Archaeology of the Cold War

This week, I read Todd Hanson’s little volume titledThe Archaeology of the Cold War(2016). It’s a survey of Cold War sites primarily in the US followed by a discussion of some issues related to preservation and access. Perhaps its most distinctive feature is that it brings together a good bit of “grey literature” associated with field work on US military bases and around other Cold War sites eligible for the National Register nominations. At the same time Hanson also summarizes some recent work done at the Nevada Test Site Peace Camp. That being said, it is clear that Hanson mainly understood the archaeology of the Cold War as existing on the level of institutions. 

In general, the book is more descriptive and summative than interpretative per se, but it does offer a few useful observations regarding the distinct character of Cold War sites.  

1. Vanishing Cold War Heritage

One of the most interesting observations that Hanson offered was that Cold War sites – despite their often massive proportions – are often quite ephemeral. Not only does their starkly functional nature make them designed for repurposing which can often destroy evidence for earlier use, but the vagaries of funding, military strategy, and the rapid changes in technology mean that sites often become obsolete or unnecessary.

Hanson uses the well-known (at least locally) example of the Nekoma Pyramid (aka “Stanley R. Mickelsen Safeguard Complex Missile Site Radar”) outside of Grand Forks which despite its imposing design and dimensions was only used for around 4 months. Research sites often lasted only as long the programs before being decommissioned, repurposed, or demolished. Sites like the craters left behind by a failed missile test not only preserved evidence for the kind of missile which allowed archaeologists to identify the failed test, but also allowed them to consider the fragility of the site itself and what steps could be used to preserve it. 

2. Limits of Texts in the 20th and 21st centuries.

Another challenge facing the archaeologist of late 20th and 21st century institutions – like the military – is explaining how and why the material culture of these institutions can tell us something that, say, documentary sources cannot. Hanson makes the point that for military installation, the documentary record is often classified, or, caught in the massive backlog of documents waiting to be declassified. As significantly, individuals who served at many of these sites often view their knowledge as secret and are reluctant to share even incidental details that were likely never classified for the start. As a result, the documentary and ethnographic record for Cold War sites tends to be problematic and the archaeology of Cold War sites offers a key supplement to what we know about this period.

These sites also offer a complement to official documentation and oral histories as they might reveal differences between what recorded history or memory established as happening and what the material culture suggest occurred. 

3. Toxic Landscapes.

The toxicity of the modern is something that I’d love to develop more fully in my little book, but I probably won’t. Toxic landscapes are such a part of the modern world that the  field of “toxic” and “dark” tourism has developed for intrepid travelers who want to see sites of horrific destruction or sites of toxic contamination. No place is more famous for these kinds of excursion as the Chernobyl exclusion zone, but it is also now possible to visit areas in the Nevada Test Site. These landscapes have varying degrees of toxicity having been exposed to radioactive fallout. Excavation at the sites runs the risk of exposing the archaeologist to this contamination and has created a barrier to archaeological work.

More mundane dangers, of course, abound in the context of Cold War archaeology from asbestos, to lead based paints and finishes, unexploded ordinance, and other distinctively military hazards. The distinctive forms of documentation, care, and fieldwork associated with Cold War landscapes offer perspectives on archaeology of the contemporary world more broadly. We live in a toxic, modern world.  

4. Issues of Access and Preservation. 

Finally, I thought some of Hanson’s observations on the need to document Cold War sites as a way to make up for challenge of access. Many Cold War sites remain deep inside active military bases with restricted access. The cycles of obsolescence, repurposing, and decay impact Cold War sites – as most modern sites – at varying rates, but the shifting nature of modern warfare and diplomatic relations has lent many of these sites a particular ephemerality. 

Maybe that’s what made the book so compelling. It’s not just that the Cold War has a particularly prominent place in my childhood memories, but the tension between my personal experiences and the passage of time that made this book and thinking about the archaeology of the Cold War so interesting.