Introduction

Cartographers in the 15th century used to mark the edges of the known world with dragons and sea monsters to denote remote and dangerous seas in which perilous beasts dwelled. In most cases these "dragons" were a troubling reminder for explorers venturing in a progressively more trodden world full of potential. Comparing these latent beasts with historical and contemporary archaeology and the heritage that can be found on the edges of the researched and curated past might be a little blunt; however, it allows consideration of the vigor and potential of this post-15th-century heritage category, which still upsets heritage experts and is only partially dealt with in the Mediterranean context.

In this article I raise issues concerning the materiality of these postmedieval ruins and the remains of the contemporary era, focusing on their social and cultural impact and their role in contemporary communities. I also examine the disciplines related to their study and the provisions set in place to protect and manage them. I focus on rural and urban remains in the Aegean, examining parallels on the opposing shores of Greece and Turkey, and contrast them with littoral sites in the Mediterranean more broadly.

Postmedieval, modern, and contemporary remains are ubiquitous, yet their study and curatorship are uncommon, especially in the Aegean geographic context. They do not form an established research field, and many of the difficult issues surrounding them remain unaddressed, falling between the cracks that differing social and political interests create. If we archaeologists wish to confront the dragons that lurk at the edges of the “heritagized” and managed past, we must employ a more systematic archaeological praxis, one that engages with multiple stakeholders, operating in and across communities. We need to employ an active stance that aims at protecting and organizing the available cultural reserve today, but one that also allows future generations to reflect on and handle it according to their needs and priorities.

Managing Aegean Monuments

The Aegean Sea, linking and at the same time separating the Greek mainland, the western shores of Turkey, Crete, and Cyprus, and the grouping of the Aegean islands,Footnote 1 has allowed a mosaic of communities to flourish through the centuries. In this variable geographical and social context that makes the Aegean Sea a “micrographic Mediterranean” (Svoronos 1992:34), civilizations thrived, leaving behind a wealth of material remains. These were deposited on complex palimpsests, commonly revealed in later times during field cultivation or other digging activities. These remnants of a not always well-defined past were imbued with exchange value, magic energy, or merely practical potential as building blocks, and as such were used by the local communities (Lekakis 2006; Hamilakis 2007). However, ancient material remains are also historically known in the Aegean for their symbolic value and have been harnessed politically to suggest palpable continuity from glorious ancestors, undisputed authority, and conceded precedence. Although ancient history and archaeological interpretation hold records of such manifestations in the Aegean context,Footnote 2 this concept of reusing antiquities for political and symbolic purposes was fully materialized during the 18th and 19th centuries, the period of nation-state building in Europe (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1988; Anderson 1991; Díaz-Andreu 2007). Thus, the collective political subjects in the geographical context of the late Ottoman Empire, Greece, and Turkey have built different historical narratives and heritage-management agendas revolving around socially and culturally significant sites, buildings, landscapes, and figures. As has been systematically documented (Skopetea 1980; Özdoğan 1998; Hamilakis 2007; Damaskos and Plantzos 2008; Dikkaya 2017), disciplines, including archaeology, folk studies, history, and linguistics, have been called upon to defend and document the glorious past in the present, in the process establishing an inherited superiority against antagonists. Through this practice these disciplines themselves came of age, focusing mainly on culture-historical approaches and linear interpretations, shaping objectives, means, and meanings, but also the contemporary monumental landscape in the Aegean Sea (Kotsakis 1998:55).

In Greece, a decision was made early concerning antiquities associated with ancient Greek stardom and Pericles’ Golden Age cult (Lowenthal 1988:733), an approach that had been widely appreciated in Western Europe since the Renaissance. In the second half of the 19th century, Byzantium was added as a middle point in a linear route from antiquity to the contemporary, postrevolution era. Following the re-appreciation of the Middle Ages in Europe, Byzantium, the “Greek medieval period” was deployed to “debunk” the theory of Johann Fallmerayer (1830 onward) that argued modern Greeks had no affiliation with the ancient Greeks and should be practically considered Slavic in origin (Lekakis 2018:372). In Turkey, the selection of the ancestors was not as straightforward. In the middle of the 19th century, the Ottoman Empire, with the renowned “Tanzimat” (Reorganization) reforms (1839–1876), attempted to synchronize with Europe through political reform, secularization, and renegotiation of property rights and trade agreements. The Sublime Porte aimed at taming the tides of emerging nationalistic movements, such as the Greek one,Footnote 3 promoting a collective Ottoman identity among the diverse ethnic communities that lived in its vast empire. In this process, a “customized classicism” was embraced centrally, relating to the Hellenistic remnants of Asia Minor and forging a versatile, quasi-national identity to echo the origins of Western civilization (Hodder 1998:124–126; Özdoğan 1998:113–115; Çelik 2016). However, the nationalistic movement of the Young Turks (1908) and the succeeding Turkish Republic (1923) pushed forward an ideological framework for the sovereign nation-state closer to the European standards and based on an ethnohistorical theory connecting Sumerians and Hittites to modern Turks (Özdoğan 1998:116–117). In this counter-narrative to European historiography, the ethnic-cultural reference point of the newly born state was removed from Istanbul to Anatolia, focusing on Neolithic and Bronze Age civilizations and excavated remains, silencing Turkic nomadism and gradually deemphasizing the intertwined Muslim and Ottoman past (Shaw 2004:132–136).Footnote 4

Following these leads, on both sides of the Aegean, national legal frameworks were called upon to enclose and protect the relevant periods and corresponding remains of the past, regulating their accessibility by local communities and foreign travelers. Even before Greece and Turkey established nation-states, in 1825 and 1869 respectively, antiquities had become the property of the state and their exportation was prohibited (Özdoğan 1998:115). In this way local views and unsanctioned uses of antiquities were marginalized and progressively branded illegal (Bartu 2000). This aimed primarily at limiting the collecting fervor of Westerners, who, imbued with colonial arrogance, considered locals primitive and unable to safeguard the artistic achievements of their past (Esin 1993:185; Zoes 1996:151–159). However, these plans proved difficult to implement, as antiquities were often used as a ready means to acquire capital to support household incomes, nationalistic claims, or even to meet political demands.

Archaeological investigation and management provisions were put in place for the protection of the authentic material of the preferred past. Monumental architecture became “useful ruins” that would complement the established national narrative, equating “monuments” with “monumental” structures and producing a relevant national heritage. The safeguarding of national capital was prioritized over the interests and interpretations of local communities and progressively (from the 1930s onward) promoted and advertised abroad to attract the upcoming class of modern tourists, who roamed the Mediterranean in search of pristine and primitive paradises (Lekakis 2020a).

While this brief sketch makes the dynamics of archaeological research and the heritage-management context in the Aegean understandable, it only hints at the fate of the material falling outside the “national capital” category, such as postmedieval and modern remains, and the role that archaeology as a discipline assumes toward them. To discuss this, it is now useful to broaden the scope of discussion and examine two critical issues as they relate to postmedieval and contemporary archaeology in the Aegean: the development of archaeology as discipline in Europe and the shaping of heritage and its management.

Contemporary Archaeology and Heritage

Processual archaeology developed in the 1960s and 1970s as part of the “New Archaeology” regime of theory and practice. Like other social sciences during the same period, it presented a positivist version of archaeology, researching human behavior considered “predictable” as a series of interrelated social actions adapting to the natural environment (Harding 2009). This science-based approach, closer to biological and social anthropology than the culture-historical origins of archaeology, cultivated a renewed interest in material remains. Ethnoarchaeology—studying the present to process data for analogies—became a favored methodology to tackle historical questions of material use, discard, recycle, and refuse (González-Ruibal 2014:1683),Footnote 5 and it demonstrated the relevance and potential of archaeological methods to study contemporary societies, with renewed appreciation of the “static” but impactful objects of the recent past.Footnote 6

In the 1990s, contemporary archaeology, or archaeology of the contemporary past,Footnote 7 started to emerge and would deploy transdisciplinary perspectives and creative approaches to question the past, present, and future roles of current material culture (Belford 2014; McAtackney and Penrose 2016:148). Considering materiality, contemporary archaeological practices distance themselves from the middle-range theory context and ethnoarchaeological analogies of processual archaeology, instead incorporating Marxist and feminist perspectives and anthropological theory. Material culture is considered as an integral and entangled element of the world, not a mere passive product, carrying agency, conveying messages, and representing itself, shaping and being shaped by human and more/other than human realities (Buchli and Lucas 2001; Pétursdóttir 2012).

Most importantly, however, contemporary archaeology activities, a set of avant-garde practices against official, monopolistic, conservative archaeologies (Dezhamkhooy and Papoli-Yazdi 2020), normally extend to socially and politically engaged discussions about everyday life (house excavations, homelessness), policy (deindustrialization, urban renewal, ruins), violence and conflict (World Wars, Cold War), social (in)justice, and critical heritages (future, Anthropocene) (Graves-Brown 2000; McAtackney and Penrose 2016). They support multiple narratives and readings of the past and give voice to alternative social groups and stakeholders (González-Ruibal et al. 2014:267; Lekakis 2019). In this way, contemporary archaeology also offers a platform to materialize the post-processual mantra of responsible, self-reflexive science; this is an opportunity to examine and critique the parent discipline itself.

Apart from theoretical problems relating to the timeframe of contemporaneity and the use of archaeology to interpret the present, criticism has been leveled at the disjunction between contemporary archaeology and the textures and properties of the heritage it produces. In fact, systematic conceptualization attempts concerning “contemporary heritage(s)” seem to be absent in the relevant published literature. This also reflects the lack of discussion on vital issues in heritage ontologies and management, such as dealing with palimpsests, historical layers on buildings and landscapes, authenticity, and conservation/preservation options, but also—and more holistically—the political economy of heritage, from production (how) to consumption (by whom). What is more, recent developments in heritage policy and practice are also neglected, such as the post-2000 broadening of “heritage” to include intangible heritage, landscapes, rural heritage, and cultural routes (Lekakis 2020a).

Museums, on the other hand, seem to be at the forefront of dealing with and managing contemporary heritage, the discussion there being conducted in more specific terms: dealing with movable particles of an unorganized—and unauthorized—archive or collection in the confined environment of a pre-articulated space (Grindon and Flood 2014; Hicks and Mallet 2019; Hourmouziadi and Nikolopoulou 2020; ICOM COMCOL 2021).

A Critical Assessment within the Mediterranean Context

Mediterranean archaeologies lag behind the management patterns and relevant theoretical trends introduced in the rest of Europe and North America, focusing instead on traditional agendas and methodologies; see also Palmer and Given (this issue). This is partly a result of the omnipresent touristic agendas that have been guiding visitors in the Mediterranean region since at least the 1970s, promoting the singular model of sun, sand, and sea, occasionally augmented with some recognizable textbook ruins from the Greco-Roman era (Teutonico and Palumbo 2000).

This broad heritage and tourism model still stands in the geographical context being examined here, organizing around it all the available players, from the official heritage-management authorities promoting their national past/touristic product, the tourist operators balancing demand and supply, and the heritage experts to the local communities responding to the patterns. Even though relevant projects exist in Mediterranean countries (France, Italy, Israel, Spain), this schema might be one of the main reasons for the underdevelopment of historical and modern archaeology research and heritage management in the Mediterranean context, even though in the last two decades it has proliferated in Central and Northern Europe.

Thus, although post-15th-century material remains are documented and researched by other disciplines, mainly from historic, archival, architectural, and urban development viewpoints, historical archaeology is still in an early stage, a reality reinforced by the very limited relevant university courses in southeastern Europe (Mehler 2020:780,784–785). Yet multiple case studies have sprung up over the last decade, informed by work in the Anglophone world (for example, in Cyprus, Egypt, Israel, Malta, and Morocco, as demonstrated by the articles in this thematic collection) and are regularly presented in specialized historical archaeology sessions held in the annual meetings of the European Association of Archaeologists or the Post-Medieval Archaeology Congress, held annually by the Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology (Orser et al. 2020:2–3). Landscape archaeology projects, which are numerous in the Mediterranean (Given, this issue; Saidel, this issue), also offer interesting insights into the post-1500 past. However, these studies do not form a cohesive subdiscipline, as, for example, in North America or the United Kingdom.

Modern (architectural) heritage became visible and part of the discussion in the 1950s, with voices raising concerns about the detrimental effects of development on the historic landscape, the traditional face of settlements, and the rural countryside. Various international normative documents have been compiled to provide a framework for protection and management, such as the Granada Convention for the Protection of Architectural Heritage (Council of Europe 1985) or the more recent European Landscape Convention (Council of Europe 2000), following up from standard European directives (ICOMOS 1964; UNESCO 1972) and the increased inscription of Mediterranean sites in the UNESCO World Heritage List during the 1980s and 1990s. This has developed a legible—although incomplete, selective, and systematically biased—safety net for modern heritage, which comes as a stark contrast to the rather hesitant evolution of historical archaeology as an academic subject and the general lack of consciousness for the protection of this diverse yet largely unsettled—in terms of management—cultural resource. A number of programs focusing on the management trends of the cultural wealth of the Mediterranean in the 1990s and 2000s (Euromed Heritage in 1998–2004, 2002–2007, 2004–2008, 2008–2012), resulting in a plethora of conferences and projects (e.g., the P.I.S.A. Project, the DELTA Project, the TEMPER Project, Museum With No Frontiers [De la Torre 1997]), have not catered to this need. Their focus has remained the ancient heritage and the (detrimental) interaction of tourism on the preservation of the material remains and the livelihoods of the local communities.

Historic and contemporary heritage remains plentiful but still marginal in Mediterranean heritage discourse. A systematic change of stance is needed, one based on the paradigm of historical and contemporary archaeology blossoming in other parts of Europe; but there is also the need for customized heritage management catering to the plural public and allowing space for community-led solutions.

Aegean Archaeologies and Heritages: Aspects of the Contemporary Context

The Context: Antiquity and Tourism

Traditional archaeological approaches are still prevalent in the Aegean context, organizing research patterns and determining the heritage products offered to the public and the tourist industry.

Aegean archaeologies—that is, archaeological research in the context being discussed here, sanctioned and monitored by the official authorities—often trail behind theoretical developments, such as the culture-historical paradigm that can be considered dominant and operative, emphasizing materialities from the authorized past, i.e., the ancient and Byzantine periods in Greece and prehistoric or photogenic classical sites in Turkey. Official and typical research agendas do not regularly extend beyond these pasts, also marking a methodological deficit in ways of tackling modern and contemporary material, leaving post-15th-century remnants for folk studies or urban development for restoration, reuse, or demolition. Late Byzantine and “modern” phases have been knowingly sacrificed in excavations of nonmonumental remains, with archaeologists eager to reach more “historical” layers. A striking and early example is the church of Agios Dimitrios Katiforis in the center of Athens, which was dismantled to retrieve architectural members, inscriptions, late Hellenistic and Roman sculptures, and part of the late Roman wall of Athens (Odysseus 2023); see also Vroom (2013) for the case of the Athenian Agora.

Historical and contemporary archaeology features sporadically in the Aegean context and can be safely considered not yet embedded in standard archaeological practice. However, stand-alone projects do exist, as will be examined in the following case studies.

In terms of heritage, national authorities are reluctant to add new paradigms to the national monumental agenda. Modern heritage remains unsettled in terms of protection and promotion, an awkward addendum to the monumental saga of the national heritage reserve accompanied with problematic management decisions and public reception. In general, heritage values seem to diminish as one moves farther from the officially organized monumental canon, to extinction when approaching contemporary times: a paradigm that can be easily explored through multiple examples, such as the standing Ottoman architectural heritage in Greece demolished or used for quotidian purposes (Brouskari 2008), or relevant monuments in Turkey, such as the Genoese architectural heritage in Istanbul (Sağlam 2019). The Venetian fortifications of Heraklion in Crete (15th century) form an interesting parallel: Even though the plans for demolition were averted in the 1960s, the walls were semi-abandoned until recently or hosted various incompatible uses, such as a football pitch.

New heritage produced in the Aegean reshuffles the official heritage reserve, enriching the established categories to explain and confirm the national project in a monumental and tourist-friendly form (Orbaşli 2013). This is well observed on the eastern coast of the Aegean, where policies for development and promotion in Turkish cultural heritage are largely tourist oriented. As discussed elsewhere (Lekakis 2005), restoration projects in Turkey feature stylistic reconstructions and extensive use of new material—sometimes in creative, not scientifically accurate, ways—in order to replace available architectural members in their “initial” place, covering unwanted historical periods, and enhancing their readability and presentability, toward their “original” form (Fig. 1) (Akurgal 2001:126; Orbaşlı 2007, 2013:243). Apart from the impact on the material and form of the monuments “restored,” this practice attracts more state funds and materializes “touristic destinations,” creating a vicious funding circle that further marginalizes peripheral (historic and contemporary) heritage and nonmainstream narratives (Lekakis 2005). In Ephesus, for example, strategic investment has been made in specific monuments, such as the Library of Celsus or the Ephesus Great Theater, to receive the majority of tourists who visit the ancient city. On the other hand, Ágios Ioánnis’s basilica, the İsa Bey Mosque, and other monuments in and around the modern city of Selçuk stand ignored (Demas 1997:144; Scherrer 2000; Orbaşlı 2007). Extensive restorations may not be a standard practice in Greece in the same terms, but the touristic appropriation of ancient sites is a common denominator on the western side of the Aegean, pushing monuments dating to later times out of the heritage-management margins.

Fig. 1
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The temple of Athena in Pergamon, 3rd century B.C.E. The new material on top of the original is noticeable, added to enhance the “presentability” of the monument. (Photo by author, 2002.)

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Archaeology is a gated discipline in the Aegean and most of the Mediterranean, limiting the availability of interactions with other stakeholders, including public involvement, during and after the completion of the archaeological projects; for a rare exception, see Gambin and Kassulke (this issue). Communities commonly remain estranged behind heavy fences due to strict legislation and specialist jargon (De la Torre 1997; Avrami et al. 2000). This pattern, promoted nationally to protect the public good, is reflected in the attitudes and choices of the local communities: it seems that tourism is the main way to approach heritage (Lekakis 2013), and communities surrounding heritage resources have been known to invest in this potential. The Sarat Project confirms the schema for Turkey, where 76% of a surveyed sample holds that “archaeology should serve tourism” (SARAT Safeguarding Archaeological Assets of Turkey 2018:14), arguably “the most immediately evident demonstration of our concern for the past” (Turner and Ash 1975:133). This understanding fuels unsustainable practices in unprotected heritage and the landscape: monothematic interest in heritage, apathy for other cultural resources, and bottom-up pressure for summer tourism infrastructure development are nowadays common practices in the Mediterranean. Based on market rules, they are expanding toward tourism peripheries and are nearly impossible to pause by design (Herzfeld 2001; Grima 2020:100). The results are devastating for post-15th-century remains in rural and urban touristic contexts, shaping the contemporary facade of Mediterranean destinations (Lekakis and Chatzikonstantinou 2020).

In this state-directed heritage-for-tourism strategy and relevant local response, meaningful interactions with heritage resources are condensed in “reactance” practices (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b:84), as in the demonstrations against public works putting heritage resources at risk; Europa Nostra’s list of the seven most-endangered heritage sites in Europe is a telling example, featuring various case studies from the Mediterranean and the Aegean (Europa Nostra 2023). These protests for culture/heritage can be better categorized among other latent processes and mnemeiotic gestures wherein communities develop their own codes and practices for dealing with socially and culturally significant cultural resources, in this way forming new types of “critical” and “future” or “in-the-making heritage,” not yet part of the official heritage bundle of sites and monuments (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b). However, these conceptual frameworks and relevant actions fly well under the radar of official cultural policy and public management, remaining mere research thematic for cultural historians and heritage experts.

In the next two subsections I attempt to further explore these observations through case studies from rural and urban contexts in Greece and Turkey.

Rural Heritage: Ubiquitous and Tourism-Oriented

Rural heritage falls into the array of modern heritages still not systematically cared for by official heritage authorities in the Aegean. Rural heritage can be understood as a network of edifices, natural resources, and socioeconomic activities that cocreated the broader natural, social, and cultural landscape, leaving behind material and intangible remains. Rural heritage is usually acknowledged through the edifices left behind by the relevant economies, mainly land cultivation and animal husbandry; these include terraces, trails and passages, threshing floors, windmills, water mills, wells, fountains and cisterns, and agricultural structures for temporary accommodation and/or storage that frame the rural space of the recent past in the present. These edifices are highly variable, responsive to environmental conditions and landscape-management strategies, and handed down over successive generations up until the 1950s and 1960s, when electricity and mechanical means of production and transportation transformed rural space, rupturing local communities and pulling them into modernity (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b:86).

Having studied rural heritage edifices extensively at Naxos (Cyclades, Greece) and other Aegean islands and participated in a pilot study on the Urla-Çeşme Peninsula (İzmir, Turkey) (Lekakis 2020b; Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b; Turner et al. 2020),Footnote 8 several could be made observations. As rural-heritage edifices follow the socioeconomic realities of local populations, they are mostly now partially used or abandoned. Many are of ancient origins (see, for example, the Aegean terraces of the later medieval period, ca. 1000–1600 C.E.) and commonly products of palimpsestic investment on the landscape (Crow et al. 2011; Turner et al. 2020). However, their attributes and values are largely underexplored. In most cases they are interpreted through folk studies, which dealt with rural space—at least until the 1980s—as a continuum from antiquity, serving the national narrative by confirming the habitus of the nation to the geographical context of the state (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b).

Extending this approach to the heritage-management field, rural heritage is, more often than not, aestheticized for (alternative) tourists wishing to dwell in the hinterland, considered somehow as a natural and picturesque setting for walkers, stripped from any social or political agency or simply neglected, as in the case of the inscription of the Ayvalık Industrial Landscape in the UNESCO tentative World Heritage List (UNESCO 2017). Movable artifacts from rural heritage can be exhibited in relevant folkloric museums, again disengaged from the historical and political context, merely reiterating the historical narrative of continuity for touristic consumption (Terzi 2007) (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2
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The Köstem Zeytinyağı Museum in Çeşme falls in the category of folk museums that present material remnants of the recent past in a generic and depoliticized way. Here an olive steam press is exhibited, with no comments on its provenance: a Greek factory in İzmir in the late 19th century, according to its inscription. (Photo by author, 2019.)

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Despite the dominant research and touristic treatment, rural heritage remains socially and culturally significant in the local context, carrying important values for local and dispersed communities through diverse narratives: either of a romantic character or of self-referencing departure, recalling personal and family history/histories (Lekakis 2020b; Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b) (Fig. 3). In either case, narratives converge on the significance of rural heritage and highlight the need to preserve it for the sake of collective “memory” in a fast-paced world. This comes as an interesting juxtaposition with the unsettled status of rural heritage in terms of management, as not (yet) part of the official heritage bundle of sites and monuments and thus not yet properly protected. This framework allows a relative freedom in the appreciation of the plural values of this type of heritage and the involvement of numerous interested stakeholders, along with the potential for developing new forms of community-based management. However, resilient and appreciated as rural heritage might be, nowadays it is in danger due to various pressures, such as urbanization, rural depopulation, the mechanized rural economy, renewable energy infrastructure, the touristic gaze, and the downgrading of the historic rural landscape (Fig. 4) (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020a).

Fig. 3
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A public-built well at Lákkoudo near Agiassós Bay at Naxos Island. Ethnographic research revealed a number of oral histories relating to the well as a central point in the landscape until the 1970s, nowadays almost abandoned and covered by vegetation. (Photo by author, 2019.)

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Fig. 4
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The Tripodes windmill (listed monument, 2008) on Naxos and rooms for rent under construction adjacent to it. The case was raised by locals and taken by them to the Supreme Civil and Criminal Court of Greece. (Photo by author, 2016.)

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Urban Heritage: Identity Signifier and Enclosed

A somehow analogous scenario can be traced in the urban context, related to the better defined and invested in category of urban architectural heritage.Footnote 9 Considering Athens and İzmir this time, both cities boast a rich modern history and a resulting multicultural architectural reserve. Athens, the renowned classical city-state, became the capital of the newly born state in 1834, a decision that led to the redevelopment of the urban plan in line with the cities of Western Europe in order to host the incoming population, but also the national narrative cultivated by the Greek intelligentsia. An adapted version of neoclassicism became the architectural grammar for public and private buildings that organized the urban space, solidifying a direct link to the famous ancestor and the intention to rise to the expectations of Western Europe. İzmir, on the other hand, a city-palimpsest dating back to the 3rd century B.C.E., emerged as a significant commercial hub from the 17th century and more rapidly in the 18th for the caravans coming from eastern Anatolia and merchant marine ships from the West. The city was transformed in the 19th century, altering the “Oriental townscape,” with its tangled streets and introverted neighborhoods, in pace with the Tanzimat reforms. The Ottoman-revival urban model was further enriched with new architectural layers developed to house the local elite, but also Westerners working for the numerous companies and consulates in the city (Özsoy 2009:231; Amygdalou [2024]). The two cities followed different developmental patterns; İzmir was largely destroyed in 1922 during the Greco-Turkish War, while Athens expanded to host migrants after the Lausanne Treaty that ended the war in 1923. In both cities, a modernization process in the 1930s added a new layer of architecture informed by the modern movement and other developments in Europe (Art Deco, Beaux Arts), customized in the local conditions and cultural contexts (Amygdalou 2014:38,150).

However, from the 1950s onward, this diverse modern architectural heritage was in danger due to inadequate planning, but mainly from the exclusion of modern heritage from the national reserve. This is a reality that causes awkward cultural management and policy attempts and relevant reactions by the public.

In Greece, Law 1469/1950 (Hellenic Parliament 1950) introduced the category of buildings and movable finds dated after 1453 (the year of the fall of Constantinople) that could be considered as “works of art” or “of historic importance” (Hellenic Parliament 1950). The law prevented any unmonitored intervention in their fabric and affected buildings and treats them similarly to their ancient and medieval equivalents in terms of protection and management processes. However, these protective measures, introduced in haste and without consultation, added an awkward body of heritage next to a highly symbolic cultural capital. This was not well received by Greek society, longing for “modernization”—parallel to the capitalistic economies of the European nations—underway in the urban and rural environment of Greece in the 1960s and 1970s in the form of private housing, the expanding urban infrastructure, and the building activity to cater to the mass touristic surge. It is no wonder that in this period Athens lost the majority of its architectural heritage in favor of the new apartment blocks that now characterize its cityscape (Gratsia et al. 2020). In İzmir, on the other hand, quasi-modernization planning was employed to amend the destruction of 1922, but also eradicate by design uncomfortable traces of the occupied past (Amygdalou 2014; Morack 2021). Industry accelerated after the 1950s, propelled by various laws enabling building (such as the Condominium Ownership Act in 1965) and with that the rapid urbanization and the increase of parcel building, along with peripheral shanties to shelter incoming internal population from the east and southeast. İzmir’s architectural heritage has been partially protected since the late 1970s—listed as an “Urban Archaeological Site”—but this had limited success, as architectural heritage continued to be consumed by touristic building, creative reconstructions of the historic environment, and the enveloping legal context, such as the 2012 Urban Transformation Law (Ballice et al. 2019) (Fig. 5).

Fig. 5
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The city encroaching all around the İzmir agora of Hellenistic times on the northern slope of Pagos (Kadifekale). (Photo by author, 2018.)

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In the last 20 years, the context of government debt crisis and the disintegration of the welfare state intensified destructive practices for modern heritage in Greece, both top down and bottom up. Privatization calls, “fast track” investments, and solutions for immediate economic benefits have been favored at the expense of natural and cultural resources (Lekakis 2020a). For example, citizens have been attempting to relieve their problematic economic predicament by engaging in disastrous activities with the invocation of the “deemed unfit and to be demolished” law (Hellenic Parliament 1999), applicable when a (historic) building loses its roof. The introduction of the annual Single Property Tax (ENFIA) forced a number of people to rethink their property assets and should be related to the increase of demolitions in the last decade, especially in Athens.

On the other hand, in the rapidly growing metropolis of western Anatolia (population about four million), the uncomfortable relationship with modern architectural heritage seems to have reached a critical stage. Being alien to the nationally sanctioned past, demolitions continue to serve immediate social and economic needs in the city, while planning does not seem to cover the problematic attachment of the citizenship to İzmir, focusing rather on commercial interests. Further to this problematic set of policies, the text backing the listing of İzmir in the tentative list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites is characteristic. In this narrative, İzmir is described as a “Historical Port City,” its universal significance based on multiculturalism and its “Levantine” character (UNESCO 2020). Attempting to enlist the city on a preeminently Western list, the heritage-management authorities seem to resurrect and reappropriate orientalist views (see the connotations of the term “Levantine” in Mansel [2011]) in order to deactivate national and cultural antagonisms (for example, Ottoman, Turkish, Greek, Italian, and other Western approaches) and the uncomfortable destruction of the city in 1922. In this way, İzmir’s “legendary cosmopolitan charm” (Criterion [ii]), “unique civilisation” (Criterion [iii]) and “place in human history” (Criterion [iv]) seem to reiterate a Western understanding of the historic role of the city, obfuscating significant periods, social strata, and uncomfortable pasts, along with its tangible and intangible remains (Ballice et al. 2019; UNESCO 2020).

Modern Archaeologies and Heritages of the Present and Future

Reconsidering the above, what is to be made of the emergent modern past, present all around in the Aegean, but still going largely unaccounted for in terms of research and management?

As has been explored, research and heritage in the Aegean are organized according to the national predilections of the past, shaping relative cultural policy in pace with European agendas. Historical and modern archaeology remains in a secondary position, while the relevant heritage produced forms an awkward addendum to the national cultural reserve of the Aegean states, dealt with unsystematically, protected ad hoc, and in danger due to expanding urbanization, the (summer) tourism infrastructure, and significant but marginalized appreciation by local communities. Local communities in the Aegean, on the other hand, are also catering to the tourist demand, promoting and delivering the nationally sanctioned remains, ancient and Byzantine in Greece, prehistoric and classical in Turkey: the “useful past” as a touristic product. Caring for historic and contemporary heritage is impeding this process by expanding protection measures and shrinking the modernization of the urban and rural landscapes.

In moving toward an uncertain future, issues will continue to emerge, the archaeological paradigm will continue to diversify, informed by various strands, and the heritage reserve will swell, while modern monuments will eventually become old enough to be engulfed in the official bureaucratic processes and harmonize with the official heritage agenda. However, until this equilibrium is reached, can any practices be identified currently to amend the present condition and mindfully engage with the material remains of the historic and contemporary eras?

As Aegean archaeologists, our modern and contemporary archaeology is largely a terra incognita. We reluctantly trudge ahead of our (ancient or medieval) era of interest and prefer to turn a blind eye to “the dragons,” that is, modern layers in our palimpsests, considering it folkloric or, worse, anecdotal information. In this context it is easy to deduce that we are in need of a substantial and programmatic cultural policy to promote (archaeological) research on the material remains of the recent past and defend strategically the preservation and promotion of modern and contemporary heritage, outside the touristic agenda, and on a par with the ancient one.

However, this generic call cannot be customized if not inside the national, regional, and local context here examined. In the case of the Aegean, where counterarguments to the demolition of historic buildings and/or urban(-like) development are considered flimsy and economically invalid, a systematic research and action agenda is needed to consider the local narratives, reactance, and reappropriations of the past and to promote engaged solutions. Cocreation in research and collaborative management in heritage have been tested in a preliminary way, and they prefigure a more sustainable and just future for all interested stakeholders (Lekakis and Dragouni 2020b). They also respond to the calls for present and socially engaged archaeology and the need for historical/contemporary archaeology to be more politically involved, broadening the representation of marginalized people (Leone 1995:251).

However, as the distancing of the public in the Aegean context is embedded and well organized in archaeological and (national) heritage dialectics involving strong bureaucratic mechanisms and alienating value systems, it will take some time to overcome “seeking consent” activities toward active participation and eventual cocreation in the research and preservation of modern heritage. Decolonization agendas, nowadays on the rise in humanities, are more than useful in this process (Baird 2012; Ray 2019). However, there should be an awareness of self-indulgent arguments and dead-end practices that cause calls like this to stagnate in the long term, especially when applied to contexts facing different challenges from former colonies.

Thus, as archaeologists, we need a more active stance that can enable bottom-up praxis in parallel to our top-down work and application of pressure on policy makers. Indeed, historical and modern archaeology and heritage in the Aegean carries a number of values and memories of personal and collective valor, and can be a fulcrum for systematic communal thinking, identity reformation, and motivation to work toward its management. Reconsidering archaeological and heritage orthodoxies, this process can have a much more palpable effect on the remains, but also on the general consideration of heritage at the local level, which is known to be a positive enabler for broader multi-vector challenges, such as social cohesion, conflict resolution, and environmental sustainability. The ecosystems of collectives and NGOs can play a significant role beside our activities, deconstructing predominant ideologies in the field and equalizing dialogue with the local communities (Leone 1995:253).

Archaeology can legitimize, but also be a subversive process in the monumental time of the state (Herzfeld 1991). This means that collaborative production of knowledge and systematic curation of tangible products can be a constant praxis request not limited to obscure titles (for example, the archaeology of the historical/modern/contemporary/decolonization eras), but born, organized, curated, and performed in the society and on the streets by the plural public as a critical appraisal of archaeological work and a social demand. And this might be a good marker by which to identify whether archaeological research agendas and fieldwork are socially up to date and relevant: to consider whether they could be inscribed on a plaque or be part of a demonstration, beside other social demands, such as education, justice, and democracy.