Kees van der Spek

Luxor West Bank Ethnographic Research Project

Centre for Arab and Islamic Studies

Faculty of Arts

The Australian National University

Canberra

Australia 0200

INTRODUCTION

This essay results from an ethnographic case study of Qurnawi, the villagers of al-Qurna, residing inside the World Heritage listed archaeological area of the Theban Necropolis on the Luxor west bank, Upper Egypt. Intensive archaeological exploration of the area continues to this day, but beyond cursory acknowledgements in the archaeological reports of the employment of local workmen, and beyond persistent allegations of illicit antiquities dealings in popular and fictional archaeological writing, little published information exists which focuses on the contemporary social perspectives of the surrounding archaeological landscape. Other than being treated as an adjunct to Egyptology, archaeologists by definition have not concerned themselves with the cultural specifics of contemporary life in this environment, and the existence of village clusters within the Theban Necropolis warranted little or no interest. As a consequence, their presence, history and social specificity has been rendered effectively invisible through the dominance of a western academic discipline imposing its own practice and legitimacy.

This, however, is not to say that an essay about a contemporary community living in this location is irreconcilable because of the defining distinctions which exist between Egyptology and social anthropology. To the contrary, specific social science perspectives can be identified which establish the connections and entangled relations between the two fields of inquiry, and which go beyond the mutually exclusive differences otherwise inherent in the objectives to which either discipline subscribes.

First, the community of al-Qurna represents a case study of the influence of a specific form of western presence on an indigenous community. West bank communities were much affected by the emergence of European antiquarian interests from the 18^th century onwards, and the crystallisation of the community of Qurnawi inside the Necropolis was in many respects a direct outcome of this historical process. For virtually all Qurnawi, this interrelationship continues to exist, whether it be through direct involvement with archaeologists and tourists in the context of certain economic practices, whether it be through local spending power which benefits agricultural producers and other service providers without direct access to or contact with visitors; or whether it be through those whose lifestyle is still closely defined by a personal aversion towards anything that has to do with khawaja, the foreigners. 

Second, and said another way, local interactions with academic archaeological practice and its consequent tourism-interest are important factors in the lives of Qurnawi, as both form part of the informal economic activities in which many Qurnawi engage. The plurality of these economic practices enacted against the background of the archaeological landscape of the Necropolis offers scope for a representation of social life in this environment which would move beyond the stereotypical portrayal of Qurnawi as ‘tomb robbers’.

 Conversely, and third, there is no doubt that Qurnawi presence is of great importance for the archaeological history of the site, which in turn embodies much of the history of Egyptology as an academic discipline. Articulating the social environment against the background of which archaeological research here is conducted, thus offers reciprocal perspectives on Egyptological history and practice as well.

 It will be obvious from the above that much of the research focus has been directed at the archaeological qualities of the landscape and its relationship with Qurnawi. Only by focusing on people’s connections with these particular surroundings can the social quality of this landscape receive the definition which it has generally been denied.

Nevertheless, this web of entangled relations also includes opposing strands, for the presence of a contemporary community inside the Theban Necropolis is being perceived as contrary to Egyptological research and conservation objectives; it runs counter to tourism development plans for the area; and it cannot be reconciled with economic objectives which are claimed to be in the ‘National Interest’. By consequence, the archaeological landscape of the Theban Necropolis is also a contested landscape, and is therefore an inherently political issue for Egyptologists, heritage managers and government officials.

This paper seeks to articulate aspects of the particular direction which Egyptian heritage management has taken over the years with respect to the Theban Necropolis. It will argue for a certain relationship between politically situated notions of the Pharaonic past which date back to Egyptian independence in 1922, and contemporary conservation practice which through a focus on tourism revenues has become politicised by being made to serve larger, national, economic interests. This perspective also argues that the objective of academic Egyptology and the heritage and conservation interests of the international community as mediated by UNESCO and ICOMOS have come to play subordinate roles which may be seen to serve the economic objectives of Egyptian government policy. Despite UNESCO concerns for cultural landscapes and the preservation of contemporary social and cultural diversity, the Necropolis’ community is slowly being eroded through relocations to newly planned communities which have ignored the formerly existing social topography of traditional village life. Simultaneously, the appealing vernacular landscape of the houses amongst the tombs is being destroyed. Whilst UNESCO and ICOMOS have been instrumental in alerting government officials to the issues involved, ultimately the jurisdiction of the Luxor west bank, and the practical management of the Theban Necropolis, are issues over which UNESCO and ICOMOS have little or no control.

THE SETTING

Built on the site of Ancient Egypt’s New Kingdom 18th dynasty capital Thebes, the modern city of Luxor in Upper Egypt constitutes the crown of Egypt’s tourism industry. On the east bank, the temples of Luxor and Karnak continue to provide the architectural focal points for what was once the spiritual centre not only serving urban Thebes, but indeed the whole of Egypt. Looking west across the Nile, the Theban Mountain, marked by the natural pyramid of el-Qurn, dominates the horizon. Embedded in its foothills and wadis, the Theban Necropolis provides the visitor with glimpses of the afterlife to which the ancient Egyptians aspired: the Valley of the Kings, famous if only for the tomb of Tutankh’amun; the Valley of the Queens, including the tomb of Nefertari, ‘the Beautiful One’, favourite consort of Ramesses II, and recently restored by the Getty Conservation Institute; the Tombs of the Nobles, the in excess of 400 so-called Private Tombs of 18th and 19th dynasty officials, many unequalled for their exquisite murals; the tomb-builders’ village and cemetery of Deir el-Medina; and the mortuary temples of Hatshepsut (Deir el-Bahri), Amenophis III (Colossi of Memnon), Seti I, Ramesses II (Ramesseum) and Ramesses III (Medinet Habu). In combination with funerary architecture from earlier and later periods,[2] and concentrated in several square kilometres, the Theban Necropolis provides for a density of archaeological monuments, and consequent ongoing scientific, heritage management, and visitor interest, which is unparalleled anywhere in the world.

Whilst the artistic and historical qualities of the archaeological landscape have attracted World Heritage listing (C i, iii, vi / 1979, UNESCO, 1998a:21)[3], at the same time the Luxor west bank cannot be viewed simply as an ancient cemetery caught in a time warp, devoid of human habitation and exempt from the geographic and demographic constraints which operate elsewhere in contemporary Egypt, where space is at a premium. Built within the boundaries of the Tombs of the Nobles area is located the cluster of hillside hamlets collectively known as al-Qurna. The separate hamlets consist of vernacular mud-brick houses constructed in between, in front, and on top of tomb entrances. Qurnawi are thus strategically located to benefit from a continuous flow of tourists to whom they can offer their services. These include guiding visitors through the Necropolis, peddling replica – and sometimes genuine –  artefacts, and introducing foreigners to the socio-cultural aspects of domestic and village life. Visitors in the main are still – and amongst competing attractions – drawn to Egypt by the historic and artistic qualities of the archaeological monuments. Even so, to have enjoyed some unexpected Qurnawi hospitality in the midst of an exhausting archaeologically oriented itinerary, and being given the opportunity to witness glimpses of domestic life in the vernacular setting of a still largely traditional rural community, may indeed be amongst visitors’ most enduring impressions.

Although human occupation of the Luxor west bank has a long history, with the members of early Coptic monastic communities inhabiting the tombs, the formation of the foothills’ community of Qurnawi appears linked to the supply and demand chain initiated by western antiquarian interests on the part of European museum and private collectors. During the 18th and 19th centuries and prior to the construction of above-ground dwellings, families simply occupied the tombs, and by living ‘on the job’ were thus strategically placed to satisfy the demand for antiquities. Viewed in this manner, the formation of the foothills’ hamlets can be said to be an outcome of western colonial penetration of the region. As with the colonial enterprise itself, no questions were asked in those days regarding the ethics of extracting in situ murals, practised  by such noticeable scholars as Champollion, yet in all instances permanently defacing the archaeological, historic and artistic integrity of the tombs and artefacts concerned.

Following the advent of heritage management practices and antiquities legislation during the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries, Qurnawi involvement in the extraction of ancient artefacts took on illicit and black market connotations, and allegations of illegal antiquities dealings have long been cited as motivation for the eviction of Qurnawi from the Necropolis. Indeed, damage to the Noble Tombs during a 1937-1942 spate of antiquities’ thefts prompted Hassan Fathy’s famous New Qurna experiment.

Conceived less as an heritage management strategy than as an architectural experiment, the concept of New Qurna was his solution to a perceived need for affordable and aesthetically pleasing peasant accommodation. To achieve this objective Hassan Fathy reintroduced traditional mud brick construction techniques and a domed roof structure of Nubian origin which precluded the costly metal or wooden roof beams essential in more conventional designs. Construction of the partially completed village terminated in 1948 due to a bureaucratic stalemate between architect and officials, and as a result of a breakdown in consultation with the villagers to be moved, who withdrew their support (Fathy, 1973). Never completed, New Qurna is now badly neglected, obscured by its antithesis of non-nondescript baked-brick constructions, and ignored by Egyptian heritage managers. Several of the houses as well as the mosque are still in use, although in recent years a number of buildings has been destroyed by locals who feared that Fathy’s increasing international appeal might result in the site being developed as a tourist village (Rashed, 1994:224).

Since Fathy’s relocation attempt, population density on the west bank has become such that the larger community of al-Qurna now incorporates some twenty hamlets, exerting commensurate pressure on the archaeological monuments. Dating back to the 1980s, the Egyptian government has been contemplating renewed relocation initiatives. Since 1992, again attempts are being made by government officials and heritage managers to clear people from the west bank archaeological zone and, as in 1946, again a site has been prepared for the construction of a custom-designed new settlement. Extensive social survey work was carried out between 1992 and 1994 as a precursor to the building of a future new village (Hosseen, 1995).

However, following severe floods in the area in 1994, an emergency village was built for flood victims, with excess housing made available in 1997 to those Qurnawi who volunteered to move out of the archaeological area. Upon their departure, antiquities officials moved in to demolish the houses, leaving the foothills’ vernacular landscape severely scarred. Phased extensions to the emergency village have seen further relocations, which continue to the present day, but the recommendations of the social survey have never been implemented, resulting in the disintegration of the kinship based settlement pattern which characterised the Necropolis’ social topography. As a result, the issue of vacating the Tombs of the Nobles areas and resettlement in a new custom-built environment at some distance from the mountain is the issue of single-most concern confronting Qurnawi today, and one which will alter much of what can be constituted as Qurnawi culture. To date, the site which had been prepared for the planned custom-designed new settlement has not been further developed for lack of funds. Ad hoc and opportunistically executed relocations of individual families, and uncertainty about the implementation of the entire process have contributed to this community concern.

PART I

ARCHAEOLOGICAL AND HERITAGE MANAGEMENT PRACTICE IN THE SERVICE OF THE STATE

Political perspectives on contemporary heritage management

It is now not uncommon for population groups to inhabit heritage sites, especially where these concern urban areas of historic significance and tourist-historic cities. What is less usual in today’s heritage management environment is to have a community living inside an archaeological area inscribed on the World Heritage List of sites of outstanding universal value. Qurnawi represent one instance where the presence of an indigenous community living in the midst of an archaeological landscape has given rise to specific heritage management concerns, and where the existence of a local community has for the most part been a defining element in attempts to arrive at suitable forms of heritage management for the area.

At various registers of experience the past is a reality in the lives of the people who inhabit Egypt’s archaeological sites – be it through folkloric practices and beliefs, economic necessity, or through government regulations and constraints. One implication of this is that for the purpose of ethnographic description a clear distinction between the remains of ancient Egypt – and by implication the broader interest sphere of academic Egyptology which surrounds it – and the contemporary community which inhabits the archaeological landscape, cannot be drawn in absolute terms.

If this means on first principles that Egyptological concerns at least in some measure exert an influence in the lives of local people, then this is to also recognise the political and economic imperatives which accompany the conservation and cultural heritage management of archaeological sites. Beyond the levels of folk beliefs and subsistence economics, it is through such political and economic considerations that a specific State-controlled Egyptological practice has come to manifest itself most strongly in the lives of local villagers.

The domain of State-village relations is an especially tangible one in areas where the preservation of archaeological remains serves both national interests and international obligations. Although benefiting local communities through formal and informal employment opportunities which antiquities-related work and tourism offer, the reality is that incumbent governments may act against community interests in pursuit of national economic and political objectives. Additionally, and certainly in the Middle East, both formal and informal economic subsistence are to varying degrees dependent on the presence of a stable international political climate, the periodic absence of which has made life unpredictable and at times precarious at major Egyptian archaeological sites in recent years and indeed, sadly, again today.

The presence of politically motivated concerns in archaeological practice is not a new phenomenon: the politicisation of archaeological discourse developed alongside the discipline itself (Silberman, 1989:1-11), with politically oriented interpretations of the archaeological past serving the maintenance of the status quo by reference to that past. The appropriation of archaeological, but also anthropological and historical knowledge, has been a powerful means towards economic domination and the institutionalisation of relations of inequality of subjugated peoples by a hegemonic elite. The historical fabrications surrounding Great Zimbabwe and Nazi Germany constitute obvious and often quoted instances (for example, Trigger, 1995: 270, 275).

In the academic debate surrounding such ‘politics of the past’ (Gathercole and Lowenthal, 1990), the Egyptian situation represents an “ambiguous” (Trigger, 1984:359) case. In the following, this ‘ambiguous’ situation will be offered as background to a discussion of the contemporary politically motivated appropriation of archaeological and heritage management practice in Egypt.

The politicisation of archaeological practice and its attendant heritage management practices are essentially driven by economic factors which the ruling elite perceives to be in the ‘National Interest’. These economically motivated heritage management practices and the political perspectives which foster them, have direct social implications and are therefore relevant in an ethnographic discussion of resident communities in archaeologically zoned areas. The case study presented in this essay serves to demonstrate the workings of such a politically and economically informed archaeological practice, as much as it seeks to document aspects of social life in an archaeological area thus conceived. 

Political archaeology: nationalist perspectives

The appropriation of archaeological data towards overt political objectives is now well established as a category of intellectual inquiry, and its relevance for archaeological practice is recognised. It is not the objective here to offer a wide-ranging and in-depth overview of the extensive literature on the subject. A regionally based introduction to the topic is offered by Silberman (1989), its ethnographically-conceived account of a number of Middle Eastern archaeological field sites offering insights into the relevance for archaeological field work. Broad-based academic sessions on the topic were features of the 1986 Southampton World Archaeological Congress (WAC1) and the 1990 Barquisimeto Second World Archaeological Congress (WAC2), and have become the major concern of the World Archaeological Congress’ ongoing activities: “the deconstruction of power inherent in the very act of controlling, or even of being able to claim to control, another group’s or people’s knowledge about, or of, the past” (Ucko, 1994:xiv, original emphasis). The theme’s various aspects are covered in numerous of its proceedings volumes, most notably in Gathercole and Lowenthal (1990) and Bond and Gilliam (1994). In turn, both thematically and as academic ‘event’, the WAC has as antecedent the Australian Academy of the Humanities symposium ‘Who Owns the Past?’ which convened in Canberra, Australia in 1983 (McBryde, 1984). Of more recent date, Kohl and Fawcett (1995) and Meskell (1998) draw together a wide range of regional perspectives, whilst Meskell (1998) and Mitchell (1995, 1998) exemplify the cross-disciplinary contributions which inform political discussions of cultural heritage management. For the purpose of the present discussion, Trigger’s 1984 conceptualisation of ‘alternative archaeologies’ will be used, with a specific focus on the ‘nationalist’ element of his schema.

Nationalist archaeology: the emergence of Egyptian political consciousness

According to Trigger (1984:358), “most archaeological traditions are probably nationalistic in orientation”. Trigger here views the primary function of nationalistic archaeology as bolstering “the pride and morale of ethnic groups” (1984:360). Following Egypt’s independence from England in 1922, Egyptology and the culture and history of ancient Egypt were being appropriated by the forces of nationalism in Egypt itself. The discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen during that same year was a powerful catalyst in that direction, if only for the symbolic qualities of that discovery in the context of emerging post-colonial British-Egyptian relations. The nationalist Wafd Party of Sa‘d Zaghlul’s inspired take-over of the tomb of Tutankhamen in 1924 represents the first tangible politically inspired appropriation of an archaeological site and, at least in terms of the practical implications for archaeologists, now stands as the birth of nationalist archaeology in modern Egypt (James, 1992:274-306; Reid, 1985:237). Of course, since nationalism and colonialism are both sides of the same coin, the fact that such an event could occur in the first place was as much due to the maturation of national political sentiments as it was to archaeologists’ control over, and reticence to let go of a domain which they had historically viewed as representing an exclusively western prerogative (Meskell, 2000, 2001; Reid, 1985).

However, and amidst the unfolding tomb-side drama, the event also heralded the ‘ambiguous’ qualities which have made assigning nationalist archaeological leanings less than straight-forward: “Egypt [tends] to emphasise the glories of pre-Islamic times in periods when nationalistic and relatively secular politics prevail, but de-emphasise[s] them in favour of the Islamic period when political movements favour pan-Islamic or pan-Arabic orientation” (Trigger, 1984:359).

Trigger’s use here of an earlier source (Wilson, 1964) reminds of Egypt’s 1950s attempts at forming a United Arab Republic with Syria and Yemen, but in the final analysis his summary statement must concern the complexity of competing identities in the emerging landscape of an Egyptian political and national consciousness. The “enormous development and alteration” (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1987:x) which characterised the nascence of Egyptian political national identity not only contains within itself the complexities involved with assigning nationalist archaeological tendencies, but it also offers a direction for an analysis of archaeological heritage management discourse in contemporary Egyptian politics.

Seminal for an understanding of the historical development of Egyptian political consciousness is the work of Gershoni and Jankowski (1987 and 1995). Their analysis charts the shifting course of Egypt’s developing political ideology from 1900 onwards and, although terminating at 1945, establishes direct connections and continuities with the post-1952 era within which contemporary archaeological heritage management policies and the present situation of Qurnawi are situated. This is not the place for a comprehensive review of their work and of necessity this account must limit itself to some of its concepts and ideological perspectives which may serve as background or which are relevant for understanding contemporary Egypt’s political attitude and praxis towards the archaeological past and its physical remains.

Pharaonicism

The form of political consciousness which took shape at the same time as the visible opulence of ancient Egypt gradually emerged from Tutankhamen’s tomb was one which resided in a sense of national identity heavily informed by the archaeological past and which is now referred to as Pharaonicism. The term here is an important one, as its acceptance or rejection in party-political ideology came to represent one of the defining characteristics along the evolutionary path of Egyptian nationalism. Indeed, the issue of Pharaonicism is one of the central features comprising the clear junction which separates the political and nationalist aspirations of the 1920s, the decade when Egypt first achieved independence, and the period from 1930 onwards (Gershoni and Jankovski, 1987; 1995).

The 1919 uprising against British interests in Egypt paved the way for an independence in 1922-1923 which was only partial: Britain’s unilateral declaration of Egyptian Independence saw the institution of a parliamentary puppet-monarchy which essentially preserved British military and political interests in Egypt. Nevertheless, the sentiments which underpinned these events and which in turn obtained a sharper focus through their unfolding, are alternately referred to as “Egyptianism” and “Egyptian territorial nationalism” (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1987: passim). They are the outcome of an intellectually conceived “new collective image” which emphasised the geographically and historically unique place of the Egyptian nation (ibid.: 11, 79-80). As political consciousness, this form of nationalism had its roots in nineteenth century European territorial patriotism, and was adapted by Egyptian intellectuals from the 1860s onwards into an “Egypt-centered sense of identity and allegiance” (ibid.: 11, 89-94).

Theoretical as well as emotional and romantic notions of Pharaonicism are inherent in Egypt’s historically unique character which represents one of the central tenets of this territorial-nationalist framework. The term itself not only assumes a direct continuity between the people of ancient Egypt and contemporary Egyptians, but also the “existence of a unique and durable Egyptian national essence persisting from the Pharaonic era to the present” (ibid.:164). The rediscovery and reclamation of this theoretically conceived ‘national essence’ as the defining characteristic of Egyptian collective consciousness, necessitated the infusion of Pharaonic elements in the pragmatics of everyday life, including the arts, thereby elevating Pharaonicism to “a mood, a state of mind” (ibid.: 164, 168): “Pharaonicism was the emotional pivot of Egyptian territorial nationalism, the central conviction and aspiration that the other dimensions of nationalist thought were intended to illuminate and serve. (…) Its passionate tenor, the utopian visions embodied in it, and the messianic expectation that it could and would be realized in post 1919 Egypt made Pharaonicism the heart and soul of Egyptian territorial nationalism” (ibid.:164).

As stated, one of the inspiring albeit fortuitous events serving the formulation of Pharaonicist ideas was the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb by Howard Carter in 1922. The event coincided with the formal independence of the Egyptian nation-state during 1922-1923, and at once displayed both the opulence and artistic refinement of the Pharaonic past, and the obvious vigour of the former Egyptian nation necessary to acquire such wealth and sophistication. In addition, the historical context of the tomb and its association with the 18^th dynasty Amarna period, during which religious and cultural conventions were set aside, was replete with powerful symbols easily recognised and appropriated by a contemporary Egyptian political and intellectual elite pursuing its own reformist agenda (ibid.: 168).

The symbolism of the tomb was given pragmatic weight in several ways and on several occasions. The official opening of the burial chamber coincided roughly with the inauguration of Egypt’s first elected Parliament in March 1924, inspiring “three trainloads of Egyptian and foreign dignitaries” (ibid.) to travel to Luxor to attend the ceremony and to avail themselves of the opportunity of a guided tour of the tomb on March 6 (ibid.).

The relevance of the ceremony for political historians such as Gershoni and Jankowski seems to have ended there, but for the archaeologists concerned the political interference by Egyptian officials generated serious repercussions in terms of professional practice and their future work in the tomb. Again, the political symbolism of the entire episode is evident, although the detail of what took place – the “impossible restrictions and discourtesies on the part of the Public Works Department and its Antiquities Service” (Howard Carter, in James, 1992:293) – is largely to be found in the writings of archaeologists (ibid.:274-306).

The visit to Luxor and the Valley of the Kings by the official party of dignitaries during March 1924 was an event which was arguably conceived to politicise the archaeology of the tomb in the context of British-Egyptian post-colonial relations. It must be remembered that a British military presence in Egypt remained, and that Egypt’s independence was not completely realised as a result. If the visit was indeed conceived to demonstrate Egypt’s eternal greatness in the face of a continuing foreign presence, then the gloss of its immediate political mileage may only have been dim by contrast with the tomb’s treasures. However, the politicised events and their unintended consequences which surrounded the visit, turned the period into a decisive moment both in Egyptian politics and in the way future archaeological practice was to be conducted. In a sudden and distinct, if possibly unanticipated manner, Egypt had gained some significant political advantage, both symbolically in its relationship with the British, and pragmatically with regard to its control over its own past.

The 1924 political visit to the tomb of Tutankamen, nevertheless, differed from those which were to follow by intellectuals inspired by Pharaonicist ideas. These latter visits did not so much politicise the past for some immediate perceived political gain, but drew on the past for inspiration to develop an ideology which best reflected their specific political views and ambitions. Encouraging their readers to become acquainted with the physical remains of Egypt’s past, many intellectuals themselves indeed made a personal pilgrimage to Upper Egypt during the 1920s, initially to view the tomb, but also to see the monuments (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1987: 170-175). Pharaonicist intellectuals reported their visits to the archaeological sites as “a powerful and moving experience” (ibid. 172), and in their subsequent meditations advocated “coupling the historical mission of Egyptian civilisation in the past with (…) the universal mission of modern Egypt” (ibid.).

Applying an anthropological perspective, the visits of Pharaonicist intellectuals to Upper Egypt also differed in two other important respects from the confrontational and politicised visit to the Tomb of Tutankhamen in March 1924. The practice of visiting perceived holy sites in often distant parts of the country is characteristically Egyptian. As such, the pilgrimage made by intellectuals to Upper Egypt emulates the journey many Egyptians undertake yearly to the tomb of some revered Sheikh where, at the time of his feast or Mulid and drawn by the physical, vicarious presence of the shrine or mosque, pilgrims are inspired and renewed by the spiritual essence which the life and person of their holy man holds for them.

Likewise, the transferral of meaning from archaeological artefact to archaeological relic is commonplace in Egyptian folklore where, especially in Upper Egypt, the perceived life-giving power of ancient monuments is still widely appropriated to affect some personally held concern. Whilst such concerns generally operate in the realm of the social or the medical, they demonstrate that the linking of archaeological artefacts with some external and socially constructed focus is a recurring feature of a traditional worldview to which many Egyptians subscribe (Blackman, 1927: 99, 106). What was new in 1924 was the specific linkage being conceived between archaeological object and political objective and the additional development of broadening that linkage from the level of the individual to the level of society as a whole.

By adopting, or rather by being situated within, these locally operative cultural practices, the appropriation of the archaeological landscape towards political purposes must be said to have resonated to a degree and on the level of popular practice with those outside the circle of the intellectual and political elite. As such, the Pharaonicist ideals can be said to have been less than elitist. According to Pharaonicist proponents, evidence of this could be seen in the way in which popular religion incorporated local Egyptian and sometimes pre-Islamic customs and traditions not recognised by formal Islam, ranging from religious and funerary architectural principles; funeral arrangements and burial practices; the importance of Sufism for the Egyptian peasantry; the pilgrimages to tombs of revered Sufi saints already mentioned; and specific forms of Qur’anic recitation (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1987:157). Additionally, several of these Pharaonic customs were shared by both Coptic and Muslim communities, affirming Egyptian nationalist intellectuals in their acceptance of an unbroken, racial connection between modern and ancient Egyptians, where “biology was the central element establishing the unity of ancient and modern Egypt” (ibid.: 165). Indeed, those intellectuals during the 1920s and 1930s who expounded Egyptian territorial nationalism included both Christians and Muslims, who shared a high degree of ideological consensus (ibid.: 91).

Supra-Egypian nationalism and its connections

Despite its intellectual consensus and its drawing upon popular cultural symbols and practices, by the 1930s Pharaonicist ideas had failed to obtain widespread support. One sensitive issue was that a Pharaonicist ideology could raise the minority Coptic community to a level of ‘aristocracy’ within Egyptian society which, given their direct claims to the undiluted blood-lines of ancient Egypt, would be unacceptable to the population’s Muslim majority (Wendell, 1972:162-163). In practice, nevertheless, the demographics of a Pharaonicist constituency proved immaterial. In fact, the Egyptian Arab nationalist ideology which eventually took its place, at least in part enjoyed its broad appeal because of the support of Egypt’s Coptic community (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1995:141).

In reality, Pharaonicist ideology lost ground because it became increasingly viewed as driven by a small and largely western educated intellectual elite who essentially espoused a territorial, that is, isolationist agenda. That agenda had been judged as less than adequate in the deteriorating economic environment of the late 1920s and 1930s (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1995:1-2), at the same time as the Egyptian political process was being critiqued for the “personalised, programless factionalism” of its political parties which “had no economic, social, or even political program” (ibid.).

During the 1930s, and under the influence of a growing locally educated middle class who was quite distinct from the Westernised elite of the previous generation (ibid.:xiii), nationalist definitions of Egyptian identity developed which were rather more ‘supra-Egyptian’ in character, sharing “an aspiration to connect Egyptian national identity or Egyptian-ness to peoples and regions beyond the Nile Valley” (ibid.:xii). These individual definitions of Egyptian identity either focused on the ‘East’, Islam, or the larger Arab nation, whilst Integral Egyptian nationalism pursued a role of leadership for Egypt in the region (ibid.). More inclusive and appealing than the particular agendas of Islamic or integral nationalism, Egyptian Arab nationalism became “the most widespread supra-Egyptian ideology of the era” (ibid.: 117).

An outcome of both streams of evolving Egyptian nationalist identity was the departure of many of the foreign archaeological expeditions. At issue were the tightening restrictions imposed by nationalistic fervour, especially the partition of finds following the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen, as well as increased bureaucratic practices on the part of the Antiquities Service, and stricter supervision of excavations. Their combined effect made it unattractive for foreign institutions to commit funds, which were in any case in short supply due to the depression: fieldwork became “subject to constant tensions and made the expectation of a good division of the finds a false hope” (Wilson, 1964:169).  Commencing with Flinders Petrie in 1927, by 1936 virtually all major foreign fieldwork had been wound up, only to resume some 25 years later, upon appeals for urgent and intensive salvage archaeology of Nubian sites threatened with permanent inundation upon completion of the Soviet Union-funded Aswan High Dam (ibid.:169, 192-196).

Fakri Hassan, in his attempt at conjoining Egypt’s archaeological past with its political present (Hassan, 1998), ignores this account of the gradually shifting ideological alliances/allegiances which took place during the 1930s and 1940s. To the extent that Nasser’s Arab nationalism resulted from supra-Egyptian nationalism which developed during the 1930s and 1940s (Gershoni and Jankowski, 1995:219), it is thinkable for Hassan to conflate Abdel-Nasser’s post-1952 pan-Arab nationalism with that of the preceding decades. However, what was new was the political praxis of, and practical experimentation with a pan-Arabic identity, as was the intensity with which Nasser’s ideology infused the generation of Egyptians born after the 1952 revolution. Although never fully accepted by the older generation of Egyptians for the “denial of Egypt’s nationalist history” which Abdel-Nasser’s Arabism represented (Hassan, 1998:209), those born under Nasser’s rule “drank Arab nationalism with their mother’s milk” (ibid.: 210). For this generation, the subsequent ideological and directional changes instituted by Anwar el-Sadat were no less than “perplexing” (ibid.).

Distinct from the political ideology of pre- and post 1952 Arabism, contemporary Egypt’s economically motivated international aspirations can be directly linked with the internationalism pioneered by Anwar el-Sadat. This implies that the age-set which now dominates the demographics of public and political life in Egypt must on first principles be understood to include a significant degree of those left ‘perplexed’ by Sadat’s changes. The implications for archaeological ideology and practice are considerable: if those who grew up during the nationalist fervour of the Zaghloul years never quite took to Nasser’s Arab nationalism, then it may be postulated that, likewise and crucially, those who grew up after the 1952 revolution under Nasser may still be likely to relegate contemporary concerns with the Pharaonic past to a lower register of importance. The implications for heritage management practice and tourism developments will be evident, as in the absence of more intimately perceived connections with the Pharaonic past these will essentially be made to serve national, that is, economic interests.

This is not to say, however, that Pharaonicist influences disappeared entirely. The lingering literary preoccupation with Pharaonic themes on the part of such writers as Naguib Mahfouz between 1932 and 1944, and Tawfik Al-Hakim in 1937 (ibid.: 206), suggests that at least some slippage between cultural and political concerns could have occurred at the time when the supra-Egyptian political ideology was dominant. More likely, and as demonstrated by Meskell (2000, 2001), Pharaonic motifs continued to exert at least some measure of appeal throughout, even under Nasser. There need be no conflict in this, for even if the ancient designs no longer served as indicators of a pursued political agenda, they could nevertheless continue to function as symbols of a shared identity, even if recognised only notionally.

Visitor interest under Nasser and Sadat

Modern tourism to Egypt has always depended on both internal and external political stability. Following the 1952 revolution and the 1956 Suez Canal crisis, under Nasser few tourists are said to have visited Egypt, with major Cairo monuments of culture falling into disuse (Lippman, 1989:167). Yet, the construction of the Aswan High Dam unexpectedly impacted on visitor interest. Intertwined with Cold-War realities of the day, the political machinations to solicit both financial and practical support for the Nubian salvage work resulted in securing exhibition rights for the first of several international displays of Tutankhamun’s treasures to tour the United States of America between November 1961 and January 1963 (Reeves 1990:212; Romer, 1993:19; Säve-Söderbergh, 1987:78). These exhibitions coincided with the publication of a commissioned work containing illustrations of the first-ever professionally colour-photographed artefacts recovered from the tomb (Desroches-Noblecourt, 1963).

In combination, these two events reversed a trend which, and following the decline in foreign archaeological fieldwork practice, had seen a coincidental decline in both professional and popular appreciation of the Tutankhamen material. Scholarly analyses of the tomb’s contents had never been published, both because of Carter’s death in 1939 and because of the political situation in Egypt (Reeves, 1990:67; James, 1992:386). This void was compounded by a sense of personal disengagement on the part of scholars: “Curiously enough, by the 1950s it was far from the tastes of many professionals. Most Egyptologists and many art historians, too, considered Tutankhamun’s treasures to be overblown and rather vulgar” (Romer, 1993:18). The exhibitions of the 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s, and the colourful publication of the tomb’s treasures renewed professional engagement and instilled a popular interest in Tutankhamen which in turn renewed interest in Egypt as a tourist destination (ibid.:18-21).

The military excursions of President Nasser in Yemen and Israel during 1967 caused this newly found tourism-interest to decline again. Only in 1974, under Sadat, and as part of the infitah or ‘Open Door’ industrial and economic policy, would priority be given to the development of the tourism industry (Lippman, 1989: 89, 99). It is significant, then, that the conscious development of the tourism industry, that is, the economic exploitation of Egypt’s archaeological potential, commenced as part of major economic restructuring efforts and following a period during which new Egyptological research, other than for salvage purposes, had seen a major period of decline. As with the construction of the Aswan High Dam, and through its connections with tourism, archaeological and heritage management practice had again become subordinate to the larger economic and development interests of the State.

Table 1.

Growth of the Egyptian tourism industry under President Anwar el-Sadat 1975 - 1980

                                 Source: Ministry of Tourism, Arab Republic of Egypt, in ADL, 1983 II-3.

 Under Sadat, renewed connections with pre-revolutionary Egyptian nationalism were established (Hassan, 1998:210), its associated Pharaonic imagery, which had never completely disappeared, now comfortably incorporated in the marketing requirements of the newly emphasised tourism industry. The extent to which the country’s ancient past and Pharaonic artistic achievements do indeed reflect a common national identity will depend on social class, education, professional specialisation and political astuteness of the individual concerned. The affirmative and enthusiastic response of the high-ranking Government Egyptologist when asked if Egyptians feel an ancestral link to the ancient Egyptians (Nova, 1997), incorporates all these: elements of biological and ethnographic truth, which are essentially those as cited by Pharaonicist proponents during the 1920s; personal and professional conviction; but also the positive ‘spin’ necessary for a successful, politically conceived, government tourism marketing strategy, which may advocate the continuing possibility of direct and personal contact with the very same people whose ancient art and history the tourists have come to admire. If the latter reflects a sense of identity at all, then it is not focused on the consciousness of the Egyptians themselves, but is directed at the spending power of the foreign visitor and in support of national political and economic interests.

Ideology, political will, resource allocation and heritage management

The evident tension which exists between the Supreme Council of Antiquities/Ministry of Culture on the one hand, and the Ministry of Tourism and the Luxor City Council on the other is worthy of note. The former, despite Government expectations of senior Egyptologists to contribute to popularising Egypt’s past in order to enhance Egypt’s tourism reputation, will vocationally be oriented towards such scientific and heritage perspectives as will also have been recognised by earlier Pharaonicist adherents. The latter’s appropriation of the archaeological past have found acceptance in the legitimacy of national industrial and economic development.

Whilst in practice economic and conservation issues may merge, as they do in the case of the Theban Necropolis, ideologically the respective viewpoints can be seen to reflect Egypt’s post-1922 political history. In a discussion of Egyptian heritage management practice, then, Egyptian political history in its various phases and with its various ideologies may constitute a theoretical framework which is at least in some part capable of explaining the individual and institutional inaction which has characterised the various development initiatives of the Luxor west bank. In practical terms, and on a subliminal level, they may have influenced, and possibly continue to do so, still, the decision making process and implementation of important heritage management measures. The ways and means in which this may occur are various, as reflected in the following possibilities:

a - government officials of an age-set whose formative years were politically influenced by the post-revolutionary pan-Arab ideology, which demonstrated little concern for either archaeological research or pro-active conservation work;

b - government officials with ideologically based views about national development who view archaeological sites as an economic resource, their use solely intended to maximise foreign currency earnings, at a risk of compromising the archaeological and landscape-cultural integrity of the site;

c - government officials who may either still view the monuments as the legacy of western colonial practice and the ideology of its attendant Pharaonicist Westernised elite, or who view supra-governmental (UNESCO) oversight as interference in domestic affairs;

d - government attitudes and bureaucratic practices which, whilst cognisant of the heritage value or economic potential of archaeological sites, nevertheless lack the political will to commit to long-term development plans. Since such plans require major allocation of funds or, in the absence thereof, imaginative alternative funding arrangements, politically situated notions of long-term value versus short-term resource allocation may be a factor here.

Aspects of all of the above may feed into:

e - tensions between the Ministry of Culture, incorporating the Supreme Council of Antiquities (previously known as the Egyptian Antiquities Organisation), and the Ministry of Tourism, over the conservation management of sites and their economic and tourism-development potential; and

f - political appointments of senior military personnel to the position of Governor, as in Luxor. Of similar age-set as under (aaa) and espousing policy objectives in line with government expectations of (post-1997) regional security and tourism development. Often coloured by their own specific ideas as to how to go about this, which may be due to political pressure from ‘above’ to meet set objectives. Appointees are in the main external to the region and have little identification with the local population and their cultural sensibilities.

It will be obvious that some of the above politically and economically situated dynamics have played their part when we review in Part II the various heritage management initiatives of the Luxor west bank. In their totality they represent a case study of heritage management practice relative to the communities occupying the Theban Necropolis during the 1980s and 1990s. The material reflects the difficulty of achieving long term results for a major community-focused heritage management project in Egypt. Despite World Heritage listing, and the certain moral weight which the ‘imagined’ global community of subscribers to the concept of ‘outstanding universal value’ has invested in and expects of UNESCO, after some fifty years of failed, ill-conceived or culturally inappropriate attempts, the successful and lasting integration of a contemporary community in an ancient landscape is still to be realised.

PART II

LOCAL REALITIES OF STATE SPONSORED HERITAGE MANAGEMENT

January 17^th, 1998

In so many ways, the muses occupy the landscape. Musical instruments are everywhere, and although out of sight and now mute, there is a truth in suggesting that the landscape of the Theban Necropolis is imbued with melody. Harps, lutes, flutes, tambourines, indeed entire orchestras figure prominently in the banquet scenes decorating the tomb chapels, illustrating scenes from the life of a tomb’s occupant as much as they represent his aspirations for the afterlife. Essentially secular –accompanying dancing-girls or livening up a dinner party – the presence of these instruments does not suggest that the once freshly painted and newly occupied tombs themselves were cloaked in silence, and that the rites associated with burial or the subsequent placement of offerings were performed in an atmosphere of quiet respect. The ancient funerary ceremonies may have included forms of religious vocal music accompanied by clapping, sistra or harp of the type assumed representative of temple music (Manniche,1988a:17).

Maybe the music never stopped. Exemplifying certain continuities of religious practice in the midst of a differently interpreted landscape, the haunting night-time melodies and chants of the contemporary Sufi zikhr performed at the annual mulid of Sheikh ‘Abd el-Qurna,[4] and the other commemorative zikhrs which regularly punctuate the night-sky, are therefore not too far removed from the sacred sounds which during Pharaonic times could be heard wafting down the hillside from differing points at any given time.

New sounds colour the landscape of the Necropolis today: the drone of tourist coach engines passing on their way to the Valley of the Kings, and the regular clatter of the empty oil barrel dancing in the metal frame of a water cart, racing down-hill behind its galloping donkey. The unintended by-products of certain kinds of activity taking place, these examples are nevertheless structuring features which in their own way symbolise two important aspects of the way Qurnawi experience the world, the sounds generated by them acting as powerful metaphors for the opposing interests, worldviews and lifestyles which in themselves contain the seeds of dissonance that lie at the heart of this discussion.

But a third sound, heard not before forty years, by contrast is generated intentionally, as if music, yet serving a simple commercial purpose. The metallic ring of the butagaz merchant can be heard throughout the foothills’ hamlets. Reaching behind him from the driver’s seat of his donkey-cart, or leaving the task to his young assistant sitting on top of the cannisters, the gas-seller signals his approach by hitting at regular intervals the blue gas cylinders, the adjustable spanner which is the tool of his trade used to toll his bells, their sound depending on proximity ranging from a distant sistra-like chime to an ear-splitting clangour.

On the morning of Saturday, January 17^th, 1998, one could have thought that the rapid succession of sounds punctuating the Necropolis were in fact those of the gas merchant. Other than as metaphor, they were not: as if fuelled by the contents of the imaginary gas cylinders, a potentially explosive situation which had been brewing for some time, under the influence of the Ramadan-induced cigarette-abstinence when tempers are short and known to inflame without too little provocation, quickly grew from potentially confrontational to outright hostility. The volley of shots which were fired in an attempt to quell the riot left four people dead and several injured. The day ended in un-seasonal darkness, the festive strings of Ramadan lighting which decorates the hillside mosque and houses at this time of the year extinguished in mourning, the sounds of women wailing once again piercing the night-sky.

Following the forced evictions of Luxor Temple in 1933, the January 17^th, 1998, incident was the first in Thebes’ modern history where force was used to settle a housing issue. The 1948 example of New Qurna as a means to negotiate the delicacy of eviction and relocation seemingly forgotten, it was also the first instance where violence erupted in response to government intervention. Events leading up to the chaos of riot are by definition and of necessity mostly inherently messy and confused. It is to be expected that such events as reported in the press are likewise often convoluted, if only in evidence of the complexity of the circumstances involved. The events surrounding, and the subsequent reporting of, the January 17^th riot form no exception.

On January 17^th, Agence France Press (AFP, 1998) reported that clashes “erupted in Gurna after a large contingent of police massed in the village on the Nile’s west bank on Saturday morning in a bid to force residents to relocate to another site”. The report is based on information obtained from the Interior Ministry which issued the statement that “villagers attacked a police unit which was protecting municipal employees who came to destroy residents’ huts that were illegally built on an archaeological site in Gurna”.  On January 18^th, AFP elaborated that “the village dwellings are around, on and in the area’s numerous Pharaonic tombs [and] on the edge of the Valley of the Kings and Valley of the Queens Pharaonic burial grounds” (ibid.). Apparently confusing the name of larger al-Qurna with the Noble Tombs area of Sheikh ‘Abd el-Qurna, media representation mistook unrest surrounding housing in larger al-Qurna – at some distance from the Noble Tombs settlement – for the more specific issue of evacuation of the foothills. Reuters, citing security sources, reported that the riots involved residents whose homes “lie near Luxor’s Pharaonic tourist sites,” and resulted from the new governor enacting eviction notices issued “several years ago,” adding for good measure that “the Moslem fasting month of Ramadan and lower incomes after the November massacre of 57 tourists in the town made finding new homes difficult” (Reuters, 1998).

The disturbance had in fact commenced in el-Taref, the densely populated urban area of al-Qurna to the north of the Seti I temple and west of the al-Fadliyya irrigation canal. Despite 1981 and 1983 building prohibitions, new construction had continued apace, with recent housing now also expanding in westerly direction. It was here that the Supreme Council of Antiquities had recently allocated land to a family from Sheikh ‘Abd el-Qurna, in exchange for a partial reduction in size of the family house there. The el-Taref plot had subsequently been developed by one of the family's married sons, the construction of the modern house perceived by others as a precedent legitimising further construction in that area and prompting them to stake claims by erecting low temporary walls around the plots of their choice.

Much of el-Taref is of importance for its Palaeolithic lithic technology and early dynastic and Middle Kingdom burial grounds, investigated by Polish and German archaeologists during the 1970s (Ginter et. al, 1979; Arnold, 1976). The case can be argued that the Theban Necropolis is in effect much larger and has a much greater time-depth than suggested by the emphasis on the predominantly 18^th, 19^th and 20^th dynasty World Heritage listed burial places of the Theban Mountain. Even if not qualified in these terms, but more likely in consequence of a three kilometre buffer zone which surrounds the Necropolis as prescribed by Antiquities Law No. 117, and notwithstanding rampant urban expansion, the area is viewed as a protected ‘Monumental Zone’ by the Luxor City Council. It was on these grounds that council workers under police protection moved in to demolish the newly erected enclosure walls. On the available evidence, it seems that Luxor City Council intentions were not directed towards established and occupied dwellings, although it is possible that, as the melée moved away from its point of origin towards the more densely built-up area near the irrigation canal where most of the violence occurred, some of those who joined along the way may have been led to believe that larger housing issues were at stake. But in reality, and contrary to press reports or local perceptions, the scene of the fracas and its origin never concerned evacuations and demolitions in the foothills proper.

The press reports, for lack of the true dynamics underpinning these events, can only indirectly account for any role played by antiquities legislation or heritage management objectives. Their effective absence requires some broader lines to be inked in as, indeed, the emphasis on the Pharaonic monuments in those press reports seems in stark contrast with the actions of Supreme Council of Antiquities officials trading-off archaeological sites considered of little apparent artistic (and therefore tourism) appeal, in favour of the decorated tombs in the foothills. If the realities of present-day heritage management are such that, notwithstanding any remaining scientific merit, choices between preservation and sacrifice have to be made, then it is understandable that the decisions involved, if not communicated properly, may leave local Council officials as well as the village population confused.

Community concerns about the scale or timing of relocations are exacerbated by Luxor City Council paying lip-service to its own understanding of the el-Taref area as a ‘monumental zone’, seemingly arbitrarily acting in the way it did on January 17^th, whilst otherwise closing a blind eye to uncontrolled construction in el-Taref. Following the archaeological work of the 1970s, el-Taref in ever-increasing amounts of concrete and baked-brick constructions continues to expand across the area of the German Archaeological Institute survey (Dorner, in Arnold, 1976), now covering or encroaching on the 11^th dynasty royal tombs, one of which (Saff el-Dawaba) was drawn by Vivant Denon in 1799 (Denon, 1803, Vol. 2:190, Plate XXI, figure 2; also reproduced in Clayton, 1982:113), and obliterating remains of the few 4^th dynasty mastaba tombs in the area which were excavated and restored by the German Archaeological Institute during the 1970s (Arnold, 1976).

The incident which took place in el-Taref on January 17^th, 1998, highlights the separation between, and the closely guarded independence of many an Egyptian government department. Combined in a deadly mix of perceived or real bureaucratic inconsistency and a brutal police response, the physical encounter which ensued from the differing interpretations of applicable laws by the Supreme Council of Antiquities and Luxor City Council officials, created true victims out of ordinary villagers who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.[5] At best characterised as an overreaction on the part of the police (Jenkins, 1998), by its very nature, the incident nevertheless raised concerns about the heavy-handed government response, the issue of police brutality during the incident eventually the subject of an investigation by the Egyptian Organisation for Human Rights (EOHR, 1998:18-20).

Despite the misrepresentations, the incidents which took place in Qurna on January 17^th, 1998, offered the world through the electronic and print media a first glimpse of the ultimate measure in the history of protecting the Necropolis, that of eviction and relocation. If Hassan Fathy’s New Qurna experiment still mystified the reality of the issue in lines of architectural elegance, then the el-Taref killings demonstrated in all their ugliness the other extreme in the spectrum of possibilities.

Whilst the range of social possibilities in which relocation initiatives can take effect encompass these two extremes, from harmonious compliance and peaceful adaptation to public disturbance and violent resistance, the social impact and quality of the relocation process is in the main not considered beyond the utility and aesthetics of the alternative accommodation itself. Even then, such usefulness and visual appeal will only be secondary, and of necessity be the by-product of the architect’s response to his primary brief, which is to provide alternative accommodation in order to facilitate the harmonious and peaceful evacuation of the Necropolis. The idea that any new village must be culturally and socially appropriate for Qurnawi to accept relocation has not meant, as evidenced by the most recent design changes, that specific design details obtained through community consultation are not readily altered or sacrificed altogether if such is deemed politically expedient. If the detail of Qurnawi social life is considered expendable by urban planners and government officials, the bigger picture which obtains from such detail may escape them altogether, such as the social and economic maladjustment and the potential for longer-term trauma associated with an indigenous community having to vacate ancestral grounds. Or, indeed, the spectre of armoured personnel carriers maintaining a curfew on the road along the foothills, as was the case on the night of January 17^th.

Consultants’ reports and heritage management proposals

The removal of Qurnawi from the Theban foothills and the destruction of their hamlets would leave a desert landscape only of interest to the Egyptological community and those visitors who have the specific desire or sufficient residual energy to visit the Noble Tombs. In this sense of such specific academic and recreational usage, the ultimate objective framing the architect’s brief, that is, the clearance of indigenous human occupation from the Necropolis, then, is conceptually only a small step removed from such management strategies and institutional arrangements as embodied in national parks and museums, where distinct categories of people come to consume a particular kind of cultural or natural experience. The inscription of sites of cultural or natural significance in the World Heritage List raises the profile of these sites by degrees and to the point where visitation effectively becomes a museum experience. Other than in so-called ‘heritage cities’, the concept is generally incompatible with the idea of a contemporary, living community occupying that same space, where the visitor, inevitably caught up in the dynamics of certain tourism industry-induced phenomena, has to negotiate that space with members of the local population, and where the necessary personal encounters involved are being perceived as a possible devaluation of the expected, desired, and paid-for experience.[6]

That the resident community in fact may add to that experience seems anathema to heritage managers: “‘You can’t have donkeys and cows in a world-class archaeological site,’ one high-ranking antiquities official exclaimed when questioned about the aesthetics of the village” (Jenkins, 1999). It should therefore come as no surprise that, during the mid-1970s and around the same time as the Theban Necropolis was being considered for World Heritage listing, heritage management proposals conceptually akin to that of an open-air museum were being recommended for the Necropolis.[7]

It is instructive to review the mechanisms of production and dissemination of these heritage management proposals. Mainly commissioned by Egyptian Government departments from independent, external, and often foreign consulting firms, they are predominantly funded by various forms of international development aid or financial assistance. The business of international consulting which underpins these proposals has, in the context of the Theban Necropolis and its communities, come to represent one of the external factors to impact on local indigenous cultural manifestations, and they therefore merit reflection. Absorbing a notable part of international assistance to developing countries, the cost of consulting fees – apart from locally employed staff – largely return to the developed world and therefore only constitute a form of indirect aid to the developing country concerned. Indirect, since the recommendations contained in their reports may or may not be implemented, and their guaranteed benefit to the recipient community concerned is therefore not secured when the money is spent. From the point of view of the commissioning Government department, one is at times left with the impression that these studies were commissioned simply because funds were available, rather than because of a demonstrated intention to implement their recommendations. For politically conscious decision-makers, foreign consultants’ reports may have represented one more episode of foreign intervention, over which Egyptians could never claim any real ownership, thereby undermining the political will to implement their recommendations. On a local level, external expert advice may be contrary to local and culturally held perceptions, or altogether not be in the best interest of the community affected by consultants’ recommendations. Such was the case at al-Qurna.

Reports are in the main compiled by architectural and town planning consultants, in some instances assisted where need be by sociologists and archaeologists. A characteristic of these consultants’ urban planning reports is that they, despite commonalities in their terms of reference, are separated in time, seemingly unrelated in terms of their commission-history and evidently not representing individual phases of a gradually evolving master-plan. Even where an individual consultant contributes to evidently separate consulting projects, his participation in both has obviously more to do with his successful tendering on the basis of prior experience than it is the result of a certain continuity in urban planning design and implementation. They often lack knowledge of previous consulting work,[8] or only contain minimal referencing to other studies, thus reinforcing their seemingly disparate relationship. Lifting the individual recommendations out of these various reports and viewing them against the background landscape of the Theban Necropolis, one could argue that the history of protection and management of the Necropolis seems littered with ideas, suggestions and recommendations which have either been ignored (some thankfully so), partially implemented, or reversed, only to be superseded by subsequent consultants’ reports suffering a similar fate.

Interaction with a number of consultants who are working or have worked in Egypt, and who at various times were involved in some of the studies here discussed, offered a glimpse of the internal political environment which prevailed in Egypt during the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s when much consulting work was being carried out. Their combined remarks reveal the background against which the partial or non-implementation of most recommendations must be seen (specific project details have been withheld to protect the identity of informants):

There was in fact fairly vicious warfare going on between Tourism and Antiquities which was normal and quite predictable with the winning side varying from year to year dependent on who were the lead personalities at the time in question, the state of the economy in general and the level of tourism revenues in particular. It was all pretty unedifying. As Luxor was seen as the cash cow and the salvation of Egypt, anyone who dared to frustrate any initiative from Tourism or local entrepreneurs was treated with deep suspicion. In fact anyone who spoke openly against any tourism project was soon removed from office, if in the public sector. But what did result was that when the Government went to the World Bank for funds, the Bank said ‘Hold on, we need something coherent, producing value for money and balancing all the interests involved’. After many years of argument and dispute the components of the overall project for Luxor were agreed – much to the disgruntlement of the Government. Even then the Government dropped (or found ways of not proceeding) with any aspect that they disagreed with. But on the whole, I think, some benefit has come from it all.

Given this socio-political climate, the evident non-implementation of consultants’ recommendations are in evidence of an internally embroiled, inefficient bureaucratic machinery, and the lack of political will to implement urban planning and heritage management recommendations. In their totality, the reports sighted also suggest the marketing skills of specialist heritage management and urban planning consultants or (cynically) their ability to sense where and when project funding is available, even if they may expect that their advice will be largely ignored.

Yet, the comment with which the above quotation closes seems indeed to reflect reality in that, despite the discontinuity, some developments have, nevertheless, taken place. Possibly inspired by the earlier recommendations, it may be that in their totality consulting reports provide at least a subconscious basis from which later management and development proposals are drawn, even if by that time officials in charge can no longer recall precisely the source of their inspiration. The reasons for opening up additional tombs in the Necropolis to take pressure off frequently visited tombs, as recently stated by a senior Supreme Council of Antiquities official (Nasar, 2000:27), follows a rationale which harks back to consultants’ reports made almost two decades ago, indicating that some recommendations are either remembered or subconsciously perceived as making good sense. Intentionally or inadvertently attributable to recommendations which were previously discarded, forgotten, amended or only partially implemented, the ultimate if incremental development of the Luxor west bank thus gradually emerged, its execution conceivably constituting a master-plan by default, and even if often characterised by faulty execution.

These interdepartmental rivalries, so often brought up in conversations with indigenous and expatriate consultants working in Egypt, may frustrate the best intentions of development planners. They are also one of the reasons why it is now extremely difficult to arrive at a history of consultants’ activity in the Necropolis, the ‘archaeological excavation’ of that recommendations’ ‘littered’ landscape a virtual impossibility by virtue of the effective inaccessibility of consultants’ reports. As one consultant commented: “My report was a nuisance, hence there will be no record of it in Egypt at all, I guess”.

The above statement reflects an issue which touches on a larger concern. Consultants reports are generally difficult to locate, even if they do exist. Not published in the official sense, library holdings will not include them, and one is dependent on the co-operation of the commissioning Government agency. Problems of accessibility are compounded by the fact that, even though the Theban Necropolis is a UNESCO World Heritage listed site, there is no protocol in place which would require all publications relevant to the management of World Heritage Sites to be archived with UNESCO. In the case of Egypt, this state of affairs is particularly disconcerting. As UNESCO’s local agent, Egypt alone is responsible for the management of its ancient monuments. The many consultants’ reports commissioned by Egyptian Government departments during the past 20-odd years, unless commissioned by UNESCO, seemingly do not reach the archives of the UNESCO World Heritage Centre archives in Paris, despite the provision of such documents to be provided as part of the periodic reporting process (UNESCO, 1999:24, paragraph 78 I.3.c.). In several instances, important consulting work could only be accessed by – sometimes fortuitously – locating one of the consultants involved and being allowed to use their personal copy. Correspondence with US-based consulting firms or their commissioning Egyptian government agencies was generally ineffective. Even if commissioned by UNESCO, the reports remain confidential and restricted unless approval for release is given by the member state, in this case Egypt. Written requests to Egyptian officials for such documents have remained unanswered. As a result, the documents which underpin and inform Egyptian heritage management practices are largely inaccessible for external evaluation.

It will be impracticable to review here in detail the known consultants’ reports. The following list is not inclusive of all reports,[9] but consist of those the present writer has been able to access during fieldwork in Egypt:

Luxor – Ancient Thebes: A Report to UNESCO by Michael Welbank of Shankland Cox Partnership. The Welbank Report, as it has become known, is of importance in the history of protection of the Theban Necropolis, in that it was the first of several to consider heritage management and infrastructural developments in the Luxor area. The report itself is undated but suggests 1976, even if a reconstruction of the timing and events which gave rise to this study remain somewhat problematic. The report pre-dates the 1979 inscription of ‘Ancient Thebes and its necropolis’ in the World Heritage List, and therefore makes no reference to it, but nevertheless does consider the area part of “the world’s cultural heritage” (Welbank, n.d.: 40,43). The commission for the study came from the UNESCO Division of Cultural Heritage, who at that period is said to have commissioned many such studies relating to sites and monuments under threat from urbanisation and tourism. In this instance, UNESCO involvement resulted from Egyptian proposals to build a bridge across the Nile in the centre of Luxor, an issue considered “pivotal” at the time and one which had strong backing from the Ministry of Tourism and local entrepreneurs. Significantly, initially the Egyptian Antiquities Organisation was not concerned but was pressured into adopting a contrary position when confronted by an Egyptian UNESCO official who was instrumental in arranging the Welbank consultancy.

Study on Visitor Management and Associated Investments on the West Bank of the Nile at Luxor, the major study of the Luxor west bank, co-ordinated by consulting contractor Arthur D. Little International, Inc. (ADL) between 1981 and 1983 was commissioned by the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Civil Aviation, and funded in part from a credit of the International Development Association (IDA), the World Bank’s concessional lending affiliate (ADL, 1983:i). The ADL study is wide-ranging and essentially economic in intent, but is, inevitably, concerned with the west bank antiquities: “The principal objective of this study has been to make recommendations which will allow Egypt to derive greater benefits, both near- and long-term, from its resources on the West Bank of the Nile at Luxor and at the same time preserve the antiquities, which are threatened as a result of the growing popularity” (ADL, 1983:I-1). Much of the data concern the maximisation of visitor flows to the various west bank archaeological sites, and proposals towards enriching the tourist’s experience of these sites for the purpose of maximising tourism industry revenue both for Luxor and the Egyptian economy as a whole. (ibid.:IV-107-121). One of its topics, “the adoption and implementation of an agreed upon environmental policy for the West Bank” recommends that “in the close proximity of the tombs and monuments the aim should be to reproduce the atmosphere of its original condition and natural topography” (ADL, 1983:IV-122). The measures prescribed are designed to preserve the authenticity of the area, now less for the archaeologically purist rationale of “restituer à la colline entière sa physionomie d’autrefois” (Maspero, 1912:XXXIV), but “as a resource in itself” (ADL, 1983:VIII-1). The report, however, acknowledges that these measures are “negative measures”, that the people of the ‘Tourist Protected Area’, together with the antiquities and agricultural zone, also “form part of the West Bank’s environment”, and that “by constricting development options, a heavy burden unnecessarily is placed on the local people” (ibid.). The West Bank Social Impact study which forms part of the ADL report (1981b:80-118; 1983:VIII-1-20), recognises that social and demographic issues, whilst applicable to most of rural Egypt, are compounded “by the concern with conserving the physical environment and maintaining an attractive and amiable setting for tourism” (ADL, 1983:VIII-1). The report identified four issues: 1) employment opportunities; 2) land for housing expansion; 3) expanded opportunities for the investment of local capital; and 4) improved social services (ibid.:7).

New el-Taref Community Brief, developed as part of the ADL study and in response to above issue (2) of the future needs of west bank inhabitants. The ADL report envisages housing needs not just for the purpose of an enforced evacuation of heritage areas, but sees the need for housing clearly in the context of future demographic, economic and social conditions, which can only increasingly and negatively impact on the monumental areas if no action is taken: “Increasing pressures to build on the West Bank, in spite of the building ban, pose a real threat to the existing West Bank environmental setting” (ibid.:VIII-15). To relieve housing pressures, especially in that area “associated with the archaeological sites, particularly the Tombs of the Nobles” (ibid.:VIII-2), the ADL report argues that: “

A large tract of land exists on the West Bank which, although belonging to the Antquities Organization, is free of any antiquities. This land could be used for a new community project for the people of Gourna. In the past, the area has been proposed as a site for a housing project to which inhabitants of the Gourna foothills (roughly 1000 families living, in many instances, close to or upon tombs) would relocate. The relocation project has never been implemented, mainly because of the high cost of building housing units, but also because of difficulties in deciding which Government agencies would have proper jurisdiction over such a project (ADL, 1983:VIII-14).

Considering that the present road which separates east from west el-Taref is only a modern demarcation, and remembering that eastern el-Taref itself is an archaeological area now being traded-off by SCA officials against artistically more valued sites, the question remains how the desert tract of west el-Taref can indeed be claimed to be ‘free of any antiquities’. What is of interest in the ADL reference to an earlier designation of the west el-Taref site, is that the reasons for its non-development are at least in part those of bureaucratic demarcation which also contributed to the demise of Hassan Fathy’s New Qurna.

El-Gurna Region Resident Relocation Study and New El-Tarif Village Planning Through Community Participation – Terms of Reference, the Physical Planning Committee of the Luxor City Council commissioned Terms of Reference for the New el-Taref design study and eventual construction, 1992. The document was produced from US Agency for International Assistance (USAID) funds. USAID ‘Local Development II’ project funds (USAID, 1996:80), and more specifically the ‘Action Area Planning’ program assisting local development projects that involved citizen action, were used to identify as a matter of priority the development and relocation of el-Qurna. The ensuing work of the Luxor planning committee gained further momentum when President Hosni Mubarak visited Luxor during 1992 and instructed officials to proceed with the development of el-Qurna as a tourist site.[10] The TOR must be viewed as an outcome of the ADL Taref New Community Brief simply because there appear too many commonalities for this not to be the case. It is unclear why there is a time-span of nine years between the submission of the ADL final report and these TOR, although a renewed interest in an evacuation of the Theban Necropolis may be linked to a general downturn in the tourism industry at that time, relating to both the international and the national political situation, and also prompting Mubarak’s visit to Luxor.

In many respects the paper stands as a model for the conceptualisation of a project of this scale, raising expectations that a well-conceived and implemented resettlement scheme might prove most favourable to the interests of Qurnawi if relocation was indeed to become inevitable. In answer to the USAID funding criteria, the TOR heavily emphasises the importance of a participating local community, with the advocated planning process one that is based on “local characteristics, and one which can be implemented within local limitations and available resources, including raw materials, labour and building traditions. (…) Physical plan preparation shall rely primarily on local village-level capabilities and capacities [whilst] participation in the planning process by local executives, elected officials, and other representatives of the residents will also lead to the development of local capabilities” (LCC, 1992:7). The document also asserts the distinctive quality of the foothills community: “the region is presently characterized by close social, economic and family ties. Preserving these is a precondition to the construction and development of the new village” (LCC, 1992:4). It also implies a recognition of the distinct cultural landscape which the Theban foothills represent for many. Apart from demolition and clean-up of the evacuated areas, the Physical Plan also stipulates that “selected houses should be preserved as technical, architectural, and historical relics” (LCC, 1992:10), involving prior “research and documentation of the existing old El-Gurna village [and] detailed drawings for the samples of the most important five buildings in each hamlet” (ibid.:23).  The document remains silent about whose value judgements are accepted and what specific qualities constitute those sample buildings as ‘most important.’

The issue points to the weakest aspect of the TOR, namely its disregard for the historic and archaeological qualities of the west bank. The TOR also ignores the archaeological potential of the larger west bank area, accepting the location of New el-Taref because it was situated “further away from the antiquities resulting in preliminary approval from the General Authority of Antiquities” (LCC, 192:5). Yet, where it states that “prior to planning and design, the consulting firm shall examine the proposed site to verify its suitability for the project” (ibid.), the results are nevertheless to be discussed with the LCC Physical Planning Committee in order to arrive at a final selection of the site, and not with the (then) Egyptian Antiquities Organisation. The fact that the archaeological authorities are ignored in this process suggests that little attention is paid to any further archaeological site surveys. Despite its closing statement that the new el-Taref project is “to preserve the world’s wealthiest antiquity region” (LCC, 1992:25), the lack of such archaeological site surveys made the New el-Taref project one which was controversial right from the start, sparking “the fiercest archaeological dispute in Egypt for many years” (Walker, 1993) and prompting concerns amongst members of the European Parliament (McMillan-Scott, 1993). The project was criticised by staff at the Faculty of Archaeology at Cairo University, Professor Nemat Ahmed Fouad and Dr. Ali Radwan, who questioned the proximity of the project to the el-Taref 11^th dynasty royal tombs and the lack of prior archaeological exploration in the area of west el-Taref (Walker, 1993). As a result, the national press fostered the impression that the plan was to build a new town on the west bank, in the process damaging antiquities. Popular support for New el-Taref was further compromised by the USAID association with the project, with Egyptian journalists reporting the plan as essentially being a US initiative.

Engineering Systems and Consultants (ESC), engineering and architectural consultants under the direction of Dr. Mohammed Fahmy Hussein, produced a fully-fledged design study for the construction of a village at New el-Taref. The ESC commission must be assumed to have been the outcome of the tendering process set in train by the 1992 TOR. The ESC study was conducted during 1994-1995, with the 5 volume final report released during 1995 (Hussein, 1995). The project involved extensive fieldwork which included both an architectural and a social survey of the foothills’ communities. These surveys resulted in advanced architectural drawings for the new village, the social survey component providing the basis for the architectural ideas and offering continuities between life as lived in the foothills and that anticipated to establish itself on the desert west of el-Taref. In its entirety, the village in many respects constituted a ‘model’ village, as earlier advocated by Hassan Fathy and as enshrined in the ADL design brief. Insights gained from the New el-Taref design studies, in turn, have continued to influence the practice of Egyptian architects (el-Din, 1995; Rashed, 1994).

UNESCO Mission to Thebes 17-18 November 1994, headed by B. Fonquernie, Chief Architect, Inspector General of Historic Monuments, France. Although primarily in Egypt to study the possibility for the resettlement of Nubian families on the banks of Lake Nasser and to design a program for landscaping around several of the Upper Egyptian rescued temples, the mission “was also asked to state its views on the possible clearance of the archaeological sites in Thebes occupied by houses and commercial activities” (Fonquernie, 1995:ii). The mission was conducted at the request of the Division of Cultural Heritage of UNESCO. The report does not state the reasons which prompted that request. The mission was conducted during the time when the Fahmy Hussein study for the design of New el-Taref was well under way. In fact, the social survey of al-Qurna was to commence just ten days after the departure of Fonquernie. It must therefore be assumed that the UNESCO mission resulted from certain concerns raised about the eventual relocation, no matter who raised these concerns or how they were communicated.[11] No references are provided, except that Dr. Mohamed Nasr, then Director General for the Monuments of the west bank, provided “information on the project to clear the archaeological sites of Thebes” (ibid.). The report makes mention of “the survey of the dwellings” (ibid.:61), indicating the existence of 2,245 houses “of which 43% appear to have been built immediately above tombs and 30% close to them” (ibid.). The ability to make that assessment would have been beyond the two days available to the mission, and it must be concluded that Fonquernie had access to data generated by Fahmy Hussein and his architectural survey team. Fonquernie took a year to produce his report, but the overall tone is surprisingly even-handed. Egyptologists’ understanding (Nasr) of the problem resonates throughout, but Fonquernie is nevertheless capable of looking beyond such discourse to see the broader cultural issues:

It is an undeniable fact that the bustling life of this area today is an exceptional attraction for visitors who are not immersed solely in the rigours of a purely archaeological site extending over thousands of hectares. The very perception of the houses, their crowded presence, the subtle play of the coloured facades and the noises of village activities create constant animation and gaiety which are not generally encountered on archaeological sites where aridity and absence of any human life are the order of the day (Fonquernie, 1995:62).

Despite its eloquence in stating the issues clearly, the report went unnoticed during the 1998 World Heritage Committee’s Twenty-second session in Kyoto, Japan, where concerns about the Necropolis once more were being stated, resulting in further UNESCO petitions to the Egyptian Government and prompting another mission, in May 2001, this time by ICOMOS, to investigate the issue of housing inside the Necropolis.

Helwan University Faculty of Engineering consulting engineers in charge of finalising the New el-Taref design study and supervising its implementation for the Luxor City Council. Based in large measure on the previous designs of ESC, the social component of which they considered “near perfect”. Their engagement with the ESC material took place on two levels, 1) redesigning elements perceived as falling short of what was required and 2) to further develop the detailed technical specifications for which the original ESC study was either not the appropriate place or which had been cut short when ESC became decommissioned. Certain design changes may also have been incorporated for reasons of intellectual property right, and to achieve a stylistic imprint most readily identifiable as obtaining from Helwan University Engineers.

Although funded by the Ministry of Housing, Utilities, and Urban Communities (MHUUC) (50%) and the Ministry of Culture (50%), Helwan University was given its commission by Luxor City Council who officially manages the project. Consultants remarked that officials most involved are themselves employees of LCC and not interested on a personal level. Ultimate decisions require the approval of the funding ministries. Planning decisions are taken at meetings between LCC, a Local Planning Committee (which includes representatives of Qurnawi) and the consultants. Helwan University consultants claimed to have had 11-13 of such meetings with the Local Planning Committee. Through this consultative process, the move to el-Taref had been made attractive by offering Qurnawi larger spaces than they previously held, and houses built in modern materials. Even though cheaper to build and maintain, associations of backwardness attached to mud-brick and wood, and concerns about ants, developers alleged that modern construction techniques and the certain status these convey are now favoured. In addition, traditional construction techniques were claimed to be insufficiently strong to support extra storeys beyond the two initially planned. Seemingly unaware of the stated intentions of the original TOR and the subsequent MHUUC/UNDP proposals towards adaptive re-use of some of the hillside dwellings (see below), Helwan engineers expected that some of the original houses might be retained to preserve the existing hillside landscape, but likely as shells without roofs and in a near ruined state to prevent people from moving back or new occupants being attracted by them. Projections underpinning the Helwan University designs cover a 20 year period to 2017, and are based on eventual occupancy of 15,000 people. However, to date, the projected LE350m required is not available from Egyptian sources and international funding for the project – which in the event could achieve completion in 2 or 3 years – has not been forthcoming.

The Comprehensive Development for the City of Luxor Project (CDCL) is an initiative jointly funded by the Ministry of Housing, Utilities and Urban Communities (MHUUC), the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), and UN Habitat, the United Nations Human Settlements Programme. The project seeks to design and implement “ways to accommodate projected growth in population, tourism and agriculture while preserving and enhancing the antiquities to absorb the escalation in tourism” (Abarahm and Tilney, 1998). A ‘Luxor City Profile’ was prepared during 1996 (IDC, 1996), with targeted design work by the US consulting firm Abt and Associates commencing in April 1997, its twenty-year duration coinciding with the year in which full occupancy of New el-Taref is projected, 2017. The scope of the entire project is far reaching and exists of two main components. First, the ‘Structure and Heritage Plan’ develops recommendations for 1) the reclamation of agricultural lands; 2) hotel and commercial zones; 3) new residential communities; 4) port facilities south of the city and 5) upgrading of roads. Second, the ‘Development Strategies and Associated Investments’ component entails the development of six investment concepts designed to address Luxor’s development needs over the next twenty years and to realise the Structure and Heritage Plan. These investment initiatives include 1) the redevelopment of Luxor as an open-air museum; 2) voluntary relocation of villages; 3) new urban developments and tourist zones; 4) Pharaonic tomb preservation; 5) agricultural development and 6) an international fund for the preservation of antiquities (Abraham and Tilney, 1998). These are not individual projects but constitute “central development objectives, each containing several individual investments” (ibid.).

Although included amongst the investment strategies projected by Abt and Associates, and despite press reports which link the al-Qurna resettlement plans with the MHUUC/UNDP program (Salem, 1997), the New el-Taref and west bank resettlement schemes are not included in the project, apart from investment funding for the west bank resettlement scheme which will be sought through CDCL, as well as some minor developments. From a heritage management perspective, nevertheless, these minor developments are of interest for the way they reflect the interpretations and judgements made.

Abt and Associates consultants interviewed in Luxor accept resettlement of the foothills hamlets as ‘given’ and no issue is taken with that decision as such, even if they do not agree with the destruction of the foothills cultural landscape. They see their involvement come into play where Helwan University’s commission ends, with a focus to soften some of the impact which may result from relocation. CDCL concerns with the west bank are thus limited to the conservation of two of the foothills’ northern hamlets, Ghabat and Attiyyat, thus escaping the projected destruction of the other inhabited areas. One of the two hamlets to be retained will be leased out as artisan studios during the day, with craftsmen returning to New el-Taref at night. The second hamlet will be preserved as a vernacular display village to give tourists a flavour of ‘what it was like’. Both concepts in fact constitute so much ‘cinema’, the term locally used for make-believe processes of especially alabaster-ware production intended to lure tourists to the points of sale. Like the display village, t