005) such as the identification efforts after the World Trade Center attack in 2001 (Brenner and Weir 2003; Budimlija et  al. 2003; Holland et  al. 2003). In  cases in which forensic anthropological

Evidence of foul play

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analysis does not clearly indicate sex, molecular techniques may be able to provide the ­necessary information (Schmidt et  al. 2003; Sivagami et al. 2000). Considerable information is also being compiled on molecular patterns in world‐wide populations (Bell et  al. 1997; Blaxter 2004; Brandon et al. 2005; Budowle et al. 2004; Gill et al. 2006; Imaizumi et al. 2002; McCartney 2004; Polanskey and Budowle 2005; Sullivan et  al. 2004). Many laboratories claim to provide detailed information about an individual’s genetic ancestry for a fee (e.g. www.genelex. com). These companies use DNA sequencing methods to identify haplogroups that have been linked to particular populations world‐ wide. Some purport to provide percentage ­values of your ethnic background (e.g. 35 % European, 50  % Asian, 15  % African); but these services are controversial.2 Despite the controversy, future advances may allow estimates of ancestry with increased precision. Even with these developments the role of the forensic anthropologist is still important in providing rapid initial descriptions and narrowing the field of identification in cases where investigators have no preliminary suspicions of who the person might be. EVIDENCE OF FOUL PLAY Forensic anthropologists are in a unique ­position to offer opinions about some types of  evidence relating to foul play. A careful eye (sometimes aided by a hand lens or microscope) is needed to spot some evidence for trauma. Knowledge of the reaction of bone to  a  variety of stimuli is then required to determine the nature of the alterations and if  they represent antemortem, perimortem or postmortem conditions. A single forensic case may present  evidence of all types. Evidence of  bone response, remodeling (or lack of it), coloration patterns, and related observations all ­contribute to the solution of the puzzle. 2

  See www.genewatch.org for summary articles.

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Forensic Anthropology: Methodology and Applications

Since  anthropologists routinely work with human remains from many different contexts (archeologically recovered skeletons, museum collections, autopsy specimens, etc.) they, more than any other professionals, have the necessary knowledge. The exposure to evidence of foul play in modern cases also facilitates interpretation of trauma in the archeologically recovered remains. This area of forensic anthropology represents a clear example of the desirable “two‐way street” interplay between forensic work and the more general field of skeletal biology. Knowledge of diverse taphonomic processes operating on human bone gained through work with archeological samples is needed to interpret examples of trauma in forensic cases. Conversely, the knowledge gained about perimortem trauma through forensic work is critical to proper interpretation of such evidence in skeletal biology. Such involvement has led to significant research by anthropologists in trauma interpretation. Examples are especially noteworthy in interpretation of gunshot wounds and sharp‐ force trauma. Ross (1996) used her research approach as a forensic anthropologist to address the long‐standing recognized difficulty in estimating bullet caliber from characteristics of cranial alterations. She examined the cranial alterations in 73 individuals with cranial gunshot trauma of known bullet caliber. ­ Measurements were recorded on the alterations and the data were analyzed using sophisticated statistics. The study revealed that the size of the alterations produced in gunshot trauma results not only from the caliber of the bullet, but also from the thickness of the bone at the site of impact. Information was generated by the study that assists in the interpretation of gunshot skeletal trauma. In another innovative research approach to better understanding skeletal trauma, Houck (1998) devised a “cutting machine” to examine aspects of sharp force trauma in bone. Bovine tibial diaphyses were cut with three different knives using the machine. All resulting cut marks were examined for class and individual

characteristics. As with Ross’ study cited above, the data were analyzed statistically by  Houck producing information of great importance in the forensic interpretation of  sharp‐force trauma. Additional discussion of anthropological interpretation of skeletal trauma is provided by Berryman and Symes 1998; Cunha and Pinheiro 2016; Loe 2016; Sauer 1998; and Symes et al. 1998. FUTURE PROSPECTS Interest and participation in forensic anthropology has grown steadily since the casual, occasional encounters of a few pioneers early in the history of American physical anthropology. The sustained global growth of this area of physical anthropology can be measured in student interest, the numbers of anthropologists involved in casework, increase in the membership of the physical anthropology section of the American Academy of Forensic Science and the Diplomates of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, new certification programs in different world regions and the increase in the number of research publications focusing on topics in forensic anthropology. This growth shows no sign of diminishing and has led to the recognition of forensic anthropology as a vigorous subfield of physical anthropology. Slowly, job opportunities have expanded from the traditional anthropological employment sites of universities and museums to specific research and teaching in forensic anthropology, as well as employment in crime laboratories, medical examiner’s offices, humanitarian and human rights organizations and the military. Increasingly, forensic anthropologists are integrated into evidence recovery teams and the medico‐legal investigation of death. Forensic anthropologists have provided important perspective in the international investigation of possible war crimes and human rights issues. The field of forensic anthropology has progressed so far that one might think that few research problems remain. Such is not the case.



In fact, progress has highlighted the tremendous need for new data and anthropological perspective on most areas of forensic anthropology. Major questions remain regarding ­population variation in many of the problems routinely assessed by forensic anthropologists. Much more work needs to be done in the areas of assessment of time since death, animal versus human recognition, taphonomic change, environmental factors, foul play, and positive identification. Even more traditional areas of scholarship such as the estimate of sex, age at  death, stature, and ancestral origins would benefit greatly from new research and ­ perspective. Most training in forensic anthropology is centered in university departments of anthropology with an emphasis in human skeletal biology and its forensic applications. For North American students seeking education in this area, I recommend consulting AnthroGuide, the guide to departments of anthropology published by the American Anthropological Association (e.g. American Anthropological Association, 2017; http:// www.americananthro.org/) along with the list of current diplomates of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, Inc. (http://theabfa. org/diplomates/). University degree programs can be supplemented with various courses and seminars in forensic anthropology that are offered periodically. Students seeking experience should also consider internships with professional forensic anthropologists who are active with casework. Training remains firmly entrenched within skeletal biology, but increasingly students are acquiring skills in additional areas including law and various technical specialties. While this additional perspective is undoubtedly ­valuable, I feel it should supplement and not displace the traditional anthropological education. Anthropologists working in the forensic arena need to be aware of the increasingly specialized contributions made in medico‐legal cases. However, it is primarily the anthropological training with archeological techniques and samples and other experiences within

Case study

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anthropology that separate the contributions of forensic anthropologists from those of others and make us unique. The future is indeed bright for those skeletal biologists willing to accept the challenge of applying their skills to the resolution of forensic problems. CASE STUDY One morning in the spring of 2006, detectives received a report from the local prison warden that a correction officer had overheard a conversation between inmates indicating that one of them had been involved in the disposal of a murder victim 41 years earlier in 1965. Subsequent interviews with the inmates confirmed the report and further indicated that burial had taken place in a field and the victim was a 20‐year‐old male of European ancestry who had been reported missing at about that time. The missing person report indicated that living stature was about six feet two inches, the person had suffered major facial trauma in a car accident four years prior to death and also had three missing teeth and extensive dental work. Since the burial had taken place at night, the inmate could not recall details of the burial site, only its general location. Based on this information, the authorities visited the scene, accompanied by a forensic anthropologist employed at the local university. They had located the anthropologist by checking the website of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology and discovered that an experienced board‐certified forensic anthropologist was available to work with them. At the scene, they noted several surface features that might indicate a burial had taken place. Unusual vegetation was present in one area. In another place, a slight depression was found; in another, a slight mound. Careful examination of the ground surface discovered a concentration of possible bone fragments in yet another area. The anthropologist declared that two of the larger fragments clearly presented morphology indicating nonhuman, probably deer. Since the anthropologist was

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not sure about the origin of the other fragments, a decision was made to postpone further site investigation until the other smaller fragments had been identified. Back in the laboratory, the anthropologist carefully examined the remaining fragments with the aid of a high quality dissecting microscope. Of the six fragments, five were clearly bone but morphological markers were not sufficient to distinguish human from nonhuman. One very small fragment was so eroded that it was not clear if it represented bone or some other material. The very small fragment of uncertain origin was subjected to analysis by SEM/EDS. A very small sample from this fragment revealed spectra suggesting an elemental composition inconsistent with bone. Comparison with the spectra database suggested the fragment likely originated from a shell, probably a land snail. The remaining five fragments that represented bone were analyzed using the pRIA technique. Small samples taken from these revealed an antibody response also consistent with deer. Using the information that none of the fragments recovered were of human origin, authorities returned to the scene for additional testing. Ground‐penetrating radar equipment was brought in to examine the subsoil for evidence of variation in compaction perhaps suggesting the location of the burial. A proton magnetometer was employed to examine variation in magnetic patterns within the soil. Both approaches located two areas in the field that looked promising; in addition, both were associated with unusual surface features. The anthropologist then directed careful excavation of both areas. The first revealed a clear pit outline indicating that indeed they had discovered a hole that had been dug previously and then filled in. At the bottom of the pit they found an articulated skeleton (bones in anatomical order) but that of a dog. Apparently someone had chosen this site for the burial of their deceased pet. The second excavation also revealed a clear pit outline but larger than that of the dog burial.

At the bottom of this pit, excavators found a fully articulated adult skeleton with some clothing remnants. After exposure of the entire skeleton in situ and careful documentation, the remains were removed for analysis. Back in the laboratory, the anthropologist carefully laid out the remains on the examination table. Detailed inventory documented the skeleton was complete and in excellent condition. The extent of root formation on the third molars, epiphyseal closure, morphology of the pubic symphysis and sternal end of the ribs, lack of root translucency in the anterior teeth and other indicators suggested a likely age at death between 18 and 24 years. Morphology of the skeleton, especially general robusticity and features of the pubis strongly indicated male sex. Measurement of the long bones, especially the femur and fibula indicated a living stature of about six feet one inch. Observations of the cranium, especially the bones of the facial area indicated likely European ancestry. Such ancestry also was suggested by detailed cranial measurements analyzed using FORDISC 3.0. The pattern of missing teeth and dental restorations were consistent with those of the missing person. Detailed examination of the restorations by a forensic odontologist indicated they matched those of the missing person (dental radiographs of the missing person had been obtained from a local dentist). In addition, mitochondrial DNA analysis of bone from the skeleton matched a sample donated from a maternal relative. Examination of the cranium, including radiography, detected evidence of gunshot injury with an entrance site in the left temporal and an exit in the right parietal. The perforation in the left temporal was smaller than that of the parietal, displayed interior beveling and numerous associated radiodense particles. The final report concluded that the skeleton was positively identified as that of the missing person and the gunshot injury was documented. The inmate’s story had been verified and another old case had been resolved.

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editor, Forensic Osteology: Advances in the Identification of Human Remains, 2nd ed. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas. pp. 401–424. Howells WW. 1973. Cranial Variation in Man. Cambridge, MA: Papers of the Peabody Museum 67. Howells WW. 1989. Skull Shapes and the Map. Cambridge, MA: Papers of the Peabody Museum 78. Hunter J, Cox M. 2005. Forensic Archaeology: A Textbook. London: Routledge. Imaizumi K, Kazuhiko, Parsons TJ, Yoshino M, Holland MM. 2002. A new database of mitochondrial DNA hypervariable regions I and II sequences from 162 Japanese individuals. Int J Legal Med 116:68–73. Introna F, Francesco, Di Vella G, Campobasso CP, Dragone M. 1997. Sex determination by discriminant analysis of calcanei measurements. J Forensic Sci 42:725–728. İşcan M, Yaşar M, Loth SR. 1986a. Determination of age from the sternal rib in White females: A test of the phase method. J Forensic Sci 31:990–999. İşcan M, Yaşar M, Loth SR. 1986b. Determination of age from the sternal rib in White males: A  test  of the phase method. J Forensic Sci 31:122–132. İşcan M, Yaşar M, Loth SR, Wright RK. 1984a. Age estimation from the rib by phase analysis: White males. J Forensic Sci 29:1094–1104. İşcan M, Yaşar M, Loth SR, Wright RK. 1984b. Metamorphosis at the sternal rib: A new method to estimate age at death in males. Am J Phys Anthropol 65:147–156. İşcan M, Yaşar M, Loth SR, Wright RK. 1985. Age estimation from the rib by phase analysis: White females. J Forensic Sci 30:853–863. Jantz RL. 1992. Modification of the Trotter and Gleser female stature estimation formulae. J Forensic Sci 37:1230–1235. Jantz RL, Richard L, Moore‐Jansen PH. 1988. A Data Base for Forensic Anthropology: Structure, Content and Analysis. Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Department of Anthropology. Report of Investigations, No. 47. Jantz RL, Ousley SD. 1993. FORDISC 1.0: Personal Computer Forensic Discriminant Functions. Knoxville: The University of Tennessee. Jantz RL, Hunt DR, Meadows L. 1995. The measure and mismeasure of the tibia: Implications for ­stature estimation. J Forensic Sci 40(5):758–761.

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CHAPTER 3

TAPHONOMY AND THE NATURE OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL ASSEMBLAGES ANN L.W. STODDER

This chapter is an introduction to the range of factors that affect the composition and con­ dition of human bone assemblages recovered from archaeological contexts. Circumstances of death and mortuary programs impact the human remains that we eventually study; ­excavation strategies and research paradigms determine what is recovered in the field; museum practices and research trends impact the treatment and use of curated collections; and repatriation laws determine access to (and continued existence of) collections. Thus an assemblage of bone reveals the biological life history of the individuals represented, but it also embodies the history of the assemblage as a culturally created entity. The kind and quality of information available to the researcher ­varies considerably among assemblages, but data recovery and the understanding of prehis­ toric people and their lives can be maximized by the broadest possible understanding of the depositional context and history of the skeletal assemblage. Formally defined as, “the study of the tran­ sition of organics from the biosphere into the lithosphere or geological record” (Lyman 1994:1), taphonomy originated as a subfield of paleontology (Efremov 1940). In friendlier terms, taphonomy is the study of “the physical

and chemical processes (induced by human, animal, or natural agents) that modify an organism after its death and through which it is incorporated into geological deposits” (LaMotta and Schiffer 2005:122). Archaeo­ logical assemblages are never perfectly pre­ served or perfectly complete. Taphonomy provides the framework in which we can ­investigate the multiple processes and events that cumulatively determine the content and condition of skeletal assemblages from ­archaeological sites. In practice, the taphonomic study of a bone assemblage is very much an interdisciplinary undertaking. Methods developed in zooarchae­ ology include systems for recording and ­interpreting weathering and breakage patterns, evidence of animal scavenging, and the location and orientation of tool marks on skeletal ele­ ments. Distinguishing between perimortem modification (occurring at or around the time of death) and postmortem modification (after death) is among the most important and most challenging aspects of taphonomy. Forensic anthropology is rapidly expanding the ­documentation needed to interpret skeletal indi­ cators of blunt and sharp force trauma, exposure to fire, and the timing and processes of body decomposition in different ­ environments.

Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, Third Edition. Edited by M. Anne Katzenberg and Anne L. Grauer. © 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2019 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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Understanding the dynamic relationship between the particulars of the grave context and the process of skeletonization is an essen­ tial component of the interpretation of mortu­ ary features. Thus the taphonomic approach explicitly links the formation of human assemblages to the broader processes of ­ archaeological site formation. Until recently, the most visible application of taphonomy in bioarchaeological research was in the study of cannibalism, but today taphonomy has a broader scope in which ­various kinds of human remains assemblages (not just the potentially cannibalized) are viewed as the material representation of mortu­ ary and other behavior towards the newly dead and the long dead; behavior that sometimes seems fairly straightforward, and sometimes quite complex. Over the last decade, the tapho­ nomic approach to the study of mass burials, ossuaries, cremations, disarticulated remains, and commingled remains has substantially altered the ways in which we discover, recon­ struct, and interpret the archaeological evidence of perimortem violence, funerary ritual, and mortuary practice in the past. Forensic taphonomy is integral to the medicolegal study of human remains ­ (see Ubelaker, this volume, Chapter 2), where the distinction between pre- and postmortem modification of human remains is critical (Haglund and Sorg 2002; Sorg, Haglund, and Wren 2012; Beary and Lyman 2012; Pokines and Symes 2014), and this work is invaluable for bioarchaeological research. The fundamen­ tal difference between forensic taphonomy and bioarchaeological taphonomy is highlighted in the statement that, “in most situations encoun­ tered by the forensic analyst, the net effect of taphonomic processes is the loss of biologi­ cally meaningful information that otherwise would have been used to establish the identity of the decedent or the cause of death” (Nawrocki 2009:285). Poor preservation and the recovery of incomplete remains do erase some of information we might gain from skel­ etal analysis, but bioarchaeologists consider taphonomic changes to be a source of other meaningful information.

Taphonomy is gradually being incorporated into mainstream bioarchaeology and texts (White and Folkens 2005; Roberts 2009; White, Black, and Folkens 201; Martin, Harrod, and Perez 2013; Di Gangi and Moore 2013), and taphonomic observations are included in the widely used Standards for Data Collection From Human Skeletal Remains (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994) and the British counterpart Guidelines to the Standards for Recording Human Remains (Brickley and McKinley 2004). The importance of burial context is increasingly acknowledged as more bioarchaeologists participate in (and direct) archaeological field projects, and as treatment in death is understood as an aspect of identity in social and political contexts. Taphonomy is especially important in the study of fragmen­ tary and commingled skeletal assemblages where we need to distinguish between human and nonhuman agents of modification. And where human actions are the source of ­modification, the combination of taphonomy, biological analysis, and contextual analysis is essential if we are to discern the intentions behind those actions. TAPHONOMY AS ASSEMBLAGE HISTORY Taphonomy provides a way to map the events and processes in the history of human skeletal assemblages in a manner similar to the tracing of artifact life histories (LaMotta and Schiffer 2005; Gosden and Marshall 1999). By extend­ ing the life history and osteobiography of individuals and assemblages beyond death ­ and into the present, taphonomy complements the  life course approach that recognizes the intergenerational factors that build and ­ shape the human skeleton (Agarwal 2016). In bioarchaeology the scope of taphonomy encompasses the natural and the cultural events, processes, and agents that modify human remains from the time of death until the time of analysis. These include burial, decom­ position, physical weathering and chemical degradation (diagenesis), modification of bone



Mortuary Programs and the Archaeological Record

by animals, and by the intentional and uninten­ tional activities of humans in the past and in the present. Among all of these, mortuary prac­ tice is the single most important determinant of the condition of human remains (Henderson 1987:49). Skeletal assemblages—whether we find them as intact primary burials or as frag­ mentary and commingled bone deposits—are not randomly created entities. Mortuary ritual is remarkably variable within and among cul­ ture groups (Chapman et al. 1981; Metcalf and Huntington 1991; Carr 1995; Parker Pearson 2002; Rakita et al. 2005; Baadsgaard, Boutin, and Buikstra 2011; Stutz and Tarlow 2013) and appreciation of this is crucial to our under­ standing of archaeological assemblages and the agents and intentions that created them. Modification of bone takes place at all of the stages of taphonomic time: the pre‐depositional (antemortem) stage; the depositional (peri­ mortem) stage when (in the case of primary burials) human remains represent the newly dead; the post‐depositional (post­mortem) stage; and the post‐recovery stage (Sorg and Haglund 2002). As listed in Table  3.1, the stages in the ­history of a skeletal assemblage include the circumstances and place of death, events or processes that impact the body between the time of death and mortuary treatment, the kind of mortuary processing and deposition, soft tissue decomposition, skeletonization and hard tissue decomposition in the burial context; the potential for various incidents of intentional and unintentional post depositional distur­ bance and displacement; the discovery and archaeological excavation of human remains; avoidance or immediate reburial, collection, packaging, and then transport of remains from the site; laboratory processing including unpacking, cleaning, sorting, and sometimes reconstruction or consolidation of remains; study by one or several people, repatriation or curation, and (ideally) creation of a cumulative data archive. It is important to note that in the United States many archaeological assemblages never  become museum collections. State and tribal laws regarding burials are variable;

75

a­ ssemblages resulting from legally mandated archaeological mitigation programs may or may not be carefully documented in the field, they may or may not be studied by a qualified analyst; reports on human remains may be redacted from publications; and it is assumed that repatriation to a group of descendants and / or reburial will take place within months or a couple of years. As curatorial institutions in the United States strive to implement the amend­ ment to Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), the 2010 Disposition of Culturally Unidentifiable Human Remains Rule (75 Fed. Reg. 49: 12378‐12405; March 15, 2010), the path to reburial appears to be inevitable. The CUHR rule is poised to add a new (potentially quite discordant) stage to the history of an assem­ blage as human remains without cultural ­affiliation (as defined by NAGPRA) may be reinterred in a municipal cemetery or in the burial grounds of a tribe or band who are not significantly related to the people in the archaeological assemblage but who are instead the current, relatively recent, occupants of the area (Birkhold 2011). MORTUARY PROGRAMS AND THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD If you learn skeletal biology by studying well‐ preserved, complete skeletons, each found in a  discrete grave feature with the normative gender‐specific grave goods, then the need to understand ancient mortuary practice can seem far removed. But many assemblages of human remains are not complete skeletons from dis­ crete graves, and the biological sex assigned to the skeleton doesn’t always match the gender associated with the grave goods. The link between the social, ritual, and political aspects of funerary practice, the archaeological con­ texts of human remains, and the work of the skeletal biologist is really quite important. Mortuary programs determine what is buried: cremains or the entire skeleton, or the skeleton minus the skull or other elements which may  be retained for spiritual or economic

76

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

TABLE 3.1  Stages in the History of an Archaeological Skeletal Assemblage

Taphonomic Events and Processes

Result

Death Perimortem (or pre‐depositional) modification: trauma, exposure and weathering, animal scavenging, skull or other element curation

Bodies or body parts of the deceased

Mortuary program Body treatment, cremation, interment, additional processing, revisits to grave – exhumation, rearrangement or addition of elements or bodies

Interred bodies, body parts, or cremains

Decomposition, weathering, diagenesis Temperature and humidity; soil and grave surface chemistry; wetting and drying cycles; vegetation; rodent activity; microorganisms; presence of organic or metal artifacts; wrapping or body container size and material type; timing and nature of grave fill; grave facility and furniture preservation; repeated use of facility and cumulative damage

Variably preserved and articulated skeletal assemblage

Discovery and excavation Excavation design and rationale; damage from mechanized equipment or hand excavation tools; avoidance, field discard, or immediate re‐interment

Recovered assemblage

Documentation, collection, transport Provenience, condition, completeness documentation; fine screening of burial fill; field exposure to weather; cleaning, application of consolidants or labels, packaging; transport method

Curated assemblage

Consultation Lineal descendants or culturally affiliated group claim remains

Repatriated assemblage: reburied or curated but not necessarily available for study

Curation and study Conservation methods, storage conditions; access restrictions; wear damage

Potential study assemblage

Data archiving Curation and continued accessibility of paper and electronic field and laboratory records

Cumulative knowledge base

Sources: Henderson 1987; Waldron 1987; Mays 1998; Garland and Janaway 1989; Nawrocki 1995; Galloway 1997; Haglund and Sorg 1997; Merbs 1997; Gutierrez 2001; Millard 2001; McCartney 2002; Duday 2009; Beckett 2010; Weiss‐Krejci 2011.

p­ urposes—as a relic or as material for weapon manufacture. Mortuary programs dictate where people are buried. Consider the range of cemeteries in use in the United States and Western Europe within the past century: pet cemeteries, military cemeteries, poorhouse and asylum cemeteries, church parish cemeter­ ies, town cemeteries, family cemeteries, cem­ eteries of leprosaria and tuberculosis sanitaria, reliquaries containing the finger bones of saints, cenotaphs that do not actually contain

any human remains, memorial parks where you can watch video eulogies of the deceased, mausoleums with cremains in marble niches, catacombs beneath cathedrals, and so on. The long list reflects various ways we identify and organize ourselves: by kin group, religion or ethnicity, social class, and occupation. Many people in the past (and in the not-so-distant past) did not use what archaeologists in North America and Europe might recognize as a cemetery as the place for disposal of the dead.



Mortuary Programs and the Archaeological Record

We might not recognize a funeral either: it might have several stages and span decades of ritual feasts and manipulation of the bones, or two stages of cremation with the ashes divided into two or more portions. Funerary traditions do not all include inhumation of a complete or even nearly complete body. Funerals provide powerful symbols that are harnessed to display economic and political power, and the control and manipulation of ritual knowledge. Monumental tombs may be built for insignificant people to legitimate the power of the builder (Metcalf and Huntington 1999:150), and ancestral tombs may be co‐opted for use by a conquering regime as a means of legitimizing a new power regime and discred­ iting the old (Arnold 2002). Mortuary r­itual happens in private and in public, from the intensely private burial of a newborn under the floor of a house, to the globally televised pope’s funeral. Multiple scales of social mem­ ory reside in the contextualized skeletal assem­ blage, intimately connecting the biological and social histories of the dead. It isn’t only where people are buried that creates variability and meaning in the mortu­ ary and bioarchaeological record: it’s also how (Table 3.2). Social, physical, religious and eco­ nomic factors influence mortuary practice (Carr 1995) and the material remains of those practices hundreds or thousands of years later. The tissues that decompose soonest are the organs of the digestive system, then the heart and circulatory organs, then the lungs, kidney and bladder, brain and nervous tissue, skeletal muscles, and last, the collagen‐bearing con­ nective tissue of the skeletal system (Gill‐King 1997:98). The decomposition of connective tissue articulating the skeleton starts with the joints of the hand bones and the toes, the cervi­ cal intervertebral attachments, and those of the ribs to the sternum and vertebrae (Duday 2009:27). The most persistent are the atlanto‐ occipital articulation, the lumbo‐sacral and sacrolilac joints, the lumbar intervertebral articulations, and those of the knee and ankle (Duday 2009:27). Bodies that are skeletonized in the grave and are found in this context are

77

considered primary burials, while remains that were moved from their primary context and partly—or perhaps completely disarticulated are secondary burials. Secondary burials may be carefully stacked or they may have been bundled, or they may be commingled with other individuals in a communal feature like an ossuary. The cause, location, and circumstances of death influence treatment of the deceased and the initiation and rate of soft tissue decomposi­ tion and skeletonization. Massive injuries and active infections may hasten soft tissue destruc­ tion by microbial agents, as does exposure to the elements of an unburied body on a battle­ field or outdoor burial platform. Climate and weather affect body decomposition and the timing of funeral operations. Decomposition is deliberately managed in mortuary programs which involve prolonged corpse visitation periods or multiple stages of body processing. Clothing, shrouds, coffin material and hard­ ware, and the presence of organic or metal grave goods also impact the rate of soft tissue decay, as do the shape and depth of the grave (Garland and Janaway 1989; Galloway 1997; Işcan and Steyn 2013). The type of soil in the grave fill impacts the sedimentary pressure that contributes to bone destruction (McGowan and Prangnell 2015). All of these factors affect the chemical environment, temperature, and humidity in the grave, and control the actions of microbial agents of decomposition. Coffins act (at least temporarily) as barriers to soil, vegetation invasions and scavengers, but may also retain water. General climate is also a  ­ factor: extremes in temperature and humidity  may hasten or retard degradation ­ (Galloway et al. 1997). The variation in the archaeological record of mortuary practice is evident in Table  3.2. There are many versions of interment and cre­ mation: temporary interment and disinterment, exposure and then interment, burial in water, nonburial as in the Tibetan sky burial, crema­ tion in one or two stages perhaps followed by  interment. And these may be preceded by embalming, mummification, fermentation,

78

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

TABLE 3.2  Variables in Recording Mortuary Features

Body characteristics Body treatment Complexity of disposal Form(s) of disposal Individuality Articulation

Position (flexure) Body orientation Deposition Grave fill Grave closure Grave characteristics Marker Form Orientation Location Body container

Embalming, autopsy, cremation, disarticulation, defleshing, decapitation, or removal of other body parts or bones, packaging bones or ashes Simple (one event), compound (two or more events) Interment, temporary interment, water burial, exposure, cremation, fermentation, re‐interment Single, double, multiple, mass (implies disarticulation), cenotaph Articulated, semi‐articulated (labile or stable articulations affected?), disarticulated (at time of interment or after?), disturbance (animal or human, ancient or recent?) Trunk, knee, arm positions; obviously arranged or haphazard Orientation with regard to cardinal direction, landscape feature, built feature in domestic or other structure, shrine or symbolic location On back, side, face down, sitting, standing Immediate fill, delayed fill; soil type: compaction and water retention (e.g. sandy or clayey soil) Closed at time of deposition, delayed closure, re‐opened Marked or unmarked; permanent or perishable marker Size, shape, durability Cardinal directions; built or cosmological features Above ground or interred; extramural or intramural; placement in ritual structure, cemetery, mound, house, midden, rock shelter, cave Metal or stone coffin; stone crypt; in boat or other vehicle; jar, urn; perishable container – wood, leather, textile wrapping;

Grave furniture Kinds Arrangement Energy Expenditure

Functional or ornamental; local or exotic; broken or intact Spatial arrangement of grave goods relative to the body and in the grave On grave, and on grave furniture

Disposal area Local Location Regional location Demarcation

Re domestic structures, religious structures, economic areas Re topography, ritual landscape, burial place visible in local view shed? Marked cemetery?

Cemetery organization Types of burials Location Location re other graves Arrangement of graves

Primary, secondary, single, multiple, mass, cremation, mixed Distance from center or chief’s / ancestor’s grave Family groups; age or gender groups; ethnic divisions Linear arrangement; spokes; irregular

Sources: Sprague 2005; Carr 1995; Duday 2009.

d­ isarticulation and processing of the body for various purposes and with various implements. Mortuary features may contain one or many individuals, and they may represent a single or several burial events.

Bodies may be arranged in very particular ways or they may appear to have been dumped in a haphazard manner. Two decades of work  in  the approach developed by Henri Duday known as archaeothanatology, or



Archaeological Recovery of Human Remains

l’anthropologie de terrain, demonstrates that body position and articulation change as a result of muscle and ligament decomposition, movement by water, forces of gravity and over­ burden, whether decomposition takes place in a filled or empty space, and the spaces created by soft tissue decomposition (Duday 2006, 2009, and earlier publications). The principles of this approach, which involve detailed recoding of skeletal articulations in the field, were pio­ neered in France and are increasingly used in Europe (Roksandic 2002; Nilsson 2007), the Middle East (Ortiz, Chambon and Molist 2013), Southeast Asia (Willis and Tayles 2009; Harris and Tayles 2012; Harris et  al. 2016), Mexico (Tiesler et al. 2010), Cuba (Martinez‐ Lopez et  al. 2011), and the Pacific (Valentin et al. 2011; Valentin et al. 2014). Concisely put, “It is impossible for a body decomposing in direct soil burial not to undergo some kind of skeletal displacement as this process occurs and the remains slowly have additional space to move” (Pokines and Baker 2014:84). The position of the skull and the mandible in relation to the cervical vertebrae may shift in the grave and erroneously suggest premortem decapitation (Nawrocki 1995). The head may rotate to one side or another as the articular soft tissue decomposes, resulting in the head facing in a completely different direction from the original one. Seated burials present a com­ plex range of movement (Nilsson 2007; Richter et al. 2010; Ortiz, Chambon and Molist 2013); parts settle and shift, as do items that were placed on the body. Projectile points or other weapon parts that were embedded in soft tissue may also shift (Nilsson 2007), which has important implications for whether or not these are taken as evidence of perimortem injury or cause of death. A body (a primary burial) that was placed on a wooden platform which grad­ ually disintegrates and collapses will be dis­ covered as a secondary burial. In contrast, the feet of a tightly wrapped burial may retain their constricted positions even after the perishable wrapping has decomposed.Archaeothanatology lends itself to predictive modeling of the posi­ tion and pattern of disarticulation of a body

79

that was in a large or small container, or loosely or tightly wrapped (Willis and Tayles 2009; Harris and Tayles 2012). Burial position can­ not be automatically assumed to reflect the original placement in the grave. Understanding the anatomy and sequence of soft tissue decomposition in the burial context is essential to reconstructing the intentional placement and manipulation of the dead. Burial location is another factor in preserva­ tion. A cemetery on a flood plain may be sub­ merged seasonally. Burial grounds in desirable locations will be subject to disturbance as the spot is reused as a place of burial and for other purposes over the centuries. Burials inside structures are disturbed during architectural remodeling. The location of a specific grave relative to other graves, to special places on the landscape, cosmological and astronomical ­features, and to other site components are all relevant to understanding assemblage history and the particular biases that may be present in the archaeological assemblage. ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECOVERY OF HUMAN REMAINS The excavation methods, purpose, and strategy of an archaeological project are also important determinants of the composition, condition, and representativeness of the recovered ­skeletal assemblage. Bones are damaged upon discov­ ery by heavy equipment and further damage may result from the archaeologists’ tools. Some recording forms ask the excavator to specify the event(s) leading to discovery of a burial, what equipment was in use, and what tools were used in exposing and removing the skeleton. This aids the osteologist in distinguishing new from ancient damage. Newly exposed bones may dry and crack very rapidly during the course of documentation and removal, and some skeletal remains are so fragile that they cannot be moved without completely falling apart. Sometimes, consolidants are applied to fragile remains in the field. In some instances the best procedure is removal of the entire soil

80

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

block containing the burial for excavation in the laboratory. In some contexts the bone itself is completely dissolved and all that remain are outlines, stains, “sand bodies” as at Sutton Hoo (Bethell and Carver 1987), or “pseudomorphs” or casts as in some Upper Paleolithic burials (Arias and Alvárez‐Fernández 2006). Archaeological mitigation projects that are circumscribed by construction plans may result in the incomplete excavation of burial features along project boundaries. Even long-term research projects cannot be assured to recover all or even a representative assemblage of the human remains at a site. And equally impor­ tant, conservation is a guiding principal of field archaeology; it is standard to leave portions of a site unexcavated and undisturbed. Research goals direct the excavation focus to certain areas of a site that may or may not be the same areas that were used for mortuary purposes. In some communities the deceased were interred beneath house floors or in extra­ mural (outdoor) subsurface features rather than in a demarcated cemetery. The extent to which subfloors and extramural features are investi­ gated would thus determine the human remains recovery. Archaeologists in the United States operate with the explicit objective to avoid dis­ turbing human remains, as exemplified in the excavation history of Grasshopper Pueblo from 1963 until 1992. This village of horticul­ turalists, hunters, and foragers was occupied between 1275 and 1400 ce. Excavation of bur­ ials ceased after 1979 and the human remains have been repatriated to the White Mountain Apache Tribe. The Grasshopper assemblage was notable for the number of subadult skele­ tons recovered: 156 infants under age one, and 230 children aged one through 16 years (Hinkes 1983:15). High infant mortality and immigration partly explain the age distribu­ tion, but excavation strategy is a major factor; the focus was on rooms, where 90 % of the subadults were found. Extramural areas, where adults were buried, were less intensively ­excavated (Whittlesey and Reid 2001:73). Collection methods, especially the extent to  which soils from the grave feature and

s­urrounding areas are screened, impact the recovery of small elements, teeth, and espe­ cially of subadult remains (Mays 1998; Baker et  al. 2005; Larsen 2015). Screening burial soils (with an eighth‐inch or finer mesh), the systematic inventory and analysis of all human remains including fragments from nonmortu­ ary contexts, and careful inspection of bone collected as nonhuman faunal material can have a significant impact, as evident in the skeletal assemblage recovered from the beach­ side Hyatt Hotel site in Tumon Bay, Guam. This was a large (approximately 2.4 hectare) project; remains representing 485 individuals were recovered from mortuary features and adjacent disturbed areas. The burials date pri­ marily to the Latte Period (1000–1521) of the Chamorro culture, named for the distinctive latte stone architecture: alignments of six to 12 paired stone foundation pillars with hemi­ spheric capstones supporting a wood super­ structure. People were buried beneath the latte stones, oriented towards the sea (Thompson 1932). Records from Hans Hornbostel’s exca­ vation of 14 Tumon Bay latte structures in the 1920s led to the conclusion that “infants and children were largely excluded in the formal mortuary areas adjacent to or within latte sets” (Graves 1986:147). This was taken as evidence of a ranked society with an ascribed status sys­ tem focused on men (Graves 1991:182–3). The excavation and analysis of skeletal remains from the Hyatt Hotel site were con­ ducted with attention to the taphonomic factors affecting burials in the Marianas: storm surges, tree roots that displace body parts, burials intruding into earlier graves, secondary burials, and grave disturbance for the acquisition of long bones for tool and weapon manufacture (Hanson and Butler 1997; Douglas, Pietrusewsky, and Ikehara‐Quebral 1997). All soil samples and fill from burial areas were screened in the laboratory, and all of the faunal collections were checked for human material, resulting in a substantially different assem­ blage than the one recovered in the 1920s (Ryan 2010; Stodder et  al. 2016). Forty‐five percent of individuals were subadults

81



Extrinsic Factors in Bone Preservation

TABLE 3.3  Subadults in Burial Clusters, Guam Hyatt Site

what archaeologists perceive as mortuary fea­ tures or otherwise meaningful contexts. Bone found in atypical contexts may be ­dismissed as the product of rodent activity or other distur­ bance and may not be carefully recorded or collected (Rodrigues and Schaafsma 2008; Weiss‐Krejci 2011). Forensic taphonomists refer to this as “the search image” bias (Haglund and Sorg 1997:20).

Cluster 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Total

Subadults* / Total

% Subadults

15/31 15/19 32/47 52/164 16/28 21/61 24/57 37/66 212/473

48 79 68 32 57 34 42 56 45

*Under age 16. Data from Ryan 2010:97.

(younger than 16 years), compared to the 15 % subadult component of the 1920s collection (Graves  1991:182). Subadults comprised between 32 % and 79 % of the burial clusters (Table 3.3). Clearly, infants and children were not excluded from these burial contexts. Selective collection of human remains in the field is well known from nineteenth‐­century archeological expeditions. Adult ­crania, for instance, were often crated and sent back to museums for craniological studies, but there was little interest in the postcranial skeleton (Walker 2008:12). Subadult remains suffered a similar fate, as substantial numbers were recorded in the field but not collected (Stodder 2008:105). Hence, contrary to the model of adult male‐dominated latte burial program at the Hyatt Hotel site, the re‐evaluation of the burial groups shows no significant sex bias and instead suggests kinship rather than sex as the basis for the burial groupings (Ryan 2010), a hypothesis supported by cranial nonmetric variation (Stodder et al. 2016). This is a good example of the importance of systematic excavation, collection, and analysis for the ­ interpretation of prehistoric mortuary practice and, by extension, social organization. The quality of documentation of human remains and their provenience, condition, and associations vary considerably among archae­ ological programs. Limitations may be the result of skill or time constraints on the excava­ tion. Human bones are not always found in

EXTRINSIC FACTORS IN BONE PRESERVATION In addition to mortuary practice and excavation methods, skeletal preservation is mediated by factors intrinsic to the bones: bone density, size and shape, and by extrinsic factors: characteris­ tics of the soil and water in the b­ urial microen­ vironment. Degradation of the organic (about 90 % collagen) and mineral (bone apatite) com­ ponents of bone is the result of contact with microbial agents, plants, soil and ground water in the depositional environment. Events prior to burial impact preservation, as an exposed body may be subject to wetting and drying, freezing and thawing, to animal trampling and chewing, plant ­disturbance, fluvial transport and other events. The burial program, the burial environ­ ment, weathering, and other natural processes are mediated by accompanying artifacts (­copper can enhance tissue preservation), grave type, and burial container. Weathering—the process of physical ­destruction visible on bone—is illustrated in Behrensmeyer’s six point scale (1978, repro­ duced in Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994:98–99) based on actualistic studies of ungulate taphon­ omy in the Amboseli Reserve in Kenya. The scale starts at zero with no evidence of weath­ ering. Stages 1 through 5 track the progression of deterioration starting with development of longitudinal cracks, flaking off of thin layers, and then flakes of bone leaving a patchy sur­ face of fibrous bone and eventually deeper cracking and splitting and disintegration. While the sequence of degradation provides a standard for description, the stages cannot be

82

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

equated with time elapsed since death. Bone within a single assemblage can exhibit mark­ edly different states of preservation and weath­ ering (Nielsen‐Marsh et  al. 2000; Lyman 2002). Weathering can also mimic damage from thermal alteration, so where there is no color change it can be difficult to distinguish between these two sources of bone surface deterioration (White 1992; Junod and Pokines 2014). Field studies since Behrensmeyer’s show that the timing of weathering stages is markedly distinct in different environments. Elephant bones exposed in the Ituri tropical rainforest in Zaire survived much longer without longitudinal cracking and splitting ­ than the ungulate bones on the Amboseli savannah (Tappen 1994). A study of chimpan­ zee bone taphonomy in the Kibale Forest of Uganda also documents delayed weathering (Kerbis‐Peterhans et al. 1993). In the rainforest bones are protected from extreme temperature variation and the action of UV radiation which damages collagen fibrils and the mineral crys­ tals embedded therein (Tappen 1994; Nielsen‐ Marsh et  al. 2000:440). Repeated inundation and exposure of burial sites by flooding cycles accelerates both disarticulation and weathering in burials (Littleton 2000). As these field studies and recent actualistic studies (Karr and Outram 2012, 2015) demon­ strate, temperature and humidity significantly impact the length of time that a bone remains in its “green” or vital state (with intact collagen and lipids) before becoming “dry bone” due to loss of organic component and increased porosity and brittleness (Nielsen‐Marsh et al. 2000). The distinction complicates the inter­ pretation of perimortem and postmortem dam­ age to human bone. The distinctive morphology of fractures to vital vs dry bones (­discussed below) underlies the interpretation of perimor­ tem vs. postmortem damage to the bone, but local environment can hasten or inhibit the process, abbreviating or extending the length of the perimortem interval (Sorg and Haglund 2002; Nielsen‐Marsh et al. 2000; Weiberg and Westcott 2008; Sorg et  al. 2012; Karr and Outram 2015).

Bone degradation takes place by two pro­ cesses: the destruction of the collagen compo­ nent by bacterial collagenase, and the chemical demineralization of bone apatite (Nielsen– Marsh et al. 2000:441). It has been thought that the collagen phase of bone was destroyed first, and then the destruction of the mineral phase began: the mineral crystals are embedded in collagen fibrils, so collagen degradation exposes the mineral crystals to dissolution. But these processes must be contemporaneous to some extent. There has to be some deminerali­ zation and increase in pore size in order to allow the large‐size collagenase molecules into the bone (Child 1995:168; Nielsen‐Marsh et al. 2000; Collins et al. 2002). As more and more bone mineral is dissolved, pore size increases, and the bone collagen is increas­ ingly available to microbial action. Soil micro­ biology (population of bacteria and fungi) is a component in differential preservation, but this is largely a matter of soil chemistry which is a far more important determinant in bone preservation. The single most important factor in disso­ lution of bone mineral is ground water, which acts as the medium for mineral ion exchange between the bone and the immediately surrounding soil, rock, or grave surface ­ (Henderson 1987; Nielsen‐Marsh et  al. 2000:442; Millard 2001; Gill‐King 1997:105). The chemistry of the groundwater relative to bone, and the degree of fluctuation in ground­ water contact with bone determine the rate of dissolution of the bone mineral. Ions are exchanged between the bone and soil solution or water until the bone and the soil or water are in equilibrium. Wetting and drying cycles thus have a more dramatic impact as this process is repeated. The exchange of ions ­ between bones and their environment, known as diagenesis, has important implications for  research involving bone chemistry, for biomolecular archaeology, dating of bone, ­ and isotope‐based dietary reconstruction. Diagenesis studies measure the degree of ­specific types of bone alteration using X‐ray fluorescence, optical microscopy, mercury



intrusion porosimetry, and other methods (Nielsen‐Marsh et al. 2000; Millard 2001; López‐ Costas, Lantes‐Suárez, and Cortizas 2016). The impact of grave form and microenvi­ ronment on differential bone preservation in burials within a site is demonstrated in Merbs’ study of Eskimo graves at the Kamarvik and Silumiut sites. Comparing only adult graves, lower skeletal inventory scores (presence of a skeletal element even if incomplete) were found in graves with bedrock floors compared to those where the floor was soil, gravel or another type of rock (Merbs 1997:259). This is attributed to the acidity of the bedrock and poor drainage in the bedrock‐floored graves where the bone “had simply disintegrated, giving the appearance of having dissolved” ­ (Merbs 1997:251). INTRINSIC FACTORS IN BONE PRESERVATION: SIZE, SHAPE, DENSITY Size, shape, surface area, and bone density are all intrinsic characteristics of bone that affect their survival. Building on zooarchaeological research on the accumulation and condition of animal bone deposits associated with hunter‐ gatherer settlements (Brain 1981; Binford 1981), Waldron’s (1987) study of the survival of different bones in burials from a Romano‐ British cemetery in London demonstrated a relationship between size and anatomical position and bone survival. He calculated the number of each skeletal element expected in the assemblage given the number of discrete graves. The best represented bones were the “dense, relatively heavy bones such as the petrous temporal bone and mastoid in the skull, mandible, acetabulum, sciatic notch and proximal ulna” (1987:62). Bones in anterior positions (sternum, pubis, patella) were under‐ represented (Waldron 1987:62). The least well‐represented bones were phalanges, ­carpals, the coccyx, scapula and small tarsals. Waldron cautioned that this might not be typical at another site, but these general ­

INTRINSIC FACTORS IN BONE PRESERVATION

83

p­atterns are typical of nonhuman remains assemblages as well. Bones (or portions of bones) that are flatter, denser, and better ­protected by soft tissue are most likely to be preserved. Differential survival of skeletal elements is well‐documented for the human remains from the Crow Creek (South Dakota) massacre assemblage (Willey 1990; Willey, Galloway, and Snyder 1997). This assemblage, represent­ ing a minimum of 486 individuals (based on the right temporal bone), was discovered erod­ ing out of a fortification ditch in the Crow Creek Village site in 1978. The remains were studied in five months and reburied in 1981. The two bone beds, the larger a deposit of bones four and a half feet thick, date to the Initial Coalescent Period, ca. 1325 ce. “First there was murder and mutilation of the ­villagers, followed by scavenging and decom­ position, stabilized by collecting and burying the body parts, then exposure by erosion, later looting and excavation, and completed with cleaning, analysis, and reburial” (Willey 1990:xxiv). All of these events impacted the assemblage. Larger, denser bones and those closer to the torso were more abundant than smaller, lighter, more distal bones (Willey 1990:14). The element survival patterns in the Crow Creek assemblage correlate closely with differential bone mineral density documented in modern skeletons (Galloway, Willey, and Snyder 1997). Galloway and colleagues (1997) generated bone mineral density data for specific anatomi­ cal portions of skeletal elements in modern human adult skeletal remains in order to provide “baseline data” for anthropological ­ research. Scans of modern long bones were made with a single photon absorptiometer at major anatomical landmarks and at sites 20 %, 30 %, 50 %, 65 %, and 80 % of the diaphyseal length from the distal end. Their data for the humerus and tibia are shown in Figure 3.1. Sexual dimorphism in bone density was documented at most scan sites, as well as age‐ dependent bone density loss (Galloway, Willey, and Snyder 1997). The midshaft densities of

84

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

BMDc Tibia

BMDc Humerus Male

Female

0.90

0.66

0.77

0.60

Male

Female

0.94

0.74

95%

1.15

0.88

80%

0.92

0.74

Humeral Head Lesser Tubercle 80%

1.39

1.16

65%

1.19

0.89

65%

1.48

1.26

50%

1.34

0.98

50%

1.44

1.16

35%

1.37

1.00

35%

1.12

0.84

20%

1.40

1.01

20%

0.89

0.68

5%

1.02

0.74

10%

0.94

0.71

Distal

Figure  3.1  Bone mineral density (circumference) for the humerus and tibia (adapted from Galloway et  al. 1997:298,301,305).

the long bones are ranked (highest to lowest) in the same order as their frequency of recovery in forensic cases involving exposure and scavenging: femur, tibia, humerus, radius, ­ ulna, and fibula (Galloway, Willey, and Snyder 1997:314). The relative mineral density of specific por­ tions of the long bones is important for meth­ odological reasons. Willey used certain parts of the skeleton to calculate the minimum num­ ber of elements (MNE) and then the minimum number of individuals (MNI) represented by the Crow Creek assemblage: the external audi­ tory meatus and petrous of the temporal bone, the deltoid tuberosity of the humerus, base of the radial tuberosity, base of the coronoid pro­ cess of the ulna, anterior crest of the tibia at the nutrient foramen, base of the lesser trochanter of the femur, and the lateral aspect of the distal end of the fibula shaft (Willey 1990:10–11). These are recognizable osteological features that were generally well preserved in the assemblage. The bone density data showed that the points used for MNE estimates of the radius, ulna, tibia, and femur are among the bone portions with the highest density, but that

other, denser, parts of the humerus and fibula might have been more abundant and would probably have resulted in higher MNE counts (Willey, Galloway, and Snyder 1997:524). “Denser elements and denser element portions are more likely to survive and provide better estimation of the “maximum” minimum num­ ber of individuals than less dense parts” (Willey, Galloway, and Snyder 1997:527). Bone density is not the only factor in bone  survival, but it is a universal mediating factor in  many taphonomic processes (Lyman 2014:69). The correlation between intra‐­element density and element portion preservation in the Crow Creek assemblage demonstrates the value of bone density data in predicting e­ lement representation. “Absence of certain segments, where bone mineral density is low, should be expected as the postmortem interval increases or where environmental conditions are parti­ cularly destructive. The absence of bone that is more densely constructed however, suggests that some form of selection, perhaps by oppor­ tunistic scavengers or deliberate human mod­ ification of remains, has occurred” (Willey, Galloway, and Snyder 1997:527).



PRESERVATION, BONE DENSITY, AND CHILDREN IN THE BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD Bone mineral density is low in postnatal infants and in the elderly, the two age classes typically under‐represented in skeletal assemblages. Bone density is vulnerable to reduction during normal growth, pregnancy, and periods of ill­ ness, injury and nutritional stress. Bone density at birth is determined by many aspects of maternal health including diabetes and vitamin D deficiency (Namgung and Tsang 2003). Small‐for‐gestational‐age and low birth weight infants have decreased bone formation in utero and subnormal bone density which may have a life‐course effect on bone mass (Martínez‐ Mesa et al. 2013). Season of birth is an impor­ tant factor in maternal vitamin D status, and bone mineral content in newborns differs according to season by 8 to 12 % (Namgung and Tsang 2000:58). Even in full term neonates bone mineral density is very low and remains so in the first year of life as bone length increases rapidly, but density then increases throughout childhood with influences from weight‐bearing, activity level, and nutrition (Rauch and Schoenau 2001). Boys tend to have higher bone density than girls, a consequence of body size (Gilsanz 1998). Bone density in childhood is negatively impacted by a wide variety of diseases (van der Sluis and de Muinck Keizer‐Schrama 2001), and by congenital or developmental conditions involving mutations in collagen genes (Gilsanz 1998). Studies of subadult bone density variation at the populational level are complicated by sampling and methodological issues: methods used in measuring bone density, bone and site used, and the difficulty of controlling for dif­ ferential development of adolescents (Gilsanz 1998; Van der Sluis and de Muinck Keizer‐ Schrama 2001), but bone density is greater in children of African ancestry than in Europeans, Asians or Native Americans (Galloway et  al. 1997:296; Gutiérrez 2011). The factors influencing bone density also impact the probability of an element and an

PRESERVATION, BONE DENSITY, AND CHILDREN

85

individual being represented in an assemblage. Density‐mediated attrition is singled out as a primary determinant of age distribution in assemblages of human and nonhuman bone (Galloway, Willey, and Snyder 1997; Lam and Pearson 2005; Lyman 2014), but density should not be used as a univariate proxy for bone sur­ vival while other intrinsic and extrinsic factors are ignored (Lam and Pearson 2005:107). Differential preservation is frequently cited as a factor in the under‐representation or absence of infants and subadults in archaeo­ logical skeletal assemblages (Gordon and Buikstra 1981; Guy, Masset, and Baud 1997:226; Larsen et  al. 1995:142; Bello and Andrews 2006; Bello et  al. 2006:29; Perry 2006:90–91; Lewis 2007; Djuric et al. 2011). Contrary to the notion that most infants and children disappear from the archaeological record, there are archaeological skeletal assem­ blages with substantial numbers of infants and children: Grasshopper Pueblo (see above); the Honokohua site on Maui had 39 % subadults under 15, out of a total of 712 individuals (Pietrusewsky et  al. 1991); 55 % of the 154 individuals from Kok Phanom Di in Thailand were under age 15 (Halcrow, Tayles, and King 2016:163). There are assemblages of all chil­ dren such as those from pre‐Roman Geto‐ Dacian contexts where children and infants were buried in settlements, at shrines, and in natural rock crevices near settlements (Sirbu 2005), and the “Tophet” cemetery in Carthage (Schwartz et al. 2012). The Eastern Necropolis at Deir el Medina (New Kingdom Egypt) had an area reserved for the youngest children: infants, fetuses, stillborn babies, and even pla­ centas (Meskell 1994). And there are skeletal assemblages with no infants: Mokrin, an Early Bronze Age cemetery (Rega 1997), and Peqi’in, a Chalcolithic burial cave in Galilee (Nagar and Eshed 2001). Except where soil conditions clearly lead to bone destruction, the absence of infants or children should be interpreted as a reflection of cultural practice, not an indication of tapho­ nomic erasure of immature bones. The age at which children appear in a cemetery is likely to

86

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

reflect a culturally defined threshold: dental eruption in ancient Rome, baptism in some Christian cultures (Arnold 1991:116 citing Häusler 1968). Part of the difficulty in under­ standing culturally constructed skeletal assem­ blages lies in the danger of conflating biological categories with social categories (Soafer 2006; Gowland 2006; Halcrow and Tayles 2008), and inappropriately assuming certain social roles for children in the past (Scott 1997; Kamp 2001). Childhood is culturally constructed, and mortuary treatment of infants and children reflects culturally defined thresholds in per­ sonhood. Skeletal assemblages are modified by numerous factors, but they are culturally ­created entities, and the particular age and sex composition has cultural meaning.

overburden may suggest rickets and other bow­ ing deformities (Merbs 1997; Glencross and Stuart‐Macadam 2000). Taphonomic changes can also mimic traumatic injury: postmortem warping, separation of sutures, and other ­damage to (especially subadult) cranial bones may be interpreted as evidence of trauma (Crist  et  al. 1997). Burials that were tightly

PRESERVATION AND PALEOPATHOLOGY Poor preservation of skeletal assemblages ­limits the observability of paleopathological conditions and necessitates the careful consid­ eration of observability when reporting preva­ lence data (Waldron 1994; Stodder 2012; Beck 2016); evidence of a lesion can be obliterated even if the bone is present. New periosteal bone can be lost (Figure 3.2), enamel chipped off teeth, etc. in the burial environment, during excavation, transport, cleaning and also in the laboratory and museum. Skeletal remains are  cumulatively damaged by handling by researchers and students (Caffell et  al. 2001; Janaway et al. 2001). Damage to skeletal remains may also include changes to the shape or surface of the bone that mimic pathology. In the Eskimo skeletons mentioned above, Merbs noted lichens on the bones that looked like neopla­ sias, and local areas of bone destruction (from contact with acidic rock) resembling lytic foci of carcinoma (1997:151). Eroded holes in Greenlandic Eskimo crania resulting from the same process could be mistaken for trephina­ tion (Merbs 1997:251 citing Pales et al. 1952). Bones that have been warped by dampness or

Figure  3.2  Periosteal new bone chipping off an infant tibia. Photograph by the author.



wrapped in textiles that are not preserved at the time of excavation can suggest congenital deformation or traumatic injury to the hands or feet when their contorted positions actually only reflect their compression in the shroud (Valentín et al. 2001). Cremation poses special challenges to the collection of skeletal and paleopathology data as bones and teeth are fragmented, warped, dis­ colored, and subject to highly variable rates of shrinkage that can modify the appearance of traumatic injuries (McKinley 2001; Schmidt and Symes 2015; Collini et al. 2015. Cremation encompasses a wide variety of typically multi­ ple‐stage mortuary programs. The burned remains (which may range from lightly dis­ colored to calcined) may be buried in place or collected and buried or kept elsewhere, but it is rare that all of the remains are collected, and not all of that is identifiable (Reinhard and Fink 1994; McKinley 2001). Some variations include secondary reburning of remains and division of the remains for burial in more than one place, practices which further reduce recoverable biological information (Beck 2005). Because of the fragmentation and shrinkage, metric data from cremated remains have traditionally been considered unreliable (but see Mayne Correia 1997; McKinley 2000; and Schwartz et  al. 2012 for debate). Heat‐ altered bone is often very well preserved, so representation of age and sex diagnostic por­ tions of the skeleton is a more critical limiting factor than degree of fragmentation (Merbs 1967:595). Preserved cranial features can be used for nonmetric trait analyses (Merbs 1967). Some pathological lesions recorded in crema­ tions include trepanation, dental pathology affecting tooth roots, diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis (McKinley 2001), porotic hyper­ ostosis, antemortem tooth loss, vertebral osteo­ phytosis and osteoarthritis in appendicular joints (Reinhard and Fink 1994), neoplasias, traumatic injuries, vertebral compression frac­ tures, congenital anomalies in the vertebra and sacrum, nonspecific infection, cribra orbitalia, possible treponemal infection or leprosy (Blau 2001), ectocranial pitting, focal periostitis, and

Animal Modification of Human Bone

87

enthesopathies (Lara et  al. 2016). Like other areas of taphonomy‐based bioarchaeological research, the study of cremations is a newly invigorated realm (Ward and Tayles 2016) in which more biological data are collected and contextual and spatial analysis expands the scope of interpretation into the realms of ­identity creation (Cerezo‐Roman 2015), ritual landscapes, and ­cosmology (Howard 2008). ANIMAL MODIFICATION OF HUMAN BONE Animals are a significant source of modifica­ tion to human remains: they chew, crush, and consume body parts; they trample, collect, and redeposit bones. These activities leave a vari­ ety of marks on bone surfaces: gnawing marks, punctures, furrows, scratches and carrying marks, fractures, and surface modification by digestive acids (photographs in Haglund and Sorg 1997; White, Black, and Folkens 2011; and Pokines 2014). Carnivores are especially destructive as they can completely consume soft trabecular regions and break open bones to get at the marrow. Unburied bodies may be exposed to scavengers after a battle or acciden­ tal death. The dead may be exposed intention­ ally, or they may be disturbed from a shallow or open burial. Rodent gnaw marks are the most commonly observed animal‐modification on human bones. These are distinctive rows of fine scratches or parallel sets of scratches that may appear almost as beveling on crests and ridges (Figure  3.3). The scavenging behavior of canids (Haynes 1983; Haglund et  al. 1989; ­ Haglund 1997a), pigs (Greenfield 1988; Berryman 2002; Spennemann 1994), rodents (Haglund 1997b) and even polar bears (Merbs 1997) have been studied by forensic anthropologists and zooarchaeologists. Tooth punctures may leave holes on bones and scalloped or crenulated edges on bone ­ ends  (Binford 1981:44). Furrows and pits (­incomplete punctures) result from the bone being carried in an animal’s mouth, or from a

88

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

Figure  3.3  Rodent gnawing, mandible. Photograph by the author.

tooth traveling across, but not penetrating the bone (Binford 1981; Milner and Smith 1989). It  can be difficult to distinguish between less extreme forms of tooth marks. Shallow scoring or gnaw marks have been interpreted as cut marks and as simply wear from the burial sub­ strate. Pits and furrows may be smooth or tex­ tured depending on the morphology of the teeth involved and the “freshness” of the bone. Tooth pit size depends on the size of the tooth and its function – crushing or grinding or piercing, but also on the density of the bone being chewed. Cancellous bone near the metaphyses is less resistant than cortical bone in the diaphyses and midshafts, and so larger tooth pits may be pre­ sent at bone ends (Selvaggio and Wilder 2001). Scavenger identification is based on the size and morphology of tooth marks, including interdental distance (Pokines 2014:230–231; Sala et  al. 2014). Familiarity with the local environment and with the range of species ­represented in faunal remains from a site are essential in identifying the agents of damage. Systematic behavior by dogs and coyotes follows relatively consistent stages: 0 = soft tissue scavenging with no removal of body ­ parts or modification to the skeleton; 1 = destruction of the ventral thorax, removal of upper extremities including clavicles and scapulae; 2 = complete or partial removal of lower extremities; 3  =  disarticulation of all skeletal elements except vertebral column;

4  =  total disarticulation, only cranium and ­miscellaneous elements and fragments remain­ ing (Haglund, Reay, and Swindler 1989; Haglund 1997a:368). In forensic cases these stages correspond to time interval since death, starting with a few hours at stage 1, to 22 months for stage 4. Bone chewing proceeds from the softer, cancellous bone at the ends to the harder shaft of the bone which the animal might not be strong enough to puncture, so marks on long bone shafts are more likely to be pits and furrows (Binford 1981:46). Scavenging patterns depend on the condi­ tion of the body, cause of death, and degree of disarticulation. In the Norris Farms (Illinois) skeletal assemblage long bone ends as well as portions of flat bones were consumed by carni­ vores (Milner and Smith 1989). The remains of thirty individuals in an Oneonta cemetery (dated to ca. 1300) were apparently exposed to carnivore scavengers before being buried. In this assemblage the most frequent damage was to the ends of long bones, face, and bones in the abdominal and gluteal regions. This is very similar to the patterns of scavenging in the Crow Creek assemblage: chewing attributed to dogs, wolves and coyotes was most frequent on the cancellous bones which have projec­ tions (os coxa, sacrum, vertebrae) and on the ends of long bones (Willey 1990:151). Animal chewing damage may obliterate evi­ dence of a previous scavenger, antemortem or perimortem trauma, mortuary processing, and reduce the biological information available from human remains, but the presence (or the absence) of scavenger marks on human remains, can clarify assemblage history (Sala et al. 2014) including aspects of mortuary r­itual involving defleshing and exposure (Colard et al. 2014). DOCUMENTING ASSEMBLAGES: CONTEXT, PRESERVATION, DEMOGRAPHY, DEPOSITION The documentation and interpretation of a human remains assemblage takes place in sev­ eral stages, starting in the field. Field recording



DOCUMENTING ASSEMBLAGES

protocols are hugely variable, from immediate reburial without documentation on some tribal lands in the United States, to the days‐long process of hand drawing and measuring sequentially exposed skeletal articulations pro­ scribed by Duday. The use of total stations and GIS software, photogrammetry, and laser scan­ ning to capture incredibly detailed data sets is transforming the gathering, manipulation, and interpretation of spatial data for burials, burial mounds, and commingled assemblages (Beckett and Robb 2006; Tuller, Hofmeister, and Delaney 2008; Herrmann, Devlin, and Stanton 2014; Wilhelmson and Dell’Unto 2015; Garstki, Arnold, and Murray 2015). While technology advances, reanalysis pro­ jects are leading researchers back to field notes, museum records, and archival photo­ graphs as significant sources of information on burial deposition and articulation (Marden 2011; Zejdlik 2014).

Articulation is one dimension of preserva­ tion, but assemblages may also be character­ ized in terms of the completeness of skeletal elements, fragmentation, and bone condition (Table 3.4). Detailed in‐field documentation of preservation is used when significant ­variation in preservation (and representation) of bones must be addressed through “scrupulous and time consuming” (Lieverse, Weber, and Goriunova 2006:1144) recording of specific cultural practices, intrinsic preservation fac­ tors, and site-specific topography (Littleton et  al. 2012). Data on preservation include observations on the percentage of intact cortex (0–100 %); degree of fragmentation (50 % or more of the element present; less than 50 % present); weathering score; the element portion present; and percent of shaft circumference present for appendicular bones (shaft splinters vs tubular fragments) (White 1992:110–117). The inventory protocol in Standards for Data

TABLE 3.4  Examples of Variables in Taphonomy Data Collection Protocol from White 1992 (With Additions from Knüsel and Outram 2004, and Stodder and Osterholtz 2010)

Inventory Unique ID# Conjoin set # Provenience: feature, x‐, y‐, z‐ coordinates Element, side Element portion or zone Age estimate Sex assessment Pathology, metric, nonmetric observations Fragmentation Maximum dimension of bone / fragment Maximum dimension of conjoined set % of shaft circumference (score 0–5) Surface condition % of cortex remaining (score 0–3) Weathering stage (score 0–6) Random striae End polish, beveling Root etching Animal chewing damage Rodent gnawing Tooth punctures, furrows

89

Tool marks Cut marks: number, location, orientation Chop marks: number, location, orientation Scrape marks: number, location, orientation Fractures Modern or antemortem? Cranial fracture type, location Cranial vault release, sutural fracture Postcranial fractures type, location Fracture outline, edge shape Fracture products Inner, outer conchoidal scars Crushing Incipient fracture cracks Percussion pits, associated striae Adhering flakes Peeling Thermal alteration Color (external and internal) Cracking/crazing, surface exfoliation Uniformity of burning Differential burning within conjoin set

90

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

Collection (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994) divides the long bone into proximal, middle and distal thirds of the shaft, and proximal and distal epiphysis or joint surface. Each section is recorded as 0 for missing; a score of 1 is assigned if more than 75 % is present; 2 denotes 25 to 75 % is present; and 3 indicates that less than 25 % of the element is present (Buikstra and  Ubelaker 1994:7). Marean’s (1991) “Completeness Index” is an assemblage‐wide composite measure of element representation that characterizes the average completeness of specimens of each element, facilitating com­ parisons between elements and between assemblages. Conventions for characterizing human bone assemblages include the Anatomical Preservation Index, based on per­ centage of the element preserved (complete­ ness), and the Qualitative Bone Index which captures degree of preservation of the cortical surface in six classes (Bello and Andrews 2006; Bello et al. 2006). A system of anatomi­ cal zones is useful for coding and visually representing the element portion in a bone ­ fragment (Knüsel and Outram 2004; Outram et al. 2005). Zones are also used for recording the ­locations of trauma, tool marks and other ­modifications to bone. We want to know who is represented in an assemblage, and we also want to know what is missing. The “who” question is addressed by the MNI: minimum number of individuals based on anatomical duplication. When an assemblage includes mostly burials and just a few bones that were not found with an intact burial, the task is to determine whether those elements belong to one of the burials, and if they do not, to generate a site total MNI includ­ ing all the bone. With large assemblages of loose or fragmentary remains this can be chal­ lenging and time consuming, and it can require a lot of table space. Fragment size directly impacts the ability to identify an incomplete skeletal element and thus the ability to inter­ pret the entire assemblage: the smaller the fragment, the less likely it is that anatomically (and taxonomically) diagnostic landmarks will be preserved (Darwent and Lyman 2002:356).

For the inventory (that should include or link to provenience data), bones are sorted by element, side, and by age and sex when ­possible. With large assemblages of fragments, data entry using a hierarchy of more and less specific classifications is helpful. A long bone shaft splinter might only be identifiable as humerus, femur, or tibia, or a long bone fragment might be identifiable to element ­ and  side (right femur), element portion (­proximal third), and specific anatomical part (trochanters and neck). Systematic conjoining (refitting) of fragments can substantially, or at least helpfully, reduce the number of unidenti­ fiable fragments. Methods for estimating MNE (the mini­ mum number of elements) and MNI include visual matching of elements by size, age, sex, and robusticity, sorting based on standard measurements (Byrd and Adams 2003), the Lincoln‐Index (LI) which uses pair matching (Ubelaker 2002), and the Most Likely Number of Individuals (MLNI) (Adams and Konigsberg 2004), which is also based on pair‐matching. While the MNI goal is to determine the mini­ mum number of individuals represented in a recovered skeletal assemblage, the LI and MLNI are designed to estimate the number of individuals in the original assemblage (Adams and Konigsberg 2004). However, these meth­ ods are not so useful for archaeological assem­ blages which are so often poorly preserved and fragmentary. Instead, the MNE is based on anatomical redundancy, and MNI is based on the highest MNE value. To find out what (or who) is missing, we examine the demographic and anatomical dis­ tribution. Are only adult males represented? Are there surprisingly few arm and hand bones? Are there skulls without bodies, or bod­ ies without skulls? To scrutinize the anatomi­ cal content we compare the number of times a specific element is represented in the assem­ blage – the right femur, for instance, with the number of right femora that should be present based on the MNI. If 32 individuals are repre­ sented, then we expect 32 right femora. The Bone Representation Index (commonly used



DOCUMENTING ASSEMBLAGES

91

100 subadults, per element MNI (max = 12)

90

all individuals, per element MNI (max = 33)

80

element % of total expected (MNI 33)

70 60 50 40 30 20 10

a er us ra di us m u et l ac na ar pa ls iliu m fe m u pa r te lla tib ia f ib m u et at la ar sa ls

ul

hu

m

le

sc

ap

1

ic av

cl

2

R

C

l

1 C

ta

pi

ra l

oc

ci

e

po

bl

te

m

di

an

m

fro

nt

al

0

Figure 3.4  Element representation based on MNI of 33; MNIs per element or element group in subadults and in the total PHR assemblage from Feature 104, Sacred Ridge site.

although not always with this title) expresses the number of times a specific element is rep­ resented in the assemblage compared to the expected number of those elements based on the MNI (Bello and Andrews 2006; Bello et al. 2006). Figure 3.4 characterizes the anatomical distribution of a large assemblage of fragmen­ tary human bone from the Sacred Ridge site in southwestern Colorado (Stodder et  al. 2010). The bars show the element specific MNIs in the total assemblage and in the subadults. The assemblage MNI of 33 is based on the glabella. The mandible and occipital have the second and third highest MNIs. Overall the assem­ blage is complete in terms of skeletal parts rep­ resented. The Bone Representation Index line (element % of total expected based on MNI) shows the dearth of hand bones in the assem­ blage, which raises the possibility of trophy taking. The nearly 15,000 bone fragments included one partially articulated elbow and one intact scaphoid: every other bone was incomplete and disarticulated. The victims were subject to “extreme processing” which is evident at several other prehistoric assem­ blages from the Four Corners area of the

United States Southwest (Kuckleman, Lightfoot, and Martin 2000). Figure 3.5 shows the GIS generated distri­ bution of the 3680 cranial fragments (exclud­ ing loose teeth) in the Sacred Ridge assemblage. This mirrors the overall distribution of bone which was on the floor of the subterranean pithouse in the main chamber, in and around the hearth, in the antechamber, and in a large deposit slumping into the house from the level of the prehistoric ground surface. The pyra­ mids depict the locations of the 57 fragments that were conjoined to form the 26th set of refit skull fragments from Sacred Ridge, SKU‐026: the partial skull of a 4 to 5‐year‐old child. Most of the conjoined sets show this random disper­ sal; there was no anatomical or demographic patterning of bone in any area of the house. The combination of provenience and anatomi­ cal data reveals a critical aspect of the assem­ blage history and the nature of the event: this child’s skull was burned and broken before being deposited in the house, as were the bod­ ies of 32 other men, women, and children. The slumping deposit evokes the image of perpe­ trators (or survivors) dumping baskets full of

92

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

modern ground surface

hearth

posthole

pit house main chamber floor

antechamber cranial fragments SKU-026 0

2

ventilator

meters

Figure 3.5  GIS‐generated distribution of cranial bone fragments in pit house Feature 104, Sacred Ridge site. Stodder et al. 2010:306 fig. 13.19. Used with permission of SWCA Environmental Consultants, Inc.

bone fragments (not bodies or even body parts) into this house after the roof was removed. HUMAN AGENTS AND HUMAN INTENTIONS IN BONE MODIFICATION Understanding the condition, element repre­ sentation, MNI, and depositional history of an assemblage is an essential stage in the analysis of human skeletal assemblages. This is typi­ cally followed by recording three kinds of human‐induced modification to bone: 1) tool marks, 2) fractures and fracture products, and  3) thermal alteration. Ultimately we use taphonomy to try to distinguish between three broad categories of activities: violent destruc­ tion of the body including traumatic injury causing death or mutilation after death; peri‐ or postmortem body processing as part of sec­ ondary burial or a stage of extended mortuary ritual; and body processing for consumption (cannibalism). These might seem to be quite distinct behaviors, but they are not mutually exclusive, nor do they result in entirely distinctive patterns of bone modification. ­ Taphonomic data do not in themselves answer

anthropological questions about the motiva­ tions and emotions of people in the past. But the combination of systematic taphonomy data and contextualized analysis does enable us to explore the human intentions at work in creat­ ing skeletal assemblages. Tool Marks on Human Bone Categories of tool marks include cut marks made by a sharp tool held perpendicularly to the bone surface; scrape marks—sets of several shallow, narrow, closely spaced marks across a bone surface; chop marks—shorter and broader than cuts; and percussion marks from hammer­ stones or other heavy tools or weapons used to facture a bone (White 1992). Observability of tool marks depends on the condition of the bone surface, and interpretability is dependent in large part on identifiability of a bone or bone fragment as to element and anatomical portion. Analysis of tool marks attempts to distinguish the kind of tool or weapon used: a knife or a sword, a hand axe or a scraper, made from obsidian, flint, metal, bamboo, shell, or bone? Replicative studies indicate that cut marks made by stone tools are typically V‐shaped in



Human Agents and Human Intentions in Bone Modification

profile, with some internal striations, while those made by softer materials like shell and bone knives are more U‐shaped and shallower (Toth and Woods 1989; DeGusta 1999). Cut marks made with bamboo knives are also shal­ lower than those from stone tools (Spennemann 1990); SEM analysis reveals their distinctive morphology related to the internal structure of bamboo (West and Louys 2007). Experimental studies continue to improve criteria for distin­ guishing between cut marks made with specific stone tools and material types (de Juana et al. 2010; Val et  al. 2017) and between different classes of bladed weapons (Lewis 2008). Three dimensional modeling of bone surfaces with cut marks (Bello, Parfitt, and Stringer 2009; Boschin and Crezzini 2012) and use of micro‐ photogrammetry (Maté‐González et  al. 2016; Palomeque‐González et al. 2017) provide new levels of detail in cut mark morphology. The location, number, and orientation of tool marks are recorded as a standard part of taphonomic analysis. Figure  3.6 shows a method for recording the locations of tool marks on the femur according to anatomical zones that reflect significant areas for disartic­ ulation, defleshing or disabling an anatomical unit (Stodder and Osterholtz 2010:265). This system (adapted from Knüsel and Outram’s 2004 zone system for recording bone frag­ ments) provides a locational code for use in data tables that can accompany a visual repre­ sentation (photograph or sketch) of tool mark locations. Cuts and other tool marks are inter­ preted as being purposeful in their location and orientation (Lyman 1994:298), and some basic patterns can be associated with certain activi­ ties: tool marks at joints indicate disarticula­ tion; tool marks at areas of muscle attachment are interpreted as evidence of defleshing or meat removal; circumferential cut and scrape marks around the skull are taken as evidence of scalping; cut marks around the face suggest defleshing as well as trophy removal of noses, ears; cut marks on the cervical vertebrae and basicranium suggest decapitation. As shown in Figure  3.7a, defleshing the body for secondary burial results in many

93

series of cut marks where muscles, ligaments, and periosteum were removed (Olsen and Shipman 1994:380). The consistent orientation of the marks in this case suggest systematic processing of this individual, an adult male, prior to disarticulation and deposition of the bones in the burial mound at Boundary Mound, a Middle Woodland site. Secondary burial may involve disarticulation and associated marks, but if the body is exposed after death or buried in a temporary grave for initial decomposition first, then extensive cutting may not be needed and no toolmarks will record this disarticula­ tion procedure (Stodder 2005). The individual shown in Figure  3.7b exhibits only a few cut marks on the distal femur and cranium, but also has perimortem fractures on the right femur and cranial trauma. These remains are from a large assemblage of mixed human and animal bone from Velim Skalka, a fortified Bronze Age site in the Czech Republic (Outram et al. 2005). Typical mortuary practice for this culture was inhumation in tumuli, so one ques­ tion addressed in the analysis was whether the people found in pits, partially disarticulated and in haphazard positions, had been butch­ ered or showed any evidence of postmortem processing. The modification pattern does not suggest defleshing or intentional widespread breakage of the bones, and most likely reflects injuries sustained during battle, rather than butchering or other postmortem processing (Outram et  al. 2005). The distribution of cut marks in Figure 3.7c clearly contrasts with the other two examples; the cuts are located at areas of large muscle attachment near the prox­ imal and distal ends of the long bones and were produced during meat removal; the body was not disarticulated and there is no evidence of any other processing (Rautman and Fenton 2006). This is one of the individuals from the historically documented incident of cannibal­ ism by the Alfred Packer party, stranded in the Rocky Mountains in the winter of 1874. Figure  3.7d shows the composite distribution of cut marks, scrape marks, and chop marks in the highly fragmented remains of the 33 indi­ viduals at Sacred Ridge. The very thorough

FEM8P FEM9P FEM 11P

FEM6P

FEM5P

FEM4P

FEM3P

FEM10P FEM1 FEM7P

FEM3P

intertrochanteric region, between the femoral neck and lower edge of the lesser trochanter

FEM4P

subtrochanteric region, from the inferior border of the lesser trochanter to the coalescence of muscle attachment sites into the linea aspera (usually near the nutrient foramen)

FEM5P

shaft, from the end of the subtrochanteric region proximal extension of the popliteal surface at the point where the medial and lateral supracondylar lines become parallel below the linea aspera distal metaphysis, from the end of the shaft to the most proximal point of the articular surfaces (i.e., the popliteal surface), excluding the epicondyles

FEM7P FEM9P FEM11P

medial epicondyle, posterior surface medial condyle, posterior articular surface

FEM8P FEM10P

FEM2

FEM1

lateral epicondyle, posterior surface lateral condyle, posterior articular surface

intercondylar fossa, non-articular surface between condyles

FEM4A

FEM5A

FEM8A

neck, all surfaces

posterior femur zones

FEM6P FEM6A

FEM2

head, all surfaces

FEM3A

anterior femur zones FEM7A

FEM3A

trochanter, area encompassing the greater trochanter and intertrochanteric line and vastus lateral attachments; distal boundary is the superior border and the vastus medialis attachment

FEM4A

shaft, area between the superior portion of the vastus medialis attachment (near greater trochanter) and the distal edge of the vastus intermedius attachment, roughly in the same position as the distal margin of FEM5P

FEM5A

distal metaphysis, area from shaft end to the most proximal point on the patellar articular surface, excluding epicondyles

FEM6A FEM8A

patella articular surface

medial epicondyle, anterior surface

FEM7A

lateral epicondyle, anterior surface

Figure 3.6  Femur zones used to record tool mark locations. Stodder and Osterholtz 2010:265 fig. 12.12, and 2010:264 table 12.18. Used with permission of SWCA Environmental Consultants, Inc.



Human Agents and Human Intentions in Bone Modification

95

Figure  3.7a  Defleshed secondary burial, Boundary Mound Burial 6 (after Olsen and Shipman 1994:380 fig. 5).

Figure  3.7b  Cut marks, cranial trauma, perimortem fractures (no defleshing), a Bronze Age trauma victim (after Outram et al. 2005:1706 fig. 6).

destruction of these bodies included massive blunt force trauma in addition to tool marks indicating scalping, decapitation, removal of ears and noses and perhaps hands, disarticula­ tion and disembowelment (Stodder et al. 2010). Examples of cranial modification resulting from different activities are shown in Figure 3.8. Scalping generally produces linear marks on the frontal and parietals as in Burial 62B from the massacre assemblage at the Larson Site (Olsen and Shipman 1994:383). Defleshing the skull for secondary burial in Plains groups results in many more cut marks on the cranial vault, face, and mandible, as shown in the drawing of Burial 8 from Split Rock Creek (Figure  3.8b), a Late Woodland Site (Oslen and Shipman 1994:381). Defleshing marks are also evident on the skulls of Aztec sacrificial victims as shown in

Figure 3.8c. Some of these exhibit perforations of one or both temporals so that the skulls could be threaded in rows on a tzompantli, or skull rack. The skulls with perforation of only one temporal were placed at the left or right end of a row of skulls (Pijoan Aguade and Lory 1997:229). Figure 3.8d shows cut marks asso­ ciated with cleaning the skull and removing and reattaching the mandible on a nineteenth‐ century ancestor skull from New Guinea. Holes were drilled for fiber ties to hold the mandible and to hang the skull from a skull rack. Other decoration is applied as incised designs, paint, clay and artificial eyes and noses made of wood pith. The wood leaves scratches and small fractures along the eye orbits and nasal margins, and the fibers leave additional cut marks on the mandible and zygomatics (Stodder 2006).

96

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

Figure  3.7c  Cut marks on defleshed skeleton (no disarticulation), Alfred Packer historic cannibalism assemblage (after Rautman and Fenton 2006:331 fig.6).

Perimortem and Postmortem Fractures Bone in a “green” or vital state has a high moisture content and intact collagen tends to fracture in a helical or curvilinear manner, while “dry” bone with degraded collagen or complete destruction of the organic component exhibits more angular fracture patterns. This distinction is critical for medico‐legal investi­ gators, and for bioarchaeologists trying to understand broken bones. Does this broken bone represent an injury before death (ante‐ mortem fracture), or injury at or near the time of death (perimortem fracture) or was it broken later when the bone was no longer in a vital state (postmortem breakage) perhaps due to sediment burden? The answer (which we can’t

always provide) can radically change the ­interpretation of a life history or an event. The presence of healing—some degree of callus formation or new woven bone at the injury site—is the only reliable indication of an antemortem fracture (Galloway et al. 2014:47). The time to initial healing, at least three weeks for callus formation (Lovell 1997:145), depends on the type of fracture, location, and age of the injured person. Fractures generally heal more quickly in children than in adults (Galloway 1999) and more quickly in trabecular bone than in cortical bone (Lovell 1997). But the postmortem/­ perimortem distinction is more difficult because the process is gradual and the length of time that a bone remains vital (the perimortem interval) varies with climate,



Human Agents and Human Intentions in Bone Modification

97

Figure  3.7d  Composite distribution of tool marks on processed individuals, Sacred Ridge Site. Image by Anna J. Osterholtz, used with permission of SWCA Environmental Consultants, Inc.

Figure 3.8a  Scalping, Larson Site Burial 62B (after Olsen and Shipman 1994:383 fig. 8).

98

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

Figure 3.8b  Defleshing for secondary burial, Split Rock Creek Burial 8 (after Olsen and Shipman 1994:381 fig 6).

Figure  3.8c  Cut marks typically found on Aztec sacrifice victims and temporal perforations on a skull prepared for mounting on a skull rack (tzompantli) (after Pijoan Aguade and Lory 1997:231 fig. 8.8).

Figure  3.8d  Curated skull from Ibunda, Lower Sepik, Papua New Guinea. Incised design on parietals, pitch and clay on frontal, holes drilled for attaching mandible and for hanging skull, defleshing marks, cuts from fiber ties, orbit and nasal damage from pith eyes and nose.

humidity, burial context, and the other factors and processes described above. “Anthropologists attempt to divide a continuous variable of unspecified duration into  two arbitrary ­divisions: perimortem and postmortem” (Symes et al. 2014:262). In the (now classic) long‐bone shaft fracture classification scheme in Figure  3.9 (Marshall 1989:14), spiral, flaking, V‐shaped, and saw‐ toothed fractures (oblique angles on the frac­ ture edges) are characteristic of vital bone (Marshall 1989; White 1992; Lyman 1994; Lovell 1997; Galloway 1999). In the cranium, depressed fractures, concentric circular frac­ tures and radiating fracture lines occur in vital bone. Stepped, longitudinal, transverse and



Human Agents and Human Intentions in Bone Modification

Perimortem Fractures

Postmortem Fractures

Spiral

Longitudinal

Flake

Stepped

V-shaped

Perpendicular transverse smooth

Sawtoothed

Perpendicular transverse irregular

depressed

99

Figure 3.9  Fracture types in long bone shafts (adapted from Marshall 1989:14).

perpendicular fractures (acute angles and squared fracture edges) indicate postmortem breaks in nonvital bone. Many bones will have more than one type of fracture, or some intermediate version of one of these types. The intermediate category has been acknowledged since early studies of bone breakage (e.g. Villa and Mahieu 1991:34); the problem is not new. Numerous experimen­ tal studies have addressed the problem of determining fracture timing, and the useful­ ness of the fracture outline and edge shape cri­ teria. Actualistic experiments examining the impact of temperature and humidity regimes on fracture patterns in newly defleshed (non­ human) bone demonstrate a “short time frame during which bones must be fractured in order to exhibit clear fresh fracture characteristics [helical or spiral fracture outlines](Karr and Outram 2015:210). Hot dry environments degrade bone very rapidly, while cold moist conditions prolong the vital state. “The signifi­ cant degradation of bones in a hot, dry climate over a timespan of as little as one to three days indicates a decidedly limited timeframe during which bones could have fractured as if fresh in  the archaeological past of regions with hot  ­ climates” (Karr and Outram 2012:558).

The  upside of the research is that, “this restricted period provides considerable tempo­ ral specificity to the events in the past in most regions” (Karr and Outram 2015:210). Fracture products also characterize the bone status when impacted, as well as the kind of implement used in the fracturing process. These include conchoidal scars, areas of crush­ ing, incipient fracture cracks which propagate outward from a point of contact, percussion pits and associated striae, adhering flakes, and peeling in which small splinters of bone adhere to the fracture edge (like a green twig) (White 1992). Fracture products are often associated with animal chewing damage and other percussive damage to bone. The current literature reflects agreement on several points: the need for more experimental work, especially on fractures in fleshed bone; there will always be specimens that fall into an uncertain category but the extremes are valid: spiral or helical fractures do indicate fracture in fresh bone (possibly within a very short time after death given hot dry conditions), and ­jagged fracture edges indicate fracture in dry bone. The search for cut marks and spiral frac­ tures in taphonomy studies aimed at demon­ strating cannibalism and violence can mask the

100

Taphonomy and the Nature of Archaeological Assemblages

importance of postmortem fracture damage. Bones in mortuary contexts (in structured deposits, arranged) with postmortem breakage may reflect extended mortuary ritual where remains are manipulated and damaged at inter­ vals long after death, or breakage caused by sequential re‐use of a tomb or burial place and disturbance of earlier burials (Beckett and Robb 2006; Redfern 2008; Sala et al. 2015). Thermal Alteration of Human Bone Thermal alteration of bone results from contact with fire before or after death as well as post‐ mortem processing including cremation, cook­ ing for consumption, or heating to facilitate dismembering. This type of bone modification is of interest to archaeologists, forensic anthro­ pologists and zooarchaeologists as it relates to mortuary practice, violent and accidental death in the past and in current medicolegal investi­ gation, and animal food processing and discard patterns. Heat reduces the moisture content and changes the structure of bone mineral crystals; cooked bone is more readily frag­ mented, and more difficult to identify (Stiner et al. 1995; Lyman 1994; Roberts et al. 2002). Thermal alteration is recorded as change in color and texture of bone. Color ranges from ivory or yellow to brown, reddish brown, black, grey‐blue and white (calcined) (Lyman 1994:385). The color of thermally altered bone generally corresponds to the temperature of the heat source (e.g. Shipman et al. 1985:62), but color change is also dependent on the state of the bone when burned (Mayne Correia 1997:279). Other aspects of thermally altered bone recorded include the uniformity of burn­ ing and whether just the surface or the entire thickness of the cortex is burned (Table  3.4), the latter indicating that the bone was burning from the inside at a later stage and / or after the  bone fractured (Symes et  al. 2012:135). Textural changes range from exfoliation and longitudinal cracking that mimics weathering (White 1992; Junod and Pokines 2014), to warping and cracking in a checkerboard p­ attern (checking). Studies of funerary cremations

reveal “regular clear normal patterns of heat alteration of the human body” (Symes et  al. 2012:178). The individual pattern of burning depends on the position of the body, nature of heating (direct contact, steaming, boiling, wrapped, unwrapped, etc.), and the thickness of soft tissue covering of the bone (Swegel and Buikstra 1989; Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Research on the differential response of bone to thermal alteration when fleshed, defleshed but still vital, and nonvital (dry) seem to result in inconsistent findings (Mayne Correia 1997:279), but studies suggest that bone burned when dry is not subject to the same kind of warping and longitudinal splitting characteristic of vital bone (Buikstra and Swegel 1987; Lyman 1994). Determining whether bones were burned accidentally or intentionally, before or after other modifications, depends on contextual information and on the specific pattern of burning relative to perimortem fractures and tool marks. Experimental studies report a high rate of preservation of forensically significant sharp trauma marks in burned bone (Symes et al. 2012:179; Robbins, Fairgrieve, and Oost 2015). The femur from the Sacred Ridge assemblage (Figure 3.10) was fractured before burning: the intertrochanteric region and neck of this femur were separated from the anterior portion of the neck and the diaphysis following disarticulation of the hip evidenced by cut marks on femur zones 2, 4P and 5A (zones in Figure 3.6) and perimortem breakage expressed in spiral and V‐shaped fractures and peeling. INTERPRETING TAPHONOMY The taphonomic approach uses qualitative and quantitative observations to interpret the con­ text, composition, and condition of assem­ blages, and to make inferences about the behaviors and intentions embodied therein. Taphonomic studies are most often structured as attribute lists or predictive models based on ethnographic and archaeological data, or as comparisons of the taphonomic profiles of two



Interpreting Taphonomy

101

Taphonomic observations, proximal femur conjoin

0

cm

5

cut marks

Element, side Element completeness Age, sex N of fragments in conjoin Fragment size (cm) Cortex preservation Mean weathering Root etching TOOTH MARKS THERMAL ALTERATION Color (max expression) Aspect burned Cortical location Differential burning TOOL MARKS N of cut mark groups Cutmark group: locations Cutmarks: orientations N of chop marks N of scrape marks End polish FRACTURES Fracture: type, zone, edge Fracture: type, zone, edge Fracture: type, zone, edge FRACTURE PRODUCTS Crushing Peeling, locations N of percussion pits

Femur, R