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C, when distinctive styles of pottery were made in different parts of the state, that we can begin to talk about regional cultures with some certainty. These regional cultures, each correlating with different geographical and environmental zones, are the focus of part II. Sometime between A.

One new culture, Fort Walton, was similar to the agricultural societies developed elsewhere in the interior of the southeastern United States during the same period. Archaeologists call these Mississippian cultures, deriving the name from the Mississippi River Valley where such cultures have been studied. PAGE 24 xviii Preface Though true Mississippian societies were not found outside of northwest Florida, there is no doubt that other Florida societies were influenced by Fort Walton and, perhaps, Mississippian cultures north and west of the state.

Part III discusses the Fort Walton culture and contemporary cultures of the late precolumbian period. Because many among the audience for which this book is written are not archaeologists, I have tried to keep the archaeological jargon to a minimum. For instance, radiocarbon dates are not presented in radiocarbon years, nor have they been corrected using bristlecone pine corrections, nor are the standard deviations given.

Readers will imme diately recognize that last sentence as a fine example of the type of jargon I hope to avoid. But they should be aware that radiocarbon dates are not exact calendar dates and that various corrections are nec essary to turn them into exact dates or, more correctly, into a probable calendar date range for a complete discussion of radiocarbon dating, see Thomas The radiocarbon dates presented here are only guides.

For the earlier cultures in Florida's history the peoples described in chapters 2 and 3 the radiocarbon dates are several hun dred years or more younger nearer the present than the corre sponding calendar date. As dates get closer to the present, the differ ence between radiocarbon date and true calendar date grows less. Much debate surrounds the interpretation of radiocarbon dates, and research on their calibrations continues. Even so, radiocarbon dating is a powerful tool for archaeology. Its widespread use beginning in the s has revolutionized archaeological dating and provided uncontroverted evidence for the age of human cultures in the Americas and the evolution of those cultures over time.

A note concerning terminology is needed. Throughout the book, I use culture and geographical terms to refer to specific regions of the state, especially in parts II and III. The termsfor example, north Florida, north-central Florida, southwest Floridadesignate specific regions and are more precise than the more general, less well defined geographical indicators such as northern Florida and southern Florida.

At various times the area occupied by a regional culture may be the same as a geographical region, and both terms are used interchange ablyfor instance, the southwest region is the same as the Caloosahatchee region. The illustrations in this volume include something old, something new, and a lot borrowed.

My intention is to show some of the past and present people involved in Florida archaeology while giving some sense of the history of archaeological research. The way research was carried out in the s or even in the s is different from its inter disciplinary nature today. I also have provided illustrations of the stone artifacts and potsherds that typify what archaeologists usually find in sites, interspersing them with illustrations of less common but more spectacular examples of precolumbian crafts, such as Weeden Island pottery vessels.

Last, our information about the precolumbian peoples of Florida is uneven across the state. That is the nature of archaeolog ical enquiry. And the more known about a culture, the more sophisti cated the research questions posed in subsequent research. The next time you order an ice cream cone at River Walk in Jack sonville, dine at a bayfront restaurant in Tampa, stay at a hotel on the Miami River, or dance to country tunes at Church Street Station in Orlando, squint a bit and visualize how things must have been hun dreds and even thousands of years ago when native American Indians walked in the places you are walking.

As much as the English settlers at Jamestown or the Spanish missions of California, the history of those native American Indians is a part of our heritage. I hope this book provides an opportunity to understand that heritage better and to heed the voices of the people who lived in precolumbian Florida. In writing this book I have relied on reports, articles, books, and monographs written by a number of archaeologists. They are too numerous to mention, but I thank them all.

James B. Griffin, Nancy Marie White, and J. Raymond Williams were kind enough to read complete drafts of Archaeology of Precolumbian Florida. Their com mentssometimes humorous, sometimes critical, and always worth whilewere a tremendous help in the final crafting of the manuscript. David Brose also read a draft and provided commentary. All read and commented on various chapters.

Many of this group of seventeen scientists also pro vided access to unpublished data and ideas. They certainly have my thanks for their contributions. Thanks are also due the editors and staff of the University Press of Florida. Walda Metcalf and the rest of the crew who work in the funny houses behind the Krystal fast-food restaurant always are supportive of my endeavors. They also are an excellent publishing house, and I have enjoyed working with them. My maps were drafted by Jan Coyne, one of the new breed of computer cartographers.

Her skills sure made my life easier. These students helped me to realize the need for a new overview of PAGE 27 Preface xxi Florida archaeology, and they provided a valuable introduction to new literature and new ideas related to Florida archaeology. They are George Avery, Nina T. Five of these ten have gone on to receive their doctoral degrees, writing dissertations on topics related to their Compplan contributions.

A sixth has completed her master's thesis, and the other four are in the final stages of disser tation writing, most on subjects related to their Compplan topics. It was also critiqued by numerous Florida archaeologists, who provided valuable insights. I hope that it is clear from these acknowledgments that archaeolo gists no longer work alone.

Uncovering what happened hundreds and thousands of years ago is a complicated process, one that must involve many people working together. In Florida we are lucky to have a com petent group of archaeologists willing to collaborate to understand the past. It is my sincere hope that this volume has done justice to their contributions. Today the Florida Archaeological Council, an organization of professional archaeologists who work in the state, numbers more than seventy individuals.

Archaeology of Precolumbian Florida

Significantly, most archaeologists are not employed in universities or museums; the majority work for govern ment agencies, like the Florida Bureau of Archaeological Research or the National Park Service, or they are employed by private companies. Their employment is due in part to federal and state laws and regulations, as well as county and city laws, that recognize the importance of managing our archaeological resources. Just as we have laws regu lating and protecting our natural resources, so do we now have legis lation managing our archaeological resources, laws that have stimu lated an unprecedented amount of archaeological research.

Archaeological legislation results from increased public interest in the past, an interest reflected in the numerous newspaper accounts that continue to appear across the state. That interest also has led to a greater role for archaeology in public and private universities, and to the growth of private sector archaeology. Significant research is being done by faculty and a large number of graduate students, as well as by archaeological consultants.

This legal and public surge of support for archaeology has brought about a boom in research in Florida. Our knowledge is increasing exponentially, making it almost impossible for one individual to digest it all. Early Observers The present success enjoyed by archaeology was not always the case. With a few notable exceptions, archaeological research in Florida dates only from the federal relief programs of the s, when a handful of archaeologists practiced their profession.

Even into the s, rela tively few practiced in the state. The archaeological boom began after and has been expanding ever since. Before the s, there were archaeological observations and pro jects carried out in Florida, several quite important, providing at least some information about the precolumbian peoples. The early Euro pean explorers and colonists certainly observed native peoples and must have seen earlier sites, remains left behind by precolumbian Indians.

Some of the archaeological sites they saw are the ones being excavated today. For example, the French Huguenots in the mids observed the Timucua Indians of northeast Florida, perhaps the Saturiwa, interring their dead in mounds Lorant Such mounds, probably associated with the St. Johns archaeological culture, have been excavated by archaeologists e. Another example is provided by the same French colony. Rene de Laudonniere, its leader, mentions a long causeway, probably a linear earthwork, at the native village of Edelano, located on an island in the St.

Johns River Laudonniere , The island is probably Murphy Island just south of Palatka, where such earthworks have been noted by archaeologists Goggin c Later in the sixteenth century the Spanish governor of St. Augustine, Pedro Menendez de Aviles, also saw native cultural features that today are important archaeological sites.

He and his men visited tem ples and the house of a chief built on top of large mounds at the Calusa Indian town of Calos located on Mound Key south of Fort Myers Rogel in Zubillaga More than one hundred years later, Fran ciscan missionary priests who visited the same town provided intriguing firsthand observations about one of these mounds and the building on it Hann Recently archaeologists have reconnoitered the same mounds. The naturalists John and William Bartram noted many Indian remains, some of which can be identified and have been investigated in the twentieth century.

One notable site is Mount Royal, a large St. Johns culture mound just north of Lake George in western Putnam County. William Bartram twice visited the site in and and described it: At about fifty yards distance stands a magnificent Indian mount. About fifteen years ago I visited this place, at which time there were no settlements of white people, but all appeared wild and savage; yet in that uncultivated state it possessed an almost inexpressible air of grandeur But what greatly contributed towards completing the magnificence of the scene, was a noble Indian highway, which led from the great mount, on a straight line, three quarters of a mile, first through a point or wing of the orange grove, and continuing thence through an awful forest of live oaks, it was terminated by palms and laurel magnolias, on the verge of an oblong lake, which was on the edge of an extensive green level savanna.

This grand highway was about fifty yards wide, sunk a little below the common level, and the earth thrown up on each side, making a bank of about two feet high. Bartram The large mound and "highway" still exist today. First Excavations These early observers were not archaeologists, and they did not exca vate any of the sites they saw.

The first actual digging should probably not be called archaeology but rather antiquarianism. It seems to have been undertaken by a New Hampshire physician, John Durkee, who had come to Jacksonville for his health. In he dug in a mound on the St. Johns River below Jacksonville and wrote his brother of his observations; it was nearly a century and a half before they were pub lished Hoole During the Second Seminole War in the late s, another physician, Samuel Forry, excavated a mound near Fort Taylor west of Lake Poinsett in northeast Osceola County during a lull in his duties as a military surgeon Forry None of these or other early nineteenth-century excavations con tributed much to our knowledge of Florida's past.

These early students of both archaeology and native American Indians were content to weave speculative fabrics on a min imum of actual data in order to satisfy their own interests in ancient humans. Some excavations were conducted, but generally without much purpose except to find things. In , Daniel G. Brinton published a book about the Florida peninsula in which he summarized his own travels and the little coherent information available at that time Brinton Henry R.

Schoolcraft, in a monumental work on native American Indians, devoted a brief summary to the elaborate Gulf coast aboriginal pottery that we now classify as Weeden Island Schoolcraft But these scattered descriptions probably did not yield much reliable infor mation about the native people in Florida's past. Somewhat better work was stimulated by the publication in of an English translation of A.

This Danish archaeologist demonstrated that in Scandinavia highly significant information could be recovered from these trash piles deposited by early inhabitants. Earlier speculation had alternated be tween considering them intentionally constructed mounds or plat forms and viewing them as the natural result of hurricanes. Morlot set a fashion in archaeology that has continued intermittently to the pre sent, and his contribution cannot be ignored. Perhaps the first person to follow Morlot's lead and to dig in Florida shell middens was Jeffries Wyman, the first curator of the Peabody Museum at Harvard University.

He first dug in shell middens along the St.

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Johns River in and continued more excavations in , , and Wyman , Wyman, a scientifically trained observer in the natural sciences, concluded that the shell mounds were indeed made by native American Indians, thus offering a final answer to the debate that had spanned several decades. He was able to demonstrate that the mounds dated from the precolumbian period and that they were stratigraphically deposited, with older artifacts below younger ones.

Wyman's pioneering work was followed by a series of excavations by S. Walker, perhaps the most important of which was at Cedar Key on the Gulf coast. At that time the Smithsonian Institution and the associated Bureau of American Ethnology were engaged in a survey of aboriginal sites in the United States. Their interest, in contrast to that of Wyman and Walker, was largely in the "monuments," or mounds. The bureau's field agent, J. Rogan, dug two mounds in Alachua County and located a number of others that were listed and briefly described in a catalogue published by Cyrus Thomas Rogan's excavations leave much to be desired by modern standards, and Thomas's sum mary does little but list the mounds.

The descriptions are so vague that it is often impossible to determine the exact location or cultural con tent of the sites. The work of Rogan and Thomas did, however, focus attention on the numerous and potentially informative archaeological sites and artifacts in Florida. The closing decade of the nineteenth century marked the beginning of the extensive archaeological work of Clarence B.

Moore, a wealthy Philadelphian who had traveled widely and had made his first visit to Florida in Moore equipped himself with a coal-fired, steampowered houseboat, the Gopher, in which he traveled to archaeological sites in the southeastern United States during the winter season. His first Florida excavations took place along the St. Johns River in Moore During subsequent wintershe continued to exca vate sites until nearly Moore worked his way around the entire peninsula and also visited sites in the panhandle.

He excavated readily accessible burial mounds and dug in many middens that were within reach of waters navigable by the Gopher. In the light of modern archaeological techniques and methods, it is easy to criticize the work of this energetic individual. Indeed, many of his mound excavations completely demolished the object of his inves tigations, leaving only a donut-shaped deposit of spoil for the modern archaeologist. But he did excavate carefully, and he kept respectable notes, which are available today Davis He was also an astute observer, noting differences in types of mounds as well as the artifacts in the mounds he excavated.

Moore was also careful to contribute many of the objects he unearthedespecially ceramic vesselsto museums, where they can be restudied today. It is easy to lament Moore's destruction of so many sitesperhaps hundredsbut had he not excavated them, some other persons might PAGE 34 6 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida have, resulting in the loss of all of the information. Moore also was prompt in publishing reports on his excavations, including an abundance of illustrations. Comparison of his field notes with his pub lications shows that he did little actual analysis beyond putting in print what are in effect illustrated field notes.

However, not all of the infor mation in his field notes found its way into print. Modern students of archaeology who use his data should always consult the original field notes from his excavations, which are catalogued and curated at the Huntington Free Library in New York. The largest number of the ceramic vessels he excavated from Florida sites are curated at the New York branch of the National Museum of the American Indian, for merly the Museum of the American Indian.

Modern archaeologists have a peculiar love-hate relationship with Clarence Moorehate for excavating all of those sites but love for saving so much information that otherwise might have been lost. As Gordon Willey a has amply demonstrated, it is possible to fit much of Moore's work into modern classifications, and his reports are the starting point for research in much of the state, especially east Florida and the Gulf coast and panhandle regions. Around the turn of the century, the number of winter visitors to Florida began to increase and to include some with an avocational interest in the past and in archaeology.

These visitors occasionally dug in archaeological sites. With a few exceptions e. Local residents also excavated in mounds, sometimes as part of Sunday afternoon outings e. Again, details on such work were either not recorded or were superficial. One extraordinary late nineteenth-century project was the PepperHearst expedition to Key Marco on the southwest Florida coast, directed by Frank H.

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Cushing Cushing ; Gilliland , Cushing's discovery of elaborate and varied wooden and fiber objects preserved in muck has never been duplicated. These materials objects normally not preserved in archaeological depositsprovide a unique glimpse of the material culture of the native peoples who lived on that coast. Cushing felt that the artifacts in the muck represented refuse col lected under pile dwellings, such as those suggested by mid-nine teenth-century reports from the Upper Rhineland and Switzerland PAGE 35 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida 7 Sites and locales visited or investigated prior to the s.

Cushing His accounts of the discoveries created a stir at the time, although his imaginative reconstructions of the culture of Key Marco have been largely revised. Cushing, like Moore, did much to focus public attention on the range and abundance of archaeological materials in the peninsula.

Today the artifacts from Key Marco remain an unsurpassed study col lection for information about the maritime native cultures of Florida see Gilliland While World War I occupied the attention of many, there was a hiatus in the serious study of archaeology in Florida. One major ex ception was the work in of Nels C. But one archaeological incident would create great controversy. During the war years, a drainage de- PAGE 36 8 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida velopment near Vero on the east coast uncovered a human skeleton in presumed association with the remains of mammoth and other Pleis tocene animals.

The opinions of contemporary experts differed on whether this and a similar find at Melbourne a few years later could be taken as valid evidence of the presence of humans in the New World during glacial times. Ales Hrdlicka, prominent physical anthropologist at the United States National Museum a division of the Smithsonian Institution , argued that the Vero and Melbourne finds were intrusive to the Melbourne geological formation, and few people were prepared to counter his opinion.

More recent examination of the crania has sug gested that they may indeed belong to the Paleoindian period Stewart A final resolution of the cultural affiliation s of these two col lections of human skeletal remains probably will never be reached. The s and s All these varied activities meant that by the archaeological study of Florida Indians was at least started, but by modern standards little problem-oriented research had been done.

It was recognized that the state had many differing archaeological sites within its varied geo graphic areas, but no synthesis or taxonomy of those sites and the cul tures they represented had been attempted. There was no cogent pro gram of archaeological research, and no agency or institution within the state was engaged in archaeological research or teaching. As else where in the country, both field and analytical techniques were either in their infancy or were ignored by the few people working sporadi cally in the region.

The land boom of the early s brought an influx of residents, many of whom were informed about and interested in archaeology. Florida also drew the interest of archaeologists and other scientists eager to experience the state's charms. In a major exca vation was undertaken at the large, complex site of Weeden Island on the western shore of Old Tampa Bay. Under the auspices of the Smithsonian Institution, fieldwork was supervised by Matthew W. Stirling under the general direction of Jesse W. Fewkes Fewkes Because Fewkes and Stirling were professionally trained, this can be considered the first truly scientific archaeological project in the state.

Nearly a century after Dr.

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The excavations established the type site for the Weeden Island culture, providing basic definitive data on which future studies would rely. For the first time there was an accurate description of one of the burial mounds found throughout much of west peninsular and northern Florida and associated with the spec tacular pottery that had been described by Holmes two decades ear lier. More important, the Weeden Island excavations established an interest in the area by the Bureau of American Ethnology and the Smithsonian Institution.

When the Civil Works Administration was organized in as part of Franklin Roosevelt's scheme to combat the depression, Matthew Stirling realized that Florida and archaeology were admirably suited. Archaeologists needed a great deal of hand labor and thus could employ large numbers of workers. They did not compete with private businesses, and Florida's mild climate meant that work could be car ried out year-round. As a result, nine federal projects were established in Florida, all sponsored by the Federal Emergency Relief Administra tion.

Stirling also apparently realized that the large numbers of people assigned to the projects meant that excavations could be undertaken at large sites that might not otherwise be investigated. For the next seven years the various federal relief agency projects were to contribute a great fund of information on the archaeology of Florida and to develop chronologies and classifications for the state. Much of what was learned would be put to use in the years to come.

Trained archaeologists were the field directors. Unfortunately no provision was made in the Civil Works Administration or the succeeding Works Project Administration for postexcavation analysis and the writing of reports on these projects. A few smaller excavations were reported in rather cursory fashion e. Later, Gordon Willey a was able to analyze the data from the sites on the Gulf coast and to use the material in his pioneering Gulf coast study.

The notes from the sites as well as the collec tions themselves were catalogued in the National Museum of Natural History of the Smithsonian Institution, where they are still available to students of archaeology. While the primary goal of the emergency relief archaeological pro jects was to provide employment and thus stimulate the economy, they did set the pattern for large-scale publicly supported excavations.

And the excavations produced information that is fundamental to our understanding of the archaeology of precolumbian and colonial period Florida. During the depression, an additional, and more prolonged, effort in archaeology was the work conducted by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the Ocala National Forest. Some of the project leaders con ducted site surveys and limited excavations in the forest during their free time. Reports of their findings, which were solely descriptive and published in a limited mimeographed format, provide site locations and typological information on which later work could build Abshire et al.

The result of all this early work, especially that undertaken under the auspices of the various federal agencies, was to make Florida's public more aware of the state's archaeological resources and of what should be done about them. The Florida Historical Society formed a committee on archaeology that published an inventory of known sites. For a brief period, Florida even had a state archaeologist Vernon Lamme , who excavated several sites, including several in Jefferson County.

Soon the Florida Geological Survey began an archaeological survey conducted by Clarence Simpson, who located a large number of sites and carried out excavations in Hillsborough County in , some in conjunction with federal relief projects. With members of his family, Clarence Simpson also excavated in a number of northern Florida sites. Artifacts from these latter investigations, as well as some field notes, are curated at the Florida Museum of Natural History. The formation of the Southeastern Archaeological Conference in in which persons working in Florida were not directly involved, probably because of lack of institutional affiliation served as a means of developing regional chronologies for the southeast region of the PAGE 39 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida 11 A federal relief program archaeological field crew in or early at Thomas Mound on the Little Manatee River in Hillsborough County.

United States. When institutional archaeology did begin, it could find a ready placement for Florida chronologies see Stirling in the framework of the entire Southeast. The Modern Era At the time archaeological work was halted by World War II, there was a generally understood chronology for the Southeast including Florida , some valuable excavations at sites that were to become type sites e. Johns area and the Gulf coast as specific culture areas, and a beginning of a local chronology.

A significant project was a survey of the pan handle coast by Gordon Willey and Richard B. Woodbury; the two published a chronology for the region in Immediately after the war, archaeology seemed to spring to life with a number of developments that have persisted to the present. Griffin with headquarters in Sebring. Griffin, aided by Hale G. Smith and, after , by Ripley Bullen, investigated a number of precolumbian and colonial period sites.

Park Service records show more than sites were recorded, many visited by Griffin and his assistants. Early on, Griffin integrated history and archaeology in studies of the mission system, other colonial sites, and sites of the plantation period. Mark Boyd was the Park Service historian at the time and col laborated with Griffin in these studies. The names of sites that Griffin and his team investigated read like a who's who of Florida archaeological sites. Park Service investigations resulted in a large number of scientific publications by Griffin, Smith, Boyd, and Bullen e. All are frequently cited classics in Florida archaeology.

Griffin also promoted archaeology in the state through an active program of public lectures and a number of popular articles, many published in the Florida Highways magazine. These activities and media coverage of ongoing excavations did much to bring archaeology to the public eye. When the Park Service ceased archaeological activities in , its collections and records, along with Ripley Bullen, were transferred to the museum.

Today the records and collections are still curated there and are used regularly. Perhaps more than any other single activity, the Florida Park Service's archaeology initiative was the birth of modern archaeology in the state. It is safe to say that the Park Service archaeology program led to the inclusion of archaeology as a discipline at both the University of Florida and Florida State Univer sity, as well as at the Florida State Museum.

It is a tribute to John Griffin that so much was accomplished in so short a time. One Florida Park Service activity was the organization of a small working conference on Florida archaeology, held at Daytona Beach in A recent furniture survey of the anthropology range at the museum left the staff flabbergasted. Griffin's desk, identified by marks in the lower, open drawer, is still being used in the historical archaeological laboratory.

A second, larger conference was held at Rollins College in , and its proceedings of the latter were edited by John Griffin Griffin These formal and informal con ferences involved people from neighboring states and served to define the immediate goals of the discipline in the state. Its staff began a broad program of excavation, concentrated more in the northern half of the state. Reports appeared regularly and included a museum monograph series. Ripley Bullen and William H. Sears staffed the museum's Florida archaeology program from the s into the early s.

Throughout his career in archaeology at the museum, Bullen, who died in , was assisted by his wife, Adelaide Kendall Bullen. She participated in many excavations and published a number of articles with him often as senior author. Trained as a physical anthropologist, she maintained an office and laboratory at the Florida State Museum and provided osteological expertise for numerous archaeological projects, despite being unsalaried.

Another important curator at the museum has been Elizabeth S. Wing, who has helped to pioneer zooarchaeological research in the United States. The comparative collections she has assembled and the analysis done by her and several generations of students as well as visiting scientists who regularly use her laboratory have provided new vistas on the subsistence systems, diets, and environments of precolumbian Floridians.

The numerous publications of these museum curatorsAdelaide and Ripley Bullen, William Sears who moved to Florida Atlantic University in , and Elizabeth Wingare classics in the field, and many are cited in this book. Two years after the Park Service archaeologists began work, John M. Goggin was appointed archaeologist in the Department of Soci ology at the University of Florida. Beginning with the aca demic year, a separate department of anthropology was established.

The next year graduate courses were taught. During the Park Service days, Goggin often collaborated and inter acted with Griffin, helping to expand the state site files and ex changing information. Goggin's level of archaeological research nearly matched that of the Park Service Goggin , a, b, a, b, , a, b, c, Following Goggin's death in , Charles H. Fairbanks became chair and continued the program of research and student training. The department received permission to grant doctoral degrees in The first Ph. Other attendees were Mark Boyd, W. PAGE 44 16 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida joined the University of Florida faculty, carrying out important re search at a number of Archaic lithic sites in northern Florida before turning her attention to wet sites archaeology.

Florida State University also organized an archaeology program early on. In , Hale Smith joined the faculty on a part-time basis while completing his doctoral degree at the University of Michigan. In he returned full-time to FSU as chair of the anthropology depart ment and undertook numerous projects in the northern part of the state. Smith was soon joined by Charles Fairbanks, who was a member of the FSU faculty for nearly a decade before replacing Goggin at the University of Florida. Several other archaeology programs in the state deserve comment. In the Florida Anthropological Society was established, and its journal, Florida Anthropologist, continues to be published.

This society is one of the oldest state societies in the country and continues to pro vide a forum for interaction between professional and avocational archaeologists. While the bulk of its publications have been on archae ological subjects, it still remains a society dedicated to the whole disci pline of anthropology, and it receives support from persons with a broad range of backgrounds and interests.

The statewide archaeological site file, begun by the Park Service and supported early on by other archaeologists, such as Goggin, is a ma jor source of information as well as a tool for managing archaeologi cal resources within the state. Under the curation of the Bureau of Archaeological Research in Tallahassee, the computerized inventory continues to grow. Presently more than 13, sites are recorded in it. It is an extraordinary database with information on the location and cultural affiliation of each site, as well as other data, such as setting, distance to water, and relevant collections.

In addition to his contributions to anthropology at the University of Florida, John Goggin is largely responsible for several other initiatives important to Florida archaeology. Among these were the definition of cultural subareas of the state and the chronological stages found in each. Simons Island, Georgia. Deagan and her Florida State University field school students from St.

Augustine were visiting Fairbanks's University of Florida archaeological field school. Such visitsa form of intellectual as well as social cross-fertilizationhave a long tradition in Florida courtesy Kathleen Deagan. Goggin's approach focused attention on the per sistence through time of distinctive ways of behavior that characterize a specific human group Goggin b. Many of the regional cultures recognized today in Florida were Goggin's taxonomic contructs.

Because Willey's Archeology of the Florida Gulf Coast, published in , focused on the cultures of that region, Goggin initially concen trated his research on the northeast part of the state, and he published a definitive study Goggin c of the northern St.

Johns River area. Historical Archaeology Even though C. Moore and others had discovered European objects in some sites and had demonstrated that native peoples continued to use mounds to inter their dead for at least a short time after the French and Spanish first were in Florida, it was not until that specifically historical archaeology was undertaken. In that year, W. Winter be gan a series of excavations in St. Augustine under the sponsorship of the National Park Service and the St. Augustine Historical Preservation Association. This work was to serve as a valuable foundation for future work in the city and eventually to develop into a full-scale problemoriented program of historical archaeology.

During the period of Florida Park Service archaeology, Boyd, Smith, and Griffin had excavated in Spanish-Indian mission sites in the Tallahassee area, and the Park Service had carried out limited addi tional historical work elsewhere. Griffin recommended a number of historic sites for acquisition by the state, and, undoubtedly, had the Park Service continued archaeology, much more historical archae ology would have been done.

Goggin, at the University of Florida, embarked on a study of the colonial and postcolonial era, especially the Spanish colonial period. He was particularly interested in the native peoples of the mission system and the use of Spanish artifacts to date sites. His work resulted in a highly valuable study of Spanish olive jars Goggin and, posthumously, in a definitive study of Spanish majolica Goggin Goggin's investigations of Spanish sites also took him to the Caribbean, Mexico, and Panama, but his major interest remained the Spanish-Indian mission system.

At about the same time that Goggin was achieving breakthroughs in the identification and dating of Spanish artifacts, more work was beginning in sites of the colonial period. By the early s, Hale Smith, at Florida State University, was actively engaged in Spanishnative American Indian archaeological research in the state. With the approach of the quadricentennial of Florida's founding , the th anniversary of St. Augustinethe Historic St. Augus tine Preservation Commission later designated the St. Along with the St. Augustine Historical Society and the St. Augustine Restoration Foundation, the board undertook a series of excavations in the historic city designed to collect data on specific buildings that could be developed as historic houses to draw tourists.

In the decade following the quadricentennial, a continuing program of colonial archaeology was developed in St. Augustine through the cooperative action of the Historic St. Deagan , The program approached research problems from the newly emphasized concept of processual archaeology, which encouraged seeking specific explanations of cul tural process rather than simply digging because the sites were there. Augustine to illuminate the Spanish colonial process. Today, Preservation Board and city archaeologists also are involved in exca vations in St.

During the same time, investigations began at sites pertaining to black history, initially at the slave cabins of the Kingsley Plantation on Ft. Participants in a Florida State University archaeological field school in St. Augustine directed by Kathleen Deagan back row, right. Generations of students have learned archae ology at field schools, which also provide graduate students with data for theses and dissertations.

Reports resulting from nearly fifty years of field courses are a font of information on precolumbian and colonial-period Florida courtesy Kathleen Deagan. The development of historical, particularly colonial and plantation period, archaeology in Florida somewhat preceded similar developments in nearby states. The historical archaeology begun by Griffin and others, especially the investigation of Spanish-Indian missions, continues to the present. Of particular note is the long-term project of the Florida Bureau of Archaeological Research at the late seventeenth-century Apalachee Indian-Spanish mission and town of San Luis in Tallahassee.

That project, originally under the direction of Gary Shapiro and now headed by Bonnie McEwan, provides a model for other site-oriented projects that combine research and public education. Underwater Archaeology To some extent research into European and African traditions was concurrent with the development of underwater archaeology in the state.

The first known underwater work occurred in during the attempt by the National Park Service to find some evidence of the French Huguenot fort at Fort Caroline on the St. Johns River east of Jacksonville. Later, Goggin did much to develop a strong program for the instruction of students and for research in underwater sites.

His work at Oven Hill, a Seminole site on the Suwannee River, provided a solid foundation for the definition of the cultural remains of that tribal group see Gluckman and Peebles Of course, underwater archaeology was not confined to historic sites. Especially in the underwater caves in the northern karst lime stone-underlain region of the state, Goggin did much pioneering work. At Devil's Den, he found human skeletal material with the same fluoride content as extinct mammals.

Gradually, a series of finds, largely in the Ichetucknee, Santa Fe, Aucilla, and other rivers of northern Florida, showed a relatively dense scatter of Paleoindian stone points, frequently in the same localities as bones of extinct mammals. Reexamination of the mammal bones disclosed that a small per centage showed cut marks, evidently the result of butchering by humans Bullen, Webb, and Waller Today evidence from the rivers leaves no doubt that Paleoindians and Pleistocene fauna coex isted in Florida Webb et al.

He is holding a Seminole vessel recovered from the river. Investigation of the site took place intermit tently from to courtesy Margaret Knox Goggin. The inset is a museum inventory record of the same vessel courtesy Florida Museum of Natural History. Although the underwater archaeology program at the University of Florida was abandoned after Goggin's death, underwater archaeology is still thriving in Florida.

Members of the excavation team used a floating pump system left to screen deposits from the river bottom. A field workstation is in operation on the shore courtesy Brinnen Carter. After the program of state-supervised salvage of these wrecks increased substantially. Until the recovered materials comprising the state's share of sal vaged material were conserved in the laboratory at the Department of Anthropology at the University of Florida. The proper cleaning and preservation of materials recovered from marine sites is even more important than that for land remains, since sea salts cause severe dete rioration even after artifacts have been removed from the ocean.

That laboratory probably was the first program of conservation and preser vation of underwater artifacts in any state. Since the state's con servation program has been located in Tallahassee at the Division of Historical Resources formerly the Division of Archives, History, and Records Management.

The conservation laboratory still operates, although licensed salvage companies in the state are now responsible for the conservation of the materials their diving operations recover. Such research may someday revise much of what is known about early human settlements in Florida. The Division of Historical Resources The emergence of the Division of Historical Resources within the Florida Department of State was the result of a series of federal and state legislative and administrative initiatives that began in the middle s.

Enacting legislation also provided for protection of archaeolog ical sites on state lands. Originally established as the Division of Archives, History, and Records Management, a name later changed to Division of Historical Resources, the agency has been a major govern mental supporter of archaeology. Within the division, L. Ross Morrell was designated the first state archaeologist, and he soon assembled a staff that made the office the largest single employer of professional archaeologists in the state.

Miller, is one of the finest state archaeological agencies in the country. Over the years division and bureau archaeolo gists have published on a wide variety of topicsespecially the aborig inal cultures and the Spanish missions of northwest Floridaand made major contributions to our understanding of the past. The bureau, in conjunction with other sections of the division, also serves as liaison with various state and federal agencies, promulgates regulations in accordance with state laws, and reviews archaeological surveys and other research carried out by private firms in the state.

And, as mentioned, the bureau curates the archaeological site files. In addition, the director of the division, as state historic preservation officer, is the liaison for nominations to the National Register of His toric Places and is charged with nominating historic or archaeological sites. The bureau and the division, its parental agency, are legally, lit erally, and figuratively guardians of Florida's archaeological resources. The agencies and their staffs deserve accolades for their activities in support of Florida archaeology. Although having no separate anthropology departments, the University of North Florida has an archaeologist on the faculty working in Florida, and the University of Miami has also sponsored archaeological research.

Theses and dissertations produced by graduate student archaeologists in Florida number in the hundreds. Some cities and counties also have archaeologists on staff, as does the Archaeological and Historical Con servancy, Inc. State funds most often administered through the Division of His torical Resources and various federal grants notably the National Sci ence Foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities provide resources for a great deal of research in the state.

Other grants come from private foundations and organizations, such as the National Geographical Society, Colonial Dames, and Wentworth Foundation, as well as private corporations. Local and county governments also fund research in accordance with state and federal regulations, as do private companies. Most of this work is done by nongovermental archaeological consultants and firms.

It is likely that most archaeolog ical projects in Florida are being carried out in response to govern ment-mandated regulations. The Florida Anthropological Society continues to support archae ology and to provide a forum for cooperation between avocational and professional archaeologists. At times some of its members and regional chapters participate in field projects. Professional archaeologists have organized the Florida Archaeological Council and have become an effective voice for archaeology in the state.

The result of this growth in archaeology in Florida since is an explosion of new knowledge. New approaches, new field and analyt- PAGE 53 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida 25 ical techniques, and an emphasis on interdisciplinary research have resulted not only in larger quantities of knowledge but in new types of information gathered within an increasingly more sophisticated and scientific milieu.

Just as important is the presence of university, gov ernmental, and agency archaeological programs in every part of the state. Such programs serve as centers from which long-term investiga tions of specific sites and regions can be carried out. The result is orga nized, high-quality research and new information on every part of the state, from Dade County and southeast Florida to Pensacola and the western panhandle.

Recent archaeological projects represent every time period from ear liest to most recent. Some notable projects in southern Florida are the Granada site in Miami Griffin et al.

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Other large south Florida projects include the National Park Service's survey of the Big Cypress National Preserve, supervised by John Erenhardt and resulting in a number of reports from to , and the work by William Marquardt and his students and associates on the south west Florida coast Russo ; Marquardt The growth of archaeology in southern Florida perhaps has been greater than in any other part of the state. A host of archaeologists have been involved in projects around the greater Tampa Bay region in both coastal and inland locales.

Projects associated with the excavation of archaeological sites impacted by the construction of Interstate 75 around Tampa Bay resulted in a particu larly large number of significant studies, many initiated by University of South Florida archaeologists and their past or present students. Sites of almost every period have been investigated in the regionfrom Paleoindian to the Mississippian periodand the results have had a great influence on our interpretations not only of the native cultures of greater Tampa Bay but of the rest of the state as well Luer and Almy ; Daniel and Wisenbaker ; Mitchem ; for a listing of the reports, see Daniel and Wisenbaker On the opposite side of the state, Glen Doran and David Dickel of Florida State University directed the Windover Pond project, the exca vation of 7,year-old artifacts and human burials, some with pre served brains and other tissue Doran and Dickel a, b; Doran He and his field crews have sought the involvement of local people, successfully com bining research with public education courtesy Lindsey Williams.

Its importance, as well as a reflection of how far archae ology has come in Florida, is underlined by Glen Doran's being named Floridian of the Year by the Orlando Sentinel newspaper in Bar bara Purdy's investigations and overviews of archaeological wet sites in Florida have also garnered public attention as well as producing PAGE 55 A Brief History of Archaeology in Florida 27 important new information, especially on plant remains Purdy a, b, That region has been the focus of a number of excavations and surveys focusing on the late precolumbian and colonial-period cultures Johnson ; Weisman Studies of the various societies of the colonial period and their interaction with the Spaniards in Floridaespecially the Franciscan-Indian missionshave blossomed across northern Florida from St.

Augustine west to Tallahassee. Kathleen Deagan has pub lished on St. Augustine and colonial Spanish material culture in gen eral Deagan , , and she and many others are continuing studies of material culture. In Florida these mission studies, as well as studies of colonial-period native groups, have been informed by and carried out in conjunction with excellent historical research Hann , , ; Worth The Tallahassee region and all of northwest Florida have been the focus of a great deal of significant archaeological enquiry. One of those who worried was Laila Soueif.

Just seize power now before the military steps in. People needed to feel they had won. Not us, the politicos, but all these millions of people who had come down to the street. They needed a time to feel victorious. But I think that was our critical moment, and we lost. By January , Majdi was completing his third and final year in the national air force academy, a sprawling compound in southwest Misurata, hoping to earn a degree in communications engineering. He was an unlikely soldier — softhearted, slightly pudgy — but the academy was an easy choice for Majdi, allowing him to spend regular leaves at his family home, just a few miles away, and hang out with his civilian friends.

He and his fellow cadets followed the news of the upheavals in Tunisia and Egypt in astonishment, but none connected that tumult to their situation in Libya, much less imagined it might spread there. Then, on the evening of Feb. At first, they thought it might be firecrackers, but the sounds intensified and drew nearer, until the students realized it was gunfire. Soon they were ordered to assemble at the drill ground, where they were informed that all leave had been canceled.

By then, the watchtowers that ringed the compound — usually empty or occupied by a single bored sentry — were manned by squads of soldiers with mounted machine guns. But still, no one would tell us what was going on. Majdi hoped he would get an explanation when classes resumed the next morning, but the civilian instructors failed to show up. In contrast to the shy Majdi, Jalal, wiry and quick on his feet, was always ready with an irreverent joke or an elaborate prank. What the two shared was a fascination with science and gadgetry — Jalal was studying aviation weaponry — and over the course of the previous two and a half years, they had become inseparable.

Jalal frequently spent his weekend leaves at the Mangoush family home in Misurata, a hospitality that was reciprocated when Majdi spent part of the summer of with the Drisis in Benghazi. In the bizarre news-free environment that existed at the academy, the young men tried to puzzle out what was happening. Over the next two days, the gunfire beyond the walls continued sporadically. The sound would draw near at times, only to recede; intense exchanges would be followed by long periods of quiet.

A measure of clarity finally came on Feb. As the days passed and the unseen gun battles raged, the students lounged around their barracks wondering what was to become of them. Did it mean anything? We had to stop. We had to talk about football or girls, anything to distract us.

Their peculiar limbo ended on the night of Feb. Someone in the vaunted 32nd had made a logistical error, however. To transport the cadets, just two buses had been ordered. Bused to a vacant military high school compound on the southern outskirts of the city, the cadets were billeted in barrack halls and empty classrooms but barred from leaving or having any contact with their families. That edict was enforced by armed soldiers posted at the gates.

But the confines of the Tripoli high school were a good deal more porous than those of the air force academy, and from their minders the cadets gradually learned something of the conflict that had befallen their nation. Provided with this narrative, Majdi was not altogether surprised when, in mid-March, Western alliance warplanes began appearing over Tripoli to bomb government installations.

It seemed merely to confirm that the nation was being attacked from beyond. Neither Majdi nor Jalal were selected for this mission, however, and their stay at the high school dragged on. Then one day in early May, Majdi ran into an old acquaintance at the barracks. The acquaintance, Mohammed, was now a military intelligence officer. He wanted to talk to Majdi about Misurata. Majdi thought nothing of the conversation, but one afternoon a few days later, he was called to headquarters.

Instead, he followed the Tripoli ring road to the coastal highway and then turned east. By early evening, they had reached Ad Dafiniyah, the last town before Misurata and the farthest limits of government control. There, Majdi was led into a small farmhouse, where he was told someone wanted to speak to him on the phone. It was Mohammed, the military intelligence officer. Once he had done this, he would pass the information to a liaison officer secreted within Misurata, a man named Ayoub.

To make contact with Ayoub, Majdi was given a Thuraya satellite phone and a number to call. Upon hearing all this, Majdi had two thoughts. One was about his friends at home: Ever since hearing about the scale of fighting in Misurata, he assumed that some of his friends must have joined the other side. If he carried out this mission, it might very well result in their deaths. The other thought was of a recent conversation he had with Jalal. But any hesitation swiftly passed. Perhaps most of all, he just wanted the limbo to end. For nearly three months, he had been cut off from both his family and the outside world, and he simply wanted something — anything — to happen.

So he agreed. Misurata lay some 10 miles to the east. In the right front pocket of his pants he carried his military identification card. If stopped by the rebels, this card in itself was unlikely to cause him problems; countless government soldiers had deserted, and the fact that Majdi was from Misurata would certainly lend credence to his explanation that he was trying only to go home. The satellite phone in his left pocket was a very different matter, though. Under those circumstances, summary execution was probably the most merciful outcome he could hope for.

As he walked, the sound of gunfire grew in intensity, and there was the occasional rumble of distant artillery explosions. This was the sound the air made as it rejoined behind a bullet, and you heard it only when a bullet passed close to your head. Only one moment sticks out in his mind. The Syrian dictatorship made no attempt to conceal the revolts in Tunisia and Egypt from its people, and indeed spoke of them openly, with a certain smugness. Because you have to be very closely linked to the beliefs of the people. Heeding the admonitions of his parents, Majd stayed well away from that rally, but he heard through friends that hundreds of demonstrators had shown up, watched over by a nearly equal number of police officers and state security personnel.

It was a shocking story to the year-old college student; Homs had simply never experienced anything like it. And that demonstration was tiny in comparison with the next, held a week later. This time, the protesters numbered in the thousands. On March 30, Assad delivered a speech to the Syrian Parliament, carried live by state television and radio outlets.

While protests had spread to a number of Syrian cities, they were still largely peaceful, with dissenters calling for changes in the regime rather than for its overthrow. As a result — and with the assumption that the regime had learned something from the recent collapse of the Tunisian and Egyptian governments and the widening chaos in Libya — many expected Assad to take a conciliatory approach. In the 11 years he had ruled the nation since the death of his father, the unassuming ophthalmologist had adopted many trappings of reform. There were still scattered protests about town, watched over by phalanxes of heavily armed security forces, but it was as if no one was quite sure what to do next — each side fearful, perhaps, of leading the nation into the kind of open warfare then roiling Libya.

The interlude ended abruptly on April 17, That evening, as reported by Al Jazeera, a small group of demonstrators, maybe 40 in all, were protesting outside a mosque in Homs when several cars stopped alongside them. A number of men clambered out of the cars — presumably either local plainclothes police officers or members of the largely Alawite shabiha — and proceeded to shoot at least 25 protesters at point-blank range. It was as if gasoline had been thrown on a smoldering fire. That night, tens of thousands of demonstrators gathered at Clock Tower Square downtown, and this time, the police and shabiha took to the roofs and upper floors of the surrounding buildings to shoot down at them.

As protesters started to be killed almost every day, their funerals the next day became rallying points for more protesters to take to the streets; the evermore brutal response of the security forces at these gatherings then created a new round of shaheeds , or martyrs, ensuring greater crowds — and more killing — at the next funerals. By early May, the cycle of violence had escalated so swiftly that the Syrian Army came into Homs en masse, effectively shutting down the city. Even I did, because we believed they had come to protect the people and stop the killing.

And it worked. The city swiftly fell back into bloodletting. Around Homs, vigilante forces set up roadblocks and conducted raids into neighborhoods now controlled by the rebels. Then matters took an even more sinister turn. In this most religiously mixed of Syrian cities, suddenly people began turning up dead for no other discernible reason than their religious affiliation. In early November , according to an unconfirmed account from Reuters, gunmen stopped a bus and murdered nine Alawite passengers.

The next day, at a nearby roadblock, Syrian security forces, seemingly in retaliation, led 11 Sunni laborers off to be executed. The fighting also had a surreal inconstancy. His neighborhood, Waer, remained one of the least affected by the violence, and by carefully monitoring the news for reports of specific conflagrations, he was able on most days to navigate the two-mile journey to his campus. By February , however, the combat had become so indiscriminate that the university announced it was temporarily closing.

At the same time, rumors began circulating through Homs that the Syrian Army would be returning in force, this time to put down the rebellion once and for all. The next day, the Syrian Army moved in. Majdi repeated his cover story: that he had deserted from the regime and was trying to reach his family. He was helped in this subterfuge by his surname, for everyone in Misurata knew of the Mangoush clan.

Since late February , Misurata had been increasingly under siege by government forces, its residents becoming almost wholly dependent on whatever food and medical supplies could be brought in by sea. All the while, the army had rained down artillery shells, while its soldiers fought the rebels alley by alley, person by person, just as Qaddafi had promised. The siege abated somewhat with the advent of Western alliance airstrikes in late March, but the damage done to the city was staggering.

I thought I would never see them again. Majdi spent the rest of that day in reunion with his family. He learned that after his father became seriously ill, his parents had gone out aboard a medical evacuation ship to Tunisia. Everyone, it seemed, had joined the revolution and was now committed, after all Misurata had suffered, to see it through to the finish.

At some point during this family gathering, Majdi briefly excused himself to go to his old bedroom. There, he took the Thuraya from his pocket and hid it on a shelf behind a bundle of bedding. Over the next week, the returned son of Misurata wandered about his ruined city, meeting up with friends and learning of those who had been wounded or killed in battle.

In the process, he came to see that everything he had been told and had believed about the war was a lie. There were no criminals, there were no foreign mercenaries — at least not among the rebels. There were only people like his own family, desperate to throw off dictatorship. But this realization placed Majdi in a very delicate spot. Ayoub, his intelligence contact, surely knew of his arrival in Misurata and was expecting him to report in. Majdi briefly entertained the idea of simply discarding the Thuraya and going on as if nothing had happened, but then he thought of the repercussions that would befall his family if the regime won out in the end.

Faced with these possibilities, the air force cadet came up with a far more clever — and dangerous — plan. In mid-May, he presented himself to the local rebel military council and revealed all. The next morning, Majdi finally contacted Ayoub, his regime handler, and agreed to meet two days later in a vacant apartment building downtown. At that meeting, a group of rebel commandos burst in with guns drawn and quickly wrestled both men to the ground. Majdi and Ayoub were then placed in different cars for transport to prison. He took advantage of the moment to slip off to Tunisia to visit his parents.

For Majdi, then 24, the contrast of Tunisia — modern, peaceful — was yet another journey into bewilderment. I had been with the army, but they had lied and manipulated me. I told my parents I had no choice. I had to go home. There, surrounded and with their backs to the sea, they waged a desperate last stand. As elsewhere in the Libyan war — as in most wars, frankly — combat in Surt was an oddly desultory affair, moments of intense action followed by long stretches of tedium, and to Majdi it seemed this rhythm might continue indefinitely.

Instead, it ended very suddenly on Oct. That morning, a fierce firefight erupted in the western part of Surt, punctuated by a series of airstrikes from Western coalition warplanes; from his perch on the bypass road, Majdi saw enormous plumes of fire and dust rising up from the bombs exploding around the city. Around 2 p. After all that killing — and after 42 years of Qaddafi — a new day had finally come to Libya.

He greatly enjoyed this work, which he felt showed tangible evidence of recovery after so much death and devastation, and it fortified his optimism about the future. Then one December day at the Misurata airport, Majdi received a visitor. The Libyan revolution had been over for two months, but the last time anyone in the Drisi family had heard from Jalal was in May. That communication was a short phone call from the Tripoli high school where the air force cadets had been sequestered, and it came just days after Majdi left for his spying mission to Misurata.

Changing course once again, Majdi set out in search of his lost friend with a tenacity that bordered on obsession. Returning to Tripoli, he spent weeks tracking down some of their former academy classmates and, from them, was able to piece together at least part of the mystery. As one cadet after another fell on this suicide mission, Jalal and two of his comrades managed to reach an outlying farm, where they begged an old farmer to take them south, away from the battlefield; instead, the farmer betrayed the students and delivered them to internal security forces, who in turn delivered them right back to the army.

After a round of beatings, the three were sent back to their suicide squad. But that was as far as the tale went. This set Majdi off on a new search. He finally found another former classmate who completed the story. When the missile struck, Jalal was sitting beneath a tree some 50 yards away, but it was there that an errant piece of shrapnel found him, tearing off the top of his head.

For most people, this might have meant an end to the search, but not Majdi. Returning to the cemetery office, he asked for the photographs taken of the unidentified corpses before burial: The faces of all four were so horribly damaged as to be unrecognizable. Still, Majdi was now convinced that one of the four was Jalal. He broke the news to the Drisi family and several months later flew to Benghazi to pay his respects to them in person. Jalal is in one of those four graves, that is for sure. Majd spent three months in Damascus as street battles raged throughout his hometown, and even though the atmosphere in the capital was tranquil — disconcertingly so — he was eager to get back to his family and his studies.

Finally in May , the situation in Homs had sufficiently calmed to allow the university to reopen. Majd had kept in regular contact with his parents and friends during his Damascus stay, so he knew that the fighting in Homs had been centered in the Baba Amr neighborhood south of downtown. Everything was gone. I remember thinking — trying to find something positive, you know?

If people saw Baba Amr now, maybe it would be a lesson. They would understand how terrible war is. By the autumn of , that began to change. On the streets of Waer, Majd noticed more and more young men toting weapons, and of those who wore insignia, by far the most common was that of the Free Syrian Army, or F. The militiamen also took notice of Majd. By now, so many families had fled Homs that furnished apartments sat empty throughout the city.

At first, the Ibrahims decamped to their shelter home only occasionally, but by early their flights had increased in frequency to two or three times a week. Their greatest concern was for the safety of their eldest son at the hands of the militias. But more and more were coming in from the outside, and those guys were tough. A lot of them were survivors of the battles in Baba Amr and Khalidiya. They were suspicious of everyone, and you just never knew what they were going to do.

And the funny thing about that is they were the ones who scared very easily. If another group came into their area, they would just turn around and join that group. One day, Majd came upon a young F. His unit had been taken over by an Islamic group that had decreed smoking was haram , or forbidden.

In his quest to learn the fate of his best friend, Majdi had stumbled upon a tragedy of far greater dimension. Every side in the Libyan revolution, it seemed, had taken turns killing off the air force cadets.

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In early , scores of cadets who had survived this collective bloodletting were being held in revolutionary prisons, while many more were living in hiding. Of his approximately colleagues at the Misurata air force academy, Majdi estimates that between and were killed during the war and its immediate aftermath. Both sides used us. Both sides slaughtered us. In his view, the first great misstep was when the interim government in Tripoli, the Transitional National Council, announced that it would pay stipends to all those who had fought against the Qaddafi regime.

Worse, the structure of the compensation, acquiesced to by Western governments allied with the transitional council, created an incentive for new armed groups not just to form but to remain independent of any central command, the better to demand their own share of the compensation pie. Already by the close of , Libyan militias — some composed of true revolutionary veterans, others no more than tribal or criminal gangs — had begun carving the country into rival fiefs, their ability to do so bankrolled by the very central government that they were undermining.

That instability was made painfully clear to the Obama administration when the American diplomatic compound in Benghazi was attacked in September , leading to the deaths of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens and three others. But for Majdi, final disillusionment took a more personal form. But this was the new Libya: Everything was just lies and corruption. No one has to know. Call yourself an engineer. Majdi faced a stark choice: He could use his sham diploma to land some inconsequential government job, or he could start over.

The next year, he enrolled in Misurata University to study engineering. Around the time he started back at school, Majdi also became involved with an environmental group based in Tripoli called Tree Lovers. He was so inspired by its work that he helped start a Misurata branch. But there may have been a more personal impulse at work on Majdi. On an early morning, we drove out of Misurata for the farm fields and small villages at its southern outskirts.

Stepping around the garbage, he strolled among the trees and breathed in deeply of the pine scent with a satisfied smile. There had been 13 candidates, and the only one certain to advance was Mohamed Morsi, the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, the one party that had unified enough Islamist voters to form a meaningful voting bloc.

Against him, Laila was ready to support any of the others — save one. That afternoon, it was announced that the runoff contenders were Morsi and Shafik. Well, never Shafik — that meant a return to the Mubarak era — so. In just this way, Laila Soueif, the stalwart feminist and leftist, found herself backing the election of a man who advocated returning Egypt to traditional Islamic values. Many other Egyptians were aghast at the choice given to them; in the June runoff, Morsi barely squeaked in with That followed a decree by the Supreme Constitutional Court, a holdover from the Mubarak era, that dissolved a sitting Parliament dominated by the Muslim Brotherhood and other Islamist political parties.

On the day he assumed office, then, Morsi was barely more than a figurehead, the public face to a democracy already gutted. Morsi tried mightily to claw back the authority taken from his office. Even more boldly, he dismissed the senior military leadership, including the powerful defense minister. In his place, Morsi promoted his own man, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, the general who had lectured Ahmed Seif during his detention.

But then Morsi overreached — badly. In October , he tried to expand the powers of the presidency by decree, a move that alarmed both the deep state and the secular opposition, already growing increasingly fearful of creeping Islamization. And here was the opening the deep state seemed to have been waiting for, the chance to reopen the traditional schism that existed between its Islamist and secular opponents.

For decades, the Egyptian generals had held up the Islamists — and most particularly the Muslim Brotherhood — as the greatest threat to the modern secular state and naturally positioned themselves as the guardians against them. This strategy had broken down during the heady days of revolution, with Islamists and progressives alike turning against the generals, but Ahmed Seif had seen how easily it could be resurrected. At a meeting of human rights activists organized by Amnesty International the year before, when Egypt was still under the control of the SCAF generals, one attendee after another expressed concern about the possibility of an Islamist electoral victory.

Even more perversely, they looked to the one state institution capable of carrying that out: the Egyptian military. One of the more curious aspects of Egyptian society has been a longstanding reverence for its military, a tradition inculcated in Egyptian students from primary school.

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If the guardians of the nation had acted to overthrow one dictator, why not a second one in the making? But so many people I knew, even people who had been in Tahrir, this is what they wanted. All but invisible between these two great factions was a small group of protesters advocating a third path. It included Laila Soueif and her daughter, Mona. It was at this critical juncture that the defense minister, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, until then regarded as a bland functionary, finally stepped from the shadows.

Pointing out that he was the elected head of state, the president defiantly dismissed the threat. Second, he trusted Sisi. True to his word, on July 3, Sisi overthrew the Egyptian government. He also annulled the Constitution, arrested Morsi and other Muslim Brotherhood leaders and shut down four television stations.

It was on the streets of Egypt where the face of the new regime was most nakedly revealed. In the days after Sisi took power, clashes between his supporters and those of the ousted president turned increasingly violent, with the police and the military making very clear whose side they were on. On July 8, security forces fired on Morsi loyalists gathered in central Cairo, killing at least That episode set the stage for far worse. On the afternoon of Aug.

By the most reliable estimates, at least and perhaps more than 1, protesters were killed in the ensuing massacre. For Laila Soueif, there was to be another, far more personal indication that the new Egyptian regime was different from those that had come before. In , he spent 45 days in jail for joining a demonstration calling for greater judicial independence. Given this track record, it was probably just a matter of time before Alaa was picked up by the new Egyptian regime.

That occurred on Nov. One of the more baffling features of the Syrian civil war has been the fantastic tangle of tacit cease-fires or temporary alliances that are often forged between various militias and the regime, or even with just a local army commander. These can take any permutation imaginable — radical Islamists teaming up with an Alawite shabiha gang, for example — and they pose a horrifying puzzle to anyone trying to navigate the battlefield, for it means that no one is necessarily who they seem, that death can come from anywhere.

That dynamic ended in early May In a colossal misstep, the Free Syrian Army had recently moved back into the devastated Baba Amr neighborhood, and there had been surrounded and slaughtered. While the scale of shelling was nothing like what befell Baba Amr or Khalidiya, it was enough to keep the Ibrahim family in their fourth-floor apartment, forever trying to guess where safety lay. Their insistence on his finishing was not some homage to the value of higher education; under Syrian law, college students were exempt from conscription, so as long as Majd stayed in school, he was safe from being drafted.

Once he took his exams at the end of July, his parents decided, they would reassess the situation and decide what came next. That gamble nearly led to disaster. On the afternoon of July 5, Majd was talking with friends on a Waer street when a white station wagon pulled up and three young F. Grabbing Majd, they dragged him into the car where, blindfolded, he was driven to their nearby base. They wanted me, not anyone else. Finally, he was forced to his knees, and an F. Another aimed a Kalashnikov at his head. They wanted to kill me very badly. The interrogator came to the stored photograph of one young man in particular and stopped.

The commander left the room, and for a long time Majd remained on his knees, the knife to his throat and the gun to his head. Quite unbeknown to Majd, his best friend was also an acquaintance of the F. Majd learned this only when the commander returned to the interrogation room and told him he would be set free.

During the drive back to Waer, the F. Majd said he would think about it. When he arrived at the spot where he had been picked up earlier that day, his parents and friends were waiting for him. The next morning, July 6, the Ibrahim family left for their shelter home, never to return to the Waer neighborhood where Majd had lived his entire life. It was his 21st birthday. Since her return from San Francisco in , Khulood had been marooned in Jordan. Before leaving for the United States in Khulood had briefly worked for a Japanese humanitarian organization called Kokkyo naki Kodomotachi Children Without Borders , or KnK, and she rejoined the agency upon her return to Amman the following year.

In , the family was at least scraping by. They were soon replaced, however, by new refugees from the war in Syria — just a trickle at first, but by the end of , their number was more than , In certain ways, Khulood found the Syrian children quite different from their Iraqi counterparts. This makes it much harder to reach them, so their problems are deeper. For several years, she continued to petition for the United States to reopen their case, but those efforts went nowhere.

She had recently become aware of a rather diabolical Catch, however. Nearly the only way to win asylum in Britain — or in any other country, for that matter — was to present the petition in person. To do that, Khulood first needed to obtain a British visa, and to get that, she needed to have legal residency in Jordan. Possessed of a seemingly unconquerable will, over several days of conversation, she seemed determined to put the very best face on her situation, and she was far more interested in talking up her current plans than her past failures.

Only once did this brave facade crack, and it came amid a discussion about the future she imagined for the refugee children she worked with. For me, these past nine years have been wasted. My sisters and I, we have dreams. We are educated, we want to study, to have careers. But in Jordan we cannot legally work, and we cannot leave, so we are just standing in place. Khulood sat back and let out a dispirited sigh. I try to never pity myself or to blame anyone for this situation, but I really wish the Americans had thought more about what they were doing before they came to Iraq.

Without that, we would be normal. But for Khulood and her sisters, the situation was about to grow even worse. On Oct. From her backpack, Laila drew out a small sign written on cardboard. It announced she and her daughter were going to intensify the partial hunger strike they began in September to protest the injustices committed against their family. They would remain there off and on for the next 48 hours, taking no food or liquids. It was the only weapon we had left. In presidential elections that May, Sisi, now officially retired from the military, won with more than 96 percent of the vote.

On June 21, , that changed. Within minutes, she was arrested on the same charge as her brother: violating the protest law. But when brought before a magistrate, the college student took a bold step. Despite suggestions from the judge that she stay quiet, Sanaa insisted that she had been a chief organizer of the demonstration and refused to sign her statement until this detail was included.

Sanaa, like her older brother, was held in jail pending trial. At a news conference the previous January, the former political prisoner took the microphone to eloquently address his imprisoned son, Alaa. Soon, matters took an even grimmer turn for the family of Laila Soueif. Only after intense lobbying by both influential Egyptians and international human rights organizations did the Sisi regime grant Alaa and Sanaa afternoon furloughs to visit their father before he died.

Sanaa was being held in a police station, so we had been able to see her and tell her what was going on, but Alaa had no idea. He showed up at the hospital with flowers for Ahmed, so I had to take him aside to say his father was in a coma. The day after that hospital visit, Alaa went on a hunger strike in his cell.

Sanaa stopped eating also, on Aug. That belief was misplaced. The next day, Laila and Mona took to the courthouse steps for their intensified hunger strike.

Laila braced herself for more bad news when Alaa went to trial the following month, by remembering something her husband had said. That March, the family moved once again, this time to New Akrama, a neighborhood that had been spared the worst of the violence. There, they simply waited along with everyone else for something, anything, to change. The three-year siege of Homs was over.

It was also only then that the full horror of what some of its residents had been subjected to came to light. In the total-war environment, some residents had starved to death, while others had survived by eating leaves and weeds. But even if a kind of peace had reached the shattered streets of Homs, the war continued elsewhere in Syria, and in a form that boded poorly for all its citizens. Majd Ibrahim heard the names of so many new militias competing with the plethora of already existing ones, it was quite impossible to keep track of them all.

An even more radical offshoot of Al Qaeda, the newcomers attracted Islamic extremists from around the world. Just a month after the Homs siege ended, most of the rest of the world would hear of ISIS, too, when it stormed out of the Syrian desert to utterly transform the Middle Eastern battlefield yet again. Wakaz Hassan always struggled in school. At least some of his struggles might have been a result of a hearing impairment — he speaks in a loud, slightly atonal voice, often asking others to repeat themselves.

But children around Tikrit were seldom tested for such things, and he simply accepted that he would never quite catch up with his classmates. After being forced to repeat a year of school, Wakaz dropped out. By the time he was a teenager, Wakaz had joined the legions of other unskilled young Iraqi men who scraped by with day-labor construction jobs: hauling bricks, cutting rebar, mixing cement. When no construction work was to be had, he sometimes helped out in the small candy shop that his father, a retired bank clerk, had opened in Dawr, his home village just outside Tikrit.

But it was all a rather meager and dull existence. There was one potential way out. But in June , a series of cataclysmic events were about to break over the Sunni heartland of Iraq, and they would radically alter the fortunes of the year-old day laborer in Dawr. At the time, Wakaz knew very little about the group, other than that it sought to establish an Islamic caliphate in the Sunni lands of Iraq and Syria. Over subsequent months, however, Wakaz, like most other young Tikriti men, had seen the elaborate recruitment videos that ISIS produced and distributed on social media.

Other videos from that time showed a decidedly darker side of ISIS — executions and crucifixion displays — but Wakaz claimed never to have seen those. In any event, the budding caliphate seemed far away from the sleepy and economically moribund town of Dawr.

By that June, it was far away no more. By June 9, the Highway 1 bypass road around Tikrit was the scene of a frantic stampede as thousands of Iraqi soldiers, many having already shed their uniforms, sped for the safety of Baghdad, miles farther south. After Mosul, they quickly advanced on Baiji, the oil-refinery town 40 miles north of Tikrit, and then on June 11 rolled into Tikrit itself. In Tikrit, just as in Mosul and Baiji, the Iraqi Army offered virtually nothing in the way of resistance, with different units seeming only to compete on how quickly they could escape and how much of their weaponry they could leave behind for the enemy.

But if the army fled the region, few of the local people did. Those remaining behind included Wakaz and his brother Mohammed. The ISIS offensive of June marked one of the most stunning military feats in modern history: In less than one week, a lightly armed guerrilla force of, ultimately, perhaps 5, fighters scattered a modern and well-equipped army at least 20 times its size, capturing billions of dollars worth of advanced weaponry and military hardware, and now controlled population centers that totaled some five million people.

While such a colossal collapse as that experienced by the Iraqi Army must necessarily be a result of many failures — certainly, incompetence and corruption played major roles — much of it could be attributed to recent history. For many residents in the Sunni heartland — and this included Baiji and Tikrit — this heavy-handed treatment spawned a deep contempt for both the central government and its army, whom they regarded as occupiers.

This was not a completely unfounded fear, because ISIS had cleverly established sleeper cells in these cities ahead of time, both to begin attacks when the battle was joined and to recruit new members to the cause. Among those recruits was Wakaz Hassan. According to Wakaz, he joined ISIS on June 10, , just as the guerrilla group became active in the Tikrit area but a full day before its attacks there began in earnest. His chief recruiter, he claimed, was none other than his brother, the year-old American-trained and Iraqi-government-employed intelligence officer Mohammed.

Of course, having now also seized the Baiji oil refinery, ISIS stood to turn its financial spigot into a geyser. Just to the north of Tikrit is a large Iraqi military training base still known by its American name: Camp Speicher. Thousands of cadets were undergoing training there when ISIS closed in. Wakaz said he helped round up the cadets but insists he played no role in what came next.

After separating the trainees by sect — Sunni to one side, Shiite to the other — ISIS gunmen marched hundreds of the Shiite cadets to various spots around Tikrit to be machine-gunned, the mass murders dutifully videotaped by ISIS cameramen for posting on the internet. Traditionally, armies and guerrilla groups try to deny or minimize their war crimes, but not so with ISIS; when outside observers first estimated that cadets were murdered that day in Tikrit, ISIS spokesmen boasted that they had actually killed many more.

The final death toll remains unknown, but estimates now range as high as 1, After the Camp Speicher massacre, Wakaz signed up with ISIS for a one-year enlistment — for a terrorist organization, it has a surprisingly formal bureaucracy — and was ferried up Highway 1 with a large group of fellow recruits to an ISIS compound outside Mosul. There, he learned the rudimentary skills imparted to new soldiers everywhere: running obstacle courses, breaking down and firing various weapons, tactical drills on maintaining squad cohesion on the battlefield.

But soon enough his training took a more brutal turn. On a morning in late June, Wakaz was summoned from his barracks by a senior commander. Instructing the year-old to follow, the commander led Wakaz to a field at the edge of the compound. After a few moments, they were joined by two other men, an ISIS fighter and a civilian who appeared to be in his 30s. The civilian was blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back, and he was crying. The former day laborer from Dawr knew precisely what was expected of him. Also to not shoot directly at the center of the head, but to go a little bit off to one side.

In the training-compound field, Wakaz dutifully carried out his first execution. Over the following few weeks, he was summoned to the field five more times, to murder five more blindfolded and handcuffed men. After that first one, only one other was crying. Wakaz related all this — even physically acted out how a proper killing was done — with no visible emotion.

But then, as if belatedly realizing the coldbloodedness of his account, he gave a small shrug. Driving through the desert, Azar Mirkhan told me about the death of his father, Gen. Heso Mirkhan, the pesh merga warrior who helped lead the Kurdish uprising against the Iraqi government, and who then took his family into exile in Iran. When the Iran-Iraq war began six years later, Azar said, the Khomeini regime suddenly saw a use for the Iraqi Kurd exiles in their midst and allowed Heso to resume his pesh merga leadership role, as well as his cross-border incursions.

That caught up with him in April , when he was killed in an ambush in northern Iraq. Many, many people who knew him have said this to me. Azar told me these stories on the drive described in the preface, perhaps in part to explain why our destination, a little village in Iraq called Gunde Siba, still haunted him. He was on an indefinite leave of absence from the hospital where he worked in Erbil, the K. His duties, which appeared to be largely self-determined, consisted of periodically touring the pesh merga front lines and advising its commanders. Everyone in the K. He saw in the K.

In his view, which is by no means a minority one in the K. For 22 years after its creation in , the K. That exempt status was most nakedly revealed during the American intervention in Iraq, in which the K.

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  6. That calm continued through the steady disintegration of Iraq after the American withdrawal, as the K. To the good citizens of the K. But Daesh was absolutely clear what they were going to do. They wanted to take this part of the world back to the caliphate. They wanted to eliminate everyone who was not their kind — the Christians and the Kurds and the Shia — and they were absolutely open about it.

    After their June offensive, I had no doubt they were coming for us next. It was going to be the Yazidis. It was going to be Sinjar. Their Mount Sinjar heartland was in the far northwestern corner of Iraq and outside official K. In the days and weeks after the June offensive, Azar made use of his family name to compel meetings within his circle of civilian and military comrades. At each, he warned of the coming ISIS attack. On Aug. When still there was no sign of action by the government, in desperation Azar Mirkhan rustled up five or six of his pesh merga friends, and together they raced west.

    We were standing on the shoulder of the road in Gunde Siba, just a few miles west of the Tigris River and still some 40 miles from the town of Sinjar. It was impossible to go on because the road was just jammed, everyone trying to escape. We set up a defense post here and rallied some of the pesh merga to stay with us, but this is as far as we got.

    In Sinjar that day — Aug. They were also rounding up thousands of girls and women to be used as sex slaves. Tens of thousands more Yazidis were frantically scaling the flanks of Mount Sinjar in a bid to escape the killers. Of all this, Azar Mirkhan had only an intimation in the terror-stricken faces and anguished accounts of those survivors streaming into Gunde Siba. But Azar had little time to grasp, let alone address, the tragedy unfolding in Sinjar.

    Turning back from Gunde Siba, the doctor raced south for the battlefield. Azar immediately went into battle alongside his brother — but not just Araz. But something did happen in the battle that changed Azar. After coming within 15 miles of Erbil, the ISIS advance stalled and was then thrown back by a furious pesh merga counteroffensive.

    During that counterattack on Aug. For weeks afterward, there was concern that he might lose the hand altogether, but surgery and physical therapy helped restore some function. For most of , the Ibrahim family lived in comparative safety in their new home in central Homs. With a citywide cease-fire forged that May, most new fighting had moved to the suburbs. The sense of growing calm was shattered on the morning of Oct.

    His mother raced to the scene, but Majd was unable to leave work for another 90 minutes. The memory of what he saw when he finally arrived at the school cast the perennially cheerful Majd into a dark corner within himself, his eyes settling into a sad, distant stare. It was only when Majd learned the details of what happened, though, that he grasped the full savagery of the attack.

    Shut out by an alert guard, the bomber blew himself up at the front gate. The double bombing at Akrama al-Makhzomeh killed at least 45, including 41 schoolchildren. It was another reminder — as if the people of Homs needed one — that in the new Syria, no haven was truly safe, no place off-limits to the murderers. In its aftermath, the Ibrahim family, like almost everyone else in New Akrama, largely stayed indoors, venturing outside only when necessary. Venturing out to a pesh merga firebase on the forward front line, he climbed the parapet to train his binoculars on a village, perhaps or yards away down the hillside.

    All was very still there, save for two of the distinctive ISIS black-and-white flags curling in the light breeze. A soldier called out a warning: An ISIS sniper had been spotted in the village an hour earlier, and, in his current stance, Azar made for a very easy target. The doctor gave the man an irritated look, then turned back to his binoculars. The firebase consisted of a series of hastily constructed berms and dugouts on a ridge line about three miles from the Tigris River, with ISIS in control of the lowlands below.

    Then in the confusion of that, they send in their infantry and, behind them, the snipers. Perhaps not surprising in a people so implacably committed to establishing a homeland, the Kurds of the K. Much as the United States Army will sustain more casualties in order to retrieve their battlefield dead, so the pesh merga have been willing to suffer higher losses to recover Kurdish ground more quickly. At Black Tiger Camp, the back-base command center of Sector 6, Sirwan Barzani, the overall sector commander, could point to the enormous color-coded battlefront map on his office wall and rattle off statistics remarkable in their specificity.

    Now we have cleared them for 23 kilometers to the west and 34 kilometers to the south. In my sector, we have retaken 1, square kilometers, but we still have about square kilometers to go. But when that offensive might come was a matter tied up with international geopolitics, and with the outcome of decisions being made in Washington and Brussels and Baghdad. In light of the woeful conduct of the Iraqi Army in the past — and absent any will to place significant numbers of Western troops on the ground — many American and European politicians and foreign-policy advisers were calling for deputizing the one fighting force in the region that had proved its mettle, the pesh merga, to lead the campaign to destroy ISIS.

    Less clear was whether anyone had seriously discussed this idea with the Kurds. Are you going to do it with the Iraqi Army? But what do we want with Mosul? Animating that resistance, beyond the traditional Kurdish antipathy for the regime in Baghdad, was what the Iraqi Army collapse in brought down on the K. By May , the Americans were still trying to cobble together a workable arrangement. The response time for airstrikes against ISIS targets had greatly improved because of the recent deployment of American aerial spotter teams in the K. But Black Tiger Camp revealed something else about the K.

    For the entire time of its existence — and indeed, far predating that — the K. On the surface, it has the trappings of a political duel between its two main parties, the Kurdistan Democratic Party K. Southern K. The feudalistic nature of this arrangement was on display at Black Tiger. In the Talabani sectors of southern K. This enduring schism has had tragic consequences. ISIS took advantage of that to nearly capture the K. Time and again in the K. With no one, though, did I sense it more than with Azar Mirkhan.

    Part of that may have stemmed from his having tried to aid them at their critical hour, only to discover that the hour had come and gone. But on a philosophical level, he also felt the Kurds had betrayed their history.