copyright 2021, Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media
Jump Cut, No. 60, spring 2021

Wild Archaeology and the changing face of Canadian documentary

By Peter Steven

The challenge of learning our history

In this time of Covid-19 we hear many big-issue conversations among friends and in the media that take us beyond the immediate crisis and tragedies of the pandemic. Are we living through a major historic event? Will we ever be the same? Does the world sometimes shift radically overnight? In what ways might we return to normal? Because Covid has made inequality more visible, can we find ways to rebuild our societies differently?

These are all understandable, reasonable questions. But in Canada, Covid has temporarily pushed to the margins the most significant development in modern Canadian history. I refer to the rise of Indigenous culture and political power. Because of this growing power, a radical shift in viewing the past and the future was already underway. For the Left specifically, a new challenge has forced itself onto the stage: a reckoning with the history and status of Indigenous peoples. The national momentum has swung away from Quebec independence and hopes that the white working-class will in the short-term transform society.

Of course, the workings of social class, gender, systemic racism, and the environmental crisis continue to demand attention. But the success or failure of Indigenous movements now draws all these issues together. For example, the struggle to halt Western Canada’s tar sands with its pipeline mega-projects barrelling down through the U.S. and out to the Pacific, major culprits in the global climate crisis, hinges on the leading role played by Indigenous campaigns. It must be said that Indigenous politics contains multiple strands with myriad perspectives and experiences. Not all First Nations oppose Canada’s big energy projects. Grand Chief Stewart Phillip from British Columbia emphasizes the links in all these issues.

“To Indigenous people, it is clearly a life-and-death struggle... But it’s not just an Indigenous struggle, it’s a struggle of humanity. We need to come together to push back the corporate agenda.”[1]  

That push back is now building rapidly from a growing strength. Naturally, for its part the Canadian government and its corporate partners keep pushing their agenda as well. In late 2020 it was reported that the Trudeau Liberal government had spent $100 million fighting Indigenous groups in court.[2]

Approximately 2 million Indigenous people live in Canada, accounting for 5% of the total population. Since 2006, that population has grown by 42.5%— more than four times the growth rate of non-Indigenous peoples over the same period. In 2015, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada forced Canadians to face the history of Indigenous peoples. Its report, Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future, focused on the Residential School system, which had forced Indigenous youth out of their communities and lasted until the 1990s. The commission authors called this 120-year history “cultural genocide” and made 94 recommendations. During the course of its country-wide hearings and in its final report, which drew considerable media attention, millions of Canadians learned the truth of our past.

The Truth and Reconciliation report became a turning point. For ordinary Canadians, not legislators or bureaucrats, the most challenging recommendations dealt with education.

“Recommendation 62 
We call upon the federal, provincial, and territorial governments, in consultation and collaboration with Survivors, Aboriginal peoples, and educators, to:

• Make age-appropriate curriculum on residential schools, Treaties, and Aboriginal peoples’ historical and contemporary contributions to Canada a mandatory education requirement for Kindergarten to Grade Twelve students.
• Provide the necessary funding to post-secondary institutions to educate teachers on how to integrate Indigenous knowledge and teaching methods into classrooms.” [3]

Those of us in film studies and media education were not overlooked.

“Recommendation 86
We call upon Canadian journalism programs and media schools to require education for all students on the history of Aboriginal peoples, including the history and legacy of residential schools …”[4]

Changing documentary in Canada

At the age of 76, in 1993, the British historian Eric Hobsbawm gave a speech at the University of London titled “The present as history,” in which he addressed “the problems of how one’s own perspective on the past can change as history proceeds.”[5] Re-reading that Hobsbawm piece now prompts me to consider how the documentary has changed in Canada and how my perspective about it has evolved.

In my 2019 article for Jump Cut that surveyed leftist film distribution in Canada during the 1970s I concluded with a discussion of two documentaries about Indigenous people, Grassy Narrows (Hiro Miyamatsu, 1979) and Hands Across Polluted Waters (Noriaki Tsuchimoto, 1975).[6] These small but important works drew attention to a nasty health and environmental disaster and thus presented a challenge to Canada. But the films proved startling in another way that directly related to the Canadian media world: they were produced by Japanese and Japanese-Canadian filmmakers.[7] This turned on its head the notion of a cinema for international development, in which those in the West uncovered problems in the ‘Third World.’ The links between media activists from Japan working together with First Nations in Canada certainly pulled the practice of solidarity (let alone development) into a radically different frame, providing the first glimpse of these issues that combine racism and environmental degradation.

In the 1970s the Grassy Narrows films had only received polite acknowledgement. Today they appear fundamental as part of the movement for Indigenous media into the very centre of Canadian political life. Today it is easy to see the explosion of Indigenous literature, music, theater, film, and media and appreciate its growing power and influence. Within documentary the crucial work of Canada’s best-known Indigenous directors, Alanis Obomsawin (Jordan River Anderson, the Messenger, 2019) Loretta Sarah Todd (Kainayssini Imanistaisiwa: The People Go On (2003), and Zacharius Kunuk (One Day in the Life of Noah Piugattuk, 2019) continues to draw more attention. They have been joined by a younger generation, including Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, (Angry Inuk, 2016), and in fiction Elle Maija Tailfeathers (The Body Remembers What the World Broke Open, 2019), Jeff Barnaby (Blood Quantum, 2019)and Tracy Deer (Beans, 2020). Their work has been supported by, among others, the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network and the ImagiNATIVE festival. [7a]

Wild Archeology

Tracy German’s TV series, Wild Archaeology (2016-2020) provides another fine example of the growing confidence and stature of Indigenous media. It has received less media attention, but the series provides ample, and powerful evidence of the shifting cultural and political landscape in Canada.

Wild Archaeology is a two-season series created by Tracy German[8] for the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network.[9] German, who is of Haudenosaunee / Dakota ancestry, has spent eight years building the series. Both seasons include 13 episodes, each 22 minutes long. The filmmakers travel to most regions of the country, from BC and the Yukon to Labrador and the high Arctic.

A young man of Dakota/Ojibwe heritage, with long black hair tied back, towers over an elderly woman, his arm wrapped gently around her. They stand on a high outcrop of rock in southern Saskatchewan looking far out across a broad valley to the horizon. He speaks:

“This is my aunt. This is the valley where I was raised and she is a direct descendant of Sitting Bull, who led his followers here after their victory in the Battle of Little Big Horn.”

The man is Jacob Pratt, a host for the series. He, along with the director and two other hosts, exemplify what might be called insider documentary. These are not films made by disinterested reporters or coolly objective anthropologists. This work comes not only with a point of view but from a position within the group being documented.

The strength of the programs becomes obvious with the hosts and on-screen presenters. Dr Rudy Reimer/Yumks is the key figure. He holds the show together and provides the scientific anchor. Reimer, whose Squamish name is Yumks, is an Associate Professor of archaeology at Simon Fraser University and a member of the Squamish First Nation, based near Vancouver. He speaks throughout as a scientific authority but also as an Indigenous insider:

“Much like my ancestors did with ceremony like the potlatch, we always have to give in order to maintain our relationships. I do archaeology as ceremony by doing my best to give back the past to my community.”[10]

Reimer is joined by Jenifer Brousseau an Ojibwe/French experienced actor and singer, from the Serpent River First Nation in Northern Ontario, and Jacob Pratt, also a young actor. He is Dakota/Annishnabe, born and raised in the Cote First Nation in Saskatchewan. As a well-known dancer and flute player, he often performs at international Pow Wows.

This is the set-up. Dr. Rudy, as he is called, performs the role of teacher, while Jenifer and Jacob serve as enthusiastic students, new to the field of archaeology but steeped in their particular Indigenous cultures. In each episode the team travels out to visit Indigenous communities, all involved in some form of archeological work. Their journeys cover a vast spectrum of communities, cultures, and peoples. Indeed, one of the profound lessons to be learned for anyone watching the series is the incredible variety of Indigenous groups living in Canada. This experience strikes home even to Reimer. He is an accomplished professional scientist and a well-connected activist, but he’s constantly startled and amazed by what he’s learning on the road.[11]

Reimer brings a political analysis to archaeology. In August 2020 he was asked by a reporter for a local B.C. newspaper to say a few words about his profession:

“The history of the discipline of archaeology is actually quite dark. I don’t want to sound too political here, but it’s very colonial. It’s about the investigation of other peoples’ histories. When we think about how that is done through the excavation, the analysis and interpretation of those materials, it’s very different from what Indigenous people would say.”[12] 

Digging TV

The many factual formats populating modern TV, including the dizzying forms of Reality TV, shape the viewing experience of Wild Archaeology.[13]  Within Realty TV many variations have come and gone—e.g., Accident and Emergency, Docu-soaps, Reality games. But overall, it’s a field of hybrids and some tropes have now influenced more sober sub-genres of science and nature docs. As anthropologist Jaime Ginter from Sheridan College, near Toronto, considers archeology documentary now, he comments:

“There seems to be a range of ‘authentic’ archaeology programming on TV. Time Team and Bone Detectives, for example, are putting in an honest effort to remain true to the method and theory of the discipline while bringing in some cool shiny stuff that will entice and engage viewers.”[14]

However, even with Time Team the lead archaeologist quit in 2012 “citing a change in the program format where there was ‘a lot less archaeological content and a lot more pratting about…’[15] Audiences for these programs can be huge, especially on the National Geographic channels.

“Between June and September 2014, more than 9.5 million viewers tuned in to an episode of Time Team America. And in 2014, Diggers pulled in more than 31 million viewers.”

Nevertheless, archaeology on TV abounds in stories of ancient aliens, giants, and massive stones with healing powers, what archaeologist David S Anderson, of Radford University calls pseudoarchaeology.[16] Furthermore, in the United States, scientists describe several of these reality metal-detecting shows as nothing more than “glorified looting.”

U.S. shows include

• Time Team America. (PBS, 2009-2014)
• Diggers. (National Geographic Channel, 2013-15). (The channel is co-owned with Fox Cable Networks.)
• American Digger. (Spike TV, 2012-13). Hosted by former wrestler Ric Savage.
• Savage Family Diggers. (Spike TV, 2013) “Every episode moves towards a finale of selling the artifacts found, the archaeological record be damned.”
• Dig Wars. (Travel Channel, 2013).
• Dig Fellas. (Travel Channel, 2013).
• Nazi War Diggers. (National Geographic, 2014). Cancelled after a groundswell of viewer and scientist protest.
• Legends of the Lost, (Travel Channel, 2018), including an episode where ancient giants roam the U.S., hosted by Hollywood celebrity Megan Fox.
• America from the Ground Up (PBS, 2014/2018).

U.K. shows include

• Time Team. (Channel 4, 1994-2014)
• Digging for Britain. (BBC, 2011-2019)
• Bone Detectives. (Channel 4, 2019-present)
• Great British Dig: History in Your Back Garden (Channel 4, 2020-present)

One archaeologist who had worked with a number of TV channels and shows in the U.S. and U.K. summed up her experience:

“I was hopeful that each program would showcase great archaeology, but always disappointed (and in one particular instance, horrified) with the final products.”[18]

The worst shows, adored by white nationalists and the Christian right in Europe and North America, consciously work to de-couple Indigenous peoples from the archaeological record. Fantasies of Atlantis, ancient aliens, Caucasian first peoples, and the like serve to undercut Indigenous beliefs that they are the America’s first inhabitants. Anybody but Indigenous peoples and any route other than the land bridge or coastal migration route from Asia. Even the respected Canadian series, The Nature of Things, hosted by the usually reliable and often radical environmentalist David Suzuki, is not immune to this bogus science. In 2018 it aired Ice Bridge, a documentary which argued that Caucasians from Europe were the first settlers in North America, 20,000 years ago. These theories have been roundly debunked by all serious scientists. But they make for sensational TV.

Archaeologists have not been shy in their critiques of TV’s ‘entertainment archaeology.’ Some object to eccentric and exaggerated portrayals of archaeologists and many critique the unrealistically rapid processes of analysis. Scientists also raise eyebrows at the ‘beat the clock’ element as a staple of the television format.[19] The range of archaeologists on TV go from bad to good.  Here’s my way to evaluate these programs:

• Bogus—No archaeologists involved on camera or as writers or consultants.
• Poor—Occasional use of archaeologists on-screen or as script advisors, but without substantial control over the final program. Programs use the science selectively and mix hard science with pseudo-archaeology.
• Good—Archaeologists involved on-screen and with some control over program content, but not the principle host or narrator. Time Team, Time Team America.
• Excellent—Archaeologists involved at all levels of the program, including design, script, on-screen presentation. Archaeologist as host and on-screen presenter.

Even in the ‘Excellent’ category the lure of celebrity performance over real archaeology can skew the results. Some British shows feature hosts with real, accomplished scientists but the media training they have received (or the demands of executive producers) pushes them into a celebrity presenter mold, which distorts the reality of archaeology. In Digging for Britain Professor Alice Roberts, a widely respected scientist, uses a type of diction and line reading that can only be described as ‘over-the-top.’ Every noun becomes the excuse for ecstatic delivery. Every archaeological fact becomes monumental. In addition, the camera never loses an opportunity to create close-up glamor shots of Roberts. The regular site workers and other scientists actually doing the work never seem to get this royal treatment.

In 2015 the Society for American Archaeology (SAA) set out guidelines for their support of TV programs:

“We preconditioned our involvement on the following: (1) no monetary value of artifacts would be shown or discussed; (2) the show’s protagonists would work under the direction of an on-screen archaeologist; (3) the show in no way would glorify or encourage looting of archaeological sites. In addition, we asked that each show focus on a research question, include discussions of heritage values, incorporate descendant and local communities, and promote conservation of the archaeological record.”

It especially cautioned against shows that promote “object-oriented metal detecting”—the much-despised looting shows.

An Indigenous archaeology

It starts with this, says Reimer: Indigenous archaeology is practiced with, by, and for Indigenous communities. [20] This takes us well beyond the best practices outlined above in the SAA guidelines. In general terms it places oral history and traditions on par with other sources of Western scientific knowledge. It also aims to make the work more valuable to the descendent and local communities, says Anishinabe scholar Sonya Atalay.[21] “I keep finding more and more synergies between cultural knowledge and science,” says Reimer in his introduction to the series in Wild Anthropology’s episode one.

“The integration of Indigenous perspectives into academia is new to many disciplines but it has a long history in Archaeology.” From its start in the 1990s, says Reimer, Indigenous Archaeology, has now “become central to how the ancient past is investigated and interpreted.”[22] Wild Archaeology clearly rejects the tropes of pseudo-archaeology. In fact, as a lay-person, I’m constantly amazed at how these scientists get excited by the smallest of finds in their digs. A tiny, broken arrowhead or battered sherd of pottery can carry great significance; we’ll have no jewel-encrusted daggers or mummified queens here. Although the series looks closely at how cultural knowledge can shape archaeology it does not neglect the new and rapidly developing science. So, various episodes highlight techniques of radio-carbon analysis, chemical analysis, sonar scanning, and Laser Ablation. Some of this is new even to Dr. Reimer.

Viewers of the series can have no doubt that Reimer maintains professional control over the archaeological content and its interpretation. He is not simply a talking head or consultant used by the filmmakers as a nod to authenticity. And unlike many popular archaeology shows, it’s Reimer who is the lead presenter and narrator. Soft-spoken, and in the first episodes perhaps a tad nervous, his presentation is decidedly un-glamourous—the opposite of slick—contra Digging for Britain. “I don’t see myself as a celebrity, says Reimer. “Maybe it’s how I was taught to be humble and respectful and not ask for much.”[23] When I asked Tracy German to describe her approach to the series it became obvious why she had chosen Reimer. “Most archaeology shows are far too scripted with actors playing the hosts,” said German.[24]

In viewing both seasons of the series I am struck by several basic principles that run through each episode.

• First, Indigenous archaeology strongly declares its difference from standard Western practice. It is much less destructive and respectful of the digging sites.
• Second, this occurs largely because the scientists work hard to create links and relationships with the local communities.
• Third, the Indigenous scientists feel a dual responsibility to both the discipline and to the communities.
• Fourth, each episode reminds us of both the similarities and differences among Indigenous groups across the country.
• Fifth, Indigenous peoples can trace at least 10,000 years of occupation in North America.
• Sixth, everywhere across Canada there are living communities with links to the ancient past.

Finally, the series reminds us of the high stakes surrounding this activity. Good Indigenous archaeology leads to stronger communities and contributes to victories around land-rights.

Indigenous cinema

Wild Archaeology uses a variety of standard documentary scenes and situations. Each episode follows the same pattern. Dr Rudy explains where they will be travelling and provides a brief introduction to the specific Indigenous community. In each location the team meets the lead archaeologist and key members of the community, who are often Elders. The archaeologist outlines the work being undertaken at this location and its significance. In many cases the site has proven to be thousands of years old.

These are for the most part single-site programs; each episode takes us to one place. It’s a familiar sub-genre. Jacob and Jenifer then get teamed up with archaeology students who set them to work digging, brushing, picking, sorting, cleaning, tagging and bagging. The photography, featuring many tight close-ups, puts viewers right “in the hole” learning with the team how this work gets done. Some of the tasks can be heavy but mostly its fine-grained and minutely detailed labour. Any casual viewer of archaeology shows will recognize the techniques.

A few of the programs feature other Indigenous archaeologists, people with links to current or ancient groups associated with the site. For example, in Series 1, Episodes 8 and 9 we meet Elroy White, of Heiltsuk Nation in the central coast of B.C. White is another professor from Simon Fraser University. Like Reimer he emphasizes his Indigenous approach, which he calls an “Internalist archaeology,” specifically as a “systematic research on Heiltsuk stone fish traps.” This type of fishing is poorly understood in academia, he argues:

“My research objective is unique in that I de-emphasize empirical data such as length, width, and height in favour of the view that these stone fish traps are products of my ancestors’ labour.”

“My main goal was to work with the Heiltsuk political and cultural entities and twelve Heiltsuk oral historians to employ an Internalist archaeology investigation of a selective fishery system that began in antiquity.”[25]

At most of the sites across Canada featured in the series the scientists are non-Indigenous, however in many episodes at least one of the technicians or students come from the community, clan, or First Nation linked to the dig. In Series 2, Episode 7 Jacob is put to work with Dawn Wambold, a Metis graduate student working with the Metis archaeologist Kisha Supernant. As they kneel together beside a small excavation, Jacob asks, “Since you’re Metis did you choose this particular place for your work?” “Yes, she answers, this site gives me a chance to learn on my own what the lives of my ancestors would have been like.”

In each episode at regular intervals we jump ahead to the end of the teams’ visit and see direct-to-camera comments from Reimer, Jacob, and Jenifer. This allows the team members to summarize their experience and to add more context. This too is a standard device in most archaeology TV, such as Time Team.

However, these TV presenters see themselves differently. In Series 2, Episode 3 the site archaeologist informs Jenifer Brousseau (while she is deep in a pit sorting through ancient fish bones) that this layer of sediment near the surface reminds us that the community was wiped out in a smallpox epidemic in 1935. We immediately cut to a shot recorded later where Brousseau reflects on what she has heard. “In that moment that he told me, it was a sobering moment.”

The ‘reflective’ scenes where Jenifer and Jacob speak of what they have learned, or felt, or worried about bring us into contact with a different sort of knowledge. These differ as well from Dr. Rudy’s summing up straight-to-camera scenes. Although Jenifer and Jacob always look slightly off-camera, as to an out-of-frame interviewer, there is a sense that we the audience are getting a more intimate moment with the real Jenifer—speaking frankly to us, not to Jacob or Dr. Rudy. In one instance, for example, Jenifer speaks about her anxiety, even dislike of walking through spaces on the Prairies once occupied by the Northwest Mounted Police or a 19th century church school for Indigenous youth in Montreal.

Here, I think, we can feel the influence of Tracy German’s direction. She states,

 “My first goal as a director is to make people comfortable.” [26]
“Filmmaking has been a journey for me to understand where I come from and overcome some of the trauma of our people. I had to learn to trust my interior voice. I had to learn that a small voice can be powerful.”[27]

Narratives of discovery

In a sense these Indigenous archeology programs offer narratives of discovery. But not discovery according to the cliched trope of the spectacular find. We come to expect that Jabob or Jen will, in the course of their volunteer labour at the digs, discover something useful to the scientists, albeit often unrealistically quickly. This too is a staple of all archaeology-TV. It’s also a trope lovingly mocked in the British comedy series Detectorists (Q. “Are you a metal detector?” A. “Detectorist.”)

Unlike the standard shows, Wild Archaeology doesn’t lean on a detective narrative. The storyline avoids a drive toward the lost, spectacular find. Instead, over 22 minutes we glide back and forth between work with the scientists at the site and conversation or events with Elders in the nearby community. This alternating structure illustrates the primary theme—that ancient archaeological sites lead directly to contemporary First Nations—one people from time immemorial. And as the series often insists this ancient time is not pre-history, it is pre-contact with Europeans. Every episode highlights a present-day Indigenous community living at or near the archaeological site. This underlines a striking difference with, for example, British dig shows where it’s hardly likely that we’ll meet a local with ties to Druids or Romans.

In Wild Archaeology discoveries are made and the outcome often contributes to new knowledge. In a few cases a piece of pottery or an animal bone with marks from an ancient obsidian tool will make it into a museum. But no one will get rich or famous from these finds.

In the same episode mentioned above, where Jenifer learns about the 1935 smallpox epidemic, we discover that this beautiful coastal BC site is known by the Shishalh, or Sechelt, First Nation as “Clam Bay.” Very soon Jacob can be seen deep in a hole that has functioned for thousands of years as a midden, aka garbage dump. It sits at the top of a cliff near a chief’s dwelling and at every layer in the soil we can see many types of shells—butter clams, horse clams, cockles, mussels. “It’s amazing,” says Jacob, as he carefully lines up a group of shells at the top of the pit, “these clams and shells go eight feet down.” Many of the shells are large. These differ from the smaller shell remains found down the hill near the beach. The Elders and archaeologist explain that the chiefs ate better than the ordinary folk.

For most viewers in Canada and elsewhere the discoveries contained in the series centre on the places of importance to Indigenous peoples, many places with remarkable names: Squamish, Bella Bella, Serpent River, Tuktoyaktuk, Iqaluit, Kahnawake, Head-Smashed In.  The late Irish geographer Tim Robinson spoke about the importance of names, reminding us that a placename summarizes

“the place’s attributes and origins, asserts its excellencies and rights to respect. Therefore, the handing down and rehearsal of its placename is a place’s first defense against neglect or exploitation….”[28]

Landscape cinematography

“I think Indigenous,” says Tracy German. “That starts with the landscape and one’s place in it.”[29] German studied with the Canadian experimental filmmaker Phil Hoffman, who emphasized an “auto-ethnographic” approach, which to her meant knowing your roots, including the surrounding landscape. Many of the locations that the series visits prove to be quite remote, especially northern B.C. and the high Arctic. Other sites are rugged but an easy distance from urban areas. In each case the landscape cinematography plays a key role, showing, often through sweeping long shots, not only the natural beauty but the geographic and cultural context for the ancient site. The grandeur and scope of these landscapes also remind us that Indigenous peoples lived and travelled over vast areas. The archaeological dig may occupy only a small speck of land, but the territory lived in was often immense.

Landscape cinematography is accompanied by explanatory narration by Reimer or an Elder who lead our eye to features of the geography missed by an outsider. What might appear to be a natural ridge turns out to be an ancient human-built wall. Sometimes Reimer speaks directly to the camera, in other instances we hear him in voice-over. In addition, Reimer or the Elder with local knowledge almost always present a spiritual way of seeing the landscape. This landscape cinematography’s effect cannot be over-estimated. When shots of the Indigenous presenters show them looking out over a broad valley or across a massive, cascading river they are making a political statement not only about the past but about the present and future. This is our land and the tiny plot of the archaeological dig represents only a center not the whole.

Hosts as role models

Jenifer and Jacob, like many people who appear on reality TV, perform two roles. On the one hand they stand in for us—ordinary folks without much archaeological knowledge. We are encouraged to see them as real persons with strong personalities and full lives beyond TV. On the other hand, they are clearly professional actors, with a practiced ability to perform before the camera and with each other. They come across with a relaxed naturalness achieved in part through their training and acting experience. Many scenes show light-hearted banter and friendly competition between the two. Other scenes present them in a quiet place, alone before the camera speaking about what they’ve learned and their feelings.

When Agnes Varda appears on-screen in her films The Gleaners and I (2003) or Varda by Agnes (2019) she creates a documentary world in which the tables can turn abruptly from objective to subjective, from canny observer to humble participant. Varda not only embodies but demonstrates the practice of an astonishing, endlessly creative artist. Like Varda, the hosts of Wild Archaeology also explore both objective and subjective practice, albeit in a more modest, less dazzling manner. On the surface they fit the ordinary tropes of documentary expert and personality narrators. Beyond that, however, they give us role models and exemplify a way of being in the world—they show us how to be committed scientists, students, and Indigenous intellectuals. This is a substantial achievement.

The relative youth of Jacob and Jenifer as presenters sets Wild Archaeology apart from many shows in the genre. Most TV business surveys confirm that reaching a younger audience presents a major challenge for all history programs. To address this challenge each episode highlights the relative youth of Jacob and Jenifer through their manner of speaking, their dress (and tattoos), their friendly competitions, and above all by their supple and energetic physical abilities. Jacob scrambles happily up rock faces and dons snorkeling gear; Jenifer revels in a white-water rafting expedition.

In addition, the presence of Jenifer and Jacob allows the series to use them as lay figures. They can ask the basic questions that most viewers would be unaware of: what was potlatch, how did a buffalo jump work, how do Metis people define themselves? We might also see Jenifer and Jacob specifically as Indigenous students, people with a keen interest and growing knowledge. In Series 2, Episode 3 Jacob gets teamed up with Daryll Jackson at a site on the central BC coast. Jackson, who is a member of the Shishalh community, works as a field technician. In their conversation Jacob asks, “Why is it important for you to do this.” Jackson answers,

“I enjoy it for one and because the ancestors are telling us a story and I like to be involved. I believe my ancestors are there with me when I’m doing an excavation.”

“What do you think,” asks Jacob, “when you think that one of your direct ancestors could have eaten out of this shell? It connects these artifacts to you.” “To us,” replies Daryll. “I think it’s going to help our people—if more people get involved.”

Above all, it’s the Indigenous person as presenter that sets things apart. Rudy Reimer demonstrates on-screen that his practice moves well beyond the search for physical evidence of traditional archaeology. He emphasizes the cultural and political context surrounding a dig for the past. In his gentle way Reimer continually brings up the tough questions about Indigenous life after contact with Europeans. Through the course of its episodes we learn about the Canadian government’s policies—what the Truth and Reconciliation Commission defined as cultural genocide:

• outlawing of language,
• outlawing seal and whale hunting,
• destroying fishing weirs,
• banning the potlatch,
• legacy of residential schools,
• theft of human remains.

In most archaeological TV an actor plays the host and scientists are brought in for authenticity (or eccentric color). Digging for Britain provides an exception with Professor Roberts as host, but as I’ve argued above, her on-screen manner falls more into the celebrity performer role. In contrast, Wild Archaeology flips the presenter/scientist pairing on its head; here Dr. Rudy, the scientist, functions as host and the non-scientist actors follow his directions. This is insider archaeology. The chief scientist and his two young presenter/students embody links to the ancient peoples being studied.

The past as future

“Who has a right to control the past?” That’s a question now posed by many leading archaeologists.

“It is not just an academic question, but a practical reality that must be faced in the many day-to-day interactions between archaeologists and Indigenous peoples.”[30]

The series takes us deep into the academic discipline of archaeology, showing how ancient sites are discovered, studied, and valued according to new scientific methods as well as showing how that work can incorporate traditional cultural knowledge. This blending of knowledge brings new facts and interpretations into our understanding of the past. Wild Archaeology breaks new ground not only in the study of Canada’s past but in the representation of Indigenous peoples. We see new content and new role models—including scientists, students, and community members. Each episode reminds viewers that every unearthed artifact represents new evidence of Indigenous culture and ancient societies. Thus, every piece of evidence from the past strengthens the political case for the future.

What other documentary programs have traveled so widely? What other programs have negotiated and worked with twenty-plus communities? The series also sets a high bar for collaborative filmmaking with Indigenous communities, facilitating dialog. In fact, German and Reimer have received several invitations from First Nations to visit and document the archaeology being carried out in their areas. That high bar means that documentary makers need to draw on the practice of Indigenous archaeology and take genuine collaboration well beyond simple permission to film.

In this moment of COVID we may be tempted to feel that the old world, our previous ‘normal’ has vanished. None of us can be certain what even the short-term future will look like. Will we return to the old normal? In such a moment it may be useful, even calming, to consider much longer, older stretches of time. It may also be sobering to consider societies that have already faced such wrenching breaks between past and present. As a white person, living in a settler society, the inheritor of a brutal regime of imperial conquest, I can in 2020 begin to educate myself about Indigenous history.

Wild Archaeology broke new ground in one final area. As director Tracy German and actor Jacob Pratt worked together in Series One they developed a close relationship with Jacob’s aunt, Laura Pratt. They hatched a new scheme. For Series Two, Jacob and his aunt would develop and record voice-over translations into Dakota language. This marks a first for a TV series anywhere in the world.

Notes