Necessary conditions for integrated approaches to the post-conflict recovery of cultural heritage in the Arab World

ABSTRACT

Conflict in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region has been a dominant theme over the past half century; yet, cultural heritage continues to be generally overlooked by mainstream post-war reconstruction practices and policies – perceived and treated as a luxury that cannot be afforded by societies coping with multiple over-riding priorities during conflict. After analysing the inherent interconnectedness of war and cultural heritage, this paper unearths nine specific deficiencies in policies, practices, and their implications. It then draws upon the efforts to protect and recover cultural heritage, and broader processes of post-war reconstruction, to offer ways forward through critical lessons that seek to advance academic discourse and act as guidance for good practice. These lessons emphasise the need for: a shared vision; integration of cultural heritage into the wider responses; sustained political and financial support; local capacity; participation of Indigenous actors; recognition of complementarity between replacement and conservation approaches; prioritisation of quality over speed of recovery; conservation codes and legislation; and finally, appreciation of belief and religion.

KEYWORDS:

• Conflict
• post-war reconstruction
• MENA
• cultural heritage

Introduction

Conflict in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region has been a dominant theme over the past half century; yet, post-war reconstruction for long remained a minor interest, occupying a peripheral space in the consciousness of most international humanitarian and development actors. This situation has, however, shifted in the last decade, with post-war reconstruction of countries emerging from violent conflict, such as Iraq and Afghanistan, recognised as key to achieving global security and eradicating 21st century poverty. Yet cultural heritage continues to be overlooked by mainstream post-war reconstruction practices and policies – treated as a luxury that cannot be afforded by societies coping with multiple over-riding priorities during conflict. This is one primary reason that cultural heritage has, thus far, not received due attention within the interdisciplinary field of post-war recovery studies.

MENA, home to some of the world’s most treasured cultural heritage, is experiencing shifting power dynamics. After 2011, societal and conflict dynamics triggered by the ‘Arab Spring’ dominated the political landscape, and brought the interrelationship between conflict and cultural heritage into sharp relief. Uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria toppled or destabilised regimes yet also revealed institutional fragility and vulnerability of cultural heritage. In many contexts, institutional structures and acumen regarding cultural heritage protection were already weak, and regional upheaval further eroded these institutions and processes. For instance, in Egypt, museums and heritage sites – and institutions responsible for managing and protecting them – ceased to operate effectively post-revolution, leading to widespread looting and damage (UNESCO 2012). The unexpectedness and swiftness of the Arab Spring meant that these fragile capacities were unprepared to cope with sudden and large-scale breakdown in institutional context.

Thus, the international community faces a paradox: destruction of cultural heritage as a consequence of war is universal and longstanding, but our understanding of this social phenomenon remains rudimentary in academic discourses and international policies and practices. Meanwhile, in societies experiencing violent conflicts it is deaths, injuries and destruction of the built environment that are often the most visible impacts. However, amongst the ruins, it is often clear, albeit less tangibly, that buildings or monuments that represent particular religious, historical, or ideological traditions are indiscriminately and deliberately targeted (Rose 2007). This is very much the case in Syria and Iraq at present, where mentalities and cultures of coexistence behind damaged structures are fundamentally distorted by war (Isakhan and Zarandona 2018). Therefore, it is imperative to investigate how cultural heritage protection and recovery can be improved by clarifying its deeper relationship with international post-conflict recovery policies, and identifying major recurrent deficiencies within international policies that have limited effectiveness in the field over the last fifteen years.

These trends spurred research on destruction and protection of cultural heritage during conflict, with significant recent interest in the MENA region. In terms of destruction, much research examined the issue through analogy with genocide, with cultural heritage destruction interpreted as killing societal identity termed ‘identicide’ (Meharg 2001) or eradicating collective memory as ‘memoricide’ (Rose 2007). Similarly, Irina Bokova describes ‘cultural cleansing’ as ‘an intentional strategy that seeks to destroy cultural diversity through the deliberate targeting of individuals identified on the basis of their cultural, ethnic or religious background, combined with deliberate attacks on their places of worship, memory and learning’ (UNESCO 2014).

In terms of protection, Weiss (2013) applied the Responsibility to Protect norm to cultural heritage, arguing that it’s imperative ‘to prevent, to react, to rebuild’ is applicable in the contemporary moment due to public interest in the impact of destruction on collective global consciousness and association of such acts with terrorism. Furthermore, studies have examined issues at the intersection where lines between conflict and post-conflict contexts are increasingly blurred. For instance, Peter Stone proposed frameworks for cultural heritage protection within militaries that increasingly conduct warfare whilst delivering humanitarian aid and leading post-conflict stabilisation missions. He suggests a model of long-term awareness and pre-deployment training followed by civilian-military cooperation during combat and stabilisation operations that can avoid above-mentioned ill-effects witnessed in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere (Stone 2013).

These studies offer many valuable insights, and it is somewhat understandable that priority is given to the period during which most destruction occurs. Yet whilst much research examines destruction and protection, much less research examines post-conflict reconstruction and cultural heritage. There are some important works in this small but growing sub-field, including studies of post-conflict tourism and issues of national identity and reconciliation in post-conflict societies (Winter 2007; Giblin 2014). Whilst these issues are important, there is a major gap in the literature that relates cultural heritage to key strategic issues facing post-conflict recovery.

This paper aims to contribute towards filling this gap by considering cultural heritage within an overarching strategic framework for post-conflict reconstruction within the MENA region. There is no clear ‘one-size-fits-all’ solution to issues that each context brings; it is nevertheless clear that the necessary conditions presented in this paper do much to ensure that observers are asking the right questions moving forward. To these ends, this paper proposes a more deliberative and assertive approach linking robust theory with best practice. Such an approach can begin to counteract the reductive logic of war, which has hitherto been allowed to prevail in the protection and recovery of cultural heritage.

After analysing the interconnectedness of cultural heritage, conflict and recovery, this paper identifies necessary conditions for an integrated approach to policy and practice. It draws upon efforts towards cultural heritage protection and recovery, offering ways forward through critical lesson learning that seeks to advance academic discourse and guide practice. These necessary conditions emphasise need for: complementarity between replacement and conservation approaches; political and financial support; local capacity; local participation; and a shared vision. All assertions made in this paper are grounded in comprehensive review of scholarly work and thirty years of multidisciplinary research in many post-war contexts, having been tested and refined throughout this period. Accordingly, the necessary conditions are crucial to conflict contexts in MENA region and also applicable to other, similar war-torn societies. Before examining necessary conditions, it is important to elucidate the correlation between conflict and cultural heritage.

Correlating cultural heritage and conflict

There are three fundamental, interconnected recurrent flaws in understanding conflict and cultural heritage. First, while, definitions of cultural heritage often adopt a broad conceptualisation, including monumental remains, plus intangible, ethnographic or industrial and ‘humankind systems upon which creations are based’ – and an open conceptualisation ‘reflecting living culture every bit as much as that of the past’ (UNESCO 2006), in practice, definitions of both conflict and heritage tend to be absolutist and fixed when it comes to heritage recovery. Second, and consequently, the two concepts are coupled as direct opposites: creativity of cultural heritage against destructiveness of conflict. While these characteristics pinpoint the essence of each, they are too simplistic and prove restrictive by instilling a sense of isolation. Alternatively, it is more accurate to frame cultural heritage, conflict and recovery as highly mutable and interlinked social transformation processes. Third, it would be erroneous to assume that the interrelationship, although fluid, is too variable to warrant correlation. For instance, in current discourse of localised conflict in Syria’s cities, cultural heritage sites became intertwined within local conflict cycles and visions of reconstruction, as each side blames the other to secure domestic and international legitimacy (Said and Gladstone 2013).

The value of recognising these flaws extends beyond theory as they, in part, explain timidity of international efforts to protect and recover cultural heritage. Simultaneously, these three flaws provide insight into exclusion of cultural heritage from broader international post-war reconstruction. Accordingly, it is essential to clarify some main linkages in this interrelationship. Primarily, it must be emphasised that impacts of war on cultural heritage are diverse and far-reaching, ranging from physical to psychological, with direct and indirect effects, especially as this relationship varies between and within contexts. Although effects often stem from the indiscriminate nature of violence, the twentieth century reminded us that cultural heritage destruction is also a deliberate strategy of modern warfare (Layton and Thomas 2001).

Despite the necessity of protecting cultural property in armed conflict being collectively appreciated by states via the 1954 Hague Convention, putting this into action during conflict have proven weak (Stone 2013). This is demonstrated in decades of Israeli occupation of Palestinian land, the fate of Angkor in Cambodia, Iraqi occupation of Kuwait in 1990, and numerous violent crises that erupted during the 1990s, frequently premised on politicisation and ethnicisation of identity, with subsequent assaults on cultural heritage on scales not witnessed since World War II.

Break-up of the former Yugoslavia and, in particular, bombardment of Dubrovnik in 1991 became a turning point and catalyst. The outcome was heightened awareness of cultural heritage’s vulnerability to contemporary armed conflicts, whilst international efforts were galvanised into responding, given the changing nature of warfare and context of state collapse. Specifically, the Dubrovnik Four case (four Yugoslav ex-army officers) brought by the Hague Tribunal promised to be a watershed in cultural heritage protection since it was the first time since World War II that military commanders were charged with war crimes for attacking cultural property (Barakat 2007).

As the 21st century progressed, the interrelationship between conflict and cultural heritage continued to be characterised by the above-mentioned deficiencies. Moreover, despite attempts by the international community to act decisively, violent destruction by state and non-state actors continued. The destruction of the minaret in Aleppo’s Umayyad Mosque demonstrates the profoundly negative impact of conflict on Syria’s rich cultural heritage.

The new century witnessed several important transition-related security trends that complicate protection and more-so recovery efforts. First, much violence against cultural heritage in contemporary conflicts is perpetrated by non-state actors. The turn of the century witnessed the shocking case of the Taliban destroying the Bamyan Buddhist Statues in 2001 and more recently destruction caused by the Islamic State in Iraq, Syria, Libya and elsewhere has brought destruction of cultural heritage into collective consciousness globally. Whilst not entirely a novel trend, the prevalence of such extremist non-state actors renders the task of protection and recovery of cultural heritage much harder.

Secondly, a lack of sustainable peace in nominally ‘post’-conflict societies has long challenged efforts to make cultural heritage a priority. It may be assumed that cultural heritage is a long-term developmental activity to be prioritised at the later stages of a post-conflict transition. Yet the 1990s witnessed many formal peace accords including in Cambodia, Guatemala, Israel/Palestine, Liberia and Sri Lanka, that whilst initially promising new opportunities for cultural heritage recovery, in reality saw violence and crime continue, and in some cases exacerbate their impacts (Miall 2001; Barakat 2005). Compared to 1990s conflicts, post-9/11 wars were directed more by external states combatting terrorism and pursuing non-state actors.

As demonstrated in Afghanistan, Iraq and Lebanon, stretching the self-defence principle in international law permitted sudden aggressive wars, inflicting severe destruction on civilian infrastructure. This is best exemplified by the 2003 invasion of Iraq, where occupying powers ‘by their own ignorance and incompetence, wreaked havoc in one of the oldest lands of human civilisation’ (Warren 2005, 824). This included targeting mosques and historic houses, placing military commands in important sites including Babylon and Hila, and inability to protect major symbols of cultural identity, such as Baghdad Museum, from unrestrained looting. More broadly, attempts to protect and recover cultural heritage were rendered significantly harder, especially in Afghanistan and Iraq, where not only unclear war objectives but also ineffective pre-war planning for post-war recovery left cultural heritage neglected with minimal resources allocated to it, as focus was on instability and security challenges that seemed to be never-ending.

Hatch Dupree (2002) describes how Afghanistan’s protracted conflict destroyed social norms, with greed replacing pride in national cultural property, as archaeological sites and museums were looted and land speculation in the aftermath of conflict thrived at the expense of heritage. Accordingly, the post-2001 period witnessed distinctive disregard for Article 3 (Safeguarding of Cultural Property), Article 4 (Respect for Cultural Property) and Article 7 (Military Measures) of The Hague Convention.

Thirdly, beyond armed conflict, the region-wide crisis in MENA since the Arab Spring has plunged the region into an open-ended transformative phase that presents complex patterns between conflict, civil strife and cultural heritage. Countries across the region must respond to new targets and new demands of a younger generation whilst navigating political contest between secular and Islamist forces, overlaid by a counter-revolution led by Saudi Arabia and the UAE. These complex dynamics have been particularly felt in Tunisia, Libya, Egypt and Syria that combine enormous reservoirs of cultural heritage, which attract international tourism, with limited cultural heritage management institutions. Whilst uprisings in Egypt and Libya were spared Syria-level devastation, the void created by absence of central authority allowed neglect of cultural heritage sites, and theft and vandalism to proliferate; so much so that the then UNESCO chief appealed to these governments to prevent such activities (UNESCO 2013). While absence of state authority has always been a significant stress on cultural heritage, these trends are often overlooked by intervening nations. It is in the recovery phase that much damage occurs, as seen in Egypt, Libya or Tunisia. Additionally, diminished state capacity to maintain, or simply prioritise, cultural heritage preservation engenders increased black-market looting, which can constitute the greatest threat to cultural heritage sites.

Finally, conflicts across MENA are experiencing high levels of fragmentation. In particular in Libya, Yemen, and Syria de facto territorial splintering threatens de jure separation – thus complicating cultural heritage protection and recovery. Cultural heritage itself influences these dynamics of fragmentation. In Syria, cultural heritage affects localised conflict dynamics in many (particularly urban) areas. For instance, shelling damage at Krak des Chevaliers took on political meaning, as anti-Islamic commentators deplore ‘Syrian savages’ who destroyed one of the towers (Cunliffe 2012, 33). Whilst such commentary is far-removed from the conflict, it is nevertheless symptomatic of politicisation of cultural heritage areas – destruction of which could implicate belligerents and delegitimize them in the eyes of the international community. This is highly problematic in the long term, as destruction of such monuments contribute to paucity of cultural heritage that could help bridge divides and undergird an inclusive state-arrangement to overcome fragmentation.

Towards an integrated, strategic approach to cultural heritage and recovery

The guiding philosophy of this paper is the view that post-conflict recovery, to be effective, must follow an integrated approach that combines developmentalism with societal transformation and reconciliation. This emphasis stems from my holistic and deliberative approach to post-war reconstruction as a concept through policy and practice. Post-war reconstruction is thus: ‘ … a range of holistic activities in an integrated process designed not only to reactivate economic and social development but at the same time to create a peaceful environment that will prevent a relapse into violence’ (self-cite: p.11). In this way, post-war reconstruction is conceptualised as a set of interconnecting social, cultural, political and economic components within a multi-dimensional process, located at local, provincial, national and international levels. This philosophy is premised on understanding post-war reconstruction as requiring multi-disciplinary problem-solving approaches to address complexities of recovery.

Firstly, over the past two decades, it became increasingly apparent that post-war reconstruction is essentially a developmental task, which takes place within specific circumstances of conflict-affected societies (World Bank 1998; Jeong 2005). Conflict is not a single catastrophic event, but a devastating condition associated with violence and social injustice. It includes usual economic challenges of growth, inclusivity, stability and sustainability, plus political-development challenges of restoring relationships among people and between communities and local/national institutions. Long-term recovery can equally demand psycho-social readjustment to reactivate conservation and development processes disrupted by conflict. Each challenge will be magnified by conflict-related legacies, and continuing problems associated with insecurity.

Given this, understanding developmental best-practice should underpin cultural heritage recovery in war-torn countries. In essence, cultural heritage recovery is not a quick fix limited to physical restoration but an integrated component of development (and protection) processes that begin long before ceasefires are brokered, and that needs to be sustained through years of recovery. Therefore, planned integration of activities may include: restoration of physical buildings, infrastructure, and essential government functions and services; institution-building; and structural reform of cultural heritage’s socio-economic role.¹ As scope, type and level of integration exhibit contextual variance, it is essential to develop tailored models, which requires non-elitist and prescient design.

Clearly designing and implementing an integrated approach is arduous. Nevertheless, as a feasible way forward, many simple but important opportunities for collaboration are overlooked. For example, in Bosnia and Croatia during the 1990s, on many occasions internally displaced persons and other vulnerable groups went without shelter since they were not allowed to utilise local buildings protected in the name of cultural heritage.² Instead, it would have been more beneficial for all stakeholders if the displaced were granted access to the buildings, with international agencies and non-governmental organisations responsible for preservation or reparation. In this context, an integrated approach towards greater protection and recovery should come from a better-empowered International Committee of the Blue Shield (ICBS). Having been involved in development of ICBS in the mid-1990s, I became disheartened by the elitist ethos behind the concept, and initial reluctance to explore more opportunities to maximise its resources and authority, such as seeking more formal integration with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC).³

Secondly, post-war recovery of cultural heritage can prove ineffective and unsustainable if not guided by a conflict transformation perspective with a threefold goal of offering hope, healing and reconciliation. Healing bitter memories and restoring trust is a delicate, highly complex process that cannot be rushed, and may take generations to achieve. Building peace requires sound foundations based on a commitment to righting wrongs and achieving acceptable levels of social justice and accountability. From this perspective, cultural heritage recovery, too, should have a corrective dimension that promotes socio-economic change, and should not merely focus on restoring the status quo if it aims to sustain initial restoration efforts. The re-establishment of a justice system by itself cannot bring about healing, although it can help create an environment in which responsibility for crimes is attributed and perpetrators of indiscriminate destruction are punished. Reconciliation requires both sides’ willingness to forgive and repent, which is partly the product of time. In sum, rapid cultural heritage recovery is not without risks to both quality and authenticity, or to peacebuilding.

One of the most significant aspects of culture is religion, and religious beliefs are of great importance to people in many war-torn societies. Indeed, for those bereft of everything they hold dear, religion often acts as a psychological lifeline. Therefore, attempts at grafting western-conceived notions of secularism onto deeply religious societies should be resisted. In some situations, religious differences may have been emphasised by ‘conflict entrepreneurs’ to exacerbate conflict. Consequently, much cultural heritage targeted during conflict is religious, for example, mosques, churches, schools or graveyards. In these contexts, emphasis needs to be placed on promoting inter-community dialogue, helping people to re-connect with traditions of tolerance that often characterise highly diverse communities.

Recognising and valuing core beliefs of different communities need not be divisive if mechanisms are established to ensure members of different faith communities frequently discuss matters of common concern – focusing on that which unites rather than divides. It is only on this basis that they are likely to participate fully in a collective reconstruction process. This is very much the case in Syria, where coexistence of various religious groups came about through a neutral public space; one which will need to be carefully rebuilt in the post-war period. Unfortunately, international emphasis on multi-culturalism and neutrality makes humanitarian agencies shy away from recognising the centrality of religion. For example, agencies often offer to create community centres instead of restoring the religious centres – the mosques, churches, or temples that were the heart and meeting place of the community. A recent example is post-tsunami rebuilding of war-torn Sumatra, when the mosque that survived in Teunom, became a symbol of protection and a safe haven, with many taking temporary shelter in and around it. However, people’s desire to restore the mosque was ignored by relief agencies.

In short, the consistently salient role of cultural heritage in forging identities during and immediately after war is the main factor reinforcing their interrelationship. In contrast to natural disasters, conflict and particularly civil or inter-communal violence, such as that experienced in the Balkans, tend to target enemy identity by destroying symbolic and historic buildings, and deliberately displacing communities and destroying their vernacular environments. This tendency has implications for psycho-social recovery of affected communities. Just as destruction of cultural property may catalyse conflict, the continuing thread of cultural behaviour and traditions provides the basis for reconciliation and recovery (Warren 2005). This should be the central plank in approaches to cultural heritage protection in a post-conflict Syria: unique landmarks and antiquities could be cornerstones of reconciliation, as they have been before, based on pan-Syrianism rather than group-identity. This is the key reason why recovery of cultural heritage should be central and not peripheral to post-war reconstruction.

Necessary conditions cultural heritage and post-war recovery

Having established a wider understanding of the dynamic interrelationship between cultural heritage, conflict and recovery this article will now identify five necessary conditions for policies and practice of cultural heritage recovery after war, in particular in the MENA region.

Balancing replacement and conservation approaches

The first necessary condition for an integrated approach is recognition that cultural heritage recovery can incorporate both replacement and conservation approaches. When planners and conservationists approach rebuilding war-damaged cities, there is commonly perceived conflict of interest between conservation and replacement: whether to restore pre-war built environments to the extent possible, or clear urban space for new improvement. This dilemma has been debated in every case of urban post-war reconstruction since World War II (Diefendorf 1998).

At one end of the spectrum are preservationists, who wish to restore pre-war built environments as a means of restoring identity, and thus healing war-damaged populations. This requires knowing which culturally significant structures would justify costly restoration; and deciding whether to replicate totally destroyed symbolically important structures and urban centres, or to accept their disappearance and irreplaceability. Another approach is meticulously restoring damaged buildings of special significance, or maintaining them as ruins within new townscapes. These options are costly but often justified in historic cities with potential tourist income; for example, Dubrovnik. These approaches may involve exactly replicating destroyed buildings based on documentary records, or replicating external townscapes with façades coupled with modern interiors that remove original property divisions, such as in Warsaw and Gdansk (Dominczak 1998, 17). Alternatively, some wish to preserve remaining ruins as memorials, for instance, across Khorammshahr in South West Iran following the Iran-Iraq War,⁴ or Hezbollah’s preservation of ruined buildings bombed by Israel in southern Lebanon.⁵

At the other end of the spectrum are those for whom destruction provides an opportunity for improvement. Cultural heritage may be perceived as ‘hindrance to redevelopment plans in the rush to stabilize and rebuild post-conflict societies’ (Barakat 2007). In these cases, for example Coventry, planners advocate a clean sweep of all but a few historically significant landmarks to build a completely new urban landscape (Barakat 1989, 180). More recently, and in a completely different cultural context, the same approach was adopted in Hanoi (Logan 1998, 25). Once more, this option is often externally promoted, when the urban landscape is perceived as of little cultural value, illegally occupied or prohibitively costly to repair. This perception often arises when wartime destruction follows long-standing neglect in which historic neighbourhoods are abandoned by elites and given over to multiple occupations by the poor. One example is Kabul, where decline of basic utilities and lack of vehicular access prompted many families to move to modern suburbs. In such cases, planners envision wholesale clearance. Nevertheless, despite lack of services, populations continue to grow in the old city neighbourhoods, because they provide not only shelter for the poor but also security of a traditional way of living, in family-based communities, and close to jobs (Najimi 2004, 78–80). For instance, Beirut, although considered an ancient city, original reconstruction plans aimed to establish a modern city, with massive disregard to its historical significance (Sandes 2017).

These cases remind us that cultural legacy is not necessarily always positive. Deep divisions and unjust economic or political relationships are often expressed in the built environment; for instance, by constructing housing built to different standards or even erecting dividing walls between communities, as was/is visible in Berlin, Jerusalem and Belfast. More commonly, poor neighbourhoods later devastated by war had already been centres of social deprivation and environmental degradation. In the case of Syria during conflict, reconstruction itself is being used to clear entire areas of original inhabitants and effect a process of ethno-sectarian re-districting that is erasing the collective social fabric that constitutes an aspect of Syria’s intangible cultural heritage (Rollins 2017). Post-conflict planning must redress these injustices without undermining positive cultural legacies of communities that grew up in these conditions.

In addition to such negative inheritances that can initially drive conflict, society is also transformed by violence itself. Feelings of normality and acceptance of war and its outcomes add dimensions to community-heritage relationships. With no end to conflict or hope of reconstruction in sight, damaged environments become the most familiar surroundings. In Beirut by 1991, a generation knew nothing but war, with their parents’ dream of rebuilding the city centre unrelatable and unshared. Furthermore, young people in Beirut expressed a sense of alienation or loss as the ruins they grew up around were removed (Charlesworth 2003). While it is too early to make these types of judgements for post-Arab Spring contexts, such concerns must be taken into consideration.

Many cases found a ‘workable compromise between modernization and historic preservation’ – as happened in much of post-World War II urban reconstruction in Germany (Diefendorf 1998, 12–13). Most post-war reconstruction also uses different approaches in different areas of the urban context, depending on function and perceived importance. This policy was advocated in post-2001 Afghanistan (Breshna 2004, 37–41). Recognising that through its ‘historic development various zones develop with their own character’ and that ‘borders between the zones are fluid’, a ‘flexible development framework’ is advocated. In this scheme, reconstruction of historic centres should revive ‘traditional elements and principles,’ while an intermediate zone between the centre and modern suburbs ‘has the largest potential for development.’ Other areas include the green belt, which surrounds the old town, and ‘special places’ or ‘symbolic sites’ whose restoration can become the focus for regenerating particular areas. Thus, once again, while there are theoretically difficult choices to be made between apparently irreconcilable needs, the cultural, social and economic needs of surviving populations can be simultaneously accommodated if an understanding is reached in defining their cultural priorities for both what they inherit and their future aspirations.

Debates over replacement and conservation figure in the dynamics of cultural heritage and tourism, which are particularly regarded by governments and international organisations as valuable instruments in protecting the past, whilst providing required economic returns to achieve desired modernisation (Meethan 2001). Consequently, importance of cultural tourism stems from its ability to ‘restore and promote the past while promising future prosperity’ (Winter 2007). However, in troubled societies recovering from vast destruction and its socio-economic effects, heritage has been turned into a battleground between development and conservation, sovereignty and patrimony and cultural values and economic values, yet undoubtedly, the convergence of these agendas engenders dissonance and leads to unexpected and predominately conflicting outcomes. This is particularly the case given the dominant trend of reconstruction plans driven by liberal economics, with little potential for those with tourism as an economic option not to exploit it to narrow budget deficits, yet often do so without the capacity and institutions to do so within national development plans.

In post-conflict settings, heritage is considered a ‘cash cow’ (Winter 2007), which in turn creates a predicament that needs to be addressed between significance of financial flows for achieving economic recovery and rampant destruction that might be imparted into heritage sites by heavy and unorganised influx of tourists, especially in ill-equipped countries with limited governmental resources to counter those risks. Heritage management policies and governmental development strategies, within these contexts, often create ‘vast inequalities of wealth, an absence of community participation and uneven local development’ (Winter 2008). Post-conflict reconstruction of Cambodia’s WHS in Angkor encapsulates these circumstances, whereby increasingly thriving cultural tourism industry led to concentration of wealth and creation of a micro-economy that fostered rural poverty and economic imbalances, which significantly reduced ‘the chances of much needed social and political reforms being achieved’ (Calavan, Briquets, and O’Brien 2004).

Sustained political and financial support

It cannot be assumed that political and funding support will be available throughout the recovery period. Financial resources for reconstruction are invariably limited, and usually depend on attracting external assistance or investment, which is then tied to donor or investment interests and funding deadlines. Of available resources, cultural heritage tends to attract humble amounts, whose expenditure then tends to be limited to technical assistance and evaluation reports. Moreover, international political and financial support for cultural heritage peaks immediately after war and gradually decreases over time. This tendency contrasts with reconstruction needs, which usually increase as more detailed damage assessments are made. Although strategies vary, restricted financial support can narrow interpretations of cultural heritage to cultural property solely in the form of buildings and townscapes of recognised historic or architectural interest.

Based on the perceived need for speedy recovery, the first instinct of outsiders is to rapidly restore the built environment, including significant monuments, often using imported plans and materials. Swift action in preparing recovery plans helps to capitalise on political will and availability of external resources. This is particularly true when external actors begin reconstruction works on the most important monument selected themselves or at the invitation of local communities. However, other than undertaking measures to limit further damage and restore necessary basic facilities, haste is a bad policy. There is always risk of compromising quality and authenticity when rushing post-war restoration of cultural heritage; when there is an environment of insecurity, delays in decision-making, ownership problems, lack of codes and regulations, lack of building materials and expertise. Furthermore, given the aforementioned trend of unsustainable peace, cultural heritage is often not given the policy priority it requires. The willingness of those on either side of a conflict to participate in post-war reconstruction activities is usually a pragmatic first step, which should not be mistaken as a sign that deep-seated resentments no longer exist.

Therefore, it is necessary first to understand the society whose cultural heritage gave rise to the built environment, to question what led to its destruction, and to appreciate societal impacts of conflict. Conversely, slow and unplanned responses could result in the public taking its own actions to rebuild without proper guidance and control. A phased approach may be dictated by technical considerations, such as the need to conduct research for historical restoration and sourcing of appropriate building materials, which may require reopening local quarries or kilns. For instance, this was the case in Počitelj in Bosnia (Barakat 2007). This takes time and money to prepare and plan. Thus, the first phase may concentrate on consolidating and protecting monuments, fostering local skills and materials rather than hastily restoring them using external resources which may prove unsuitable, and will not assist in livelihoods recovery.

This reality has several implications: (1) recovery planning should be incorporated into day-to-day preparedness planning in peacetime to maximise available resources; (2) priorities must be established; for instance, among different monuments, between urban centres and peripheries, between housing and places of worship, and between economic activities and public space aesthetics; (3) maintaining media interest is essential, but without allowing media to dictate reconstruction priorities; (4) swift action is needed for developing recovery plans and a reconstruction vision to capitalise on available political and financial capital; (5) interests of various influence groups must be retained by understanding relationships between cultural heritage recovery and economic recovery; and (6) multilateral trust funds can improve long-term financial and political support.

Sufficient institutional capacity

A feature common to most conflict-affected countries is dramatic change in institutional and human capacities, which impacts protection and recovery of cultural heritage. War can render local capacities inadequate for recovery. For instance, in post-uprising eastern Libya from 2011, the World Heritage Site in Cyrene fell victim to development and land seizure. Restrictions imposed by the former regime on development disappeared, allowing people to develop their own lands according to their preferences without considering repercussions for archaeological sites (Abdulkariem and Bennett 2014). The change in the Libyan peoples’ attitude towards heritage, from protecting and advocating for preservation to intentionally targeting, looting and destroying heritage, can be attributed to ‘the destructive legacy of Qaddafi’s policies’, that established distrust, vengeances and widespread poverty (Fitzgerald and Megerisi 2015).

Whilst conflict can trigger institutional collapse, it is a fundamental mistake to assume that human and institutional capacities are lost. Instead, capacities are transformed to cope with conflict, and thus fragile while readjusting to post-war conditions. Causes and impacts of violence mostly cluster at micro-levels, while simultaneously, there are typically less resources and expertise to resolve them. Employment, trade relations, social services, and physical infrastructure can all be affected. Coverage and quality of social, political and economic structures can be disrupted. For example, professional capacities are shaped by migration of intellectual and entrepreneurial talent, and those that remain endure psychosocial trauma.

This is the case in post-conflict but also post-Arab Spring contexts. Egypt highlights these professional distortions, where the highly centralised Ministry of Culture – management of which changed frequently due to political reasons – effectively collapsed post-revolution, as employees unused to acting without orders left cultural heritage unprotected (Teijgeler 2013). Moreover, frequently, whatever ad hoc institutional arrangements develop after initial government collapse equally lack capacity to protect sites and objects. Once again, Egypt illustrates this protection gap, where regime fragmentation led to ‘poor management’ by the Muslim Brotherhood government, apparent in ‘arts and culture’ (Montasser 2013). Indeed, post-revolution looting increased, and ‘… illegal digs have swelled a staggering 100-fold’ (Herald Sun, May 2012; Teijgeler 2013, 2).

Post-war countries tend to inherit public administrations requiring major reform. Compounding this problem, these institutions – that may lack the requisite experience to facilitate recovery – are expected to act suddenly and effectively faced with newly emergent post-war structures. Furthermore, their power and authority may contend with prevalent neoliberal reconstruction models which minimise the state and deem bureaucracies bloated and inefficient. Consequently, the state’s vital function in rebuilding processes is undermined, whether for assuming responsibility for security, regulation, and priority-setting, or defining rebuilding strategies emergent from participatory processes. In its place, non-governmental organisations are allowed to maintain their relief phase predominance. Civil society is important, but the state is no less important, and its weakness should not be exacerbated by conveying negative images. Between state and civil society – there are increasingly examples of quasi-state actors engaging in cultural heritage protection in MENA. For instance, People’s Protection Units (YPG), that govern Kurdish areas in Syria established an Antiquities Authority and passed laws regarding cultural heritage protection that forbid damaging heritage sites (Danti 2015).

For these reasons, it is essential to develop institutional and human capacities for cultural heritage recovery. It is beneficial to integrate cultural heritage recovery capacities with planning other socio-economic and political aspects of recovery. When integrated into wider emergency and development responses, cultural heritage restoration can capitalise on various capacities and opportunities to restore damaged structures. For example, schools are often adapted to provide shelters or community centres following war. With more proactive engagement, converting historic buildings may better restore community collective life, thus freeing schools for education, whilst simultaneously protecting historic buildings. Some argue against such approaches, citing examples of misuse of historic buildings by displaced communities. Ultimately, it is a balancing act, and decisions should be case-by-case. Capacities can also be developed through policy transfer, learning from other countries’ experience to identify good and bad practice (Barakat 2005). Whilst post-war training and education can help redress gaps, there is no substitute for investment in skills and resources prior to or during conflict despite challenges.

Conservation codes and legislation are important but difficult to enforce immediately after war. Politicians regularly make the dangerous assumption that to regulate is to control, especially when addressing vernacular heritage and, in particular, housing. To initiate building codes, conservation laws or even land-use planning controls are simple steps; post-conflict enforcement is much harder. Survival during war is often dependent on ignoring legislation or bending rules, and it takes time for communities to depart from this habit. It is difficult to ensure compliance of poor and displaced families who cannot afford extra expenses of building code requirements, or who do not own their dwellings. One way to encourage adherence is linking to incentives, together with public training, and regular inspections. Nevertheless, it would still be optimistic to assume that marginal settlements and most rural areas will benefit from heritage codes and controls without comprehensive planning reflecting socio-economic needs.

Genuine localisation and ownership

Connected to local capacities and a shared vision, the experience of every post-war society in which I have engaged reinforces the importance of local participation. This connects to the demand for localisation – placing local actors in the driver’s seat – which in recent years is increasingly prominent in humanitarian, development, and peace dimensions of conflict response (self-cite). Too often, local people are portrayed simply as victims and passive recipients of international assistance or a liability to be neutralised rather than an asset to be utilised. In reality, local creativity, pragmatism and resilience are crucial in rebuilding. Correspondingly, imported and externally imposed models ignore the two most important basic needs for recovery: to reaffirm a sense of identity and to regain control over one’s life. Therefore, in any cultural heritage restoration discourse, it is critical to acknowledge that, from the perspective of those affected, heritage becomes more than mere tangible manifestations – as does architecture, so do historical artefacts and archival documents start to assume complex roles in forging identity. Processes of defining post-conflict identity occur in wider contexts of socio-economic and political upheaval with high uncertainty and apprehension.

Local responses and solutions have significant benefits of harnessing local materials, skills and know-how, and thereby help in restoring dignity, confidence and faith in local capacities. For these reasons, they are more effective, more sustainable, and frequently cheaper than externally imported solutions. Heritage conservation and reconstruction is about more than buildings: it is a wider process of cultural identification that needs to be given proper time and consideration. In this regard, local participation can be enhanced by a champion with capacity to facilitate articulation of community needs, set priorities and start planning regardless immediate implementation prospects. For instance, restoration of the Bosnian settlement Pocˇitelj was enabled by an international team working in collaboration with a Bosnian Professor who acted as a local champion, co-authoring a study that envisioned a locally grounded approach and laid the groundwork for capturing funding from the World Monument Fund.⁶ There is a need to dream and have plans ready to capture new funding opportunities. Ideally, this champion would be a local civil society organisation, but international agencies with in-country experience can be valuable in playing this role.

Unfortunately, national governments and international actors often fail to seek out or build on local initiatives – either because of ignorance or ill-fit with externally designed programmes and timetables. For instance, drawing on her experience in post-conflict Beirut, complex issues pertain to redevelopment and cultural heritage, for instance, redevelopment processes predominately duplicate short-term humanitarian responses, explained by international organisations’ and donors’ desire to achieve quick, tangible and measurable outputs excluding local populations (Sandes 2013). This short-term, quick-fix, pre-planned project culture that characterises many donor-funded interventions is unsuited to most post-conflict scenarios. Participatory reconstruction is not merely consultation; it requires time and flexibility, as recovery of war-damaged buildings demands new expertise beyond what was previously needed for their maintenance – it is to an extent experimental. It may be best, therefore, to develop capacity with less important buildings, conduct research and generate funds. Decisions about where and when to start can be simplified by understanding that the first reconstruction stage is to build capacity. Therefore, it is important to allow space for solutions to evolve as people recover confidence, understand changed circumstances, and identify possible courses of action.

Lessons learned in post-war recovery in general are equally applicable to recovery and conservation of cultural heritage, whose survival will ultimately depend on existence of locally supported conservation institutions. A good example of bottom-up heritage recovery is the Aga Khan Trust in Kabul. The Trust built on work by UN Habitat, which established Community Forums in urban districts in 1995, and thereby harnessed longstanding rural traditions of community consultation through shuras. Forums were then organised to discuss, prioritise and implement development projects (Sharif 2004, 93–5). Donor haste to see recognisable organisations in place also often ignores pre-existing institutional capacities. While formal organisational structures may indeed erode due to war, some form of social structures and capacities will inevitably survive, providing a basis on which to build new institutions.

Nevertheless, there is the question of how much people can participate in recovery of their built environment, and whether some aspects should be dictated in the public interest. For example, after years of unplanned displacement and squatting, once economic conditions improve, people -if unrestrained- are likely to erect more permanent structures without any regard for environmental or urban planning concerns. The answer often lies in approaching the problem at the neighbourhood-level through elected representatives, thus providing the basis for community-driven development of a wider framework based on a shared vision.

A shared vision

Perhaps the greatest lesson is the importance of achieving a clear comprehensive vision for cultural heritage recovery. This point relates clearly to the integrated approach to post-conflict recovery which I defend, and is outlined earlier. When conceptualising vision within an integrated approach, it is clear that recovery of cultural heritage demands a shared vision, which is then connected to wider visions of post-war recovery.

Shared vision is crucial because it is an age-old adage that war creates winners and losers. Some conflicts end as a result of a Victor’s Peace with a single government or faction establishing a value system, which controls heritage and decisions about priorities on sites to be reconstructed. However, the process becomes much more complex when civil wars are concluded with peace agreements in highly divided societies, such as ‘ethnic exclusivism’ witnessed in post-Dayton Bosnia (Walasek et al. 2016). Such conflicts create fault lines of differences while promoting ethno-religious and cultural antagonism, consequently leading to fragmented societies, where targeting cultural and religious properties becomes synonymous with creating ‘visibly mono-ethnic spaces’ (Walasek 2019). The most challenging issue pertaining to the post-conflict landscape within these contexts is that warrying parties are called upon to cooperate and coordinate, each required to provide their own vision and inject their own narrative, adding new layers of complexity.

The starting point for articulating shared vision should be understanding and synchronising myriad perceptions of cultural heritage held by various groups both within and outside affected countries. In particular, shared vision should not be assumed by outsiders; instead, it must be grounded in local socio-political, cultural and economic contexts. However, counter-veiling trends move towards standardised responses to basic needs, using imported economic and urban planning models at the expense of cultural identity. Failing to build shared vision primarily occurs due to constraints of responding to needs within tight time-frames. Furthermore, in post-conflict contexts, daily cultural heritage challenges are amplified by conflict-related legacies (displacement; housing/infrastructure destruction; resource shortages; institutional fragility; and psycho-social trauma). These are compounded by challenges of delivering humanitarian assistance in environments suffering from insecurity and weak rule of law. Myriad actors – including media, donors and community-level interest groups – in turn, often produce conflicting perceptions and values, and differences of opinion within technical communities.

Labelling heritage sites as possessing universal value is ‘controversial and politically charged’, and imposing particular criteria for choosing locations fails to consider unique features of potential importance to local communities. This is the essence of contrasting heritage valuations between international and local stakeholders. In communities recovering from devastating conflict, ‘notions of universal values seem to lose their strength and validity’ (Meskell 2018). In addition, international organisations’ consistent focus on restoring iconic heritage with outstanding universal value marginalises the most vulnerable heritage locations key to socio-economic restoration. For instance, international community heritage restoration in Bosnia had limited scope, prioritising several high-profile projects over wider humanitarian needs, including rebuilding Mostar and the Old Bridge that were mobilised as symbols of reconciliation in a still-healing society. Yet, reconstructing Stari Most failed in re-connecting broken inter-group linkages as the city remains one of Bosnia’s most divided (Greer 2010).

Consequently, local perception often differs from global views. What people preserve from their past is influenced by circumstances and experiences they associate with particular artefacts and monuments. Furthermore, ‘not all societies use the remains of the past as a means of substantiating their identity’ (Layton and Thomas 2001, 1). In some cases where the past has only negative associations, ‘the modernist drive towards the future’ defines identity. In other cases, poverty and effects of war lead to looting and export of cultural property to satisfy demand by growing collectors’ markets. Meanwhile, the past is continuously ‘precedent for contemporary developments’, and ‘different interests draw on different epochs to create their own past’ (ibid.: 2).

For many, what they salvage from their old home possesses functional and cultural importance. In Peshawar, Pakistan, Afghan refugee families typically arrive with very little. If possible, they bring livestock for economic survival, or carpets as portable wealth. Additionally, multiple displacements taught that wooden beams are difficult to replace, and therefore needed salvaging for new exilic homes. Similarly, in Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan, Syria and Lebanon, elderly ladies commonly keep the old, large keys of their former homes and care for them ever since the Nakba of 1948. These popular perceptions of what constitutes an important object of cultural identity and continuity differs markedly from perceptions of elite politicians, historians and patrons of the arts whose ‘monumental’ perception of heritage is often influenced by global definitions of their own culture, and motivated by need either to forge identities aligned with war objectives or to defend identity as perceived by attackers. A clear example is the destruction of the Sri Dalada Maligawa Temple in Kandy, Sri Lanka, on the 25 January 1998 by a Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam suicide bomber (see Wijesuriya).

While specific challenges may appear intractable, shared vision can be strengthened by more general and progressive changes in practice and mindsets. ‘post-war reconstruction is an evolutionary process’ (Diefendorf 1998, 13) – that is, international efforts must be more proactive in pre-war cultural heritage protection, and not wait until war and subsequent media headlines. Engagement through instilling best practice and encouraging local-level early warning mechanisms can bolster conflict prevention. Second, in reversing this process, international mindsets should sensitise to the life-changing experience of war. The war-affected are inevitably forced to prioritise survival, but this may be at odds with international cultural heritage recovery priorities. For example, following the 1991 Gulf War, I witnessed Iraqis in Basra using antique wooden screens for firewood to keep warm and survive. When proposing a vision, it is important to accept that local priorities may not seem obvious or even desirable to external actors, nor do all internal stakeholders share identical interests. In sum, shared vision needs to be built sensitively while realising that compromises and negotiations over priorities can open communication channels and reconciliation opportunities. Critical to achieving a vision for recovery is not only the what of cultural heritage recovery, but also the how.

Conclusions

Enormous international energy and resources have been devoted to post-war reconstruction over the past fifteen years. On balance, this is vastly preferable to international inertia. One should not forget the many instances in which international resources, together with local inputs, have positively impacted material conditions in post-war communities, for example, Mostar, Pocitelj, the Babur Gardens in Kabul, revitalisation of the Old City of Jerusalem, and Hebron City Centre. Unfortunately, however, overwhelming experience from the last decade suggests that little real thought is given to the value and future role of cultural heritage in reconstruction. All too often, the starting point of international reconstruction response is opportunistic self-interest, related to concerns over Western security, terrorism, access to oil/natural resources, control of narcotics, and so on, rather than a coherent vision of how to reintegrate affected countries into the world community of nations, while helping them to preserve their own cultural identities. Related to this failing is the premature withdrawal of international interest and assistance from post-war societies.

Cultural heritage recovery is infinitely more complex than generally recognised. Primarily, it is imperative to realise there are no quick-fixes. Post-war recovery is a long and arduous process, particularly in restoring cultural heritage; in contrast, international community attention spans are notoriously short. Compounding this problem, there are no post-war recovery templates. Each situation requires tailored approaches. Since normal cultural heritage protection strategies halt or reverse during conflict, reconstruction should reflect special conservation strategies. This requires theoretical underpinning, analytical methodologies, participatory policy-making processes and resources. Primarily, it demands synchronised efforts from both international and local actors.

Towards these complex goals, this paper has identified necessary conditions for an integrated approach to cultural heritage recovery that needs to go beyond physical restoration and address socio-economic dimensions. Based on combining theory and practice, it draws on extensive field research within war-torn contexts. It found that replacement and conservation approaches are not mutually exclusive, that it is incorrect to assume continuation of political and financial support is a given, and accordingly that rapid cultural heritage recovery is not without risks to both quality and authenticity. It also found that even adequate competency to undertake reconstruction often proves elusive and has argued that, as its central pillar, cultural heritage recovery demands active participation of affected communities. Perhaps most crucially, for outsider expectations, it is wrong to assume an automatic shared vision related to cultural heritage recovery. All evidence from the last decade and beyond suggests that locally generated, developmentally oriented approaches prosper, whilst top-down, externally conceived solutions do not.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank Bradley Lineker for assistance in researching background issues covered in this paper.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Sultan Barakat

Professor Sultan Barakat is the Director of the Center for Conflict and Humanitarian Studies based in Doha, Qatar and Honorary Professor of Politics at the University of York.

Notes

1. In particular, there is a need to link livelihoods to the recovery of cultural heritage; for example, creating positive relationships by employing locals in recovery activities.

2. Personal observation.

3. Personal observation.

4. Author observations leading field mission on reconstruction following the Iran-Iraq war.

5. Author observations during fieldwork on post-war reconstruction in southern Lebanon.

6. Author observation as leader of the international study team, in collaboration with Vjekoslava Simcic, Professor of Cultural Heritage and Conservation Studies. Pocˇitelj, Bosnia. 1996–1997.