International Journal of Historical Archaeology, Vol. 1, No. 3, 1997

Views and Commentaries

Professionalism in Historical Archaeology

Charles E. Orser, Jr.1

As historical archaeology expands across the globe, issues over the nature ofprofessionalism are sure to arise with greater frequency. In this essay, I explorethe subject of professionalism in historical archaeology and offer a few personalcomments and observations on this important subject. For me, personalintegrity can play a huge role in furthering the cause of archaeology amongan often-uninterested public.

KEY WORDS: professionalism; ethics; integrity.

INTRODUCTION

Archaeologists have always faced a struggle in their efforts to define,both to their colleagues and to outsiders, the precise nature of their pursuitas professionals. History shows that the professionalization of the disciplinewas a hard-won trophy as scholars committed to the serious study of antiquitysought to distinguish themselves from mere collectors of relics (Trigger,1989). Archaeology has always been considered something of a luxury, a pur-suit created as part of the Western obsession to discover what it means to behuman. Though professionalism is clearly a subject of interest to the disci-pline of archaeology as a whole, it is ultimately an intimately personal con-cern. Though professional archaeological societies strive to develop standardsof performance, in the end, each individual practitioner must determine whatit means to be a professional archaeologist, to decide where their sense ofprofessionalism begins and ends. To complicate matters, one's perception ofwhat it means to be a professional is free to change with time and experience.

This essay is presented in the "Views and Commentaries" section ofthis journal because it contains my personal understanding of profession-alism in archaeology. My ideas have been forged from intermittently think-

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ing about what it means to be an archaeologist, beginning in 1979 when Iobtained my first full-time position in archaeology, as the assistant statearchaeologist for the State of Michigan. I have been employed as a pro-fessional archaeologist ever since. In the intervening years, I have learnedthat being a professional archaeologist entails much more than just receiv-ing a paycheck for work accomplished. Most recently, my inner thoughtsabout professionalism were piqued by personal experience.

Not long ago, my book A Historical Archaeology of the Modern World(Orser, 1996) received an extremely negative review. This review causedme to think seriously about the role of professionalism in historical archae-ology. The impetus for my thoughts sprang most immediately from themany comments 1 received from colleagues expressing their outrage overwhat many perceived to be an unfair and ad hominem attack. Many ofthose who contacted me expressed concern that this kind of review shouldappear in one of our field's premier journals, and some wondered what itsaid about historical archaeology in general. The book review editor of theinvolved journal made a personal apology to me about the publication ofthe review, but this did not lessen my interest in the situation because ofwhat it said about historical archaeology. My deepest thoughts were coloredby my commitment to the development of a global historical archaeology,an archaeological practice that would have, as its very foundation, opencommunication and cooperation between scholars of diverse backgrounds,personal experience, and cultural and national affiliations. Given the ex-panding diversity of the world's historical archaeologists, the creation ofsuch a modern-world archaeology will be difficult at best. With this in mind,I believe that building this archaeology is made considerably more difficultby the unconstructive tone of the review. Rather than representing an ob-jective assessment of my book, the comments of the reviewer have a hiddenhistory that speak against both professional cooperation and the creationof a globally defined historical archaeology.

Thus, my reaction to the review reach far beyond the author's com-ments. For me, they raised the issue of what we should have the right toexpect from our colleagues. This issue is not trivial or simply personal. Infact, I believe that it will grow in significance as greater numbers of his-torical archaeologists—from diverse cultural backgrounds and national ex-periences—learn to communicate, cooperate, and collaborate.

A BRIEF BACKGROUND

To understand why the review caused me to think about professional-ism requires some background information. My consternation extends be-yond the review because, after all, I did not write the book in blissful

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ignorance. I knew when beginning the book that anyone who decides towrite about archaeological theory must fully expect to receive mixed reac-tions to their work; that is, after all, the nature of the discourse. Manypostmodernists, for example, may reject my ideas out of hand, choosing tosee my use of world-systems theory as totalizing. Others will simply notlike my approach. So be it. The history of the discipline demonstrates thatthe reactions to works of theory can be hostile and hurtful, and I was fullyprepared for this response because the evocation of strong reaction amongone's peers is to be expected in a book of theory. Thus, one of the pointsI stressed was that theory matters in archaeology, and the appearance ofnegative reviews should be anticipated. The attention of scholars, even ifnegative, demonstrates that a cord has been struck among other practitio-ners. As I wrote in the Preface, "Though my secret desire is that everyonewill agree with what I have written, I know that this expectation is unrea-sonable" (Orser, 1996, p. xi).

I knew that I had written a book that would not meet with universalapproval. I did not think it would, given both the importance of theory inarchaeology and the myriad opinions held by theoretically minded archae-ologists. When viewed objectively, the best situation for moving theory for-ward is to have archaeologists constructively disagree, to illustrate thepoints of disagreement, and to provide their own refinements, revisions, oralternatives. This program of presentation, argumentation, and reformula-tion is all the more meaningful and important in historical archaeology,because as I also argued in the book, too much historical archaeology isutterly devoid of theoretical exegesis.

My perception of theoretical maturation is all well and good, and inmost cases it would be adequate to describe the way things work in any in-tellectual discipline. But this is not an accurate description of this particularsituation, for the reviewer and I had several earlier, unconstructive encoun-ters, extending back in time well over 10 years. Thus, what may appear assimply a bad review of my book by a neutral scholar is in reality part of along-standing personal conflict that has no place in serious scholarship.

My intent in this essay is not to answer the specific points raised bythe reviewer. I see no reason to continue what is clearly a pointless, runningconflict that in no way enriches the discipline or facilitates the creation ofa global historical archaeology. Rather, my goal here is to move the dis-cussion away from specific comments about my book to explore a moresignificant, related issue that I believe is vitally important to the continuingdevelopment of historical archaeology as the kind of discipline I hope itwill be. This issue concerns the development of professionalism in historicalarchaeology. The personal nature of the review has served only as a catalystfor organizing my current thoughts.

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ARCHAEOLOGICAL PROFESSIONALISM

Issues involving professionalism (and ethics) in archaeology havegained increasing relevance to archaeological practitioners over the pastfew years. The archaeologists' interest has undoubtedly been spurred bymany specific events and larger historical trends, but central among themhave been at least three developments: the continuance and perhaps evengrowth of the illegal antiquities market; the development and explosion ofresearch in cultural resource management, or rescue, archaeology; and theheightened insistence by indigenous groups that they have a voice in thetelling of their own histories. As individual archaeologists have confrontedthese difficult issues, singly and in confusing combination, some practitio-ners have stepped back from the demands of their daily schedules to con-sider the nature of the archaeological endeavor.

Each one of the three developments is centrally important to contem-porary archaeology, but in this essay I focus on only two of them: culturalresource management archaeology and the role of indigenous peoples inarchaeological research. Though I am firmly committed to building a globalperspective for modern-world archaeology, many of my comments are re-stricted specifically to developments in the United States, because at pre-sent I am most informed about the si tuation there. Excepting theparticulars, many of the same trends may be observed in the archaeologyof other countries.

Introspection is, of course, good for a discipline such as archaeology,even though it is a fairly recent phenomenon. When archaeology was stilla small profession and almost all practicing archaeologists knew one an-other personally, they could police themselves through peer pressure. Theability to control the members of the discipline through interpersonal as-sociation was forever changed in the United States with the enactment offederal cultural resource management legislation in the 1970s (McGimsey,1995, pp. 11-12). The number of archaeologists exploded in conjunctionwith the employment opportunities that accompanied the rise of compli-ance, or corporate, archaeology. As archaeologists working in corporate set-tings began to profit materially from their research, the rules of theprofession were transformed (Macdonald and Townsend, 1976).

Cultural resource management has been an unquestioned boon to ar-chaeology, particularly to historical archaeology. Without question, severalhighly significant historic-period sites have been investigated as a direct re-sult of the mandates of federal legislation. Many of the these sites—pes-simistically, perhaps most of them—would have been overlooked anddestroyed without the legislation requiring their examination. Archaeologyat sites inhabited by nineteenth-century farmers provides an excellent ex-

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ample. Without legislation, it is unlikely that we would see the current levelof interest in such sites.

The rise of corporate archaeology has permitted the development ofarchaeology's golden age, at least in terms of how many archaeologists areemployed and how much research is being accomplished. As this periodwas beginning, however, some archaeologists, concerned by the wholesalechanges wrought by federal legislation, expressed alarm about the field'snew direction. Many of these archaeologists assumed that the conduct ofarchaeology within a corporate framework would lead to the lowering ofthe quality of the research (Macdonald, 1976, p. xi; Dunnell, 1984, pp.67-68). Some archaeologists argued that as their colleagues began to worryabout profit margins, making payrolls, and the often-unrelenting demandsof bureaucratic deadlines and reporting schedules, they would spend in-adequate amounts of time on their research designs, sampling strategies,and everything else associated with serious archaeological research. Put an-other way, the fear was that these corporate archaeologists would ceaseacting like professional archaeologists and start acting like corporate man-agers who were in the "business" of archaeology.

History has shown that the fears of these archaeologist were largelyunfounded. True, every practicing archaeologist working today undoubtedlyknows of several cultural resource management projects that have eitherbeen poorly executed or underreported. But for every bad project, thereare probably two or three showing the positive impact of the legislation onthe archaeological endeavor, particularly as it pertains to historical archae-ology. One need look no farther than New York City to see the huge bene-fits that can accrue when bureaucrats provide funds, albeit often reluctantly,to large-scale rescue projects at sites that may otherwise be overlooked andlost forever (Harrington, 1993; Yamin, 1997). In fact, one of the subtleironies of today's archaeology in the United States is that one must oftenengage in cultural resource management research under contract to thefederal government to receive truly major funding. This situation is par-ticularly true for historical archaeology because the largest funding agenciescontinue to discriminate against post-Columbian archaeology unless it fo-cuses on the contact period, with its often-obvious links to late prehistory.

The archaeologists who questioned the inception of corporate archae-ology may have had at least one legitimate fear, that some archaeologistswould graft a corporate mentality onto the high-minded discipline of ar-chaeology. And it was soon true that, immersed in this new work environ-ment, some professional archaeologists were often more concerned withthe immediacy of the cash flow and the next proposal's deadline than withwriting scholarly articles, preparing monographs, or delivering lectures.Competitive bidding, once a completely foreign notion to academically

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trained archaeologists, became a common feature of the archaeological en-terprise. Within this corporate environment, cases of underbidding, bidrig-ging, and other unethical practices were inevitable. But even so, anyarchaeologist with experience in both corporate and academic environ-ments knows that the worst practices of the corporate world can be no lessdevastating or hurtful than those that can occur in academia.

It was precisely to stem the incidence of unethical behavior amongcorporate archaeologists that a number of concerned professionals createdthe Society of Professional Archaeologists (SOPA) in 1976. Part of thecharge of the new organization was to develop and maintain a registry ofarchaeologists who were qualified to conduct field research. The idea be-hind SOPA was that by creating a list of qualified practitioners, archaeolo-gists themselves could ensure that only colleagues with high professionalideals could represent the discipline to the world at large. As SOPA's firstpresident put it, the creation of this list "would aid government agenciesand archaeological contractors seeking expert archaeologists to conductfederally mandated field research" (Jelks, 1995, p. 14). The Code of Ethicscreated by SOPA specifically addressed the responsibilities of its membersto three specific bodies: to the public, to their colleagues, and to employersand clients (see Vitelli, 1996, pp. 253-255). As a requirement for continuedmembership, every member of SOPA was expected to abide by the Codein every task they undertook as professional archaeologists.

Significantly, though, when the creation of a certification organizationwas initially proposed via questionnaire to the members of the Society forAmerican Archaeology, over 70% of them did not respond (Macdonald,1976, pp. viii-ix). This lack of response may indicate a disciplinewide apathytoward self-certification, but SOPA membership did grow. From a chartermembership of 147, membership increased by almost 275% by 1988 (to 550members); by 1994, the membership had increased another 33% (to 730members). These numbers are impressive, but SOPA was not an unbridledsuccess. As far as historical archaeologists were concerned, fewer than 10%of the current members of the Society for Historical Archaeology also belongto SOPA (Schuyler, 1997, p. 8). And even one of SOPA's strongest supportersrecently stated that "SOPA has failed—and failed miserably—in its attemptto draw a significant number of practicing archaeologists into its fold. A pal-try 700 after all this time is indeed a sad commentary on SOPA's ability toaccomplish its purpose" (Noble, 1996, p. 7).

The apparent self-admitted failure of SOPA is interesting, consideringthat most nonarchaeological professionals who regularly deal with the pub-lic—and with public monies—have created successful watchdog bodies.These organizations seek to police their fields' practitioners through codesof professional ethics not unlike that created by SOPA (see, e.g., Gorlin,

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1990). But as any archaeologist who has ever thought about professionalcertification knows, the situation faced by nonarchaeological professionalsis different from that faced by archaeologists. Unlike professional account-ants, architects, engineers, and attorneys, for example, archaeologists arenot required to pass governmentally administered licensing examinations.The only such "tests" involve the preparation of a master's thesis, a doctoraldissertation, or an equivalent report. And, as the relatively low membershipof SOPA demonstrates, one need not be certified to practice archaeology.The same cannot be said of architects or attorneys. Thus, the gap betweenother professionals and archaeologists—how their work is perceived, howmuch remuneration they receive and how it is billed, and how much socialvalue attaches to their work—continues to bedevil archaeologists as theyattempt to prove that they are just as highly trained, and just as sociallyrelevant, as the members of other professions.

The concern over creating and maintaining an internal certificationprogram in American archaeology was clearly a major development in therecent history of the discipline. The move toward recognized profession-alization, however, pales in comparison to the questions that have beenraised concerning the role of indigenous peoples in archaeological practice.

Interest in the place of indigenous peoples in archaeology came to thediscipline later than it did to cultural anthropology. The reason for the timelag is obvious: field ethnographers confront living men and women every day,whereas the subjects of archaeological practice are usually unable to com-ment on how they are being treated. The easy complacency of archaeologistswas changed forever when members of indigenous communities expressedconcern over the treatment of skeletal remains by archaeologists and biologi-cal anthropologists. The vocal interest of nonarchaeologists in the archae-ological endeavor thrust the practice of archaeology from the dimly lit pastto the harsh light of the present. Often faced with direct, face-to-face con-frontation, many archaeologists began to accept not only that some groupsof living men and women cared about the disposition of skeletal remainsfrom archaeological sites, but that many also felt a sense of real kinship tothe remains themselves. Jolted by the prodding of such groups as AmericanIndians Against Desecration (formed in 1980), the World ArchaeologicalCongress (WAC)—initially created in 1986 as an academic response toApartheid in South Africa (Crake, 1987; Ucko, 1987)—was soon associatedwith repatriation and reburial (Hubert, 1988). The association between WACand repatriation was made permanent in August 1989 during the First WorldArchaeological Congress Inter-Congress in Vermillion, South Dakota. Thishistoric meeting culminated in the signing of The Vermillion Accord, a boldand explicit statement mandating respect for the remains of the dead "irre-

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spective of origin, race, religion, nationality, custom, and tradition" (Hubert,1989, p. 18).

The issue of repatriation and reburial has been a divisive one in Ameri-can archaeology. Some archaeologists in the United States—perhaps mostimmediately those working in the corporate world—may have decided uponcooperation only because of the realities of the Native American GravesProtection and Repatriation Act, signed into law in 1990. Other archae-ologists have only reluctantly accepted any dialogue with nonprofessionalactivists (Zimmerman, 1988, 1989, 1995). The American Committee for thePreservation of Archaeological Collections, created as a reaction againstreburial as an easy solution to an often-complex problem, helps to keepalive controversies between archaeologists and indigenous peoples, oftento the embarrassment of both. Since the late 1970s, however, increasingnumbers of archaeologists have been willing to listen to the concerns ofthe representatives of indigenous communities. In many cases, knowledge-able nonarchaeologists have been brought into archaeological research asmore than just passive informants.

The repatriation/reburial controversy has been the single-most impor-tant issue facing contemporary archaeology, and it has had a direct impacton professionalism in the discipline in diverse ways. As Larry Zimmerman(1995, pp. 65-66) has pointed out, the reburial controversy has caused ar-chaeologists to reaffirm their self-appointed status as stewards of the past. Infact, stewardship—the position of authority in promoting the protection ofhistoric things—has been accorded the paramount title of the "central prin-ciple of archaeological ethics" (Lynott and Wylie, 1995). The appointment ofarchaeologists as the principal stewards of the past seems to make abundantsense. We, as professionals, claim to know the most about the past; we, asprofessionals, have the most to gain by archaeological research since it is ourlivelihood; and we, as professionals, have the public trust of protecting theremains of the past in a conscientious and respectful manner. Also, as ar-chaeologists, we destroy the sites we study simply by investigating them.

Though our stewardship of the past seems almost natural given ourdaily interaction with it, Zimmerman (1995, pp. 65-66) poses an almostimponderable question when he asks, "Who appointed us as stewards ofthe past"? The answer is, of course, obvious: we did. But Zimmerman con-cludes that instead of confirming ourselves as the sole protectors of antiq-uity, we should be on the forefront of promoting the idea that all peopleshare this responsibility. While we in fact do know more about the pastthan most nonprofessionals—it is, after all, our profession—we do not ownthe past. Thus, it is in our best interest as citizens of the human community,like everyone else, to preserve the precious remains of bygone eras. AsBrian Pagan (1995, p. 120) has written, "We must now take a closer look

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at our own value systems and priorities," and learn to see what we do asprofessional archaeologists in a wider, more socially conscious way.

TOWARD A NEW PROFESSIONALISM IN HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY

In some ways, the recent dialogues about cultural resource manage-ment and indigenous involvement in archaeology (and even site destructionthrough looting and vandalism) have not overtly involved historical archae-ology. By and large, it has been the Society for American Archaeology,not the Society for Historical Archaeology, that has been in the van-guard—in both pro and con positions—in the most important controversiesfacing contemporary archaeology. It seems then, that prehistorians havethe most to lose by such developments as reburial. And when we describethe subject matter of archaeology as "finite, fragile, irreplaceable, andunique" (Jelks, 1995, p. 15), we stress the essential prehistoric nature ofthe discipline, because as Zimmerman (1995, p. 65) asks, "Isn't humanityreally creating new sites all the time?" Only historical archaeologists cananswer this question in the affirmative.

The unwillingness of the Society for Historical Archaeology to confrontthe controversies facing the discipline as a whole suggests that historicalarchaeology exists outside these controversies. American historical archae-ology has always been a conservative discipline, initially created as a wayto document and to pay homage to the great places and the male heroesof our early history (Orser and Fagan, 1995, pp. 25-32). Without question,political conservatism still characterizes historical archaeology, and this po-sition may explain the relative silence of the Society for Historical Archae-ology in such important issues as listening to indigenous voices (though theSociety does engage in some behind-the-scenes lobbying to varying degreesof success). But as a practicing historical archaeologist, I openly reject theproposition that historical archaeology does not have a stake—and thusshould not have a voice—in the central controversies that face today's ar-chaeology. I believe, in fact, that historical archaeologists cannot build anew sense of professionalism until they openly and honestly confront suchdifficult issues. Until then, historical archaeology will be a trivial pursuit.

I have already mentioned the godsend that cultural resource manage-ment legislation has been for American historical archaeology. Without themandate from the government, historical archaeology would probably stillbe associated with Thomas Jefferson's rose bushes and the size and shapeof cannonballs at Gettysburg. Politically conservative historical archaeolo-gists, as they decry the growth of big government, can be thankful that the

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same government has enacted federal legislation that has helped to ensuretheir livelihoods.

Site looting and respect for the dead are indeed important concernsfor historical archaeology. Historical archaeologists regularly see the effectsof looting in the ceaseless work of bottle hunters and underwater treasuresalvers. The destruction of a hundred-year-old bottle dump or the lootingof a late nineteenth-century shipwreck is intellectually equivalent to thewanton defilement of a Mississippian mound or a Mayan village, thoughit may not be so conceived by most nonarchaeologists (and sadly even someprofessionals). And though most historical archaeologists do not excavatemarked cemeteries, they are often party to controversies over the exhuma-tion and disposition of historic-period skeletal remains (see, e.g., Orser etal., 1986).

Upon reflection, it only stands to reason that historical archaeologistsshould have as much or perhaps even greater sensitivity than prehistoriansto the interests and concerns of their nonarchaeological constituencies.Whereas prehistorians are often called upon to find a link between livingpeople and an archaeological site, for historical archaeologists the connec-tions are usually obvious and direct. Historical archaeologists around theworld have made this realization, and many have begun to collaborate withlocal residents in framing their interpretations of the past (see, e.g., Colleyand Bickford, 1996; Leone et al. 1995; Rubertone, 1996). It is this senseof engagement around which I believe historical archaeology should buildits new sense of professionalism.

Without question, members of professions hope that nonmembers willhold them in high esteem. But to achieve a desired level of respect, pro-fessionals must exhibit two qualities: they must show respect for their col-leagues, because "Only if they respect one another can they expect thepublic to do so," and they must acknowledge that they "have a duty tobear their fair share of the work in fulfilling the profession's social role"(Bayles, 1989, p. 177). Obviously, the two elements work together to raisethe level of professionalism both inside and outside any single profession.

The notion of linking professional activity with social commitmentforms the core of the understanding that "professional life can and needsto be restructured in ways that suffuse technical competence with civicawareness and purpose" (Sullivan, 1995, p. xix). The obvious question thatfollows from this is "What constitutes what is right for civic society"? Wouldit be more socially responsible to decry the inequalities inherent in capi-talism or to illustrate the increased health-care benefits that result fromcapitalized, competitive medicine? Such questions, of course, illustrate theproblems that exist in real civic society and show that most complex issues

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concerning real men and women defy easy resolution. Nonetheless, a so-lution to such queries may lie in the notion of integrity.

Professionalism is an evolving social enterprise that links together thegoals and aspirations of individual professionals within a series of complex,interdependent social relationships. No one could have hoped to becomea professional archaeologist without the personal will to do it, and the helpand support of numerous colleagues and mentors. Integrity helps to medi-ate the tensions inherent in seeking personal advancement within a networkof friends and associates. It "implies that one is honest and fair, that oneis at home with oneself in one's desires and dec is ions . . . . [but it] onlyacquires content through relationships, by caring for persons and purposesand sustaining commitments" (Sullivan, 1995, p. 220).

Personal integrity in professional life is not acquired with an academicdegree. Its acquisition constitutes a quest whose salient features change overtime. Accordingly, "where the levels of trust, self-restraint, and degree of co-operation are high . . . professional organizations are more likely to behaveas 'good citizens,' taking responsible, often leadership roles in the society'slife" (Sullivan, 1995, p. 221). In return for such civic awareness, the membersof a profession receive the public's good will, respect, and support.

With these thoughts in mind, it appears that archaeology has sufferedin the public's mind partly because of its internal divisiveness. Many other-wise educated people believe that all it takes to be an archaeologist is ashovel and a place to dig. Far too many sport divers think nothing of rippingthe planks off the side of a shipwreck; too many otherwise decent peoplespend their weekends digging for bottles to increase their personal collec-tions. Without question, increased education would help ameliorate this wan-ton destruction, but even education would be an impartial cure. After all,scores of school children throughout the United States and presumably else-where have studied the ancient Egyptians for decades without there being anend to site looting and destruction. By the same token, pseudo-archaeologyis as popular as ever, with pseudo-scholars being financially enriched by theirfantastic claims about the gross stupidity and lack of imagination of our an-cestors. Erich von Daniken is back on prime-time television, and CharltonHeston continues to narrate an impressive array of pseudo-scientific pro-grams. We must conclude that thousands of nonprofessionals are listening tothem. So as long as archaeology is composed of unlicensed practitioners, allthe codes of ethics in the world will not raise the level of professionalism inthe field. Professional societies cannot mandate professionalism any morethan a government can legislate morality.

What may make a difference in the conduct of archaeology is the de-velopment of a sense of integrity in the field. Such an integrity will neces-sarily incorporate three interrelated kinds of respect: for the profession

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(including its codes of ethics), for one another (as fellow professionals wor-thy of respect if not always agreement), and for society (including indige-nous peoples and the resource base of the environment at large).

I fully realize that my comments are unquestionably and unabashedlyUtopian in nature. I wish archaeology could be the kind of discipline inwhich caring practitioners labored out of love for knowledge in a worldthat respected their work. This pleasant scenario is a distant dream thatin all likelihood can never be realized in a capitalist society. But I believethat anyone who really cares about archaeology—its subject matter and itsfuture as a discipline in an ever-changing world —must ask themselves,"What do I want archaeology to be"? For me, the answer lies in an integritythat transcends the discipline of archaeology, but necessarily reflects backon it in myriad ways. Many of these reflected images will not be immedi-ately apparent, but they may work to ensure the future of the disciplinein the long run. Such changes for the discipline must originate with everypracticing archaeologist. We can make the field what we wish it to be bothfor ourselves and for the future.

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