hayashida-archaeology ecological history

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Archaeology, EcologicalHistory, and Conservation

Frances M. Hayashida

Department of Anthropology, Pennsylvania State University, University Park,Pennsylvania 16802; email: [email protected]

Annu. Rev. Anthropol.2005. 34:4365

First published online as aReview in Advance on

June 14, 2005

The Annual Review ofAnthropology is online atanthro.annualreviews.org

doi: 10.1146/annurev.anthro.34.081804.120515

Copyright c 2005 by

Annual Reviews. All rightsreserved

0084-6570/05/1021-0043$20.00

Key Words

applied archaeology, anthropogenic landscapes, vegetation history,

human impacts, land-use legacies

Abstract

Ecologists have increasingly turned to history, including human his-

tory, to explain and manage modern ecosystems and landscapes. The

imprint of past land use can persist even in seemingly pristine areas.

Archaeology provides a long-term perspective on human actions and

their environmental consequences that can contribute to conserva-

tion and restoration efforts. Case studies illustrate examples of thehuman history of seemingly pristine landscapes, forest loss and re-

covery, and the creation or maintenance of places that today are

valued habitats. Finally, as archaeologists become more involved in

research directed at contemporary environmental issues, they need

to consider the potential uses and abuses of their findings in man-

agement and policy debates.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

CLASSES OF EVIDENCE . . . . . . . . . 46

HUMAN IMPACTS ON

VEGETATION. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Overexploitation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Alternatives to Overexploitation. . . 48CASE STUDIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

Anthropogenic Landscapes:

Southern Sweden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

Anthropogenic Landscapes:

Tropical Forests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52

SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION . . . 56

INTRODUCTION

Ecologists and conservation biologists have

discovered the deep human past, long the

province of archaeologists. Browse through

their recent books and journals and you will

find a growing number of studies that con-

sider archaeological evidence to explain and

manage current environments. This trend

can be tied to (a) an increasing interest in

how historical processes shape modern land-

scapes, (b) the recognition that humans are

part of landscape history even in areas longthought of as pristine, and (c) the emergence

of restoration ecology with its goal of aiding

the recovery of degraded ecosystems using

historical reference conditions. At the same

time, archaeologists have begun to realize the

potential application of their work to cur-

rent environmental research, management,

and policy (Cox et al. 1995, Erickson 2003,

Erlandson 2005, Fisher & Feinman 2005,

Lauwerier & Plug 2004, Louwe Kooijmans

1995, Lyman 1996, Macinnes & Wickham-Jones 1992, Peacock & Shauwecker 2003,

Redman 1999, Spriggs2001, van der Leeuw &

Redman 2002). The development of histori-

cal ecology, whichexamines the relationships

of humans and the biosphere in specific tem-

poral, regional, cultural, and biotic contexts

(Balee 1998b; see also Crumley 1994) has also

triggered a rethinking of the long-term dy-

namics of nature and culture and their study

through the archaeological and paleoenviron-

mental records.

The explicit incorporation of archaeol-

ogy into studies of current ecosystems, or

into conservation or restoration planning, is

still incipient. A number of recent essays andstudies have demonstrated the relevance of

zooarchaeology to wildlife management (Kay

& Simmons 2002, Lauwerier & Plug 2004,

Lyman 1996, Lyman & Cannon 2004). Here,

I join the discussion with a review of archaeol-

ogys actual and potential contribution to un-

derstanding the history, long-term dynamics,

and lasting effects of human impacts on vege-

tation and consider the implications of this

work for ecology and conservation. Such a

review is particularly timely as debates heatup over the disposition and management of

landscapes and resources in the United States

and abroad (e.g., the resilience of forests to

exploitation, the extent to which human ac-

tions aidor mimic natural processes, therights

of indigenous groups to continued occupa-

tion or use of protected areas). These debates

are fundamentally political and ethical in na-

ture, but they are informed by the findings of

researchers. Clearly, oversimplified assump-

tions about anthropogenic impacts and hu-man nature based on an incomplete or skewed

understanding of the past can only lead to

misguided practices and policies.Archaeology

can inform these debates by providing infor-

mation on human actions and their environ-

mental consequences over very long periods

of time, a fact appreciated by ecologists who

look to the archaeological record. The time

has come for archaeologists to take a more

active role in designing and participating in

research that addresses contemporary envi-ronmental concerns and contributes to public

policy.

Forest ecologist David Foster and col-

leagues have written extensively on the im-

portance of history, including human history,

to understand current ecosystems and land-

scapes (Foster 2000a, Foster 2000b, Foster &

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Aber 2004, Foster et al. 2003). The histori-

cal record provides a window on long-term

processes (e.g., succession, soil formation, re-

sponses to climate change), increases the sam-

ple size of observations [such as responses to

natural and anthropogenic disturbances (fire,

hurricanes, floods, clearing, farming)], and

documents ecosystem responses to rare events(e.g., continental scale migrations, glacial cy-

cles, major extinction episodes). Also, be-

cause of the time lag in ecosystem response

to disturbance and environmental change,

current ecosystem structure, function, and

composition cannot be fully understood or

explained without a historical perspective.

The lasting effects of past human actions

(termed land-use legacies) include changes

in species composition, successional dynam-

ics, soils, water, topography, and nutrient cy-cling. Many seemingly natural areas have a

cultural past that is part of their ecologi-

cal history; their conservation today requires

knowledge of that past and assessment of the

value of continuing or replicating past cultural

practices.

The human imprint on seemingly natural

areas was convincingly argued by Denevan

(1992) in his critique of the pristine myth

of the pre-Columbian Americas. Additional

work by geographers, archaeologists, histo-rians, and others continues to illustrate the

ways that indigenous people of the Amer-

icas and elsewhere shaped the landscapes

they inhabited (Balee 1998a; Denevan 2001;

Doolittle 2000; Gomez-Pompa et al. 2003;

Head 1989, 2000; Kay & Simmons 2002;

Kirch & Hunt 1997; Lentz 2000; Minnis

& Elisens 2000; Peacock 1998; Willis et al.

2004), a fact often missed by colonial ob-

servers who wrote at a time of dramatic

population decline and severe social disrup-tion. European colonial accounts have other

potential problems, including misunderstand-

ing or falsely representing indigenous prac-

tices. Thus these sources imperfectly or

incompletely portray the pre-European real-

ity and should be complemented with other

historical evidence from archaeology, paleoe-

cology, and indigenous histories. Compari-

son of complementary lines of evidence can

also identify landscapes that were not signifi-

cantly transformed in the past [i.e., areas that

were unoccupied or had a light human imprint

(Lepofsky et al. 2003a)].

History is also essential to ecological

restoration, an intentional activity that ini-tiates or accelerates the recovery of an ecosys-

tem with respect to its health, integrity and

sustainability (Soc. Ecol. Restor. Sci. Pol-

icy Work. Group 2002) by returning it to its

historical trajectory based on reference con-

ditions inferred from the historical, ethno-

graphic, paleoecological, and archaeological

record (Egan & Howell 2001). Restored

ecosystems are not static, nor does restoration

necessarily aim to recover a pristine (prehu-

man) environment (Winterhalder et al. 2004).Traditional cultural practices that reinforce

ecosystem health and sustainability are incor-

porated into restoration projects and plans

(Anderson & Barbour 2003, Egan 2003, Soc.

Ecol. Restor. Sci. Policy Work. Group 2002).

Archaeology can contribute to restoration

ecology by providingmaterial evidence of past

environments and of how they were shaped by

human actions, including but not limited to

evidence on species ranges, extinctions, intro-

ductions, and the cultural practices that wereused to manage local resources (Alcoze 2003,

Alcoze & Hurteau 2001, Louwe Kooijmans

1995, OBrien 2001).

This review is divided into four parts. It

opens by introducing the kinds of evidence

used to infer vegetation histories and human

impacts. Second, I describe how archaeolo-

gists have documented different kinds of hu-

man impacts on vegetation, such as overex-

ploitation and deforestation, but also consider

management practices such as the renewableharvest of woody resources and the plant-

ing and tending of wild species, all of which

have played a role in forming modern land-

scapes. Third, I present case studies of the

complex interactions of people, plants, and

landscapes through time and their long-term

effects, focusing on tropical forests. In this and

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preceding sections, the emphasis is on recent

literature because of spacelimitations. Finally,

the review would be incomplete without at

least a brief treatment of the political issues

surrounding studies of culture, nature, his-

tory, and conservation and how historical (in-

cluding archaeological) studies might be ap-

plied or abused. Conservation biology andrestoration ecology developed because of the

dramatic degradation of ecosystems and the

continuing threats to biological diversity. For

some, human exclusion and the maintenance

of or return to wilderness is seen as the best

strategy. But many areas of concern for pro-

tection and restoration are home not only to

endangered plants and wildlife, but also to

people, including indigenous groups, whose

practices over the generations may have con-

tributed to creating valued natural habi-tats, or recent colonists hoping to make a

living. If these areas are rich in resources (tim-

ber, mines, agricultural land), industries, large

landowners, and politicians also stake their

claims. Archaeologists may join the debate as

consultants or advocates, or they may adopt

a neutral stance; in any case, their work may

be seized upon or reinterpreted in ways they

never expected.

CLASSES OF EVIDENCE

Evidence of past human impacts and of

their long-term effects comes from a wide

range of sources, including environmental ar-

chaeology, paleoecology, history, geography,

geology, and cultural anthropology. Cate-

gories of data include botanical, faunal, and

geological observations from archaeological

sites and natural or off-site contexts (e.g., wet-

land cores, packrat middens); the distribution

of sites and landscape features (roads, paths,fields) that provide information on popula-

tion distribution, densities, and land use; cur-

rent vegetation patterning; experiments that

replicate natural and cultural processes and

their effects; and written and oral historical

references to past environments and land-use

practices.

For example, paleobotanical records from

site and off-site areas are used to reconstruct

the removal or burning of vegetation, the

introduction and spread of new species, the

cultivation or encouragement of wild and do-

mesticated plants, and the harvesting of wood

and other forest products for fuel, timber,

food, and medicine. These practices and theirlong-term effects are inferred from changes

in the types and frequencies of species rep-

resented (e.g., shade-tolerant versus light-

demanding, mesic versus xeric, fire-sensitive

versus fire-tolerant), changes in particle char-

coal accumulations at off-site areas (reflecting

possible changes in burning regimes), and evi-

dence for harvest strategies (e.g., collection of

dead wood or pruning that conserve woody

resources versus cutting down trees, shifts

through time to lower quality fuel types).Although the great majority of vegetation

histories are still derived from pollen, there

has been an increase in studies relying on

other microfossils, such as starch and phy-

toliths, as well as macrofossil wood and char-

coal from archaeological sites (Hather 1994,

Newsom 1993, Thiebault 2002). Geoarchae-

ological studies reveal the extent and timing

of erosion events that may be linked to de-

forestation or intensified agriculture, whereas

soil analyses are used to reconstruct the en-richment or depletion of soils through human

actions and their long-term effects (Adderley

et al. 2000, Beach et al. 2003, Glaser &

Woods 2004, Kristiansen 2001, Lehmann

et al. 2003b, Lopinot & Woods 1993, Sandor

1995, Simpson 1997, van Andel et al. 1990,

Woods 2004).

Faunal remains may also reflect environ-

mental or land-use changes. For example, the

kinds and diversity of animals such as bee-

tles, land snails, and small mammals can beused as indicators of forest integrity or dis-

turbance (Coles 1988, Desender et al. 1999,

Dincauze 2000, Hogue 2003, Hunt & Kirch

1997, Peacock & Melsheimer 2003, Stahl

2000). Human impacts on fauna (e.g., intro-

duction of seed predators, extinction of seed

dispersers, declining human predation with

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depopulation) will also have significant, long-

term effects on vegetation. Note, however,

that in some cases the human role is still heav-

ily debated, e.g., for Pleistocene megafau-

nal extinctions (Barnosky et al. 2004, Fiedel

& Haynes 2004, Grayson & Meltzer 2003,

Grayson & Meltzer 2004, Martin & Stead-

man 1999). Another critical source of infor-mation on human impacts are regional stud-

ies based on systematic survey and remote

sensing, which provide information on the

changes in land-use practices, human set-

tlements, and population dynamics through

time.

The combination of different lines of evi-

dence leads to more robust interpretations of

landscape histories, although there are rela-

tively few areas for which all potential sources

of information have been examined. Com-munication among researchers collecting dif-

ferent types of informationecologists and

archaeologists for exampleis often limited

because of traditional disciplinary boundaries

in universities, funding sources, and academic

literatures. Additionally, interdisciplinary re-

search at the landscape scale is costly. Poten-

tial sources of funding include new programs

on humans and the environment (e.g., the

Human and Social Dynamics area of the U.S.

National Science Foundation).

HUMAN IMPACTS ONVEGETATION

The section below introduces different kinds

of human impacts on vegetation. It begins

with the familiar examples of overexploitation

that resulted in deforestation, extinctions, and

degradation. I also include practices aimed

at increasing the abundance or reliability of

wild resources that had the effect of moresustainable exploitation, increased diversity,

soil improvement, or the creation of anthro-

pogenic environments that are valued habitats

today. Case studies follow with illustrations of

the complex interactions over time between

people and plants in a long acknowledged

cultural landscape (southern Sweden) and

in environments long perceived as pristine

(tropical forests).

Overexploitation

There are numerous studies of prehistoric

clearing and the overexploitation of plants

that resulted in lasting changes in soils, vege-tation, and wildlife, including the extirpation

or extinction of species as habitats were al-

tered or eliminated. A well-known example,

based primarily on pollen evidence, is the loss

of areas of upland forests in the British Isles

(Brown 1997, Dickson 2000, Simmons 2001).

The process began in the later Mesolithic,

as hunter gatherers maintained and created

canopy openings within the forest and along

forest edges to encourage the growth of fa-

vored species and to attract game. Increasingareas were cleared in later periods for farming,

grazing, timber, and fuel, ultimately resulting

in the creation of moors and heathlands char-

acterized by poor soils and low biodiversity.

Within the United States, pollen and sed-

iment studies by McLauchlan (2003) suggest

local deforestation and increased soil erosion

coincide with the rise in reliance on cultivated

species during the Middle Woodland occupa-

tion (100 b.c. to a.d. 400) of the Fort Ancient

site in southern Ohio. At Cahokia, a majorMississippian center ( a.d. 1050 to a.d. 1350),

residents deforested the area around them as

they opened fields and collected wood for fuel

and buildings, including the construction of

a 3 km wooden palisade using about 15,000

trees. The resultant erosion and increased

runoff triggered flooding that is linked to the

decline and eventual abandonment of the site

(Lopinot & Woods 1993; Woods 2003, 2004).

On islands, vegetation loss due to overex-

ploitation and clearing can be exacerbated bygeographic isolation and the lack of nearby

seed sources for recolonization. Additional

problems (possible in any newly colonized

area, island, or continent) are the intro-

duction by humans of seed predators (do-

mesticated animals, rodents), or the loss of

seed dispersers due to hunting, predation by



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introduced animals, introduced disease, or

habitat fragmentation and loss. The best

known case is Easter Island, where overex-

ploitation led to environmental degradation

and demographic and societal collapse (Flen-

ley & Bahn 2003, Kirch 1997). When visited

by European explorers in the early eighteenth

century, the island was described as covered ingrasslands and virtually treeless. Pollen and

sediment studies from wetland cores as well

as the analysis of charcoal from archaeological

sites reveal that the island was forested when

Polynesian colonists first arrived in the late

seventh century (the earliest reliable radiocar-

bon date). Trees were cleared for agriculture,

burned for fuel, and used to make objects such

as the large canoes necessary for open ocean

transportation and fishing. Deforestation and

erosion began around a.d. 800 and proceededslowlybutsurely; by themid-seventeenthcen-

tury, the forests were nearly depleted and had

been replaced by grasses and weeds. Forest

loss may have caused intermittent streams to

run dry, further changing theisland landscape.

The local extinction of 14 plant species was

detected in the charcoal record. One of the

lost trees was a species of palm; nuts recov-

ered from the archaeological record all show

evidence of rodent gnawing, and it is likely

that these seeds were consumed by the Poly-nesian rat (Rattus exulans) that arrived with the

islands colonists. The Polynesian rat is also

implicated in the dramatic decline of the low-

land forests of the Hawaiian Islands (Athens

et al. 2002).

Alternatives to Overexploitation

The preceding examples of overexploitation

are well known, and many others could be

given (Amorosi et al. 1997, Kohler 1992,Kohler-Rollefson & Rollefson 1990, Lageras

& Bartholin 2003, McGovern 1994, Miller

1990). For conservation purposes, they illus-

trate a lost past that may inform restoration

efforts and also serve as essential cautionary

tales on the environmental and human costs

of overconsumption. But the history of hu-

man land use is not an inevitable story of de-

pletion and degradation. There are also ex-

amples of sustainable use and practices that

maintained diversity or that resulted in the

creation of landscapes that are now valued

habitats. These examples have received less

attention, perhaps because they are less com-

mon or less dramatic (and thus perceived asless interesting or less relevant to current con-

servation concerns). They may also be harder

to study; it is perhaps easier to infer deple-

tion than conservation from the archaeologi-

cal record. Assumptions about human nature

or the nature of indigenous people (as in-

nately wasteful or destructive) also play a role

as Fairhead & Leach (1995) demonstrated in

their work in the Kissigoudou prefecture of

Guinea. Here, patches of forestsurrounded by

savannah had been characterized as the rem-nants of a vast forest that had been devastated

by local inhabitants. A close study of the his-

torical record and ethnographic observations

clearly demonstrated that the supposed for-

est remnants were in fact forest islands that

local residents had planted and tended in ex-

isting savannah. Similar examples of the man-

agement of wild plants can be found through-

out the modern, historical, and archaeological

records and help to balance our perceptions of

human impacts.

Maintaining woody resources. Human

needs for wood were not always met by cut-

ting down trees. Archaeobotanical studies of

charcoal can identify cases where dead wood,

recognizable through the growth of fungus or

the presence of insect holes, was collected for

fuel. Recent examples are described from the

coast of southeastern Brazil during the late

Holocene (Scheel-Ybert 2001) and from the

Neolithic site of C atalhoyuk East in Anato-lia (Asouti & Hather 2001). Driftwood was

used for fuel and the manufacture of objects,

even in heavily forested coastal areas. Drift-

wood accounted for at least 18% of the char-

coal assemblage of the Cape Addington Rock-

shelter in southeastAlaska, occupied from a.d.

160 to 1420. Its importance as a fuel and raw

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material is amply described in historical ac-

counts (Lepofsky et al. 2003b).

In other cases, branches rather than whole

trees were harvested and used for fuel and

fodder. Small branches were burned at the

Neolithic-Chalcolithic Pnarbas campsite in

Anatolia, and Asouti (2003) notes that for

these taxa (Pistacia, Amygdalus) pruning wouldhave stimulated flowering and seed produc-

tion, potentially increasing their local abun-

dance. Terral (2000) also infers from the

Bronze Age charcoal record from sites on

the Mediterranean coast of France and Spain

pruning was used to manage olive trees.

Some trees sprout vigorously from the

stump (called coppicing) or roots (suckering)

when cut down. If a high stump is left (to

keep the tender sprouts out of the reach of

grazing animals), the practice is termed pol-larding(Rackham 1998a). Coppicing and pol-

larding stimulate growth and extend the life

of trees (up to 1000 years for species stud-

ied in Europe), ensuring a rapidly renewable

and potentially sustainable supply of wood for

fuel, poles for construction, and branches for

fodder. Using written sources and fieldwork

on old coppiced trees, Rackham has painstak-

ingly documented the history of these prac-

tices and their ecology in Britain and the

Mediterranean (Rackham 1996, 1998a,b).Archaeological evidence for coppicing in

England extends back to the Neolithic [circa

(ca.) 5000 before present (b.p.)], when poles

were used to construct tracks for crossing the

wetlands at the Somerset Levels site (Coles

& Coles 1986). In pre-Columbian sites in

Florida and the Caribbean, the reliance on

mangrove for fuel over many generations

by growing populations without depletion is

also likely due to its prolific coppice growth

(Newsom 1993, Newsom & Wing 2004,Scarry & Newsom 1992). In some heavily

modified landscapes, the persistence of forest

patches into modern times may be due to cop-

picing management practices. This is clearly

the case in the highly managed coppice wood-

lands of Britain and the Mediterranean, where

ancient coppice stools (the stumps) are still

B.P.: before present

evident, but may also be true for other areas,

where coppicing has not persisted in recent

times or left such obvious evidence.

The renewable harvest of wood or bark is

also recorded in the Pacific Northwest and

northern Scandinavia, where the cambium

layer of certain conifers was consumed. It was

often removed in strips, which did not killthe tree but left a characteristic scar. Similarly,

Native Americans of the Great Basin removed

long, narrow pieces of wood to manufacture

bow staves from live junipers without killing

the tree. Examples of these culturally modi-

fiedtrees record past harvesting practicesand

are also evidence of a historical human pres-

ence in areas where other kinds of archaeolog-

ical remains may be sparse or difficult to de-

tect (Mobley & Eldridge 1992, Ostlund et al.

2004).

Planting and tending. Wild plant species

were also transplanted, cultivated, tended

or encouraged, resulting in their potentially

sustainable use. For example, in the late

pre-Hispanic Andes, the Inka planted Bud-

dleia and possibly other trees for harvest

as fuelwood (Chepstow-Lusty & Winfield

2000, Hastorf & Johannessen 1996). There

are also many examples, both past and

present from throughout the world, of use-ful species planted in settlements, gardens,

and fields or spared during clearing (e.g.,

the ethnographically observed managed suc-

cession of trees in fallows). These prac-

tices could extend the range of certain

species, or increase their abundance, in areas

of human activity.

Both historical and archaeological evi-

dence point to the management of nut trees

by Native Americans in the eastern United

States (Scarry 2003). Two recent studiesprovide evidence for this practice by com-

paring the distribution of Native American

settlements and witness trees, interval

markers noted on the maps and notes of early

U.S. government surveyors. In southeastern

Pennsylvania, Black & Abrams (2001) com-

pared the spatial distribution of witness



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trees recorded in the eighteenth century and

Susquehannock villages occupied in the late

sixteenth through mid-seventeenth centuries.

The higher than expected occurrence of hick-

ory (Carya) and, to a lesser degree, walnut

(Juglans) in village catchments is not ex-

plained by topographic or edaphic differences.

This suggests their purposeful encourage-ment or cultivation, a practice recorded in

historical accounts. Similar observations were

made by Foster et al. (2004) in an analysis of

witness trees around historic Creek Indian vil-

lages in Alabama. Because witness tree records

are often used in the United States to establish

the natural baseline in long-term ecological

studies and for the purposes of restoration,

these examples highlight the importance of

understanding the many ways that landscapes

were shaped by indigenous inhabitants.Human manipulation of vegetation to in-

crease the production or reliability of wild

plant foods has a very deep history. Evidence

from throughout north temperate Europe, in-

dicates that late Mesolithic hunter gatherers

burned forests to create or maintain clearings

to attract game and to encourage grasses and

other open habitat species (such as hazel, val-

ued for its nuts) (Mason 2000, Mithen et al.

2001, Zvelebil 1995). It is also likely that they

cultivated or transplanted wild plants beyondtheir natural ranges. Archaeologists are in-

creasingly paying attention to the ways that

hunter-gatherers manipulate plant resources

to increase their abundance or reliability, what

Smith (2001) refers to as low level food pro-

duction. These activities suggest that the

presumed natural (prefarming) pollen base-

line used in vegetation history studies may in

fact reflect a landscape that had already been

significantly altered by people.

Other archaeological and paleoecologicalexamples of the tending or cultivation of

wild and semidomesticated trees are reported

for the Pacific Islands (Latinis 2000), Japan

(Kitagawa et al. 2004), the Caribbean

(Newsom & Pearsall 2003, Newsom & Wing

2004), the Maya region (discussed below), and

Spain and Portugal (Harrison 1996).

Burning. The use of prescribed burning is a

muchdebatedissueinecologyandforestman-

agement, particularly in areas prone to major

wildfires that threaten people, property, and

forests. In the United States, the likelihood

of catastrophic fires increased with the prac-

tice of fire suppression that interrupted the

natural and cultural fire regimes of the pastand resulted in large fuel accumulations. Fire

history and the presence or absence of anthro-

pogenic burning in the past informs decisions

about forest and grassland management to-

day as well as decisions concerning how or

whether prescribed burning should be carried

out.

Fire histories are generally based on the

analysis of off-site evidence, such as charcoal

and pollen from wetland cores, or fire scar

sequences from trees, together with histori-cal evidence on fire frequency, lightning fre-

quency, and human burning practices. This

information is compared against climatic re-

constructions to identify periods of drying

that mayhave increased the probability of nat-

ural (lightning) ignitions.Evidence for human

versus natural ignition is inferred, for exam-

ple, by an increase in charcoal accumulations

accompanied by the presence of pollen from

cultigens, suggesting burning to clear and pre-

pare land for crops. The use of archaeologi-cal evidence to reconstruct fire histories has

been largely indirect, such as the coincidence

in timing for an increase in fire frequency

with human colonization or the expansion of

agricultural settlements. On-site archaeologi-

cal evidence alone may not be sufficient to re-

construct burning history, but it contributes

to the interpretation of off-site evidence.

In Southern Appalachia, archaeological

and paleoecological evidence has been

combined to argue for the effects of hu-man actions, including burning, on forest

composition in the Late Archaic and Early

Woodland periods beginning 3000 b.p.

(Delcourt & Delcourt 1997, 1998a,b;

Delcourt et al. 1998). On the basis of off-site

pollen and charcoal records, the location

of settlements, and the reconstruction of

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farming and hunting practices from archae-

ological remains, researchers inferred that

fire was used to clear small garden plots

and to create open grassy areas to attract

game on upper slopes and ridgetops. This

action encouraged the growth of fire tolerant

oaks, chestnut, and pine. Mixed mesophytic

forest persisted on the lower slopes and inravines, resulting in a diverse vegetation

mosaic. Recently, fire-adapted species have

been declining owing to the low incidence

of lightning along with fire suppression in

the twentieth century. The persistence of

valuable fire-adapted species as major forest

components and the preservation of the

landscape mosaic may therefore depend on

prescribed burning.

CASE STUDIES

The complex role of people in landscape his-

tory is perhaps best illustrated through more

extended presentation of case studies. I begin

with an area where the human role in shap-

ing the landscape has long been recognized

southern Swedenand discuss how a histor-

ical perspective has been used to address cur-

rent conservationconcerns. I then discuss how

archaeology informs our understanding and

perceptions of tropical forests, where the hu-man role in shaping landscapes over time is

still debated and closely linked to alarm over

the rapid rate of modern deforestation and re-

sultant conflicts over how forests should be

managed and protected.

Anthropogenic Landscapes:Southern Sweden

A key conservation concern in southern

Sweden has been the decline of rich decidu-ous forests and their replacement by species

poor forests dominated by spruce (Picea)

or beech (Fagus). Although partly explained

by natural causes (climate-driven continen-

tal scale migrations) and recent forestry prac-

tices, this transformation has also been linked

to past land uses, including grazing, burning,

and clearance for agriculture (Bjorkman &

Bradshaw 1996; Bjorse & Bradshaw 1998;

Lageras 1996; Lindbladh & Bradshaw 1995,

1998; Lindbladh et al. 2000; Mikusinski et al.

2003). The remaining patches of mixed de-

ciduous forest can also be partly attributed to

cultural causes.

In a remote sensing study, Mikunsinskiet al. (2003) noted that today stands of de-

ciduous forest, often with old trees, are con-

centrated around villages where trees would

have been retained for practical, aesthetic,

and cultural reasons. This distribution is also

explained by the differential management of

lands dating back to the Medieval period, if

not earlier, when infields included intensively

farmed cereal fields and hay meadows for win-

ter fodder production, and outfields were used

for forest grazing and slash and burn agricul-ture. Historical sources suggest that conifers

that sprouted in infields were weeded out be-

cause of the high acid and low nutrient con-

tent of their litter, reducing their spread into

maintained deciduous patches.

Lindbladh & Bradshaw (1995, 1998) com-

pared pollen evidence from one infield and

two outfield areas at neighboring estates in

Smaland. They found that prior to a.d. 1100

all areas were covered by mixed deciduous

forests. After that date the pollen evidencefrom the infield suggests the creation and pro-

longed (800 years) management of a mosaic

of meadows, fields, pastures, and pollarded

trees that supporteda high diversityof species.

With abandonment 100 years ago, floristic di-

versity declined. A previous decrease in diver-

sity began at ca. a.d. 1400 when the popu-

lation of local residents (and maintenance of

the meadow system) declined with the spread

of the black death. In contrast to the infields,

the outfields maintained continuous forestcover, and there was no evidence for intensive

grazingashasbeenobservedintheoutfieldsof

other regions. Conifers first gained a foothold

in these forests around a.d. 1400. Slash and

burn agriculture was practiced in outfields

during the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-

tury, and once outfields were abandoned,



10/28

conifers spread and dominated regenerating

forests.

Although deciduous forests and the threat-

ened species they support have a high con-

servation value, there is also a need to pro-

tect and restore species in rich seminatural

grasslands. Eriksson et al. (2002) observe that

natural grasslands predate human occupa-tion of southern Scandinavia, but they argue

that grassland habitats and connectivity in-

creased with human management (mowing

and grazing) datingas farback as the Neolithic

(Cousins et al.2002). In this way, human activ-

ities may have increased local plant species di-

versity over time in these grasslands (Eriksson

et al. 2002). The high diversity found in these

areas is now sharply declining; in Sweden,

the loss of seminatural grasslands over the

past 80 years is estimated at approximately90% (Eriksson et al. 2002), owing to forest

encroachment once grazing or other main-

tenance ceases and to direct conversion to

agricultural fields or plantations. This decline

in grassland habitats and connectivity has re-

sulted in an increase in local extinction rates

and a decrease in species richness. Historical

studies, including archaeology and paleoecol-

ogy, reveal how these landscapes evolved and

how they might be preserved.

Anthropogenic Landscapes:Tropical Forests

Tropical forests today are valued for the

abundance, uniqueness, or diversity of the

plant and animal life they support and

for their large-scale effects on atmospheric

processes and conditions. As such, they

have often been defined as pristine, natu-

ral, or wild, and the effects of human im-

pacts have often been overlooked or mis-construed. Many are located in areas that

were subjected to European colonial expan-

sion that resulted in (a) the abandonment of

land (and its subsequent return to nature)

because of forced resettlement, migration,

and depopulation caused by introduced dis-

eases, warfare, and genocide and (b) the char-

acterization of indigenous land-use practices

(such as swidden farming and hunting) as in-

herently wasteful and destructive, further jus-

tifying the control or exclusion of indigenous

inhabitants.

Efforts to emphasize the natural charac-

ter of tropical forests are also spurred by the

real threats posed by logging, urbanization,intensive agriculture, and the conversion of

forest to pasturelands. Many fear that ac-

knowledging the human past of wild areas will

be used to justify their intensive use today.

These fears are valid because arguments of

this type have been made in other contexts

[e.g., the equation of anthropogenic and natu-

ral burning with clear cutting in North Amer-

ican forests (Bonnicksen 1994; see discussion

in Fritz 2000)]. But the response should be

more research, not less, on historical humanimpacts (which in some areas may in fact be

minimal) to understand current landscapes

and to identify alternatives to destructive

contemporary land-use practices. Increas-

ingly, conservationists are realizing that strict

preservation (whether desirable or not) is not

feasible for most of the worlds tropical forest

areas.

Toward these ends, there has been a

growth in research by both natural and so-

cial scientists on forest history and the role ofdisturbances both natural and cultural, such as

fire, hurricanes, logging, clearing for agricul-

ture and grazing, and their interactions. How

do forests respond to disturbances of differ-

ent kinds, scales, intensities, and durations?

How does past land use affect modern struc-

ture, composition,and function? What areex-

amples of both degradation and enhancement

in the past, and how might this knowledge

inform contemporary land use (e.g., by illus-

trating possible lower impact alternatives todeforestation)?

Disturbance. Whitmore & Burslem (1998)

reviewed evidence on the significance of

large-scale disturbances on the structure and

composition of tropical rainforests. Distur-

bances are events that create gaps in the

52 Hayashida


11/28

forest canopy; an example of a small-scale nat-

ural disturbance would be an individual tree

fall. Small-scale disturbances occur with high

frequency and are easily observed and stud-

ied. Larger scale disturbances include natu-

ral events such as landslides, wind storms,

floods, and fire, as well as human activities

such as clearing plots for agriculture and log-ging. These rarer disturbances, with return

intervals of decades or centuries, appear to

be important components of forest history

in most if not all tropical areas. Clearings

or gaps in the canopy encourage the estab-

lishment of more light-demanding trees and

understory species or recruitment of estab-

lished seedlings and saplings of shade toler-

ant species. Small gaps tend to favor shade-

tolerant species, whereas larger disturbances

that destroy understory vegetation result inthe establishment and numerical dominance

of light-demanding trees. If these trees are al-

lowed to grow (e.g., in a swidden system with

a long fallow period or under natural distur-

bance regimes), the result is a mosaic of forest

patches in different stages of succession. Simi-

lar disturbance dynamics have been examined

for other kinds of forests.

Solomon Islands. These ideas are explored

in the Marovo Lagoon region of the SolomonIslands by Bayliss-Smith et al. (2003). The

study area is a large tract of unbroken for-

est often depicted as pristine and under con-

sideration as a United Nations Educational,

Scientific, and Cultural Organization World

Heritage Area. Historical sources suggest that

in ca. 1800, before intensive European con-

tact, local inland residents relied on irrigated

pondfields (taro), mixed bush fallow swidden

farming (mainly dryland taro and yams), and

the products from secondary forests of fal-lowed fields (Canarium nut trees, leafy greens,

ferns, wild yams, and medicinal plants). De-

population and social disruption caused by in-

creased European contact led to the eventual

abandonment of the inland area by the late

nineteenth century, and the remaining popu-

lation moved toward the coast. Cleared areas

of the forest regenerated, resulting in the ap-

parent wilderness seen today. Archaeological

surveyconfirms theinland presence of numer-

ous settlements, forts, ceremonial grounds,

taro terraces, and nut groves. The locations

of settlements correlate with patches of forest

dominated by Campnosperma brevipetoliata, a

light-demanding species that recruits well inareas of large-scale disturbance. In this case,

the forest gaps colonized by Campnosperma

were probably abandoned swidden fields. The

authors argue that the anthropogenic distur-

bance history of these forests indicates greater

resilience than is commonly acknowledged

and they suggest that some relatively light

forest disturbance activities, such as reduced-

impact logging, may be viable and sustainable

land-use options today.

In the Solomon Islands, populationdeclineand reforestation occurred within the past 200

years. The Maya forest and the wealth of ar-

chaeological, paleocological, and ecological

studies that have been conducted present the

opportunity to explore an example of long-

term forest history and the dynamics of peo-

ple, plants, landscape, and climate (Gomez-

Pompa et al. 2003, Turner et al. 2004)

Maya: deforestation and recovery. In theMaya Lowlands, where a series of lake core

studies (primarily from the Peten) com-

plements decades of archaeological survey

and excavations, four general periods in the

Holocene history of the forests can be dis-

cerned (Brenner et al. 1990, Curtis et al. 1998,

Dunning et al. 1998,Islebe et al. 1996, Leyden

1987):

1. A prehuman landscape, when the

pollen of mature forest species is most

prevalent;

2. A prolonged episode of clearing seen

as a decrease in the abundance of high

forest species and as an increase in dis-

turbance taxa (grasses, weeds) and in

secondary forest taxa, attributable to

human entry in the region, aswell as the



12/28

establishment and spread of agriculture

near settlements;

3. A period of increased deforestation de-

tected as a dramatic drop in tree pollen

abundance (both mature and secondary

forest taxa), a rise in grass, weeds, and

maize pollen, as well as widespread soil

erosion, seen as a thick layer of Mayaclay in many of the lake cores; and fi-

nally

4. Reforestation, when both high and sec-

ondary forest taxa rebounded. Maize

pollen persisted.

Reforestation has been dated to either the

period following the Classic Maya collapse of

ca. a.d. 8001000, or much later, on the heels

of the Spanish invasion in the seventeenth

century. This discrepancy can be attributed tothe lack of absolute dates for the early cores

together with the fact that some areas con-

tinued to be occupied and farmed through-

out the Postclassic (i.e., recovery took place at

different rates in different places). A recent,

well-dated core from the large Lake Peten Itza

indicates that reforestation of at least some ar-

eas began ca. 1100 to 1000 b.p., following the

Classic Maya collapse (Curtis et al. 1998).

Forest recovery is typically attributed to

the decrease in population following the col-lapse, but changes in forest composition also

suggest a possible alteration of farming prac-

tices, which were based primarily on swidden

in the upland areas and supplemented by wet-

land agriculture in the low-lying, seasonally

flooded bajos, terracing of upland slopes, and

agroforesty (in swidden fields and house gar-

dens) (Whitmore & Turner 2001). The very

low abundance of both mature and secondary

tree taxa during the period of maximum dis-

turbance suggests both increased clearing anda shortening of fallow periods. The recovery

of both mature and secondary forest taxa dur-

ing the last phase together with the continued

presence of maize suggest (a) that less total

area was cultivated with more areas convert-

ing to mature forest and (b) a return to longer

periods of fallow, enabled by population de-

clines but perhaps also reflecting a cultural re-

sponse to the crisis of soil and forest loss.

Ecologistshave pondered the reforestation

of the Maya region. How did it take place?

One possibility is that the uplands were recol-

onized by trees from the less heavily farmed

bajos, as suggested by Perez-Salicrup (2004)

for the southern Yucatan. However, many up-land forest species are absent from or ex-

tremely rare in bajos in the Maya region to-

day (Schulze & Whitacre 1999), which argues

for an upland seed source during postcollapse

reforestation. Other possible seed sources

were managed plots dominated by economic

species, such as house gardens, tended groves,

and forest gardens resulting from selec-

tive cutting and planting of trees in swidden

fields (Gomez-Pompa et al. 1990, Lentz et al.

2000, McKillop 1994, Peters 2000, Turner &Misicek 1984). Also important were the

forested, unoccupied areas between compet-

ing polities that served as both buffer zones

and battlegrounds (Taube 2003). Forests were

conceptualized by the ancient Maya as sinister

places, associated with darkness, evil, wild an-

imals, and disorder, as opposed to the well de-

lineated, socially constructed spaces of fields,

houses, and settlements. Thus expanses of

forests were preserved out of respect for and

fear of wild and human threats. Finally its im-portant to note that the collapse was not a sin-

gle, brief event. Instead, the abandonment of

major centers and shifts in population took

place at different times and at different rates

(Webster 2002). Thus Allen et al. (2003) ob-

serve that forest resources may have been de-

pleted in some areas while recovering in oth-

ers, resulting in a shifting mosaic that helped

to preserve biodiversity.

Other land-use legacies that potentially af-

fected the recovery of the Maya forest andits current structure and composition were

changes in soils and topography from upland

erosion and aggradation in lakes and bajos

(Beach 1998, Beach et al. 2003, Dunning &

Beach 2000), the construction in some areas

of soil conservation features (terraces, check

dams) that captured eroded sediments (Beach

54 Hayashida


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et al. 2002, Dunning & Beach 1994), the ad-

dition of soil amendments both intentional

(fertilizers on fields) and unintentional (hu-

man waste at settlements), and the creation of

microenvironments on the ruins themselves.

Certain tree species (notably ramon or Brosi-

mum alicastrum) prefer the edaphic conditions

of the high limestone structures (Lambert &Arnason 1982, Schulze & Whitacre 1999),

and their seeds are dispersed by bats, who feed

on the fruit and reside in the ruins (Peters

2000).

In summary, the lesson of the Maya for-

est is not simply that tropical forests are re-

silient but rather that (a) human land use has

lasting effects, (b) a recovered forest may be

different from the forest prior to intensive use

(evenwith significant populationdecline),and

(c) the conservation and recovery of biodiver-sity maybe dependenton thepurposeful culti-

vation and tending of plants, changes in land-

use practices, reduced or shifting populations

over long periods of time to allow for local

and regional recovery, and the preservation of

uninhabited areas (the buffer zones).

Amazonia: anthropogenic forests and

soils. Perhaps the one area where the pristine

character of the forest has been most heatedly

debated is Amazonia. The debate is closelytied to the long held idea that rainforests,

with their impoverished soils and concentra-

tion of energy in the canopy, create severely

limiting conditions for foraging and farm-

ing. Yet ethnographic and archaeological re-

search has repeatedly demonstrated how peo-

ple transformed or enhanced the Amazonian

landscape, both creating and managing re-

sources (Balee 1993, Denevan 2001, Erickson

2000, Erickson 2003, Glaser & Woods 2004,

Lehmann et al. 2003b, Oliver 2001, Petersenet al. 2001, Politis 2001, Posey 2002, Roo-

sevelt 2000, Stahl 1996, Zent & Zent 2004).

Of particular interest for ecology and conser-

vation is how unintentional and intentional

human actions have resulted in composition-

ally distinct patches or stands of plants. These

anthropogenicforestsmaycover12%ormore

ADE: Amazoniandark earth

of the Amazon forest (Balee 1989). Some

species, including the babacu palm (Orbignya

phalerata), readily colonize burned clearings

such as fallows, and populations may expand

in response to anthropogenic disturbance. Fa-

vored tree species may be spared during clear-

ing or planted in fields, clearings along trails,

and house gardens. The discarded seeds ofcollected fruit sprout and thrive in the en-

riched soils of camps and settlements. Game

animals are also attracted to the high abun-

dance of fruits at these sites, and some disperse

seeds in the immediate area, further enriching

the stand. Old habitation sites (whether tem-

porary or permanent) and fallows thus form

resource-rich patches, which may be revisited

or reoccupied over generations.

Clearly, not all patches of useful species

have a human origin and edaphic conditions,the habits of animal dispersers, and natu-

ral disturbances must be taken into account.

In the Columbian Amazon, Politis (2001)

noted that plantain favors the unstable soil

of ridgetops, whereas moriche palm (Mauri-

tia flexuosa) is abundant in poorly drained

areas. Animals create aggregations by de-

positing the seeds of palms and other trees

in the areas of consumption [e.g., agoutis

(Silvius & Fragoso 2003)] or at distant la-

trine sites [e.g., tapirs (Fragoso et al. 2003)].Babacu readily sprouts in fallows, but it does

not require human forest disturbance for re-

generation. These observations are impor-

tant to keep in mind when using vegeta-

tion to identify areas of past human activity

or when quantifying areas of anthropogenic

forest, just as studies of natural aggrega-

tions and diversity need to consider possible

cultural origins.

The antiquity of management practices

is inferred from (a) the presence in archae-ological sites of the remains of plants that

are managed today (Morcote-Rios & Bernal

2001, Oliver 2001, Politis 2001, Scheel-Ybert

2001) and (b) the association of stands of use-

ful plants with archaeological sites, particu-

larly with Amazonian dark earth (ADE) de-

posits (Balee 1989, Clement et al. 2003), most



14/28

of which are between 500 and 2500 years old

(Neves et al. 2003).

ADEs are fertile anthrosols capable of

much higher production than the natural up-

land (terra firme) soils. They are character-

ized by a high charcoal content and other

organic inputs. The charcoal addition stim-

ulates the development of beneficial microor-ganisms, improves nutrient uptake, and re-

duces nutrient loss from leaching (Glaser et al.

2003, Lehmann et al. 2003a). The darker

(terra preta) ADE is laden with artifacts and

the organic trash (bone, shell and plant re-

mains, nightsoil, ashes, construction material)

typically generated at settlements (Erickson

2003). The lighter, more extensive, and ar-

tifact free terra mulata was probably formed

through agricultural practices (and enabled

short cropping/short fallow) with the additionof charred plant remains, ash, compost, and

mulch (Denevan 2004). Both types of ADEs

were likely farmed in the past, and remark-

ably, they continue to maintain their fertility

into the present (Glaser et al. 2003). The pro-

ductive potential of ADE has been linked to

the development of complex societies in the

ancient Amazon (Neves et al. 2003).

Today, ADE is of conservation interest be-

cause of the high diversity of plants it supports

(Clement et al. 2003). Also, efforts to revivethis indigenous technology today hold the

promise of slowing the rate of deforestation

by providing an alternative to more exten-

sive, unsustainable land-use practices (Madari

et al. 2004, Soembroek et al. 2003, Steiner

et al. 2004). Uncertainty remains about the

processes by which ADE is formed, as well

as the time required for transformation of

weathered, nutrient-poor Amazonian soils to

nutrient-rich, stable ADEs, doubts that could

in part be resolved through continued exami-nation of the archaeological evidence.

SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION

In the preceding sections, I presented ex-

amples of the ways that archaeology can

contribute to understanding the long-term

dynamics of people, plants, and landscapes.

It is a source of information on land-use

practices (burning, grazing, cultivation) that

shifted vegetation composition and succes-

sion and that sometimes resulted in overex-

ploitation, degradation, and extinctions. Ar-

chaeology also shows us how people in the

past maintained, increased, or protected plantresources resulting in long-term, sustainable

harvest and the creation of patches of cer-

tain species, fire-adapted forests, or grasslands

and other open habitats. In some cases, the

anthropogenic origins of seemingly natural

landscapes are only now being recognized and

investigated. We are beginning to see how hu-

man maintenance over generations has cre-

ated ecosystems that will disappear or deteri-

orate without continued care. The grasslands

of southern Scandinavia provide one such ex-ample, as do the fire-adapted forests of South-

ern Appalachia. The managed woodlands of

Europe also suffer from neglect, partly inten-

tional and derived from a desire to return

these woods to nature, resulting in the loss of

species (Rackham 1998a).

In considering anthropogenic landscapes,

it is important to emphasize that not all hu-

man disturbance is the same, and different

practices can have very different effects. For

example, the discovery of artifacts or ancientsettlements deep in a forest by itself tells us

nothing about the extent and kinds of human

impacts nor about forest resilience and recov-

ery. Thus for archaeology and other historical

disciplines to inform modern decision mak-

ing, we need to be as specific and accurate as

possible about the events and processes of the

past and their environmental, ecosystemic,

and cultural contexts. Some restorations

may not be feasible at present because cli-

mates have changed. Current proposed eco-nomic uses (e.g., logging) may have radically

different effects than uses (e.g., farming) in

the past. Species reintroductions may fail be-

cause key components of past ecosystems are

missing or cannot be replicated. It may be dif-

ficult to revive past cultural practices, even if

they are seen as desirable from a conservation

56 Hayashida


15/28

point of view, because of radical differences

in human values, social organization, and new

economic and political realities.

We also need to understand how the past

informs contemporary decision making be-

cause of the different spins put on the dis-

covery that a landscape is not pristine or that

people manipulated nature. It can be used inseveral ways:

To depict indigenous people as de-

spoilers of the land, influencing public

opinion and creating possible grounds

for denying land or resource use

rights (see examples in Head 1989,

Head 1990, Spriggs 2001). Head (1990)

notes that this same logic is not used

to question the rights of European

colonizers.

To excuse modern destructive land-use practices or episodes of pollution

on the principle that the land was al-

ready spoiled (Wooley 2002). A variant

argues that intensive logging is justi-

fied because forests have recovered in

the past (without regard for the con-

ditions or extent of past deforestation

or the conditions and time needed for

recovery).

As justification for modern develop-

ment (logging, mining) on the grounds

that these practices mimic natural pro-

cesses and indigenous practices [e.g.,

the equation of clear cutting with

natural and anthropogenic burning

(Bonnicksen 1994)]. A variant argues

that modern genetic modification ofcrops mimics ancient practices (early

domestication) and is therefore time

tested and safe (Fedoroff 2003).

History matters in understanding ecosys-

tems, in formulating management plans and

policy, in shaping public opinion, in reinforc-

ing or negating indigenous rights, and in ne-

glecting certain landscapes because they are

not natural enough or in degrading others be-

cause they are not pristine. As archaeologists

take a larger role in research relevant to cur-rent environmental and land-use issues, the

intersection of research and public policy de-

bate is inevitable. Others will use archaeolog-

ical findings in ways we had not anticipated,

in many cases misinterpreting or deliberately

misusing them. Only by takingactiveroles can

we shape how our research results are inter-

preted in public discourse and applied to pol-

icy outcomes.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to Anne Buchanan, Clark Erickson, Lee Newsom, David Webster, and especially

Mark Schulze who contributed to this review through discussion, debate, suggestions for refer-

ences, or comments on earlier drafts. I also thank Colleen Strawhacker, who helped to compile

and organize the references.

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