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Tuesday, April 12, 2016

An Open Letter to Michael Coogan

Over four years ago, I submitted two chapters to the Iron I volume of the “Final Reports of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon” series. With the caterpillar creep of publication, I just recently received the proofs for my submissions, along with legal forms to transfer copyright of the chapters and a note from the Director of Publications for the Harvard Semitic Museum (which is publishing the volume with Eisenbrauns), Michael Coogan.

In those four intervening years, the Harvard Semitic Museum had stolen my co-authored contributions to Ashkelon 5 (as I discussed here). So, when I received the package from the Semitic Museum, I was impressed by the (for lack of a better word) chutzpah of the Museum for writing to me after the theft of my work as if nothing had happened. It was also strange to be addressed by my first name, especially from an individual I did not know personally and had only met once. And, above all, for Dr. Coogan to describe the Museum’s obligations under federal copyright law in such a cavalier manner.

Don’t be alarmed at the formality of the enclosed letters – it is essentially boilerplate that the University Counsel has recommended that we request from all authors and contributors to our publications.

I felt it necessary to write a letter to Dr. Coogan, cc’ing the Director of the Museum, Peter Der Manuelian. I include a copy of that letter below:


Dear Dr. Coogan,

I am writing in response to your letter of March 23. Please let me provide some background to my comments, in case you are not aware: I was the co-author of Ashkelon 5, but the Semitic Museum falsely claimed ownership of my work, published it after I had withdrawn my permission, and knowingly passed much of my authored work off as Yaakov Huster’s. All of this happened despite several assurances from Deputy Director and Curator Joseph Greene that the volume would not be published while there was an ownership dispute and that my work would be properly credited.

It is good to see that the Museum is now trying to obtain permission to publish work properly and to have authors sign transfer of copyright agreements. But the Semitic Museum has been publishing the final report series of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon for a decade – why is it only now beginning to treat authors properly? U.S. copyright law is very clear on this matter:

A transfer of copyright ownership, other than by operation of law, is not valid unless an instrument of conveyance, or a note or memorandum of the transfer, is in writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner's duly authorized agent. (17 U.S. Code 204a)

And yet, though I was never asked to transfer copyright and signed no form, I have found that Harvard claims to own the copyright of my contributions to Ashkelon 1 and 3 and to Ashkelon 4, a work solely authored by me. In fact, it is my understanding (based on conversations with Deputy Director Greene) that these current efforts to obtain permission are being made only because of my unsuccessful attempts to stop the theft of my intellectual property in Ashkelon 5.

I am therefore especially interested in your statement that the enclosed forms are “boilerplate that the University Counsel has recommended” you request. Do you mean to suggest that the Museum considers the requirements of U.S. copyright law to be “boilerplate” that is merely “recommended” by its lawyers?

Given my own experiences and the Museum’s unacceptable treatment of authors in general over the last decade, I cannot possibly grant permission for my work to be published or transfer ownership of copyright. As I retain the rights of ownership, I will consider any further attempt by the Museum to publish my work to be infringement of my copyright and violation of the law. Please be aware that, because from what I have seen the Museum has not been committed to federal law, signed contracts, or its other agreements on these matters in the past, I am posting a version of this letter online so that there is public record of my denial of permission.


Sincerely,
Michael Press, Ph.D.


* * * * *


My experiences suggest that academics might not be very familiar with or even care much about copyrights. Perhaps this is because most academic copyrights have so little (monetary) value. Notably, many academics are openly hostile towards copyright law. We are sympathetic toward attempts to undermine the power of publishers’ copyrights and distribute academic work more freely. But we should not be so quick to dismiss copyright law altogether: it provides what little protection there is for academics against theft of their work. I encourage scholars to familiarize themselves with the relevant federal law: Title 17 of the United States Code, Circular 92, Chapter 2. Academics, especially junior scholars – the most vulnerable among us to exploitation – should be aware of the situation and of their legal rights.

At the same time, we should be clear-eyed about the realistic value of a copyright in academia. Few scholars have the tens of thousands of dollars that would likely be needed to take such a case to court. What this means is that, if people really want to steal your academic work, there is virtually nothing to stop them.

Virtually nothing. The one means we have left is professional pressure. Our professional organizations have ethics policies, we can choose with whom we want to collaborate, and so on. This is why I am ultimately disappointed to academic reaction to cases of exploitation and abuse. Indifference means that these activities will continue – why not, when there is no motivation to stop them?

Take note, academics: When you do not take action or speak up against abuses, you are allowing these problems to continue. And you are failing your students.


UPDATE (May 24): I recently received a letter from the Semitic Museum confirming that my manuscripts had been removed from their publication files and that my chapters had been assigned to other scholars. It was disappointing not to see any reference to the fact that they stole my work, but this was to be expected. But more than that, reading this letter has underlined that I no longer have any ties to Ashkelon Excavations. The end of a (very bittersweet) era. 

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Callousness among the Ruins

Ruins of Palmyra's Arch of Triumph destroyed by ISIS (photo taken March 27, 2016)

On March 27, 2016, the Syrian army recaptured Palmyra from ISIS. By the next day, news headline after news headline trumpeted the liberation of its ancient remains and assessed their status: Damages to Palmyra Ruins in Syrian Recapture Less Than Feared, Experts Say (Guardian). Retaking Syria’s Palmyra Reveals More Shattered Antiquities (AP). 80 Percent of Ancient Palmyra in ‘Good Shape’: Syrian Expert (Middle East Eye). Archaeologists and other scholars shared before and after photos of the damage on social media.

What might not have been clear if you followed the news stories and photographs is that there is also a modern town of Palmyra (Arabic Tadmur) adjacent to the ancient site, with tens of thousands of inhabitants. 

And here in microcosm is an unsettling problem/trend of the entire war: media outlets and academic interest have obsessed over ISIS’s treatment of antiquities, often at the expense of dealing with their human victims. Hundreds of thousands of Syrians have died in the war; millions are refugees, millions more internally displaced. But they are muted in our coverage.

We can name the sites that have been looted and damaged: Palmyra and Apamea and Mari – the Temple of Bel, the Arch of Triumph, the Great Mosque of Aleppo. But the Syrian dead are nameless.

There is one important exception to this: Khaled al-Asaad, an archaeologist beheaded by ISIS at Palmyra last year. Why is al-Asaad unique? Because (for academics) we can relate to his field and his interest in the ruins of Palmyra? Or perhaps for another reason. It has been reported that ISIS murdered al-Asaad because he refused to reveal to them the location of antiquities that had been hidden for safekeeping. Perhaps we care about al-Asaad because he made the same calculation of the value of monuments versus human (Syrian) life that we do.

This is a morbid thought – but is it wrong? Consider al-Asaad’s “obituary” in the Daily Mail, written by popular historian Tom Holland. Obituary is Holland’s own word, but I place it in quotes because this is a very unusual example of the genre. Al-Asaad is not mentioned until the eighth paragraph. There are three paragraphs on his death, only one and half on his life – and eight on the history of Palmyra. The piece focuses on that history and its loss at the hands of ISIS. Al-Asaad simply becomes a character within that tragedy – not the real al-Asaad, but an idealization, a “martyr for civilization” as the headline proclaims. Al-Asaad does not speak for himself; instead we speak for him. “We know Khaled al-Asaad felt” that the destruction of Palmyra’s ruins is blasphemy. “He must have anticipated what his fate would be” after transporting Palmyrene artifacts safely out of the city. That ISIS was killing an ideal “was something al-Asaad himself surely appreciated.”

In short, this is an obituary where the deceased barely appears, and when he does he serves as a ventriloquist’s dummy for our own thoughts.

On the other hand, if we actually listened to Syrians themselves, we would find that their relationship with their cultural heritage is much more varied and complex. We would hear that al-Asaad was just one of a network of thousands of employees of Syria’s Directorate-General of Antiquities and Museums, archaeologists and others, that has worked to protect artifacts from ISIS and the Syrian army and various rebel groups alike. And we would hear the archaeologists themselves describe the role that Syrian citizens have played, in preventing ISIS from causing further damage at Palmyra, for instance.

But there are other responses to the monuments, too. Recently, Kanishk Tharoor provided a glimpse in his opinion piece “Life Among the Ruins” for the New York Times. Significantly, Tharoor discussed how these monuments have been a part of the daily lives of the people living in Syria. One voice in that piece belongs to Syrian archaeologist Salam Al Kuntar, currently at Penn: as Al Kuntar says, “I have a special love for Palmyra because the Temple of Baal is where my mother was born.” That is, for so many the monuments are not just archaeological data to be studied or romanticized symbols of civilization, but a very tangible part of everyday life. As it happens, the ancient site of Palmyra itself was continuously inhabited right into the twentieth century. Modern mudbrick houses were built among the ruins of the classical city. 


"Palmyra (Tadmor). Native village among the ruins of Temple of the Sun" (i.e., Temple of Bel). c. 1900-1920.
Matson Photograph Collection, via Library of Congress

The inhabitants abandoned the site only in the 1930s, moving to a new town next to the ruins in order to clear the way for French excavations of the ancient site. This reveals as presumptuous the idea that these ruins are owned equally by all of us as part of world heritage. The livelihood of many Syrians depends on these monuments, too: tourism is an important part of the local economy – or at least it was before the war.


Other voices belong to the people of Al Rafid, a village near Quneitra in southwestern Syria. The SMART News Agency posted a video that appears to show villagers dismantling a medieval building in order to rebuild their homes. This is a normal process: archaeologists continually find evidence for how stone is reused again and again at sites. And in the current situation, it feels a little hollow to lecture people about preserving the past when they need to literally rebuild their lives.

Instead of staking presumptuous claims to these monuments, or muting the Syrian victims of the conflict, perhaps we should take a moment of silence. For the dead. For the displaced. And for those who remain, carrying on with their lives.
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And now, those of you who wish are free to return to mourning lifeless stone.