 Today our speaker, whom I suspect is probably known pretty much everyone, except me beforehand, is Annie Danes, who is, she tells me in her seventh and final year here in the Department of Anthropology she's about to file, and she also says she's on the job market. So if anyone has a job that they want to come up and give her after the talk, then she would consider it. And she's going to today talk about, oh she's also from Los Angeles is something else that I learned, and did her BA at Barnard College there, you can get a little bit of geography. She's going to today speak to us about Landscapes of Inequality, which really is about two distinct projects that are both part of her PhD dissertation, one involving self-built structures at the Albany Bulb, so nearby, and the other relating to her association with the Berkeley Abacue Collaborative Archeology, the BACA project, where she also has done some work I guess on irrigation systems and things of the sort, which fit in with her general interests of community-engaged archaeology, landscapes of inequality and materiality of inequality, which you do for a amount of GIS, I would understand as well from your blurb. So let's turn our attention to her and hear what she has to tell us about what she's been laboring on now for I suspect probably a few years. I just realized I forgot to put the mic on, so. Thank you, Ted, and for that introduction, and Sarah, and the ARF team for organizing the Brown Bag series. It's been a central part of my education here. And I'll begin with an acknowledgement that we are gathered on the unceded sovereign lands of the Aloni people. In doing so, I acknowledge the elders of Aloni communities past and present, acknowledge the painful history of genocide-enforced removal from this territory, and recognize the indigenous people still present on this land today. That's the end of the talk. There we go. This acknowledgement is the start of my talk, not a preamble. Today, I will talk about how acknowledgments like this one reference displacement and erasure present in the lives of people in North America today. The histories of colonialism and capitalism are the landscape upon which we stand in the present. Today, I will talk about land, material, and inequality. Inequality is a material phenomenon. It coheres in matter and orients our experience of time and place. Inequality is landscapes, structures, rivers and roads, letters and tin cans and chip stone, as much as it is stories, identities and history, rights, laws and feelings. Inequality is also insidious. It relies on how mundane its places, its tin cans, its laws and its stories can become. In its ubiquity, inequality is normalized. It fades into discourses of the natural or common sense. The anthropological study of landscapes can easily reproduce Inequality's insidious materiality. Indigenous and postcolonial critiques have called out the extractive habits of anthropology. We can fragment landscapes, material culture and communities by removing knowledge for the benefit of largely white upper class academia. To combat this, archaeologies of colonialism, capitalism, racism and other isms must work creatively with an expanded toolkit of collaborative practices. Audre Lorde argued that, quote, the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. We cannot only use the tools of oppression to dismantle oppression. Rather, we must reflect on what the master's tools do and add something more. In this talk, I describe some of my own attempts to expand the tools of archaeology. Doing so expands its scope and produces better, more ethical and more rigorous narratives of colonialism and capitalism, both historically and in the present day. Methods that address the extractive history of anthropology have over the years been labeled many things in archaeology. Public, participatory, collaborative, postcolonial, Indigenous, community-based, community-initiated, community-anything. And while various, there is a productive connection between these approaches. And that is a willingness to engage. A willingness to engage both the history and shortcomings of scholarly practice and the people who have a stake in the research. I've drawn on methods from a number of these frameworks in the two case studies I'll share here today. Where I engaged members of the Genicero Pueblo of Abacue in New Mexico and residents of the Albany Bulb in California. In these two case studies, I blend what I call engaged research practice, rather than any single one of that list I mentioned before, with the traditional toolkit of anthropological archaeology and with social practice art. Social practice art is research-based, often happens outside the gallery or museum setting, and at its best includes long community engagements. In my understanding of this artistic practice, I share NATO Thompson's view when he highlights how social practice art, quote, emphasizes participation, challenges power, and spans discipline, from urban planning and community work to theater and the visual arts. This talk explores how I've used social practice art and collaborative archaeological practice to study landscapes forged by large-scale phenomena of inequality. To begin, I'll present my two case studies, both attempts to produce ethical collaborative archaeology, one with people from a land grant in New Mexico, and the other with people from a landfill in California. What I claim through this research is that engaged research and social practice art are methods of presencing, and by this I mean that they make sensible and articulate histories in landscapes. In particular, any archaeology in North America necessarily articulates colonialism and capitalism. And so after I introduce my two collaborations, I will show how particular activities of presencing drawn from this expanded toolkit of engaged archaeology make novel narrations of landscapes possible. Finally, I'll discuss how my research includes practices of represencing or representing that form a key component in closing the loop between theory and practice, research and community. So these two sites look very different, at least in these two photographs, and I didn't just artificially produce that. El Pueblo de Abecu is a high-desert landscape. The Albany bulb is right here in the bay, surrounded by water. And their histories are different, but they come together in my multi-sided research around three points. One is that intimate engagement of people and place, the way that people in both these landscapes use the landscape, and the landscape is part of them, the erasure of history through alienation from those places, and a resistance to that erasure. So in New Mexico, the intimacy of people in place is sometimes called querencia. Querencia is a Spanish word that calls up both a sense of place and a love of place, the unique characteristics that make a place recognizable and meaningful, and a deep connection that links identity to location and land. And so El Pueblo de Abecu is on the homelands of the Tehuah Pueblo, Apache, Comanche, and New people. It has also been the ragged edge of the Spanish Empire, briefly a territory of the Mexican Republic, and is now known as Rio Arriba County in the state of New Mexico. And these shifting territorial identities impact both the lines on the map and the material worlds of the people who live along them. These divisions are produced by colonialism. Colonial governments use strategies of exclusion and erasure to divide people from place. And to be precise, settler colonialism is a specific technology of rule based on the occupation of territories and the elimination of indigenous people. So this strategy of rule takes place in the 17th and 18th centuries when the Spanish Empire invades North and South America. And in the 17th and 18th centuries, it justifies its occupation of the land that is now New Mexico through a belief in the inherent differences between indigenous people and those of pure Spanish descent. So at this time, native people were captured or bought into indentured servitude in Spanish homes in an explicit attempt to acculturate them. And these people whose servitude amounted essentially to slavery had the designation of hanisero in the sistema de casta, the system by which racial ethnic identities were defined in a hierarchy. And you can see in this painting here a representation of that system. And although you will see many different ways of categorizing relationships and the offspring that they produce, you won't see hanisero because these types of images were produced at the center of the Spanish Empire. And hanisero is a specifically New Mexican, Northern New Mexican in Southern Colorado, the fringe of the Spanish Empire term. And people on the fringes of the empire were not making this kind of high art that was meant to circulate among the upper class. So the Merced del Pueblo de Abecu was granted in 1754 to hanisero people, those descendants of those indigenous people sold into Spanish homes, likely from Tewa, Hopi, Yud, and Apache communities. And this kind of grant was somewhat unusual because of that system, but in the challenging climate of the high desert borderlands where soil was tough and raids were common, the empire needed a buffer and was willing to move along the edges of this rigid ethnic system. So hanisero families took on the challenges of the landscape in order to gain mobility within the caste system and become a vecino or a landowner. To do so, families had to prove to colonial administrators that they were Spanish enough. And one way they did this was by establishing an Ezekia. And this is a map of the Presidio San Antonio which is in Texas, but it demonstrates how this manifested on the landscape. So in blue you see the river, and in yellow you see these Ezekias that are coming off, and they connect directly to the church and a central plaza. And so Ezekias are these hand-dug irrigation systems that are overseen by a democratically elected association and a mayor domo and maintained by communal effort. And there are social institutions that are still in operation today that ensure the community could grow enough food to support itself and therefore were used as one of the metrics for the viability of a land grant. And so Ezekias are a material trace of Spanish settler colonialism. They mark the landscape as Spanish. And you can find Ezekias in the Iberian Peninsula, in South and Central America, and in North America. And they mark the landscape alongside those other features. But when Ezekias were first built along the rivers of the Southwest, Tehuapueblos were already using a complex combination of dry land farming and ditch irrigation. Some of those ditches looked very much like Spanish Ezekias. This means that the Ezekias at Hanisro Pueblos, like Abacue, were built by Indohispano, indigenous Hispanic people. They are therefore also traces, not just of Spanish settler colonialism, but of survivance, of the ways that Native people adapted, adopted, and subverted colonial practices. Survivance is distinct from survival. It is a concept coined by indigenous scholar Gerald Visner that foregrounds Native peoples' continued existence in a positive sense, rather than focusing exclusively on their life. So El Pueblo de Abacue is unique in that Hanisro people were granted the grant, but also that they maintained hold on the land through the 20 years of Mexican occupation, more than 60 years as an American territory, and more than 100 years of statehood into the present day. And the land grant, and so you can see here the documents for the land petition to the U.S. government, so the land grant patent for El Pueblo de Abacue was signed in 1909 by President Taft to, quote, converted half-breed Indians. And even though Hanisro families knew to greater or lesser degrees their existence as indigenous people, and even though Hanisro children were taken into Federal Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding schools, the authenticity of Hanisro people, their nativeness, has been challenged by historians, anthropologists, and politicians. This has prevented federal or general recognition of the survivance of indigeneity in Abacue to the present day. Abacue is probably more well-known for being the final residence of legendary modernist painter, Georgia O'Keefe. In fact, when driving toward the Pueblo on the highway today, the first thing you see is a brand-new O'Keefe Welcome Center. The existence of Hanisro people in Abacue is an ongoing challenge to the normative understandings of indigeneity in the U.S. A steady revitalization of Hanisro heritage and reclamation of Hanisro identity in the present counters historians and governmental agencies who had once claimed that the Spanish colonial project of acculturation had worked, that there were no more Hanisros. Formal proclamations like the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that were meant to maintain existing land and water rights of Indio and Hispano people were subverted in the early American period by land speculators. They operated under a capitalistic form of resource allocation and ownership. Capitalism extends the legacies of colonialism into the present. It is an economic system that justifies again the co-opting of land and people under the logic of free enterprise controlled by individuals. Capitalist notions of the value of land grow out of settler colonial beliefs of essentialized difference and profit as the primary motivator of social organization. Abacue Hanisro's practices, especially communally governed and maintained asekias, challenged the normative modes of resource allocation and state power under capitalism. And so these are the context for the research, which I will return to again after I introduce the second case study. So let me move your attention to another place where residents challenge capitalistic forms of land tenure. This is the Albany Bulb, just north of Berkeley on the east shore of the San Francisco Bay, where a group of people who called themselves land fillians lived for decades on public land in a rapidly gentrifying city. That they chose that name references both that the place they called home began as a landfill and that the place is a meaningful part of their identity. It suggests a kind of cadencia, if you'll let me draw that term from New Mexico. So the bulb is so called because of this bulb and neck topography, which was formed through the dumping of construction debris into the San Francisco Bay between 1963 and 1983. And here are some aerial shots from 1969 to the present that I'll just slowly move through so you can see how it got to the present form. So when the dump was decommissioned in the 1980s, it became a site of creative resistance to the forces of displacement in the San Francisco Bay area. People quickly discovered the joy of the bulbs views and the richness of its bedrock, a diverse substrate of past homes and buildings, rebar brick, concrete, and stone, leftovers from the constant remaking of neighborhoods since the early 1900s. And in the early 1990s, people started building homes on the overgrown landfill. The jutting concrete mounds and rocky shores hosted a constantly evolving scene of painting, graffiti, and found object sculpture, humor, politics, and mysticism. A dumping platform became an amphitheater and Jimbo built a library to serve the growing resident population, as well as regular park visitors who walked dogs, hosted raves, and kitesurfed off the beach. By 2014, more than 70 people lived more or less full time on the bulb. And over nearly 30 years of occupation, hundreds of people camped and lived for days, weeks, and months at a time. So in 1995, going back closer to the beginning of this timeline, the city of Albany hoped to transfer the land to the California State Park System, but the park system was reluctant to take on the liabilities of a park filled with construction debris and people who they likewise deemed hazardous. 20 years later, Albany City Council, through a long planning process, finally directed police to rigorously enforce a no camping ordinance and to remove the bulbs encampments and city documents call these evictions cleanups. You can see a language that is being developed to describe this place. So after multiple protests and a lawsuit, the city ultimately conceded to a $3,000 per resident settlement with specific terms. Residents would dismantle and evacuate their homes and sign a one-year stay-away order. And some residents took the deal and moved out, and others remained at the bulb through a long process of conflict. And this is Amber Whitson, who was one of the collaborators on this project. And you can see from the sign that she put in front of her house her feelings about her rights to be in this place and the adequacy of the settlement. But ultimately, by the summer of 2014, all the residents had moved on. So people at the Albany Bulb came to know each other within the conditions of economic inequality produced by capitalism. And I've already mentioned that the logics of settler colonialism are at the heart of this. And so the experience of homelessness is created by these systems, which limit people's access to basic services and as such, the systems that produce wealth. These logics conceive of a public benefit, but a benefit that is directed toward some people and away from others. And this is particularly clear in this image from Redfin, the real estate website, where this is what comes up if you search Albany, well, a couple years ago, actually. So imagine a little increase in prices. But you can see the outline includes the city of Albany and the Albany Bulb, and the city of Albany was a largely middle-class neighborhood until recently when it's become the site of homes that cost well over a million dollars. And the bulb is included in this representation of what Albany is, and even as an asset to people buying those homes. All the while excluding the fact that the Albany Bulb itself includes homes. And then Google Earth inadvertently captures this whole timeline that I've just laid out for you. So what you see here is a composite image produced by Google Earth stitching images together. And on the top half is a satellite image that was taken before the evictions. And at this quality, I'm not sure how much you can see, but the red circles circle areas where home constructions are visible from the air. And the second half is completely absent of those constructions. And through the work that I'll talk about in a minute, we do know that this half of the bulb was actually more populated than the top half of the bulb. So when I go to the Albany Bulb today, I can easily walk around and forget that it's a landfill and that it's not a natural peninsula there for my enjoyment. And I can also, and I did, read every page of planning documents produced by the city over the last 30 years and see a total of three mentions of the people who lived there. And they lived there longer than I myself have lived in any single home. Indeed, most of the understandings of homelessness leave no space for the possibility that people living outside might have homes, despite their lack of deeds or rental agreements, and that they might experience connections to place. And so what my research has demonstrated is that people at the bulb were not homeless, although they were treated as such, and that living outside might be a better way to think about it. So these landscapes of inequality, like the two I've just outlined, persist because the material traces of colonialism and capitalism are normalized and neutralized. Without seeing this talk, you might go to Redfin and not interpret the map in the way that I just did. At both Pueblo de Abacue and Albany Bulb, people who challenged normative assumptions about indigeneity and homelessness have been actively erased or excluded. In both places, they were actively engaged in attempts to be heard, seen, and understood. What I turn to now is how I came to see and narrate these landscapes alongside these people, or as Trin Min Ha would say, nearby. I want to ask how anthropological research can join the practices of presencing already initiated by these communities. And just to return to the idea of presencing, archaeology and art are practices of presencing. They use observation, interaction, and interpretation to create new forms that help us reflect on time and place. They make new connections possible and reveal new knowledge, and they can amplify knowledge known by some but suppressed or dismissed in dominant narratives. Presencing, in the context that I discuss, makes sensible the histories and continued existence of people despite of and because of the forces of inequality. And so both methods that I draw on, both social practice art and this toolkit of engaged archaeology, suggest that a critical understanding of communities and of dynamic collaboration are essential to create ethical and socially conscious knowledge production. Now, people organize very differently at the Hanisro Pueblo of Abaque and the landfillion Albany Bulb. Formal governance in Abaque follows traditions set in place by Spanish colonial land grants and operates under structures necessary to interface with the United States government, whereas the landfillion community had no formal structures of governance, no form of representation or decision making that I encountered. And at the Albany Bulb, evictions had scattered landfillions throughout the Bay Area inside and outside, but in Abaque, a formal Merced governance and the leadership of a library and cultural center shared some ideas about how research should proceed and could articulate them to me with authority, even if they differed on those issues. Nonetheless, it was imperative that my research begin with relationships and what I'm originally called the community. But the word the creates an illusory wholeness out of what is always formal governance or not a fluid and shifting thing. Communities is what I encountered as an engaged researcher and meeting these communities in their plurality was a crucial part of my research process. Now, this required that collaboration become an orienting principle rather than a singular activity, a way of being rather than a thing on a checklist. And at the Albany Bulb, the dispersed nature of landfillions posed a challenge to the kind of collaboration I usually want, close partnership, accountability, the co-construction of knowledge, whereas in Abacue, research was invited and developed over many years, so my research had deeper relationships with individuals and organizations, and my ongoing partnerships have shaped research practice and outcomes over time. Regardless, both cases demanded the expanded toolkit, not just to collect data, which I will move to next, but also to conceive of how community and collaboration might take place. And so this idea of communities and their plurality and dynamic collaboration as a structuring principle is what yielded an expanded understanding of colonialism and capitalism. So at the Albany Bulb, I started the project conceiving of an archaeology of homelessness and an archaeology of the contemporary. But what it turned out to be was an archaeology of homemaking and care that stretched across both the turn of the 21st and the 20th centuries. And talking to residents is what produced this effect, produced the effect of my thinking of landscapes as homes. And by attending to the materiality of these homes, my research was able to demonstrate how the community challenged normative ideas of what homelessness is. So I led a survey of the most inhabited portion of the Bulb and the satellite image you saw cuts pretty much directly down the middle of the neck there. So we worked on both sides of the line. And it documented 42 home sites, collected 2,900 different points of data, and produced a database of 1,200 images. And so the sites that are marked with an R are residential sites that were named by their resident or someone who knew their resident. The sites with an X were sites that we only identified through survey of the materials that were left. And the other sites of other letters include things like artworks and public places like the library and Mad Mark's castle, which is a popular destination. So attending to the Bulb in this way, as an archaeologist, revealed connections to cultural landscapes that are usually denied people experiencing homelessness. So in these images, you can see Stephanie's place in the top two, where she had gardens ringed in brick and she tended succulents and other plants that she collected from the Bulb. And at Pat and Kerry's house and Chet's house, they too had brick lined garden beds with cultivated plants and also decorations with trinkets and jewelry and other small items set up throughout. And one thing that's interesting is that these gardens actually include a lot of the same things as the gardens in the city of Albany. So if you walk through the Albany Bulb, when these gardens were intact, you would see the exact same plant life as those in the front yards of Albany. And what these gardens represent is an investment of time and labor and creativity related to an aesthetic practice of home. These domestic decorative gardens assert a particular practice of care. At the same time, they consolidate a land-fillion aesthetic that symbolically ties its residents together with each other. But more than symbolizing for outsiders a desire for beauty in landscaping, these gardens materially supported the needs of land-fillions for homes that reflect their personality, their creativity, and their identity as a community. And this is a stark contrast to generic shelters and supportive housing. And another way that my research engaged with this idea was at Patton Kerry's house. Now by the time I arrived in the fall of 2014, of course, Patton Kerry were gone. But Pat had lived there for over a decade. And in 2011, he was diagnosed with heart failure and told he only had six months to live. However, he returned to his home at the bulb and lived for two more years. He even invited hospice to come to his home on the bulb in his final days. After he passed in October 2013, a group of friends wrote him a message. And they wrote it in brick in an area just above his house. And it read, we love you, Pat, in the form of a big heart. And so the brick memorial to Pat is a fitting one because one of the striking features of his home was a meticulously laid brick floor. And you can see that in the image here. And the floor was, as far as I understand it, one of Pat's last projects. And it's amazing you can even go today and stand on this platform where the bricks are perfectly aligned and perfectly flat. And it's since weathered six years uncovered. So Pat's floor draws the 20th century when bricks were the building material par excellence of the booming west coast of California into the 21st century. And I know that because of the makers' marks on the bricks. And they tell me that they were made by plants in Richmond just a few miles to the north. That opened to meet the high demand for red paving bricks following the 1906 earthquake that destroyed 80% of San Francisco. And one plant, Stockton Brick, acquired clay from a prolific clay source in the mining town of Tesla just off the 80. Destructive mining and exploitative labor practices there supported the expansion of industry throughout the wider Bay Area including the city of Fremont where today an electric car company coincidentally also named Tesla builds $80,000 cars in a former and ill-reputed General Motors factory. So if you'll take this journey with me Tesla Motors today is a mobile symbol of wealth disparity in the Bay. But it meets the deep history of exploitative labor practices in Tesla clay mining. Which together meet in the bricks of Pat and Carrie's floor at the Albany Bulb. So according to Pat's Facebook page he considered himself an urban archeologist and so does Amber Whitson who I mentioned earlier and both were core figures in the community and avid observers of material at the edges of city life. When Amber gave me a tour of her home she quizzed me on her collections of historic marble and steel and you can see some of these she calls them her nifties in the image there. So my research was prompted by Amber and Pat's interest in materials coupled with my training as a historic archeologist. And our shared attention shows not only that the people living there challenged the normative understanding of homelessness but that the bulb itself is a human artifact contrary to claims by the Sierra Club that the bulb should be restored as a natural habitat when in fact restoration would be dredging the whole thing and turning it back into title marsh. So I've developed this understanding of materiality and landscape using the concept of interaction coined by Karen Barad. Interaction allows material to reach across temporal boundaries and social categories. Interaction asserts that things do not exist separately from the phenomena in which they take place. As opposed to interaction which we're maybe more familiar with using which suggests that agencies are already separate before entanglement. So this model of relationality demonstrates the co-constitution of archeological materials I and my collaborators create our interests and political positions as people engaged in the research process and the variety of historical actors human, mineral and otherwise that congeal together as places, ideas, artifacts, traditions or landscapes. Okay, now I'm going to speed through. So I continued this kind of engagement with material through research with the Berkeley Abacue Collaborative Archeology Project which was a partnership initiated in 2013 by the Abacue Library and Cultural Center and the Merced Del Pueblo de Abacue and our very own June Sincere of UC Berkeley. And through this collaborative partnership June has led a number of graduate students in engagements with research by and for Abacuseños. And so my research developed through a community mandate for Baca to emphasize the sovereignty of Abacuseños over knowledge produced on and about their land, the reinvestment of youth into Hanesero heritage and the meaningful connection of research products to local issues. And my focus on Asakia is likewise developed from community conversations that almost always include issues of water and land rights. You can't really have a single conversation in Abacue without land or water rights coming up. And so as part of this collaboration this talk has been reviewed by our community partners. So everything I share here today is with their blessing. And so the Abacue Grant is 24,000 acres of land just south of the Rio Chama. And the river isn't visible in this image but the grant extends up Amisa from the Rio Chama and we surveyed in 2017 the southeastern portion of the Merced. It's a Hido or communal lands. And so with a crew of undergraduate, graduate and local students, some of whom are here today, I surveyed three branches of the historic Asakia system along by Acitos Creek which you can see here. So these are two creeks that are tributaries to the Rio Chama. And then we surveyed a whole network of historic ditches alongside. And importantly in this research design we also surveyed domestic sites that are associated with the use of these Asakias and we collected 10,000 points of data along five miles of ditch which help us create a landscape scale understanding of the interaction of Hanisaro communities and water. We also employed nine high school interns from Abacue who deepen their connection to the landscape through this field work and oral history collection with their families about these Asakias. And importantly what we learned through collaboration was that Asakias are more than agricultural infrastructure. They're lived relationships with water. And even though since the 1940s this particular area has not been inhabited year round water is present. It's present as history and practice even if it is not present as a liquid. And so the archeological methods that we used presence water informs other than these liquid flows. And this creates a more equitable understanding of Asakia history and its continuance. So to do this I used a couple archeological methods that I'm just going to briefly summarize but I'm essentially out of time. And so we wanted to create Asakia biographies. Given that these systems are still in use in the community we wanted to extend the depth and detail of their biographies through looking at material evidence. So we used micromorphology which takes blocks of sediment out of the side walls to look at the microscopic sedimentation which shows traces of geologic and human forces. So images of these traces like the one on screen tell stories of flooding and drying slow and fast water and the movement of sediments from upstream. And so in this thin section here you can see the ditch as it's visible at eye in a slide and you can see these different layers that start to tell stories about the movement of water and here you can see a much more magnified version of that showing how some basalt has been weathered by being open to the air. The other method that we used was oscillating spectrum luminescence dating which to summarize this complicated diagram essentially relies on the qualities of quartz grains in sand to act as clocks. So quartz crystals react to radiation from the sun and when they're buried they essentially become clocks which count backwards from the last time they have been exposed. And what these dates combined with the information from artifacts at the domestic sites and the micromorphology give us are a narrative of these ditches that reacts with the oral historical evidence and becomes part of Abacuseno's efforts for their water rights in adjudications today. So throughout New Mexico in both activism and scholarship people discuss Asequia culture. Abacuseno's assert that Asequias do not exist separately from the people that use and govern them. And the domestic sites that I documented along the networks evidenced the hydro-sociality of Asequia culture. I'm drawing this word from political ecology and expanding it through an attention to materiality. In its original form hydro-sociality describes a dialectical relationship between people and water. It emphasizes the social construction of what water is and how it is presumed to work. But through engaging this concept with people in Abacuseno and hydro-sociality as the intra-action of people, water, soil, time, law I could go on for a whole other hour of what is included in this intra-action. But importantly thinking this way helps us maintain a commitment to understanding the historical forms of water as part of contemporary challenges to Abacuseno's water rights. This historical approach to hydro-sociality an Abacuseno approach to hydro-sociality extends the states of water beyond solid, liquid and gas to include its historical presences and meanings and its power in the present day. So in three minutes I will cover the last portion of the talk which is the activities of presencing that I've just described being co-constitutive of things like maps and photographs that presence again or re-presence or represent. Now this idea of representation is a challenge for thinking of intra-action and the complexity of materials and phenomena because representationalism is a belief that representations are independent from the phenomena that they represent. So for me that meant I needed another practice to avoid reproducing inequalities through this research separating things and creating those fragmentations. So as an archaeologist I traffic in maps and maps matter. I used maps of both the Albany bulb and Abacuseno to assert presences of material histories and I used them a few times in this talk very strategically to make points. And in Abacuseno authoritative maps that document Asakia networks are crucial ways to negotiate with state engineers to claim water rights. They too traffic maps. But maps can easily fall into the trap of representationalism. They can claim a one-to-one or unmediated relationship to the spatiality that they reference. And maps have long been understood by a major player in the domination of people and landscapes by those in power. Colonial regimes claim land by survey and property under capitalism is bureaucratized through plat maps and the like. So how could I create expert accurate archaeological maps that don't reproduce the inequalities they have been used to support in the past? So I used the work at Albany bulb to make mapping a meaningful practice of represencing and an opportunity for critical reflection. So at the Albany bulb we left the maps in the style of the many hands of the people who made them. So we made extremely detailed sketch maps that took multiple days of field work to complete. But rather than erasing that process we tried to leave that within the image. And I also screen printed them like those things we found at the bulb. So ripstop, nylon, cotton batting, canvas in order to make them something you could hold to remove the page the map from the page or the wall and allow you to have a more embodied experience with that representation. And in Abacue I returned after our summer season of field work with an artist named Bria Weinreb who was also part of the archeological field crew and we reflected on the meaning of field work with our nine high school interns through collage. And collage is a process not unlike the collecting of shape files and layering of visual information in a geographic information system. And the interns in fact had built maps in that geographic information system over the summer. But so what we did was we worked with Georgia O'Keeffe's landscape paintings of Abacue. And those paintings often included things like Sierra Pedernal who watched over us as we did our field work. But absent from these images and most other famous representations by photographers like Paul Strand and Alfred Stieglitz or the US map that you just saw made by surveyors is Hanisaro people. Even our academic narratives of Hanisaro people as not existent or dead and gone leave this out. Not the least to say our GIS maps which you saw earlier in the talk. So to re-presence our collaborative research interns began with a print of an O'Keeffe painting over which they pasted images of themselves during field work. Objects, sites and landscapes we encountered words, images and drawings of Abacue. Through this the students created counter maps that do not follow our Cartesian coordinate logic. They do not tie one event to one place but rather expand the viewer's potential to think temporally and politically. They enact what these Hanisaro students do every day by living where they live and being who they are. They assert a presence. Note in our project statement these maps mobilize O'Keeffe's notoriety to rewrite indigenous bodies into the canon of art history and challenge issues of misrepresentation on native land. And so these collages counter in meaningful ways our archaeological maps and historic visualizations of the area. They are indicative of the ways representations are not separate from their objects but their interaction that make phenomenon. And we did something similar with photographs from the Albany Bulb where in a database that I worked on with undergraduate research apprentices the research apprentices came to me with questions about how our archive would continue some of the practices of displacement and so we chose to tag the photos using three different languages the language of the land fillings themselves where this is an image of Amber's place, a kitchen, and a living room the language of archaeology where this is a home site, a fire ring and construction and the language of real estate development where this is a site with bay views a fixer upper and one that uses sustainable materials and all these represences had their own containers which have their own intra-actions so the material from the Albany Bulb was presented as part of an art exhibition at the somarts gallery in San Francisco and land fillian artists like Jimbo here were exhibited alongside photographic and documentary work and our collages took form in Abacue through a zine where the students themselves represented what the field work had meant and in Abacue the archaeological reporting is very important their community library has collected research that's taken place in Abacue for decades and painstakingly maintains genealogical records but the zine extends the ability of the community to think about what this kind of research does and whose voices are included and I have examples of both of these containers so to speak here today so it's easy to consider these represences as after the facts of research as things which emerge when the process near to close but because of my orientation to engagement these creative practices were very much in the middle of the research process the thinking they engender is part of the expansion necessary to understand how landscapes of inequality are not bounded within the temporal divisions of archaeology and anthropology historic or contemporary they create connections that guided how I interpreted data and ultimately wrote narratives like the one I've given today and these creative practices return me to the initial provocation of the talk the acknowledgement of land and the materiality of inequality these projects demonstrate how the practice of historical archaeology is improved made more ethically and epistemically rigorous through an expanded understanding of what research looks like and who it is for thank you now I went five minutes over so thank you for staying if anybody has questions I'm more than happy to answer them I'd also want to call out the many people that are here of course who initiated the Berkeley Abacue Collaborative Archaeology Project Danny Sosa, Scott Lyons Baca and Albany Bulb respectively questions? so I think that, thank you for that question that's a great question and sort of the embedded narrative so that was one of the challenges in doing both these projects is that the ethical concerns of archaeology are not necessarily as demonstrated for example by the Society for American Anthropology Ethics Principles which are right here stewardship, accountability, commercialization public and educational outreach that one's a big one for me so those don't necessarily represent the ethical concerns of any individual community or the communities within a particular place or history and so while I come at this research with these principles of archaeological ethics but also the ethical concerns of post-colonial research the method that I'm suggesting relies on an engagement with the communities on that very question at the beginning and at the Albany Bulb that was less successful partially because of the historical happenstance of what was going on it was actively being cleaned up and I was a second year graduate student and sort of ethically had to decide whether I would proceed despite not being able to track down every person who had lived there and create a consensus and so in a conversation that's on a more consultative end definitely but in Abacue and June might even be able to speak to this from the very very beginning conversations centered around what research meant and what and who it was for and so the projects the individual seasons of fieldwork the research questions develop from there so for me the ethics are really in thinking of those concerns and orienting research to them rather than fitting research around them we can ask follow-up questions if I didn't touch on all the points you were hoping for the chairs here might they'll just talk yeah I think that's great thank you so much for coming and thank you for bearing with me a little over time I appreciate it thank you